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James bit back his natural inclination and instead coated his words with sugar. “I’m sorry, Mrs Little. I’m here to help and really do want to help you get some sleep. If you can just tell me what the problem is, perhaps we can arrange for you to get a good night’s rest.”
She gave him a doubtful look, but shrugged. “It’s that prescription stuff Dr Melissa gave my husband.”
James felt as lost as before they’d started the conversation. “What prescription would that be?”
“That blue pill,” she said with total loathing.
“Blue pill?”
“You know.” She gave him a look that said he definitely should know what she was talking about. “That Viagra stuff that makes men not let their wives sleep. Now, what are you going to do to help me get a decent night’s sleep?”
Melissa waddled like a bloated penguin. Her feet hurt. Her face looked puffy. Her bladder was the size of a pea. And her lower back hurt twenty-four hours a day.
But she wore a smile most of the time.
Because of the man who sat with her feet in his lap. While reading an article in Emergency Medicine, he absently massaged her arches.
They’d fallen into a routine and, if only he’d loved her, she’d be in heaven.
Because she did want James’s love.
If there had ever been any doubt in her mind, there no longer was. He completed her, made her feel capable of conquering the world. Those weeks without him had proved that life wasn’t much without him to share it.
Sure, she loved her practice, but her career made for a lonely bed partner.
And she did crawl into bed alone every night.
Not once had James set foot into their room. Would she ever stop thinking of it as “their” room?
His fingers trailed lightly over her toes and she met his gaze, catching him watching her. A glimpse of lust dissipated almost immediately, making her wonder if she’d imagined it.
“You OK?” he asked, when she continued looking at him.
How could she not be? Every moment he was there, touching her, she wanted to store it all in her memory. Store it for the empty nights she’d have after he moved to Nashville for good.
She caressed her stomach. “The baby’s just wiggling a lot tonight.” True enough. Based on what an energy ball their son was in utero, she suspected he’d give his parents a run for their money.
James’s gaze dropped to her belly. His eyes widened when the mound of flesh shifted beneath her cotton maternity top.
He dropped his magazine onto the coffee table and scooted closer. “May I?”
He wanted to touch her belly? Other than her feet and calves, he didn’t touch her, not since the night he’d moved home. Sometimes she thought he purposely avoided touching her, despite the fact that she yearned for his touch.
Nodding, she took his hand and guided it to where it was sure to receive a quick jab. Mere seconds passed before her belly bumped against James’s hand.
“Amazing.” He placed his other hand against her belly and cradled her between his palms. The fabric from her shirt bunched and he tugged at it, trying to smooth it.
Melissa made a quick decision. Her heart thumping and feeling almost shy, she placed her hand over his and guided the fabric upward, revealing the pale, stretched flesh.
James’s gaze followed her movements, but he didn’t comment, just slid his hands over her bare belly, cupping the fullness as if it were the most precious thing he’d ever touched.
It likely was, she realized.
True to his nature, the baby showed off under his father’s attention. Kicking and jabbing at Melissa’s insides with the fervor of a manic on a caffeine high. Perhaps the rush of adrenaline and hormones surging through his mother spurred the little fellow on.
James touched her. Really touched her.
How long they sat like that she wasn’t sure. Only that when their gazes met, such tenderness glowed from his blue eyes that her throat knotted and her chest constricted into a tight band around her lungs.
