Part 15 (2/2)
”We've got something to tell you,” Ivy said.
”I gathered that from all the nervous looks and evasions last night when I asked her why she was so restless,” Jean said with amus.e.m.e.nt. ”But I've already guessed, you know, and I'm sorry to steal your thunder. You're getting married, so congratulations are in order.”
”It's...a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid,” Ryder said, and actually looked sheepish. He sat down beside Jean on the sofa and took her hand, so much like Ivy's, in his. ”We're going to have a baby,” he said, the awe and delight of the statement in his pale eyes, in his smile.
”She can't,” Jean explained. ”Have babies, I mean.”
”She's pregnant, all the same,” Ryder grinned. ”We just got the test results from Dr. Jameson.”
Jean grabbed her chest. ”Glory!” she burst out. ”Oh, Ivy!” Her smile was astonished, radiant.
Ivy joined them on the sofa, hugging her mother tearfully. ”Isn't it incredible? All those years, and I never, and then the first time with Ryder...” She realized what she was saying and went scarlet.
Jean looked from Ivy's red face to Ryder's red face and pursed her lips. ”Paris?”
”Paris,” they sighed together.
”You're not married!”
”We got a license on the way home. We'll be married tomorrow. Okay?” he asked.
Jean glowered at him. ”I ought to smack both of you.”
”I love her,” he said, glancing warmly at Ivy. ”I waited five years to show her how much.” He shrugged. ”I showed her a little more graphically than I meant to.”
Jean didn't have an argument left. ”If you waited five years, I can understand how it happened. My gosh, she walked around here turning green every morning at breakfast and I never even suspected, not even when she started going to bed with the chickens.”
”None of us suspected, me least of all,” Ivy laughed. ”Ryder told me I was pregnant. I had no idea what was wrong with me.”
Jean whistled. ”You'll never live that one down. I can see you now, trying to explain it to your children.”
”One of my aunts had twins,” Ryder murmured speculatively. ”Are there any twins in your family?”
”My grandmother had twins,” Jean recalled. ”Your great-uncle Harry and your great-uncle Todd,” she reminded Ivy. ”They aren't identical, but they're twins.”
”Twins would be lovely,” Ivy sighed, smiling at Ryder.
”Twins, triplets, whatever,” he murmured. ”I hope we don't die of it,” he said slowly, searching her eyes on a soft sigh.
”Die of what?” Ivy asked, smiling dreamily.
”Happiness,” he said.
Jean laughed and hugged him. ”I know exactly how you feel. Welcome to the family, son.”
They were married the following afternoon, and that night as Ivy lay in Ryder's arms in his own bedroom, she snuggled close and reflected on the wedding.
”It was so lovely,” she said. ”All those flowers, and Eve for a bridesmaid and her children for flower girls.”
”And the most beautiful bride in the world.” He bent and kissed her very gently. They were wearing nightclothes, tucked up together, but he hadn't made love to her and she was curious as to why.
”You're very distant for a new bridegroom,” she pointed out, smiling at him in the soft lamplight. ”Aren't you the same man who was going to seduce me on an Indian mound just three days ago?”
”Two,” he corrected. ”And, yes, I was. But you were tired after the ceremony and seeing Eve and Curt and the boys off at the airport.”
She turned and slid closer to him, one soft hand finding his flat belly and teasing the thick hair.
He s.h.i.+vered and caught his breath.
”I thought it was all an act,” she breathed, and brought her mouth down on his bare chest.
He guided her hand to his body and turned, sliding one long, powerful leg between both of hers. ”Gently,” he whispered through an anguish of need. ”Gently. We have to remember our baby.”
”Yes.” She kissed him back, adoring him, showing her love with all the tenderness she felt as he stroked her body and laced kisses over her taut, swollen b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
She'd never known that lovemaking could be so tender, or so profound. He measured his body to hers and aroused her softly, until she was trembling and clinging to him, and only then did he bring her hips to his and tenderly begin the sweet, slow process of loving.
She felt the warm hardness of his body filling her, and she opened her eyes and looked into his, s.h.i.+vering with the achingly poignant hunger he'd aroused.
His hand went to the base of her spine and he smiled through his own need as he began to bring her closer. She absorbed him with ease, and there was none of the discomfort he'd had to subject her to during their first time.
”It doesn't hurt,” she managed shakily.
”It isn't supposed to.” His mouth touched hers. ”You were like a virgin in Paris. Now you're my woman completely. We fit together like a hand and a glove.”
Her breath caught at the a.n.a.logy. He held her eyes and pushed softly, deeply, until he was as close to her as he could get. Only then did he pause and catch his breath before he began to move.
It was unbelievable. She stared straight into his eyes the whole time, feeling his body brus.h.i.+ng hers in a slow, tender rhythm, his hair-roughened chest and stomach a sweet abrasion against her soft skin. She touched his chest and felt the hardness of a flat male nipple wonderingly as the pleasure caught her unaware and suddenly jerked her in his arms.
Her mouth opened on a low moan, her eyes clouded. He watched her with pure masculine triumph, feeling the pleasure build in her even as it built in him. He increased the rhythm and the pressure, holding her body where he wanted it with both hands at her hips, his voice coaxing, praising as she matched his urgent movements.
The room swam around her. She heard the sound of flesh against fabric under them, the rough sigh of his breath as he moved harder, closer, the building groan that emanated from his broad chest as he started up the swift climb to fulfillment.
She went with him, her own body lifted with pleasure as his deep movements suddenly unlocked her body and gave him total, absolute access to some hidden dark ecstasy. They seemed to throb as it culminated, clinging to each other in blind oblivion as heat burst in them and echoed in a feverish aching rhythm of pleasure.
It was gone so soon, almost as soon as they reached it. She buried her face in his damp, shuddering chest and wept.
”Why can't it last?” she moaned shakily.
He understood. His mouth touched her hair, her damp forehead. ”How could we live through it, if it did?” he whispered. ”No, don't move,” he breathed when she s.h.i.+fted. ”Here.”
He rolled over onto his back, but without separating them. His hand at the base of her spine held her where they were locked together and his arms contracted, cradling her on his body.
”All right?” he asked above her head.
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