It Started with a House... (12 page)

Feeling her body already begin to betray her as she felt his stir, she warned, “Marshall, I can't stay.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But you could let me kiss you properly. It's been too long and I want to hold my babies close for a few moments.”

Unable to deny him a little closeness with what she would be enjoying 24/7, Genevieve let him continue to align their bodies. As she lifted her face to his, she realized that he must have shaved only a short time ago because his skin was almost smooth as he coursed a series of kisses over her lips and cheeks and chin before locking his mouth to hers for a hungrier exploration. Genevieve
couldn't resist stroking his jaw and cheek any more than she could keep from arching into his arousal or matching the eager strokes of his tongue against hers.

“No changes,” he said at last.

She smiled against his lips. “Silly. It will take a little time.”

“One change—you aren't as skittish with me. Thank you for that.”

“You know I trust you in that way—and I do want this to be all right.”

“It will be.” He tightened his arms and kissed her deeply again. “I want you. The problem with tasting from what's forbidden is that's all you want thereafter.”

“And what got us here in this situation.”

A wicked gleam lit his deep-sea eyes. “There's one point in our favor—I can't get you pregnant again.”

“But I do have to get back to the office.” She began to ease out of his arms.

“What's your evening look like?”

“Don't ask. I'll be catching up on paperwork for the next few evenings.”

“Your nausea seems under control for now.”

“That will be true if the salad I ate for lunch stays down.”

“Let me come over later and cook something easy on your tummy. I want to show you what I've been working on.”

Genevieve glanced around. “What have you been working on?”

“Have you got a second? Come see.”

He took her hand and drew her to his office. There on a drafting table beside the big desk she saw a sketch
in the works. It was a rougher plan of the house, but the focus was on two of the bedrooms on the east side. He'd removed the connecting wall and it appeared it was half office and half nursery.

“What do you think?” he asked, increasingly eager. “I know you haven't decided what to do yet, but I thought I'd show you how, when it's not mandatory for you to be at your office in town, you can still work, but in comfort here and without having to worry about what the baby is doing.”

Trying to stay calm, Genevieve struggled to put humor in her voice. “And what do I tell clients when the baby is crying from colic or teething and I can't hear the caller or they can't hear me?”

“It's not like that's a long-term problem. The child will grow out of that.”

“That, too. I won't always need a nursery. One day he or she will want a room alone.”

“There's another bedroom for that. We don't need a guestroom, do we? Your mother isn't in need of it and I have no one left. Besides, you may have another baby.”

This time Genevieve backed several feet away from him. “Marshall, stop. This is not fair. I'm still wrapping my mind around the fact that I'm pregnant. You not only have me moving in here, you're telling me how we're going to raise the child and that we're expanding the family.”

He began reaching for her, only to drop his arms when she withdrew yet another step. “They're just ideas, sweetheart. Having just moved in here, I'd lose too much if I put this house up for sale again so soon. Since you've had your house for several years, it just makes more sense to
sell it—plus there's the size matter. I could oversee any improvements you might want to make there. That would take any added pressure off you while you're working through your pregnancy.”

“But I don't want to change anything. I love that house and I've been at peace there—something which is happening less and less here!”

Feeling her stomach warn her that conditions were deteriorating, she muttered, “I have to go.”

She barely made it to the door before he called to her. “Genevieve!”

She ignored him and got as far as the front door before he stopped any further progress by flattening his hand against it. “Move, Marshall,” she demanded her voice shaking. “I need to get back to the office.”

“You can't go like this. You're upset.”

“Of course I'm upset. I can't think or breathe!”

He stepped back as though she'd struck him. “I'm…sorry.”

She couldn't bear to look at him for fear of weakening. She wished they could go back to when he'd been holding her and kissing her. Those moments were sheer bliss.

“I'll call you later,” she said quickly and let herself out.

 

Marshall nearly became ill himself as he watched Genevieve drive away. He'd convinced himself that once she saw actual images of how he could make things look for her and their baby, she wouldn't be so confused and nervous. Instead, she'd seen him as being pushy, maybe even controlling. He was anything but—hadn't he invited
her ideas? These were suggestions only. Hell, he would be happy to leave the rooms as they were if that was what she wanted. He only wanted
her
.

He went to his office and scowled at the drafting table with the drawings.
Screwup,
he thought bitterly, and ripped the sheet off the pad, crumpling it with disgust. If this had been Cynthia, he couldn't have drawn enough plans. She would contentedly let him fry every available brain cell to see what else he had to offer, but Genevieve was by no means Cynthia. She had her own mind and that mind wasn't made up yet—about him or anything about the future. Cynthia tired him. Genevieve made him feel as though he was an island tethered to the mainland in danger of being cut loose. Usually, he was a quick study of human nature. What was the problem? Genevieve wasn't a high-strung thoroughbred who needed to be handled with kid gloves, as Cynthia had been. Sensitive, yes. He'd thought he had been responding to that sensitivity.

He brooded all afternoon and paced inside and out waiting for the call that didn't come. He lifted the phone a dozen times to call her, and then another half-dozen times to order flowers for her, but the thought of what message to write on the card without starting a wildfire of gossip stopped him. Genevieve wouldn't just run from him if he brought that down on her head—she'd come after him with a carving knife.

Before he reached for his BlackBerry again, it signaled him. Seeing her BlackBerry number filled him with a strange mixture of relief and dread. “How are you?” he asked gruffly.

“I just wanted you to know that I couldn't keep down lunch. I'm going home to go to bed.”

“That's my fault. Genevieve, forgive me.”

“I don't want to fight with you, Marshall. It's killing me.”

“Darling. Don't say that. I'm sorry. I've thrown the drawings away.”

