The Nurse's Pregnancy Miracle Page 14

  Perhaps it was her tone, or the seriousness of her expression. But something got through to the woman, who bent quickly to kiss her husband on the lips and then moved back toward the dock, just as the rattle of equipment heralded the paramedics’ arrival.

  “Forgive her,” George muttered. “She’s a firecracker. Always has been.”

  “It’s fine,” Nychelle replied in a reassuring tone. He’d grown even paler, and was beginning to shake. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal at all.”

  But she was still a bit steamed. She was used to having patients doubt her abilities—sometimes even rudely. It was part of the job, and it didn’t bother her anymore. But somehow hearing someone seeming to question David’s competence had just set her teeth on edge.

  David rose, getting out of the way so the lead paramedic could take his place. As the EMT gave him a questioning look David introduced himself, then said, “Patient staggered and fell backward, striking his head. He was unconscious for approximately two minutes. Pulse and respiration are within normal range, although rapid. He sustained a scalp laceration and I suspect he also has a broken hip. With the way he fell, I’d check for neck fractures and TBI.”

  The second paramedic approached with a neck brace and backboard, and Nychelle scooted away, giving her room. The first paramedic was asking David more questions as the two EMTs worked in a coordinated rhythm to prepare George for his trip to the hospital.

  There was nothing left for her to do, so Nychelle got up, gingerly picking up her bag as she did so, hoping not to get too much blood on it. Standing to one side, her attention wasn’t on the paramedics or their patient. It was all on David: on his expression as he watched the EMTs fit George with the neck brace and backboard, on the timbre of his voice as he answered their questions. She was fascinated by the way his long fingers flexed, as though his capable, beautiful hands wanted to get back to helping the patient, and then by how quickly he moved to assist the paramedics lifting George onto the stretcher.

  He was a man made for his profession; his desire to diagnose, to heal, was ingrained into his soul. Yet it was just one part of him—an important facet, but just one of many that added up to the most amazingly perfect man she’d ever met.

  Suddenly, just as the stretcher was being moved toward the dock, he looked up and caught her staring. In that moment, as their gazes met, the chaos seemed to subside and a sense of almost surreal calm enfolded her. The spark that zinged between them couldn’t be denied even if she wanted to. It wasn’t the aftermath of the incident making her knees weak and her heart leap. It was him. All him.

  The stretcher rattled past her and Nychelle blindly turned to follow its path. She vaguely registered the family milling about and hurrying off after the paramedics.

  Then David was beside her.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  All thoughts of their prior conversation fled. She didn’t ask where they were going—didn’t ask any questions at all. She just nodded, knowing she’d go wherever he wanted.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SOMETHING HAD CHANGED between them. It had sparked in her eyes when she’d looked at him on the dock. It had shimmered like heat off asphalt between them during the walk back to his car, and it still hung in the air, strong enough to have the hair rising on his arms while he settled into the driver’s seat.

  “Come home with me,” he said, breaking the silence, trying to gauge her reaction to his words from her clear-cut beautiful profile.

  He had it in mind to add his apartment was closer than her house, and that although they’d paused at the restaurant to wash their hands, it would offer her the chance to clean up properly.

  But as he was about to say all that Nychelle turned toward him. “Yes.”

  For a moment it was as though time itself held its breath. Then David’s gaze dropped from Nychelle’s eyes to her mouth, snagged there, entranced. She wasn’t smiling. Instead the curve of her lips was a little shy, but also knowing. It was like a siren’s call...irresistible. Yet he didn’t move, exerted a superhuman effort not to lean forward and kiss her the way he so desperately wanted to. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  Instead he pressed the start button on the car and turned his thoughts, as best he could, to backing out of the parking space. Neither of them spoke as he turned out of the parking structure and drove east toward his condominium, which was ten minutes away.

  The radio played softly. The song was one David had in the past thought illustrated an unrealistic ideal—one in which a man loved all the different facets of his woman, even the imperfections. Now he heard it with different ears, tuned to a new frequency that understood what the crooning singer meant.

  There was nothing about Nychelle he disliked, and so much that he admired. The tenacity and courage she’d displayed in following her own path in life, not the one everyone had seemed to expect of her. The reticence she hid behind her warm, engaging smile, which was unusual in these days when people overshared their every thought and feeling. He liked it. Being forced to dig beneath the surface to understand her and get to know what she thought important in life was exhilarating. Over and over he’d found new things to respect about her, including her grace in the face of her parents’ disapproval and the calm, friendly way she interacted with patients and colleagues.

  He’d fought so hard to resist the attraction between them, but now, with the knowledge that she was unlikely to be able to conceive, that resistance was melting away.

  It was so selfish of him to feel her infertility was a sign, but he did. He hurt for her, knowing how much she wanted to be a mother. And if he were honest he wanted children too, but couldn’t seem to get past his fear that somehow Natalie not making it to term had been his fault. Kitty had remarried, and now had two children with her new husband, all born without problems. Intellectually he knew it probably wasn’t the case, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk.

