McCallum Quintuplets (15 page)

Z
ACH HAD NEVER
felt jealousy before. He didn't like it. This burning, gut-wrenching, vacillating between worry and anger, feeling sick at his stomach. His territorial, protective instincts were stirred up but good.

He couldn't keep his mind on anything but Annabelle out on a date with another man.

Dammit, she'd said she was ready to get rid of her virginity. He'd done the honorable thing and politely declined—and been taking cold showers ever since.

So, was she going to give it to that wet-behind-the-ears medical resident? Hell, the guy couldn't even stay married for more than five years. He had no sticking power, obviously didn't value a woman, believe in till-death-do-us-part.

Zach drew up short. Did
he
believe in that? His parents had had it. His sister had it. Annabelle's dad had found it twice.

He paced the study, oblivious to the computer monitor flashing that he had e-mail, the massive bookshelves filled with medical journals and paperback fiction, the open files on his desk.

“Okay, Annabelle,” he said aloud. “You win. If you're so all-fired determined to learn about making love, it's
not
going to be with that smooth-talking octopus you're having dinner with.” He snatched his keys off the hall table.

“Give me the recipe for Better Than Sex cake,” he mimicked. “Yeah, right. All the better to taste you, my dear, said the wolf to Red Riding Hood.” He snorted. “Not with my lady, buddy.”

 

A
NNABELLE
enjoyed Brad's company, but her heart just hadn't been in the date. Zach had effectively ruined it by hiding behind the refrigerator door—and invading her
mind every five seconds, making it next to impossible to concentrate on her date.

Wouldn't you know. The man didn't want her. Then he spoiled her chance to test the waters on a potentially good thing.

Brad stopped the car in front of her apartment, put his arm over the back of the seat, toyed with her hair.

“Your mind was somewhere else tonight.”

Appalled that it had shown, she apologized. “I'm sorry. I really did have a good time.”

He smiled softly. “It was worth a try.”

He glanced toward her apartment, and Annabelle stiffened, hoping he wasn't going to ask if he could come in.

“Pretty hard to compete with Dr. Beaumont.”

“Where in the world would you get an idea like that?”

“Probably from Dr. B. himself, seeing as he's coming toward the car looking like he wants to bash my face in.”

Annabelle whipped around. Her heart lurched in gladness. Then she felt bad for Brad.

“I'm sorry, Brad.” She already had the car door open. Zach had stopped on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets.

“No need to apologize. I've seen you watching him. And I've seen him watching you.” He shrugged. “Good luck, kid. You deserve it. If things don't work, though, I'll be around.”

She leaned down at the window. “You're a good man, Brad.”

“Get going before the guy has heart failure.”

She smiled, straightened up and turned. Brad pulled away from the curb, but Annabelle didn't move for several moments. Neither did Zach.

At last she took a step, walked past him to the front door, her pulse drumming in her ears when she realized he was right by her side.

Unlocking the door, she looked at him. “What brings you here, Zach?” she asked softly.

“You.” His voice was just as soft, with an edge that held a warning she didn't quite understand.

“What if I hadn't come home?”

“Then I'd have waited…or found you.”

“Did you come here because you want me or because you wanted to protect my virtue?”

He stared at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his brown eyes intense.

She wasn't sure what got into her, why she felt the need to push him. “Maybe my virtue no longer needs protecting. Maybe we went to Brad's place.”

The muscle still ticked in his jaw. “I don't think so.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“So sure of yourself, Zach?”

He slammed his palm on the door, shoved it all the way open. Before she could catch her breath, he had her in his arms, carrying her over the threshold, kicking the door shut, shooting the lock home.

“Yeah, I'm sure. You don't look like a woman who's been properly satisfied.” His mouth came down on hers. She expected aggression, anger even. She didn't expect the incredible tenderness.

It knocked down every one of her defenses. She wrapped her arms around his neck, poured herself into the kiss. This is where she wanted to be. In Zachary Beaumont's arms. Lost in his kiss, his touch.

At last.

“Bedroom?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

“Second door down the hall. Hurry.”

His steps were quick, but once he lay her on the bed, time seemed to still into slow motion. He gazed at her,
sat on the mattress beside her, stroked her hair, kissed her gently.

“I'm scared to death,” he said.

