“Thanks.” The former street urchin and current music vid sensation stared down at her daughter with sparkling eyes of unearthly blue. “Sometimes I look at her and just can’t believe she came out of me.”
“Do you have to bring up that part of it?” Eve asked and made Mavis laugh again.
“Maybe we could hang a little while more, unless you’re too tired. You guys look pretty whipped.”
“Could use a treatment,” Trina commented.
“Stay away from me.” Eve jabbed a finger in the consultant’s direction.
“We could use a meal.” Roarke smiled at their guests. “Why don’t you join us?”
“Summerset already fed us until we popped, but we could stick, keep you company. It’s off knowing our big daddy won’t be home when we get there, isn’t it, Bellarama?”
“I’ll prepare something right away.”
Eve saw Summerset shift and—anticipating—was quick and cowardly. She sidestepped, hip-bumped Roarke, leaving him in the line of fire.
She loved her man, would unquestionably risk her life for his. But when it came to babies, he could sink. She was swimming.
His arms came out instinctively, as a man’s might when something fragile or potentially explosive was about to be dropped into them. “I don’t…I should…Oh, well then,” he muttered as Summerset deftly made the transfer.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like?” The faintest wisp of a smile touched Summerset’s lips as Roarke’s eyes burned a hole through him. “For supper?”
“Something quick,” Roarke managed. He’d once diffused a bomb with seconds to spare, and had felt less panic.
“I was hoping to see you.” Mavis beamed at him, then dropped into a chair, leaving Roarke standing on what felt like very unsteady ground. “Just about dropped all the belly weight now, and got the full-steam from the docs. I’ve got a boat of new material, so I thought I could get in the studio, rock it out, cut some vids.”
“Yes. That sounds…all right.”
“Mag. I figured to bring Bella in with me. She’s completely about music. If it doesn’t work, Leonardo and I’ll figure something.”
“Doesn’t want a nanny,” Trina commented.
“Not yet anyway. I just want her to be all mine right now. Mine and her daddy’s. But I’ve got the itch to get back to work, so I want to see if I can do it on my own.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Roarke glanced down at the baby and saw Belle’s eyes were drooping. As if the thick, dark lashes were too heavy for the delicate lids to hold. “She’s going to sleep.” His own lips curved as what he held went from being mildly terrifying to quietly sweet. “Worn out from all the partying, are you now? Is there something I should do?”
“You’re doing it,” Mavis told him. “But we’ll put her down. There’s a monitor in her travel bed.” Mavis rose. “Receiver right here.” She tapped a flamingo-shaped pin just above her right ear. “Just lay her right in here. If she wakes up a little, you just pat her belly for a minute. She conks.”
It was something like a small, portable sleep chair, Roarke noted, well padded in Mavis’s—or Bella’s, he supposed—signature rainbow hue. Though setting her down in it seemed fairly straightforward, he actually felt sweat pool at the base of his spine.
When she was down, and he straightened, the relief and satisfaction was very nearly orgasmic.
Mavis crouched, fussed with the blanket. “She’ll be fine right here, won’t you, my baby girl?”
“The cat. Isn’t there something about cats and babies?”
Mavis smiled up at Roarke. “I think it’s bogus, but anyway, Galahad’s scared of her. He took one look and lit. If he comes snooping around her, I’ll hear it. I can actually hear her breathing through the receiver.”
After giving the blanket one last fiddle, Mavis stood. “You should eat in the dining room like we did. There’s a nice fire in there, too. You’ll relax more. You guys really do look wrung. We won’t stay long.”
“We’re taking an hour down.” Now that all danger of being expected to hold the baby had passed, Eve moved back to Roarke. “Let’s go eat.”
They settled in the dining room where the fire roared and a dozen candles were lit. To give Summerset his due, he’d managed quick and tasty. There were thin slices of roast chicken in some sort of fragrant sauce, fancy potatoes, and something that might have been squash but was prepared so it wasn’t really objectionable.
He served Trina a glass of wine, and Mavis something rose-colored and frothy with a plate of thin cookies and fancy chocolates.
“I come around here too often, I’ll be back to belly weight.” Mavis picked up a chocolate. “Nursing makes me nearly as hungry as pregnancy did.”