The Baby Connection

“If you’re not, then this is a damn fine dream.” He cupped her face with warm palms. “I hope it lasts all night.”

She lifted her hips against him, bending her knees, letting him know where she wanted him to be.

“I need more of this,” he said, casting a hungry eye over her body.

Inwardly, she groaned with impatience. Then his fingers traced her nipples and she shuddered with pleasure. Maybe he had a point. Slow could be very good….

He explored her with careful fingers—her breasts and stomach, her hips and thighs. When he finally touched her where she most burned for him, she bucked against his hand, white-hot need coursing through her.

“Be…inside…before I…come.” She could barely form the words.

He applied the condom and did what she’d been waiting for with one sweet stroke. It felt so good she nearly yelped.

He stilled there, inside her, letting the desire between them build, while their hearts pounded, their breaths came in harsh gasps, their bodies pumped out heat. Finally, they began to move together, sliding forward and back in glorious unison, like a dance they knew to their bones.

Mel’s climax came fast.

Noah watched, holding her. “Yeah…that’s it… So nice,” he said while she quivered and quaked against him, saying “Oh” over and over again.

When she stilled, he murmured, “Beautiful,” and sped his thrusts and soon pulsed inside her.

Afterward, she lay across him, recovering little by little, amazed by what had happened. She’d had sex with a man she hardly knew, except through his work, and it had been easy and natural, with none of the usual first-time awkwardness or adjustments.

This felt like a dream. It looked like one, too, with the lamplight washing them in gold, the same glowing shade that colored her best dreams—all of the sex ones, where she awoke rocking her hips against the sheets.

Noah rose on an elbow to study her, tracing her jaw with the tips of his fingers, then her cheek. “You have a great face. Like a model. The cheekbones and shape. Beautiful skin, too.”

“That’s the Indian in me. The bone structure and skin color. Some Latinos think the whiter you are, the more class you have, but my mother taught me to be proud to be mestizo—a mix of Spanish and Indian.”

“Were you born in the U.S.?”

“Just barely. When my mother fled Salvador, she was pregnant. The trauma of the crossing put her into labor.”

“She fled?”

“She’d been speaking out against the death squads, even though her family begged her not to. Others who’d protested had been killed or disappeared. The guerrillas helped her escape. Sympathetic clergy connected her with American college students who got her over the border, but the desert trek was brutal.”

“She must have been very brave.”

“She was. She was only twenty. She had a mission, too. A journalist named Xavier Sosa had taken pictures of a village massacre he wanted the rest of the world to see. She brought the film to the U.S.”

“And…?”

“And the photos did shift public opinion, but not enough to change U.S. policy, which supported the regime at the time. Her request for asylum failed as a result.” She paused. “Eventually, she applied for amnesty and got her papers.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“The tragedy was that Xavier Sosa ‘disappeared.’ Killed, like other brave reporters and dissidents, even clergy. I think about him a lot. He laid down his life for the truth.”

Noah didn’t speak, simply held her tighter.

She didn’t usually get so fervent, but this night was special.

“Did what happen to him influence your career choice?” he asked.

She returned his gaze. “Yes. He’s a good part of why I wanted to become a news photographer. I never told anyone before.” In a way, that was more intimate than the sex they’d shared. She knew he would respect her secret.

“It’s a powerful story, Mel.” He paused. “I’m curious. What about your father? Where was he during all this?”

“Chasing an earthquake probably. He was with the Red Cross and left her village before my mother even knew she was pregnant. She wrote to him. He visited when I was little. It was…strange.” She shrugged, her feelings so mixed she kept them shut away. “He had a different life in mind for himself.”

“You were still his child.”

“By accident. Not his decision.”

He let her words hang for a few seconds. “When my mother got pregnant, my father married her. He was nineteen, he’d just joined the Army, and the last thing he wanted was to be tied down. He loved the nomad life. If he was stationed somewhere too long, he got irritable and antsy. He should never have married.”

“That’s harsh, don’t you think? He was young.”

“Some people aren’t cut out for families. They’re too restless, too tied up in their work, too selfish maybe. I’m like him that way, but at least I figured it out before I did any real damage.”

“So, no broken hearts in your wake?”

“We parted by mutual agreement.” He gave her a rueful smile. She could see he’d be easy to fall for. He was warm and sexy and so interested in whatever she said. But he was restless and his career came first.

She felt the same way, though when the time was right she wanted a family and a man to share it with, of course. “How do you get along with him now? Your dad?” she asked him.

“He’s gone—killed in a truck crash on the base when I was in college. I hope to hell he never knew what hit him. He would have hated dying so stupidly.”

“Was that hard on you, losing him?”

“I didn’t really know him.” He shrugged.

She understood the feeling well enough. Her father wasn’t dead, but he hadn’t wanted Mel any more than Noah’s father had wanted him. “What about your mom?”

“After he died, Eleanor found her wings, she told me. Started traveling. She has a condo in Florida, but she’s rarely there.”

“Are you close with her?”

“We’re different people. She wasn’t that happy about having a kid, I don’t think, though she did her best and I turned out okay. How about you and your mother?” He clearly didn’t want to talk about this.

“We’re close. She’s my best friend. I’m lucky that way.” She yawned, her body sinking into the mattress, feeling drowsy. She should probably head home before she drifted to sleep.

“You have plans this weekend?” he asked softly.

“Laundry, groceries, sleeping in.” She’d quit the studio job and the free weekend was her graduation gift to herself. “What about you?”

“Background reading and research calls. I fly to Fort Bragg Sunday afternoon, then leave for Iraq two days later.” He ran his fingers lightly along her arm. “What I’d rather do is order room service and enjoy you.” He traced her side, then moved to her thigh. “Stay with me, Mel.”