She gave a nervous laugh. “I think that's my line.”

“I've never been anyone's first. Are you sure about this, Annabelle? Speak now, because once I put my hands on you, I don't think I'll be able to stop.”

“I don't want you to stop.”

“Then we need to establish some rules.”

She groaned. “You're gonna mess up the mood, Zach.”

“Then I'll just have to get it going again, won't I?”

He was so self-assured, she shivered. She was just talking out of nerves. She didn't think anything could ease the acute arousal she felt right now.

“The rules are, this time's for you. Watch me. Feel what my hands and body do to you. Tell me what you like and what you don't like.”

“But I don't know—”

“You will. You will.” He ran his hands over her, undressed her slowly, his gaze following every slow movement. Then he stood and removed his clothes, pausing, giving her a moment to gaze at his body.

Her heart pounded. She felt vulnerable, frightened, aroused.

Then he lay down beside her, took her face tenderly between his palms and kissed her. Just that. For endless moments he made sweet love to her with his lips and his tongue, worshiping, reverently, gently.

In light of his patience, she expected a slow building of desire. Instead, it flashed out of control. Her hands fisted against the sheets, lifted to touch his body, urge him.

He drew back, caught her hands in his, raised them
above her head. “Uh-uh. No touching. Or this'll be over before either of us is ready.”

“I'm ready.”

“For it to be over?”

“No, doggone it. For you to get on with things.”

He smiled, released her hands, used the tips of his fingers to map her body. From head to toe he stroked her, found points of pleasure she had no idea existed. He was a doctor. He knew how a woman's body worked. There was nothing clinical, however, in the way he touched her.

It could have been hours. She lost track of time.

She was aroused to the point of pain, not thinking, forgetting the rules. She used her heel against the mattress for leverage, rolled him over, slid on top of him and gave in to her desire to feast. Her hands and lips were fevered. She didn't need experience to know what to do. She let her heart guide her.

Zach swore and flipped her over as though they were in a wrestling match—and perhaps they were.

“You broke the rules.” His breathing was none too steady.

She opened her thighs, pressed her fingers into his buttocks. “I guess you better do something about it, then.”

He tried to go slow, was nearly out of his mind with pleasure. He carefully entered her, paused when she stiffened.

“Easy.” He pulled back, determined to be gentle if it killed him. She took the choice out of his hands, lifted her hips and met him with a force that made him swear, made stars burst behind his closed eyelids.

“Are you okay?” he asked when he was sure he could speak.

“Better than okay. Make love to me, Zach.”

And he did. With everything in him he had to give.
Acutely aware of every breath and every moan, he gauged her mood, her pleasure, gave her more, holding on to his own control by the sheerest of threads.

He felt her surrender, felt the pulsing of her body around him, swallowed her climactic scream with his mouth as he let her ride the crest, then found his own release.

His heart was beating like mad when he suddenly realized he hadn't used a condom.

He shifted to his side, drew her against him. “Ah, hell, Annabelle, I forgot about birth control.”

She stiffened for just an instant, then continued to stroke her hand over his damp chest. “I'm safe.”

No one was one hundred percent safe. He should have been feeling concern. Instead, something had shifted inside him. He could picture Annabelle carrying his child—or his children.

Testing the waters—she was so strong he often couldn't tell where he stood with her—he commented, “You know, multiple births run in both our families. We could end up having that ourselves.”

Annabelle felt panic engulf her. She hadn't told him about her flaw. She wasn't the woman for him.

She'd watched Zach with the children he held, watched how he interacted with her brother and sisters, how he'd responded to his nieces.

The grapevine claimed he was a confirmed bachelor, but she didn't believe it. There was a yearning in him that he probably didn't even realize existed. But Annabelle had seen it.

She was in over her head. Faced with having to confess her shortcomings—to a man she'd fallen irrevocably, totally in love with.

She sat up, holding the sheet to her breasts.

“Annabelle?”

She was trying to form a sophisticated quip when Zach's beeper went off.

He tossed aside the tangled sheets, strode naked to his slacks, checked the number, then picked up Annabelle's bedside phone.

“This is Dr. Beaumont. I got a page.”

He listened for a minute, then started snatching clothes even before he'd gotten the phone hung up.

