Twenty-Three
Despite what Rowena had told Lachlan at the drive-in, a couple of weeks later she was still feeling horny AF.
She should be asleep—she had an early shift tomorrow—but here she was, lying in bed at ten o’clock at night, her skin crawling with a feverish kind of desire that made even the brush of her sloppy t-shirt against her skin a sensuous kind of agony.
It reminded her of the early days of puberty all those years ago when she’d first discovered masturbation. Which made sense, she supposed. Her body was, after all, undergoing a similar onslaught of hormones.
She lay in the dark, her hand on her belly, contemplating some self-soothing. And, if she knew it would work, she’d have gone for it, but the thought of failing and adding to her frustration made it a no-go.
Not to mention that the French doors, open onto the veranda on this still night, would carry any noise into the vast outback abyss. Including Lachlan’s room next door.
Although he was probably deeply asleep. The man worked hard at a very physical job. Very. Physical. Shouldering the bodily load without complaint, engineering things so Reggie and Albert were spared the heavier duties of farm life.
Rowena was pretty sure they were aware of Lachlan’s machinations, but they didn’t push back. She thought they probably understood his need to look out for them, as they had looked out for him when he’d first arrived.
And they were equal partners in every other way, making joint decisions over the dinner table every night. Talking markets and stock and calendars. Discussing issues and the timings of future projects.
Rowena was always impressed at what it took to run a property this size. Or, as Lachlan called it, a modern agribusiness. And god help her if she didn’t suddenly find the way he said modern agribusiness sexy too.
Actually, the way he said anything farm.
Rowena squeezed her thighs together at the hot wave of longing that swept through her and knew it was time to give up hoping that this fixation with Lachlan was a result of indiscriminate pregnancy hormones and that any man in her proximity would yield the same result.
It was patently untrue.
She didn’t get all hot and flustered when Michael Randwick—the hottie new intern who had caused a mass swooning event—talked medical stuff. Or when Brenden Silver Fox Graham, the physio, discussed rehab exercises.
Only Lachlan had the ability to take her pregnancy hormones and spin them into a complete frenzy.
Which she did not want to delve into too deeply. She was just going to accept that it was some kind of bullshit, babydaddy, biological mumbo-jumbo, because the truth might be worse.
‘What are you doing to me, baby?’ she whispered into the dark, her hand pressed to her lower belly.
Despite the frustration of her current libidinous state, not a moment went by that Rowena didn’t marvel at the life growing inside her.
At almost eighteen weeks, she was too broad-hipped and soft across the middle to be showing, but when she palpated she could feel the fundus of her uterus and, as each day passed, she dared to hope a little more.
Dared to take courage from Lachlan and Reggie, whose calm confidence bolstered her in her wobbly moments.
‘I can’t wait to meet you,’ she murmured.
And that’s when she felt it. A kick. Not a flutter or a rolling sensation, as foetal movements are so often described.
It was a very definite kick.
A hot spurt of tears pricked at Rowena’s eyes and her heart just about beat right out of her chest as she pressed her palm firmer and held her breath, concentrating desperately on the location of that fleeting sensation.
Willing it to come again.
She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth in an attempt to keep the emotion at bay as she waited. And hoped. And yearned.
She’d never felt this before. She’d never been this far.
It came again, then. Quick but sure. A kick. In exactly the same spot. Without thinking about it, Rowena tumbled out of bed and stumbled next door.
To Lachlan.
His door wasn’t shut—it was never shut—and she walked straight into his room, ignoring the way orange Colin stared sightlessly at her from his position in the far corner.
‘Lachlan,’ she hissed.
He was awake in an instant, sitting bolt upright in nothing but his boxers. His gaze flew to the way her hand cupped her belly and then to her face, his expression morphing from where’s the fire to oh shit in less than a second.
‘No.’ She shook her head at the dread she could clearly see in his eyes. ‘No, no, no. It’s fine. She’s fine.’ Rowena took a moment to calm herself, to rein in her pulse. ‘It’s just … the baby moved.’
Her breathing was still a little off kilter, as was his, if the uneven rise and fall of his naked chest was any indication. ‘She moved.’
It took a beat or two but Rowena saw the moment Lachlan understood what she was saying—the import of it—as his expression turned wondrous. ‘She did?’
Rowena nodded. ‘She kicked. Like … a real kick.’
