A Family Worth Waiting For: The Midwife's Miracle Baby

‘I’d better go, Dad,’ she said, locating her father in his bedroom, watching the evening news.

‘Goodnight, darling.’ He smiled his gentle smile. ‘Claire …’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t mean to interfere … but … you know you don’t have to come home tonight. I can manage just fine.’

‘Dad,’ she joked in mock horror. ‘You’re not suggesting I spend the night with this man on the first date?’

He smiled, a rare occasion of late. ‘Seriously, darling, it’s been years since you’ve been on a date. I want you to enjoy yourself for a change.’

‘I have to be here in the morning, Dad. She expects me.’

‘She’s not your responsibility, Claire.’

‘Dad … she’s my mother.’

‘You’re young, you’re supposed to be selfish and irresponsible. I can manage.’

‘I know but … she’ll fret if I’m not here.’

‘Darling, she probably won’t even be aware.’ His voice cracked and Claire had to swallow hard.

‘She’ll know,’ Claire insisted. She walked into the room and kissed him on the head. ‘I’ve got my mobile. Call me if you need to. I mean it, Dad. Anything. See you in the morning.’

Claire pulled out of her driveway, her mind preoccupied with her mother’s illness and her father’s devotion. He deserves a medal, she thought as she pulled up at the lights. She chewed absently at the inside of her lip, worrying about the future.

She gave herself a mental shake as the car behind her hooted to let her know that the light had turned green. Her thoughts should be on the evening ahead and Campbell. If she was going to worry about anything tonight, it should be him.

He’d wanted to come and pick her up but she had insisted on going to the restaurant independently.

‘Is that so you can make a fast getaway?’ he had asked.

‘Huh! My plan is foiled,’ she had quipped, and he had laughed and left it alone.

Not for the first time, she admonished herself for her rash acceptance of his invitation. Once the euphoria from little David’s birth had ebbed, her doubts had resurfaced. She’d even attempted to page him and cancel, but he must have already left for the day.

If she had known his home phone number she would have tried him there. But she didn’t, so here she was, feeling rather like she was driving to her doom instead of a pleasant evening with a nice man.

Her gaze fell on her mobile phone and she pushed aside the temptation to ring the restaurant and cancel through a third party, like a coward. She also quelled the urge to just drive around for a few hours and then go home.

Stand him up? After he’d hunkered down on his hands and knees in a pool of amniotic fluid and helped her deliver a baby? And not just any baby, but one that a lot of obstetricians would have baulked at delivering. That seemed pretty churlish.

So. She’d go. As a thank you and nothing else. She’d be polite and companionable and beat a hasty retreat as soon as was possible. Easy. Simple.

And if her thoughts turned fanciful, all she need do was picture her mother. Remember her just as she had left her this evening, lying in bed, ravaged by a cruel disease, waiting to die. That should do it.

Claire arrived at the restaurant only a little late. She hadn’t really known what to expect. She’d assumed it would be something posh and a la carte. So to find a small Italian joint off the beaten track was a pleasant surprise.

Claire had been unsure what to wear so had decided on a very plain sleeveless linen shift dress with a modest neckline and an even more modest hemline, falling below the knee. She had chosen it because of its simplicity. She hadn’t wanted to wear anything too provocative and give Campbell the wrong idea.

If she’d known that the moment she’d slipped it over her head the dress went from simple to sexy, she’d never have worn it. It was the colour. A bright fire-engine red, which complemented her olive skin and accentuated the richness of her black hair. The colour naturally drew attention but, once gained, the vision of her in it was one not easy to forget.

* * *

Well, she sure knew how to make an entrance, Campbell thought as two waiters nearly collided in their haste to seat her. She did look ravishing, and Campbell understood the effect she was having on them. But the most important thing was that she was here with him, finally. The wait had been worth it.

A young Latin-looking waiter, the apparent victor between the two, ushered her to the table where Campbell waited. He half rose politely as the waiter pulled her chair out and then spread a starched linen napkin on her lap, lingering a little longer than Campbell felt was appropriate. Victor or not, Campbell was going to break his fingers if he touched Claire again. Anywhere. At all.