“What is it?” Annabelle asked, reacting to his urgency. She'd always been able to read him so well. After what they'd just shared in this bed, she imagined the connection was going to be even stronger. She wasn't sure how she would stand it.

“Car accident. Paramedics are bringing Layla Drummen directly to the clinic. She's in labor and bleeding vaginally.”

Annabelle hopped out of bed and grabbed clean jeans and a T-shirt from her closet. “You'll need me.”

“Yes. I
do
need you, Annabelle. And as soon as this crisis is over, we're going to talk about what's bothering you.”

It was a threat, pure and simple. Zach wasn't a man who'd take no for an answer.

Zach raced through the night. Both of them were silent as they rushed into the hospital. Since she lived so close to the clinic, they beat the paramedics there.

As they scrubbed up, Zach said, “Layla Drummen has an atrial septic defect. Usually women with this disorder are asymptomatic, like Layla's been. She's tolerated her entire pregnancy without cardiac complications. With the accident, though, I'm not taking any chances. She's thirty-one weeks. It's risky, but if we don't take the child, we won't save the mother.”

The paramedics brought the gurney in on a run, shouting vital signs, briefing Zach on the injuries, telling him the patient had insisted on being brought to Maitland Maternity Clinic rather than the emergency room.

Annabelle hooked up monitors, prepared Layla for emergency surgery, her heart racing, wishing Dr. Lee would hurry up and administer the anesthesia. Cut and bleeding, there was no way this woman would have the strength to deliver naturally.

“Someone call ER and get the attending in here,” Zach yelled over the noise. A nurse ran to the wall phone.

The heart monitor Annabelle had hooked up suddenly screamed, flat-lined.

Zach cursed. An eerie calm engulfed Annabelle even as she made snap decisions. Ingrained procedure took over.

She snatched the cesarean tray and thrust it within Zach's reach, slapped a scalpel in his hand, then kicked a stool next to the gurney to give her height and leverage and began manual CPR compressions, shouting to the mother. Until Zach got the baby out, she couldn't use the defibrillation paddles.

“Come on, Layla. Don't do this, dammit! You've got a baby coming into this world. Hold on for him.” Her arms burned and shook from the exertion. Another nurse squeezed the oxygen pump. Where the heck was the ER doctor? “Come back to me, Layla.”

The baby was out and gave a single, very weak cry.

“It's a boy, Layla. Fight, dammit. Come back.” Her arms were fatigued, her throat going hoarse. “Open your eyes, look at your baby!”

At last the heart monitor beeped an unsteady sinus rhythm of thirty, then forty. Not great, but it would do.

She looked at Zach, at the baby who wasn't much bigger than his palm. He shook his head, shrugged, then handed the tiny infant off to the neonatal nurse who rushed it to NICU.

Despite the horrendous struggle that child would have clinging to life, Annabelle said, “He's beautiful, Layla. You did it, sweetie. Good job.”

And Zach had done a good job, as well. He'd had that baby out in four minutes. That was excellent for the prognosis of the child, less time to be oxygen starved.

She stood back so the attending physician could check the rest of Layla's injuries and assisted Zach in closing the incision.

He glanced at her. “You're a hell of a woman, Annabelle Reardon.”

His voice was filled with awe…and something that sounded suspiciously like love.

 

Z
ACH LOOKED
for Annabelle in the lounge and frowned when she wasn't there. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones.

He headed toward the exit doors, saw her walking across the parking lot.

Dammit. He jogged to catch up with her, reached for her arm to stop her. “Hey, slugger. It's customary to go home with the guy who brought you.”

“I thought you'd be a while, maybe want to stay and monitor Layla.”

“I've done all I can. The rest is up to the internists and vascular guys. Besides, haven't we had this conversation before about you walking the streets at night?” He tried to tease, but it fell flat.

“I've been taking care of myself for a lot of years, Zach. I don't need a keeper.”

He frowned at her tone. “What's going on, Annabelle?” He hadn't counted on the emotions that would swamp him when he made love with Annabelle. Like the door to a castle yawning open, letting out all the secrets and knowledge of the universe, he'd known in an instant what he'd been searching for all these years.

It wasn't work, or single-minded goals, or money and respect.