“You didn't have to do that.”

“I've had nothing but time to think about it and you're right. That's a great deal of structural changes for what amounts to a short period in everyone's life. Keeping the walls as they are was smarter.” When she said nothing, he realized he'd almost made another mistake. “Doing nothing right now would be smartest.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

He let himself take a sustaining breath. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Think up something to tell the girls. They're about to kidnap me and haul me to the hospital.”

“If this continues much longer, I'll take you myself. You haven't kept down a full meal in days.”

“I know.”

Her weak reply told him that she still didn't want to deal with that. Her desire to keep everyone in the dark was impractical and could be critical if she needed sudden medical attention. But with her feeling so poorly, Marshall voiced none of that. For now that had to be his burden to carry.

“I'm beyond grateful you called,” he said. “I know what it cost you. Please…I don't care what the time is, if you wake up and need something, or just can't sleep, call me.”

“Why should both of us lose sleep and be miserable?”

“I'm already miserable from making so many mistakes with you.”

“Oh, God. I have to go, I'm going to be—”

Marshall couldn't believe he'd been disconnected and didn't know if she'd done it on purpose or if she'd had an accident. Unable to bear the uncertainty of that, he ran for his wallet and keys and raced for his Mercedes. Considering the background sounds, he figured she had already left the office and was heading home. Had she had time to pull over before becoming ill? Did she become disorientated and have a wreck?

Tormented by his mind that pictured the worst, he drove too fast toward town, and swore when he saw flashing lights behind him. It was agony to pull over when everything in him screamed to get to Genevieve, but he hadn't lost his senses completely to risk outrunning a squad car.

To make matters worse, it turned out to be the chief himself, Phil Irvine. Grimacing, Marshall pulled out his license and proof of insurance as the steel gray–haired cop took his time approaching his window. By the time he did, Marshall had the two pieces of identification extended out the window and set his right hand on top of the steering wheel.

“Sorry, Chief. Medical emergency.”

Chief Irvine took the ID and then gave him a quick study. “Roark, right? On the lake? You came into the station to introduce yourself.”

“That's me.”

“What's your medical emergency?”

“It's not me. It's—” well, now he'd put his foot in it “—Genevieve. She's ill and she disconnected. That's no excuse, but if you'd go ahead and write me the ticket, I really need to get to her.”

“Genevieve Gale?”

“Yes.”

“What's wrong with her?”

“Flu or virus…she can't seem to kick it. Please, Chief. The ticket? I'm not sure she was strong enough to drive herself home without having a wreck.”

“You two an item?”

Marshall's first impulse was to reply, “You have no idea,” but he had just enough sanity left to offer a respectful, “Yes, sir. We're trying to be.”

“She's a nice lady. Pretty woman.” The grim-faced lawman handed the ID back to Marshall. “I've never met anyone so willing to be fined. Do you think she needs an ambulance?”

“I don't know. I guess I won't until I reach her.”

“Well, get moving—but stay within the speed limit. I'll be monitoring dispatch to see if you need more help.”

Marshall exhaled in relief and flung the ID onto the passenger seat. “Thank you, Chief.”

Genevieve must have had to pull over somewhere because she was just pulling into the garage when he turned into her driveway. Her look when she spotted him gave him another kick in the heart. He was the last person she wanted to see.

He quickly stepped out of the car and called over the coupe's hood, “Don't be afraid—or angry. You cut off so quickly, I'm only checking to make sure you made it.”

She nodded weakly and turned to head indoors when she slumped against the SUV.

“Genevieve!”

He'd never moved so quickly, racing to her as she began to slide toward the concrete floor, and swept her into his arms, barely saving her from an ugly blow to the skull. Almost weak-kneed from the close call, he fought the urgent need to crush her against him.

“Hold on, baby. I'll get you inside.”

By the time he unlocked her door and laid her on the bed, he had broken out in a cold sweat that had nothing to do with her near limp weight, and everything to do with his cold terror. What made matters worse was that she stayed where he put her, looking like a broken doll. For once, he willed her to move, even if it was to turn away from him and coil into a fetal position.

Struggling not to panic, he sat down on the edge of the bed and gently brushed the strands of hair sticking to her forehead. Apparently, she'd been feverish. “Genevieve, I'm going for your purse. I want to check your BlackBerry for your doctor's number.”

“No…fine.”

“Damn it, sweetheart, you're not. There could be complications with the pregnancy.”

“No. Normal. Just…wash up.”

“You're too weak to stand. You can't even form a solid sentence.”

Normal…she had to be joking, and he silently berated himself for not having already looked up morning sickness online. No, instead he'd gotten carried away with the foolish nursery plans. And he couldn't do it now because he didn't know her laptop password. Considering
her condition at the moment, he didn't think it would do much good to ask her for it, either. Then he thought of Sydney. He didn't expect her to have her daughter's password, but she could easily look up the subject for him.

“Tell you what.” He reached to the foot of the bed and covered her with the afghan that had been lying folded there. “If you'll stay put, I'm going to get you a warm washrag, and then I'm going to make sure your car is secure and lock mine. Back in a minute.”

He got her the wet cloth and left her to do what he'd said. Then he checked Genevieve's BlackBerry for her doctor's number. But Dr. Nyland was delivering a baby at the hospital.

Next he looked up Sydney's number, and used that device to call. Not surprisingly, Sydney thought she had her daughter on the line and was effusive when she answered.

“Darling, how lovely—two chats in a day. I so enjoyed our visit.”

“Sydney, it's Marshall,” he said quickly. “Now don't panic, but I'm at Genevieve's and she's not well.”

“Good Lord. But I only saw her. She was almost the picture of health. What's happened?”

“She's insisting it's the damned morning sickness.”