And then he smiled and she smiled and they were grinning at each other like they were the only two humans on earth who had ever made a baby together.
Glancing at her abdomen, he tipped his chin. ‘May I?’
A sudden well of emotion swept through Rowena’s chest, making her lungs feel too big as they expanded hard against the cage of her ribs. Moving towards him, she pressed her lips together to stop the emotion of the moment from escaping in the form of an ugly snot cry.
Swinging his legs out of bed, Lachlan sat on the edge of the mattress as Rowena approached. She felt weirdly nervous stopping in front of him, his knees bracketing, although not touching, hers. It was an intensely intimate moment as he lifted his hand and placed it on her belly.
A shiver coursed right through her middle as she slid her hand over the top of his and guided it to the area she’d felt the baby move. He’d touched her stomach before. Hell, he’d touched a lot more, but this was different. Both of them staring expectantly at her belly in the dark.
Waiting.
It felt profound and important, and Rowena’s heart swelled as she looked at the top of his head, her other hand itching to burrow into his hair as though it was her place to do so.
‘Nothing,’ he murmured after what felt like an age, glancing up at her, disappointment thickening his voice.
Desperate for him to experience what she’d just experienced, she murmured, ‘Hang on.’
Moving out from between his legs, Rowena sat beside him and, without giving it a thought, reclined against the bed. Grabbing his hand again, she placed it back on her abdomen.
Maybe the baby preferred her to be horizontal?
Lachlan half turned to accommodate his hand placement before easing himself down on the mattress as well, bending his elbow and propping his head on his hand. And they waited again, the silence charged and expectant.
It didn’t take long. A slight flutter at first. So slight Rowena wasn’t sure it was anything other than some passing wind. Lachlan certainly didn’t feel it. But then it came again, stronger this time, until the third time it was a definite kick.
Lachlan looked at her incredulously. ‘I felt it!’
Rowena laughed at the wonder on his face. ‘Me too.’
It happened twice more in quick succession and they grinned at each other like loons, cradling her stomach, waiting for it to come again. It didn’t. But that didn’t stop them from lying there for the next half an hour, barely talking or moving. Just waiting and hoping.
‘I think the show’s over for tonight,’ Rowena eventually murmured.
‘Thank you for waking me,’ he whispered, his hand still in place as his eyes locked with hers.
He kissed her then, slow and soft and sweet. The warmth from his palm was comforting and arousing in equal measure, and the now familiar ache flared between her legs and drew a long, low moan from Rowena’s throat.
‘Sorry,’ he murmured, pulling away. ‘Couldn’t resist.’
Neither could she as her hands circled his neck and pulled him down, eager for more of his mouth.
The excitement and the emotion of the moment had morphed into a dizzying sexual cocktail, and her heartbeat tripped and tap danced against all her pulse points. The ache ramped up, twisting into a spiral that churned to a relentless beat.
She knew it was all kinds of wrong to cross this line, that it would muddy the waters between them, but she couldn’t help it. Rowena wanted Lachlan McCabe—it was that simple.
And that complicated.
With his naked chest stoking her desire, her hands roamed freely, revelling in the bulk of his shoulders and the firmness of muscles beneath her questing fingers.
And the way he groaned as her hand pushed inside his shorts to squeeze the smooth roundness of a buttock was like a firework to her overheated system.
Rowena felt an answering response in him as his hand stroked beneath the hem of her shirt, pushing it all the way up until it ruched under her chin, completely exposing her to his view.
‘Fuck,’ he muttered on a pant before nuzzling her neck, his lips trekking towards her mouth.
His chest hair brushed against her skin, fuzzing against her nipples and dragging a moan from her throat. The texture was so intensely erotic against her highly sensitised skin, she swore she could practically orgasm from that alone.
If she could orgasm, of course.
Oh god. Why was she thinking about that? Now? When a thick pulse tingled between her legs and her entire body had turned into a giant erogenous zone?
What the hell was wrong with her?
As if sensing he was losing her, Lachlan broke away, his blue eyes shimmering with lust, his mouth wet from hers, his chest heaving. ‘You’re thinking again.’
Sad, but true. Why did she keep doing this? Why was her body so damn sexually … suicidal?
‘I’m sorry,’ she panted.
He smiled before pressing a kiss to her mouth then whispering, ‘Let me try something.’