  He was beginning to feel as though eventually he might be able to handle being a father through adoption, if it meant having Nychelle. Because having Nychelle in his life permanently would be heaven.

  It took no effort to imagine her at his side, in his bed. He wanted to take her to South Carolina to meet his family, who he was sure would adore her as much as he did. Wanted to have her early-morning smiles, or her grumpiness if it turned out she wasn’t a morning person, and her goodnight kisses. Wanted to see her face as she lost herself in ecstasy and know he was the one who’d given her pleasure.

  The longing that last image conjured was a physical ache in his belly. And lower.

  Was this love? He was sure it was. The song he’d previously dismissed as sentimental now made perfect sense. No doubt Nychelle had her faults—although if someone asked right now he wouldn’t be able to name one—but no matter what they were, he couldn’t see them making a difference to how he felt. He’d never been more certain about anything in his life. To him Nychelle was perfect—and perfect for him.

  Pulling into the apartment complex, he drove around to the entrance to the underground parking lot and pushed the button to open the gate. Nychelle still hadn’t spoken, but a quick peep at her showed nothing but serenity in the lines of her face. As he drove down the ramp he thought it seemed as though she’d come to a decision and was at peace with it. If only he knew what that decision was...

  Trying not to wonder about that propelled him into speech. “The apartment isn’t much. I rented it furnished and haven’t made many changes. But it does have a really nice view from the balcony. I thought we could order in some food and just relax after that excitement with George.”

  Pulling into his space, he put the car in Park and turned to look at Nychelle, just as she slanted him a glance from the corner of her eye.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she replied, with a little quirk of her lips. “That sounds good.”

  He took her hand on the
ir way to the elevator, and when he heard her indrawn breath he knew he wasn’t the only one who felt the electric charge generated by the connection of his skin with hers. He tightened his fingers around hers, swept his thumb across the back of her hand, reveling in the softness of her, longing to feel her touch on his skin again.

  They rode up to his floor in silence, and he resented having to release her hand to unlock his door. Need built beneath his skin, tightening his muscles, making it difficult for him to breathe normally. As they stepped inside he knew he should wait, but couldn’t.

  As soon as the door closed behind them he drew her into his arms. Reaching up, he took off her sunglasses and set them, along with his own, on the hall table.

  “David...” It was a sigh: arousal, surrender and fear all intermingled. She looked vulnerable, and his heart twisted. “We shouldn’t...”

  Cupping her face, he said, “Maybe not.” A light, lingering kiss sealed whatever she was planning to say next behind her lips, and as she melted against him, trembling, he lifted his mouth just far enough away to say, “But unless you tell me you don’t want me I don’t want to stop—consequences be damned.”

  “I...”

  Her attempt at a reply ended on a muffled sound, rife with desire, as he trailed his lips to her ear and nipped the lobe.

  “Tell me you don’t want me, Nychelle.”

  He whispered it in her ear, felt a shiver race through her body. Her nipples pressed, tightly furled, against his chest, demanding attention.

  “Tell me to stop and I will.”

  * * *

  Nychelle tried with all her might to say they shouldn’t go any further, but couldn’t get the words out. Knowing she needed to tell him the rest of her story battled with the desire making her head swim and her body tingle and thrum with desire.

  “Tell me you don’t want me,” he said again, and she knew she couldn’t. To do so would be to lie.

  “I can’t. You know I can’t. But...”

  He didn’t wait to hear the rest, just took her mouth in a kiss that made what she’d planned to say fly right out of her brain.

  Desire flared, hotter than the Florida sun, and Nychelle surrendered to it, unable and unwilling to risk missing this chance to know David intimately, even if it were just this once. Was it right? Wrong? She couldn’t decide—didn’t want to try to.

  There were so many more things she should explain to him, but she knew she wouldn’t. Telling him about the baby when she knew he didn’t want a family would destroy whatever it was growing between them. It was craven, perhaps even despicable not to be honest with him, and she hated herself for being underhand, but her mind, heart and body were at war, and she’d already accepted which would win.

  She’d deal with the fallout, whatever it might be, tomorrow. Today—this evening—she was going to have what she wanted, live the way she wanted. Enjoy David for this one time. There would only be regrets if she didn’t.

  His lips were still on hers, demanding, delicious. She’d relived the kisses they’d shared over and over in her mind, but now she realized memory was only a faded facsimile of reality. The touch and taste and scent of him encompassed her, overtaking her system on every level. Her desperate hands found their way beneath his shirt, and his groan of pleasure was as heartfelt as her joy at the first sensation of his bare skin beneath her palms.

  His hands, in turn, explored her yearning flesh, stroking her face, then her neck. When they brushed along her shoulders, easing the straps of her sundress away, Nychelle arched against him. With a tug, he lowered her bodice and the bandeau-style bathing suit beneath it to her waist, and she rubbed her nipples against his chest, spurring him on, want turning to aching need within her.

  Perhaps he felt the same way, for suddenly it was as though they had both lost all restraint. Arms tight around each other, their bodies moved in concert, their fiercely demanding kisses whipping the flames of arousal to an inferno.

