She froze, her lemonade glass trembling in her hand, when he leaned over on his hip and matter-of-factly placed his hand on her belly. After a second she inhaled sharply, stunned by the weight of his hand on her rising abdomen.
“Have you really been feeling okay?” Ryan asked, his voice sounding husky and nearer than she expected.
She nodded, keeping her gaze aimed straight ahead. He’d called every few days during his absence and always asked her about her health.
“I talked to Mari yesterday. She told me that you were showing—a little tiny bit, anyway,” he said, shifting his hand upward. Prickles of pleasure went through her. Her breasts were growing so full that in her partially reclining position, his hand almost cradled them. “She said you two found a dress. For the wedding.”
“We did,” Faith said, trying to sound normal. She took a swig of her lemonade, feeling ridiculous doing something so mundane while Ryan touched her so intimately. She knew she should tell him to stop touching her, but she couldn’t help but feel it would draw attention to the significance of the contact...
...the impact it was having on her.
“I needed something new anyway. I’ve gone up a size, with the baby,” she explained, hoping he didn’t think she’d gone shopping like a breathless bride for her dream wedding dress. “Mari and I had a nice time, shopping together for it in downtown Holland. We went to lunch afterward.” She risked a sideways glance. His gaze was glued to her face, but his hand lowered over her belly, as if he were tracing the slight convexness. He was just eager to feel his growing child, that’s all. She tried like crazy to ignore the fireworks of sensation going off in her body as his hand reached the lower curve, his pinky resting at the top of her pelvis. A heavy, pleasant ache expanded at her core.
Focus, she told herself.
“Your sister is such a wonderful person. I can’t wait to meet Marc,” Faith said in a pressured fashion, desperate to turn her attention away from Ryan’s stroking hand. “Are you close to Marc?” she asked in an odd, high-pitched voice as she blindly watched Topsy sink her sharp little teeth into a chew toy.
His deck chair squeaked next to her, and Faith realized he’d leaned closer. His hand moved yet again, the slight bump in her belly curving into his palm.
“We used to be best friends when we were kids,” Ryan murmured, sounding distracted. Faith nervously took a sip of lemonade as his hand slid up her abdomen. This time he went farther, the ridge of his forefinger grazing her lower breasts. “Before the accident his father caused, that is,” he added, moving his hand in a slight sawing motion, stimulating the sensitive skin of her ribs.
Faith stifled a choking sound. Her nipples drew tight against the clinging fabric of her bra.
“After the accident, Marc and I had a falling out,” Ryan continued quietly. Faith struggled to recall the topic. His hand lowered again, this time detailing the side of her abdomen, making it very difficult for her to breathe. “A pretty severe falling out, actually. It came to blows during the lawsuit hearings, I remember.”
“You two fought?” Faith asked, startled. She found herself examining his dark head and profile. He stared fixedly at his hand on her stomach. He nodded.
“Yeah. It almost came to blows again a few years ago when Mari got involved with him after all this time. They were teenage sweethearts, you know.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Then the accident happened. And the lawsuits,” Ryan said so grimly that she temporarily forgot her discomfort—and arousal—at his possessive caress. Compassion for him filled her. She touched a crisp, short sideburn and he tilted his head, spearing her with his stare.
“It must have been so hard for you all—that accident, the losses...everything that came after it.”
He said nothing, but his dark eyes spoke to her, nonetheless.
“Will it be difficult for you? To have Mari and Marc stand up for us when we get...married on Sunday?” she asked, fumbling and blushing at the mention of what they would be doing in three days time.
“No. It’ll be fine,” he said.
It suddenly struck her that they were touching each other very intimately and speaking in hushed tones. She’d called him out here to clarify the safe boundaries of their arrangement, and instead, Ryan’s touch had turned her into a quivering, aroused bundle of nerves.
She dropped her hand and looked away. Slowly, Ryan removed his hand. She could almost feel his disappointment.
Or was it disapproval?
“So we’re all set? For the wedding?” he said, the location of his voice informing her that he’d leaned back in his chair.
“Yes. Father Mike will meet all of us at the orchard,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, even though she was breathless and she could still feel the imprint of his hand on her abdomen. “It was
a wonderful idea that you had, having the ceremony at the McKinley Farm and Orchard. The trees will be in full bloom. It’ll be beautiful.”
“Marc and Mari actually suggested it. They introduced me to it—and the Cherry Pie Café—last year. The McKinleys are nice people.”
Faith smiled. She knew the orchard owners, Nathan and Clarisse McKinley, and had eaten several times at their delicious, lakeside restaurant on the grounds. It’d never occurred to her before how perfect the location would be for a spring wedding.
Not that this was a real wedding or anything, she quickly reminded herself.