The Black Sheep’s Baby

you want. You want me to tell you you’re right, that the lies Susan told you are true. That our parents-” She gasped and jerked her hand back. Clutching it with the other, she began to swear in a low and furious whimper.

He reached for her, swearing himself; he’d caught a glimpse of telltale crimson, though she tried to shield it from him with her body. “Let me see. How bad is it?” She was on her feet, now, and so was he. “Come on, Devon- dammit-”

She twisted out of his grasp, stubbornly determined to evade him. Just as stubbornly he caught her by the arms and turned her to him. Her eyes blazed at him, more golden now than green. “Leave me alone. It’s just a cut, for God’s sake.” She whispered it, desperate rather than angry. “I just need some tissue-” Her eyes darted past him in futile search.

He captured her hands in both of his and held them up so he could see the damage. A thin rivulet of blood spiraled down her left index finger in a candy cane design. His head spun; his heart thundered. “You need a bandage on that,” he said thickly, surprised at how calm he sounded. “Some antiseptic. There’s some in the bathroom.”

She tugged on her hands, trying again to pull away from him. “No-your parents-they’ll hear. Please. Just give me something to wrap it in. A handkerchief-anything.”

There was a plastic jar of baby wipe cloths on his nightstand, just out of reach. Afraid to let go of her, afraid she’d bolt if he did, he led her closer to the bed and holding her hands in one of his, reached to pluck several of the cloths from the jar. He wadded them around her bleeding finger, then folded it in and enfolded her hands in his. Held them close to him, close to his chest, close to his rapidly beating heart.

He didn’t know how to help her. Leave me alone, she’d begged him. He couldn’t do that, not until he’d given up all hope of ever getting from her what he so desperately needed. There was too much at stake-a little girl’s future, not to mention his own. But she knew that-most of it.

What he hadn’t anticipated, and what was complicating his life more than he’d thought possible, was that Devon’s future had come to matter to him, too. She mattered. And he honestly didn’t know whether forcing her to remember a nightmare past was going to help or hurt her in the long run. He thought it ought to help-like opening up a wound to allow it to heal. But what did he know about it, really? Sometimes, he knew, doctors might choose to leave a bullet or piece of shrapnel in someone because removing it would cause more damage than leaving it alone.

He didn’t want to hurt her, or leave her alone-that much he knew. He wanted what he couldn’t have. He wanted a miracle.

“Devon,” he whispered, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you’re willing to,” she said, staring at their clasped hands, “to keep Emily.”

He flinched inside but didn’t try to evade the truth. “Yes.” With eyes closed he bowed his head; his exhalation flowed like a caress over her fingers. “At first, believe me, it was just that simple. But it’s not anymore. It’s complicated. These past few days, Devon, I’ve come-dammit, I-”

She gave a cry, and her uninjured hand jerked from his grasp to press against his lips. Breathless and distraught, shaking her head rapidly, she whimpered, “No, no, no-” like a child denying the inevitable. “Don’t you say it. You can’t have feelings for me. You can’t. I can’t have feelings for you-”

“But you do,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

She couldn’t deny it, any more than he could. She didn’t try. He felt her go still, still as death. Her mouth seemed to blur. The vulnerability of it tore at his heart.

Then his mouth was soft on hers…she whimpered, and he felt her lips quiver. The kiss grew urgent, hungry, and she was sobbing, the salt-sweet taste of her tears on his tongue. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, crept up the back of his neck. Her fingers burrowed into his hair. She gasped-or did he? He folded her close and held her hard against him, fearing his pounding heart would unbalance them both.

“I want you to make love to me,” she whispered with her lips close to his ear. And she went on before he could answer. “I know it’s insane. I know it’s wrong. But I think I’ll go crazy if we don’t, just once.”

He nodded. “I agree with everything you said. And it terrifies me.” He gave a small, shaken laugh.

“I know. Me, too.”

I never thought I could feel this way, Devon thought. That nothing else matters so much, that there is nothing more important than making love with this man, here and now. No matter the consequences. No matter the cost. The rest of my life will just have to work itself out somehow.

She drew back from him, but only a little. She held his face between her hands, and even the wad of baby wipe cloths on her finger failed to distract her as she said earnestly, breathless with resolve, “It’s just this once…just for tonight. It has to be…”

“I know.”

She felt a shock pass through his body, like a small seismic quake, and he held her harder against him. Yes, this terrifies me, too, she thought.

“It’s all right if you don’t have a condom.” She whispered it, but her voice quivered with nervousness. “I think I can trust you. I know you can trust me. And I am on the pill.”

He pulled back a little to look at her, his whiskey eyes warm and wry, half wary, half amused. “Will you think badly of me if I tell you I have one?”

“Why would I think badly of you? For being prepared-”

“I don’t know, maybe you’d think I’m some sort of playboy-”

She laughed, and it felt warm and good deep down in her belly. “Eric, you’re the last man I’d mistake for a playboy.”

He laughed, too, a delicious quivering against her stomach. “I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not.”

“It is,” she said, and added dryly, “Trust me.” She lifted her face to him and he kissed her again, long and deeply this time. Exploring…inviting…promising. By the time he lifted his head again she was dizzy with longing, drunk with desire.

“Devon,” he said in a thickened voice, “you’re not going to change your mind again, are you?”

“No,” she whispered, “are you?”

He lowered his mouth to hers. And that was his only answer.

Chapter 15

H e drew her to the bed and they sat together on its edge, hands clasped, like children about to embark on a wondrous and terrifying adventure. Her eyes were brilliant, like emeralds, like diamonds, never leaving his as she picked up the edge of her black turtleneck and slowly drew it up and off.

As each slender inch of her body revealed itself to him, his hands touched her there, and he felt the soft skin of her belly and ribcage roughen with goose bumps. Her bra was black lace, stark against the ivory of her skin… translucent, like the insides of some shells. Reverently, he cradled the warm weight of her breasts in his hands, bent to kiss the sweet cleft between, the shadowy blush of her nipples-inhaling the citrus scent of her skin and tasting fabric and woman as he made both of them warm and wet in his mouth, then cold and shivering to hardness when he left them. He felt her gasp, and her breathing grow sharp and shallow.

He raised his head and looked at her. Her arms were still upraised and her hands fumbled, trembling, in the fastenings of her hair. Without saying anything, he gently pushed her hands away and usurped that task for himself. He plunged his fingers into the rich warm masses of her hair, letting them burrow without thought or plan to guide them, simply reveling in the sensual joy of touch. He kissed her the same way, and she him, in mindless, uncaring ways. The warmth, the feathery touch of mouths, the sharing of quick, rapturous breaths was enough for then. For the moment. He was in no hurry, and neither was she. He felt a sense of timelessness, of rarity, of awe, like being privileged to witness a comet that appears once in a millennium.

Though it was his first time making love to her, there wasn’t the nervousness and fear, the excited urgency of other first times he remembered. He thought it was because it was also the first time he’d made love with love. He felt no need to be a virtuoso, no pressure to achieve a particular level of