Carol escorted him to her front door and his hungry kiss revealed all his pent-up frustration.

"You’re sure?" he asked one last time, giving her a round-eyed look that would put a puppy to shame.

"No…I’m not the least bit sure," she admitted, and when his eyes widened even more, she laughed aloud at the excitement that flared to life so readily. "I don’t like this any better than you do," she told him, "but I honestly think it’s necessary. When the time’s right we’ll know it."

He shut his eyes and nodded. "I was afraid of that."

Chapter Seventeen

Carol woke before seven Saturday morning, determined to get an early start on painting the baby’s bedroom. She dressed in a old pair of summer shorts with a wide elastic band and a Seahawk T-shirt that had once been Steve’s. A western bandana knotted at the base of her skull covered her blond hair. She looked like something out of the movie Aliens, she decided, smiling.

Oh, well, she wouldn’t be seeing Steve. She regretted turning down his offer of help now, but it was too late for second thoughts. She hadn’t seen him since the night they’d gone to the movies, nor had he phoned. That concerned her a little, but she tried not to let it bother her.

He was probably angry about her not letting him spend the night. Well, for his information, she’d been just as frustrated as he was. She’d honestly wanted him to stay – in fact, she’d tossed and turned in bed for a good hour after he’d left her, mulling over her decision. It may have been the right one, but it didn’t take away this ache of loneliness, or ease her own sexual frustration.

For six years the only real communication between them had been on a mattress. It was long past time they started building a solid foundation of love and trust. Those qualities were basic to a lifetime relationship, and they’d both suffered for not cultivating them.

By nine, Carol had the bedroom floor carpeted with a layer of newspapers. The windows were taped and she was prepared to do the cutting in around the corners and ceiling.

She carried the stepladder to the far side of the room and, humming softly, started brushing on the pale pink paint.

"What are you doing on that ladder?"

The voice startled her so much that she nearly toppled from her precarious perch. "Steve Kyle," she cried, violently expelling her breath. "You scared me half out of my mind."

"Sorry," he mumbled, frowning.

"What are you doing here?"

"I… I thought you could use some help." He held up a white sack. "Knowing you, you probably forgot to eat breakfast. I brought you something."

Now that she thought about it, Carol realized she hadn’t had anything to eat.

"Thanks," she said grinning, grateful to see him. "I’m starved."

Climbing down the stepladder, she set aside the paint and brush and reached for the sack. "Milk," she said taking out a small carton, "and a muffin with egg and cheese." She smiled up at him and brushed her mouth over his cheek. "Thanks."

"Sit," he ordered, turning over a cardboard box as a mock table for her.

"What about you?"

"I had orange juice and coffee on the way over here." Hands on his hips, he surveyed her efforts. "Good grief, woman, you must have been at this for hours."

"Since seven," she said between bites. "It’s going to be a scorcher today, and I wanted to get an early start."

He nodded absently, then turned the cap he was wearing around so that the brim pointed toward his back. Next, he picked up the paintbrush and coffee can she’d been using to hold paint. "I don’t want you on that ladder, understand?"

"Aye, aye, Captain."

He responded to her light sarcasm with a soft chuckle. "Have you missed me?" he asked, turning momentarily to face her.

Carol dropped her gaze and nodded. "I thought you might be angry about the other night when you wanted to stay and – "

"Carol, no," he objected immediately. "I understood and you were right. I couldn’t call – I’ve had twenty-four-hour duty."

Almost immediately Carol’s spirits lifted and she placed the wrapper from her breakfast inside the paper sack. "Did you miss me?" she asked, loving the way his eyes brightened at her question.

"Come here and I’ll show you how much."

Laughing, she shook her head. "No way, fellow. I’d like my baby’s bedroom painted before she makes her debut." Carol noted the way Steve’s face still tightened at the mention of her pregnancy and some of the happiness she’d experienced by his unexpected visit evaporated. He’d told her he was trying to accept her child and she believed him, but her patience was wearing perilously thin. After all, this child was his, too, and it was time he acknowledged the fact.

Pride drove her chin so high that the back of her neck ached. She reached for another paintbrush, her shoulders stiff with frustration. "I can do this myself, you know."

"I know," he returned.

"It isn’t like I’m helpless."

"I know that, too."

Her voice trembled a little. "It isn’t like you really want this baby."

An electric silence vibrated between them, arcing and spitting tension. Steve reacted to it first by lowering his brush.

"Carol, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say or do anything to upset you. My offer to help is sincere – I’d like to do what I can, if you’ll let me."

She bit into her lower lip and nodded. "I… I was being oversensitive, I guess."

"No," he hurried to correct her, "the problem is mine, but I’m dealing with it the best way I know how. I need time, that’s all."

