Beginning with Their Baby. Tracy Wolff

been calling, off and on, since I got off the phone with him at 8:30. It’s not my fault you sleep like the dead.”

      “I’m jet-lagged.” She tossed the comment flippantly over her shoulder as she yanked a pair of jeans and a tank top out of the suitcase she had yet to unpack. No need for him to know that she’d spent the night staring at the television while thoughts of the future spun through her mind like a Tilt-A-Whirl at high speed.

      “I know. And the articles I read last night said that pregnant women are always exhausted in the first few months—we’ll go to the doctor and then I’ll bring you back here to sleep.”

      “Why, thank you, Daddy. I really appreciate it.” She sauntered into the bathroom, closed the door with a snap.

      “Don’t go there,” he called through the door. “I’m not trying to order you around—I just want to make sure you and the baby are okay.”

      His concern warmed her, even as it made her heart hiccup a little in her chest. She’d been prepared for anger, annoyance, dismay—but his concern was unexpected. Not to mention disconcerting. She got dressed quickly, then took a couple of minutes to primp in the mirror—not because she thought she could do anything about the too-thin face with the dark circles that stared back at her, but because she didn’t want Matt to think he could rush her. It set a bad precedent.

      Only when her heartbeat was back to normal and she’d drawn her emotional armor around herself did she head back into the bedroom. “There better be coffee in that cup and it better be for me.”

      “It is.” He held the large white-and-green cup out to her. “It’s decaf. The Web sites said that caffeine—”

      “Is bad for the baby. I get it.” She took a sip of the fragrant brew and figured it was a sign of her willingness to play nice that she didn’t whimper at the lack of kick.

      “Are you ready to go?”

      “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She hunted around for sandals, found them in a tangle under the desk. “We need to stop at a bank, though. I need money.”

      “Don’t worry about it.” He held the door open for her, waiting as she preceded him through. “Matt.”

      “No charge for the first appointment—I told you he was a friend of mine.”

      “What happened to Sarah’s obstetrician?”

      “He retired. But Rick’s a better bet, anyway. He’s the best at what he does—even if his practice is on the other side of town.”

      “And he’s really willing to see me for free?”

      “Yes. I swear.”

      She turned and studied him suspiciously, but he seemed sincere. “Fine.” Her reply was less than gracious, but she wasn’t sure what to do with this man who took care of everything for her. She was used to taking care of herself and wasn’t sure how to feel now that Matt was taking over.

      When they got to his car, Matt held her door open for her—a habit she remembered from when they’d been together. How had she managed to get herself hooked up with one of the last gentlemen on the planet? It boggled the mind, so she let it go—it was far too early to contemplate issues of that weight, especially when the benign dictator next to her was denying her caffeine.

      Right before he pulled into traffic, Matt reached behind him and handed her a brown paper bag. She opened it and didn’t even bother to try and stifle her laugh.

      “Trying to fatten me up?”

      “I didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for. Besides, pregnant women need calcium and vitamins and—”

      She clapped a hand over his mouth with a playful grin. “I get it. You spent the night reading every prenatal Web site you could find.”

      He started to talk, but her hand was still over his lips. The motion of his jaw as he tried to speak had his lips brushing against her palm, and little shivers shot down her back at the sensation. She jerked her hand away. Maybe the baby wasn’t the only thing left of their previous relationship after all—yet one more thing she didn’t know how to feel about.

      To give herself something to do, she reached into the bag and pulled out a fruit-and-yogurt parfait. “Thanks,” she murmured as she popped off the top. “This was really thoughtful of you.”

      “No problem.” His voice sounded strained, but she was too busy digging into her breakfast to wonder why.

      AS MATT PULLED UP TO a red light, he glanced at Camille out of the corner of his eye and nearly groaned. Her hair was a wild halo around her face, and the coffee and food had put a rosy tint in her pale cheeks, a tint that—combined with her hair—reminded him too much of what she looked like after a long session of lovemaking. His hands clenched the steering wheel as he felt himself harden, and he cursed the fact that she could arouse him so easily. But from the moment she’d opened the door to her motel room in her skimpy purple robe, he’d been remembering what it felt like to touch her.

      To kiss her.

      To make love to her.

      In the few weeks they’d been together, he’d taken great delight in sliding his hands under that robe to caress her long, lean body. Seeing it again—on her—was like a slap in the face. Or a match to his libido.

      Part of him had wanted nothing more than to grab her and lift her against him until her fabulous legs were wrapped around his waist and he was once again inside her. She was pregnant with his child, after all. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t have a future connection.

      But at the same time, he didn’t want to go there. Or, at least, he told himself he didn’t. Camille had taken off without a backward glance once—what was to say she wouldn’t do it again? Especially if he pressured her for sex.

      No, this situation was difficult and chaotic enough without adding extra stress into the mix. Better to just leave things alone for a while—no need to invite more chaos because he had a difficult time controlling himself around her.

      The drive to the doctor’s office was made in almost complete silence—except for the soft murmurs of appreciation Camille gave every once in a while as she devoured the fruit-and-yogurt parfait he’d bought her. By the time they arrived at the tall glass-and-chrome building that housed his friend’s practice, a line of sweat was running down Matt’s back and he wanted nothing so much as to escape back to his simple, organized office.

      Camille shot him an amused look as Matt pulled up to the circular driveway near the door. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid, you know.”

      “I never said you were.

      “Just go park—I’m perfectly capable of walking a few hundred feet. I spent the past few weeks doing just that in Italy.”

      With Stefano. She didn’t say the words, but they echoed in Matt’s head anyway—a reminder of just how easy she’d found it to leave him—and replace him. Clenching his teeth against the thought, he murmured, “Humor me.”

      “Look, Matt—”

      “Camille, go sit on the bench. I’ll be back to get you in a minute.”

      “But—”

      “I know you’re a big girl. I know you can do this all by yourself. But the fact is, you’re not by yourself anymore. I’m a part of this baby’s life, too, so you might as well deal with it. Now, get out of the car.”

      His tone must have been firmer than he’d intended, because her eyes widened in a very un-Camille-like fashion. But she didn’t say another word, just gathered up her purse and the trash from her breakfast and climbed from the car.

      He was just thinking that perhaps he’d been a little too harsh when she slammed the door behind her so hard that his customized, lovingly restored ’68 Mustang shook from the impact. He grinned as he