  Naked. She wanted him naked.

  She set about achieving her goal, tugging at his shirt until they were forced to part so as to get it off over his head. Once it was out of the way David’s lips came back to hers, and she breathed in the scent of him, the essence of it rising to her head, making her love-drunk. Already she had the knot of his board shorts untied, but she paused to cup the hard length of his erection through the fabric, a shiver racing along her spine, eagerness firing in its wake.

  He made a sound in the back of his throat—something feral, predatory—and her legs almost gave way, trembling with anticipation. He lifted her, carried her easily into the bedroom, where he set her down on the bed. With swift, capable movements he stripped off her clothes, leaving her exposed. When his intent blue gaze stroked from her toes up to her head she felt it like a touch, and her body tightened even further, trembling with arousal.

  Burning. She was burning from the inside out. She cried out as he fanned the flames of her excitement with his lips and hands, the slide of his body against hers. His mouth branded her breasts, her belly. His tongue slid and flicked over what felt like every inch of her torso, teasing and arousing, until she shook and writhed and yearned, caught on the edge of orgasm, slipping toward the chasm with every intent-filled touch he placed upon her body.

  “You are so beautiful, Nychelle.”

  His torso was wedged between her thighs. His breath rushed over her belly, leaving a little trail of goose bumps. When he kissed her navel, swirling his tongue around the edge, her hips lifted and a pleading gasp left her throat. He smiled slightly, that beloved tilt of his lips, and although his lids were slumberous his eyes were dark, gleaming, and she felt his need vibrating through his body into hers.

  “David,” she pleaded. “Please. I want—”

  He didn’t let her finish—had already slid down as she spoke. And at the first touch of his lips on her most intimate flesh, the first swipe of his tongue through her folds, she shattered, crying out his name. Not a plea now, but a capitulation. A wild giving of herself—completely, utterly—even as she took the ecstasy he so freely gave and demanded...

  “More...”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DAVID FLOATED UP from a deep sleep and had one of those moments when, because of the quality of the light, he wasn’t sure whether it was morning or evening. Then he took a deep breath, intending to yawn, but stopped as Nychelle’s scent flooded his head.

  “More...”

  He heard her voice again in his head and, rolling onto his stomach, pulled her pillow over to bury his face in it. There had been more—and more. Lovemaking so intense, so utterly beautiful, a sensation of repletion filled him at the memory.

  If he were a rooster, he’d crow as he remembered watching her straddle his body, taking him deep, her face tight with need. He’d cupped her breasts and she’d covered his hands with her own as she rocked above him, the connection between them so sublime it had thrown him into an altered state. One where all that mattered was Nychelle, the love swelling inside him, and her pleasure.

  She’d cried out his name as her body had clutched his, her ripples of ecstasy catapulting him into an orgasm that had left him weak with pleasure. Just as the next one and the next one had, each pulling him further into love with her, making the bond between them grow stronger.

  Thinking about it made him want to make love with her all over again, although his stamina, as evidenced by his renewed erection, frankly astonished him. It was all her. Looking at her was aphrodisiac enough, but when he touched her, felt her touch in return, he reached a whole different level of arousal.

  Where was she?

  The bathroom door was open, but the door leading to the living room was almost completely closed. Sitting up, he reached for a pair of shorts and hoped she was out there ordering dinner. He was ravenous. Plus, he needed more energy for when he pulled her back into bed.

  Stepp
ing into the living room, he found her standing by the sliding door to the balcony, gazing out over the city lights. She’d found his bathrobe, which had been hanging on the back of his bedroom door, and he was glad she hadn’t got dressed.

  It would only mean undressing her all over again.

  About to cross the room and embrace her from behind, he hesitated, something about her posture stopping him in his tracks. She turned, and her bleak expression made his heart stumble.

  “Nychelle? What is it?”

  “I have something to tell you. Something I should have told you before I... I slept with you.”

  “Okay...” But his throat felt tight, the word coming out rough and low.

  Even from across the room he could see her inhale, and he already knew, from the habitual rubbing of her wrist, that whatever she had to say probably wouldn’t be good.

  “I had IUI a few weeks ago. I’m pregnant.”

  The words hung in the air and he was unable to make sense of them immediately. Reaching behind him, he found the arm of the couch with one hand and sat down before his trembling legs gave out.

  That couldn’t be right, could it?

  “But you said...”

  What had she said? His brain scrambled to remember.

  “I developed dysfunctional uterine bleeding. The doctors warned I may never get pregnant.”

  She hadn’t said she couldn’t, just that she might never.

  Everything inside him froze, ice filling his chest and spreading into his veins. Desperate, not wanting her to see what she was doing to him, he donned a stoic, neutral mask.

  Her lips trembled slightly, and her eyes grew liquid with tears. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I just—”

  “It was none of my business.” The distance in his tone made the words hollow. The breath caught in his throat, painful and raw, and had to be forcefully expelled before he could say, “I understand.”