His gaze dropped to her protruding stomach and Carol saw a look of anguish flitter through his eyes, one so fleeting, so transient that for a second she was sure she was mistaken.

"Well," she said, drawing in a deep breath. "Are we going to paint or are we going to sit here and grumble at each other all day?"

"Paint," Steve answered, swiping the air with his brush, as if he were warding off pirates.

Carol smiled, then placed the back of her hand over her forehead and sighed. "My hero," she said teasingly.

By noon the last of the walls were covered and the white trim complete around the window and door.

Carol stepped back to survey their work. "Oh, Steve," she said with an elongated sigh. She slipped her arm around his waist. "It’s lovely."

"I sincerely hope you get the girl you want so much, because a boy could take offense at all this pink."

"I am having a girl."

"You’re sure?" He cocked his eyebrows with the question, his expression dubious.

"No-o-o, but my odds are fifty-fifty, and I’m choosing to think positive."

His arm tightened around her waist. "You’ve got paint in your hair," he said, looking down at her.

Wrinkling her nose, she riffled her fingers through her bangs. Steve’s hand stopped her. His eyes lovingly stroked her face as if he meant to study each feature and commit it to memory. His gaze filled with such longing, such adoration that Carol felt as if she were some heavenly creature he’d been forbidden to touch. He raised his hand to her mouth and she stopped breathing for a moment.

His touch was unbelievably delicate as he rubbed the back of his knuckles over her moist lips. He released her and backed away, his breath audible.

Carol lifted her hand to the side of his face and he closed his eyes when the tips of her fingers grazed his cheek.

"Thank you for being here," she whispered. "Thank you for helping."

"I always want to be with you." He placed his hand over hers, intertwining their fingers. Tenderly, almost against his will, he lowered his knuckles to her breast, dragging them across the rigid, sensitive tip. Slowly. Gently. Back and forth. Again and again.

Carol sucked in her breath at the wild sensation that galloped through her blood. Her control was slipping. Fast. She felt weak, as though she would drop to the floor, and yet she didn’t let go of his hand, pinning it against her throbbing nipple.

"How does that feel?" he asked, and he rotated his thumb around and around, intensifying the pleasure.

"…so good," she told him, her voice husky and barely audible.

"It’s good for me, too."

His eyes were closed. As Carol watched his face harden with desire she knew her features were equally sharp.

He kissed her then, and the taste of him was so sweet, so incredibly good. His lips teased hers, his tongue probing her mouth, tracing first her upper and then her lower lip in a leisurely exercise. The kiss grew sweeter yet, and deeper.

Steve broke away and pressed his forehead against hers while taking in huge, ragged puffs of air. "There’s something you should know."

"What?" She wrapped her hands around his middle, craving the feel of his body against her own.

"The orders for the Atlantis came in. I have to leave tomorrow."

Carol went stock-still. "Tomorrow?"

"I’m sorry, honey. I’d do anything I could to get out of this, but I can’t."

"I… know."

"I got some Family-grams so you can let me know when the baby’s born."

Carol remembered completing the short telegramlike messages while they were married. She was allowed to send a handful during the course of a tour, but under strict conditions. She wasn’t allowed to use any codes, and she was prohibited from relaying any unpleasant news. She had forty-six words to tell him everything that was happening in her life. Forty-six words to tell him when his daughter was born, forty-six words to convince him this baby was his.

His hand slipped inside the waistband of her summer shorts and flattened over the baby. "I’ll be waiting to hear."

Carol didn’t know what to tell him. The baby could very well be born while he was away. It all depended on his schedule.

"I’d like to be here for you."

"I’ll be fine…. Both of us will." Carol felt as if she was going to dissolve into tears, her anguish was so keen. Her hand reached for his face and she traced his eyebrows, the arch of his cheek, his nose and his mouth with fingers that trembled with the strength of her love.

His hands slid behind her and cupped her buttocks, lifting her so that the junction between her thighs was nestled against the strong evidence of his desire.

"I want to make love," she whispered into his mouth, and then kissed him.

He shut his eyes. "Carol, no – you were right, we should wait. We’ve done this too often before… we…"

She hooked her left leg around his thigh and felt a surge of triumph at the shudder that went through him.

"Carol…"

Before he could think or move, she jerked the T-shirt off her head and quickly disposed of her bra. Her mouth worked frantically over his, darting her tongue in and out of his mouth, kissing him with a hunger that had been building within her for months. Her fingers worked feverishly at the buttons of his shirt. Once it was unfastened, she pulled his shirttails free of his waistband and bared his chest. Having achieved her objective, she leaned toward him just enough so that her bare breasts grazed his chest.