It was Annabelle. It was this enormous feeling inside him that filled him like the heat of surgical lights, bathing him in the glow of love, in a rightness that couldn't be denied.

“We had a good time together, Zach. But you're right.
It's not wise to get involved with co-workers. I think we should cool things down before they get out of hand.”

“Out of…they're already out of hand on my part.”

Annabelle drew in a deep breath, praying for strength. Grabbing at straws, she said, “What about that age difference you're always harping about? It won't work, Zach.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Her insides were twisted into knots. She couldn't hold on. Had to. But one look at the hurt expression on his face, and she crumbled. She shook her head, whispered, “No.” The pain was tearing her up.

He put a finger under her chin, lifted her face. “I love you, Annabelle. I've never said that to a woman before.”

Oh, God. Tears burned, filled her throat, spilled over her lids.

“Oh, baby, don't.” He drew her into his arms, held her. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what this is really about.”

They were alone in the parking lot, spotlighted by the mercury vapor lights. She wished she could say this in the dark so she wouldn't have to see the pity in his eyes.

“I don't think I can have children. The accident that killed my mom also did internal damage to me.”

He looked at her as though waiting for the bad part.

“Zach. You're a man who's made to be a father. Didn't you hear me? I can't give you babies.”

He frowned, clearly puzzled. “I don't remember asking you to. Still, look where you work, Annabelle. This job of all jobs—this place—should give you hope.”

“Yes, it gives me hope. But it doesn't give me guarantees. I could never ask you to enter into a relationship when having a child isn't a certainty. That's why I insisted on a no-strings relationship—”

“Relationship?” he interrupted incredulously. “I don't want a
relationship,
dammit. I want a partnership. Marriage. I'm not marrying a baby maker, I'm marrying the woman I love. The woman who's all I need.”

Just like him to speak as though she'd already agreed.

“You're not listening,” she said, but hope made the protest weak.

“No,
you're
not listening. You've had my life in turmoil since the minute I laid eyes on you eight months ago. Maybe this will get your attention.”

He brought her right up on the tips of her toes and gave her a kiss that blanked her mind of everything, a kiss that was filled with promise, with hope, with a love so all-encompassing every last piece of her life fell into place like a completed puzzle.

“Now tell me you don't love me,” he challenged.

How had she ever gotten so lucky? “Eight months?” she asked. “You've had a thing for me for eight months?”

“For every minute of every hour.”

Happiness nearly brought her to her knees. “We're a couple of fools and we've wasted a lot of time.”

“Annabelle…”

She knew what he wanted to hear.

“Yes, Zach. I
do
love you. I have…for every minute of every hour since you walked into Maitland Maternity with those sexy dimples and do-something-or-get-out-of-my-way attitude.”

“And you'll marry me.”

“It might be nice if you asked.”

“I just did.”

“No. You told me.”

He took her hand, got down on one knee. Annabelle glanced around the parking lot, giggled. Zachary Beau
mont wasn't the type of man to go for open displays in public—on dirty asphalt.

“Annabelle Reardon, will you do me the honor of marrying me? Be my wife, my partner and my love for as long as we live?”

Tears blurred her vision. She tugged at his hand. “Yes. For heaven's sake, stand up before security comes over here shining a spotlight on us.”

He laughed, picked her up off the ground and swung her around. “That's one of the things I love about you. I know I'll never have a dull moment around you.”

After he kissed her senseless, Annabelle pulled back. “Tell me something?”

“Anything.”

“What's with the case of water in your office, the bottles you're always carrying around lately.”

He laughed long and loud. “After the McCallum quints were born, I was noticing the difference in Madeline Russell and realizing that half our colleagues were taking the matrimonial walk down the aisle. I had this crazy notion that somebody had put a love potion in the drinking fountain.”

“And now?” she asked.

“I'm throwing away my bottled water. Love had bitten me way before that, the minute you fixed those green eyes on me and held out your hand in introduction.”

“Well, then, it's nice to know I've got such a potent touch.”

“Oh, you do. Absolutely.”

He drew her into his arms and kissed her, and Annabelle knew once and for all that what began that hot August night after their special delivery of the McCallum quintuplets was truly real.

A forever love.

And with luck, whether through natural means or medical assistance, someday they just might have their own very special delivery.

Because love was hope…and love healed.