Claire could feel Campbell’s scrutiny as the waiter fussed and took her drink order. She was pleased to be sitting because Campbell in casual mode was a sight to behold. Having seen him in nothing but suits and ties, it was an unexpected pleasure to find him in faded denim jeans and an open-necked polo shirt, which clung to the firm muscles of his arms and chest.

They regarded each other steadily over a wax-encrusted Chianti bottle complete with flickering candle. Damn! The lingering memory of his devastating kiss swamped her traitorously. Claire could feel her resolve weakening and the internal struggle she had fought with herself from the minute she’d met him seemed less important by candlelight.

‘I thought you were going to stand me up,’ he said, the candlelight accentuating the blond highlights in his hair.

‘So did I.’ She smiled and he laughed.

‘I’m pleased you didn’t.’ He raised his water glass. She raised hers and they clinked them together.

‘This place is nice. Kind of quaint. Authentic.’

‘It’s my favourite place to eat out. You can keep all those fancy places with their nouvelle cuisine. Me, I like good hearty food and lots of it. Places that serve you up a teaspoon of food in the middle of a huge plate just don’t do it for me. I hope you’re not disappointed.’

‘On the contrary.’ She shrugged her slim shoulders, her bob brushing against them. ‘I agree. I can’t bear the pretentiousness of those places.’

‘So you’re not one of these women who just nibble when they go on dates?’

‘Absolutely not. If you think I’m going to sit here and pick at a garden salad all night, think again. I’m in the mood for lasagne.’

‘Your choice in cuisine is matched only by your choice in clothes,’ he complimented her. ‘You look amazing tonight. That dress and the candlelight … wow!’

Claire blushed and laughed. Their gazes held and locked. The heat between them could have lit a thousand candles.

The waiter arrived to take their order and Claire released her breath. Campbell ordered lasagne for her and marinara for himself. He also ordered a bottle of red wine, which arrived promptly.

‘To the birth centre.’ He raised his glass.

‘To breech births,’ she countered.

‘To little Davy,’ he agreed, and clinked his glass against hers.

‘Thank you for today, Campbell. Your ability and professionalism impressed me. You said you studied in France for a while?’

‘Yes. There’s an obstetrician there, Henri Busson, he’s quite well known.’

‘Yes, I’ve read some of his papers.’

‘He has his own private clinic. Women come from all over Europe to give birth there. He really is the leading expert in alternative birthing practices.’

‘Alternative birth?’ Claire shook her head. ‘Is it just me, Campbell, or has the whole world gone completely crazy? Surely things like inductions and Caesareans should be alternative birthing practices? What they call alternative these days is really just natural childbirth. When did it all get so screwed around?’

‘I guess when doctors decided to interfere.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’ She smiled and swallowed some of the rich, full-bodied wine.

‘You’d get along so well with all my sisters.’ His voice was laced with humour.

‘All? How many do you have?’

‘Four.’

‘Wow.’ Claire whistled. ‘Let me guess. You’re the youngest.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘You’ve obviously been spoilt and indulged. You certainly don’t know how to take no for an answer.’

‘Huh,’ he snorted. ‘You couldn’t be further from the truth. More like harangued and henpecked.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Claire didn’t believe a word of it.

‘Well, maybe a little indulged. But mostly the h-words,’ he answered sheepishly.

‘Tell me about your family,’ Claire said as the waiter placed their meals in front of them.

‘Well …’ He picked up his fork. ‘My sisters, except for one, are nurses, two of them midwives. The other one’s a GP. My mother is also a retired midwife. She’s English and was a community midwife over there for many years. I think that’s where I get my more modern approach from.’

‘And your dad?’

‘He died a few years ago. Heart attack.’

‘Oh, Campbell.’ Claire reached across and touched his hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Campbell reeled from the look of compassion in her cinnamon eyes. She might be guarded most of the time but, hell, she could certainly be expressive. Something told him she knew a lot about grief. Would she open up to him? Was it worth the risk of seeing the shutters come down when her compassion gave her a whole new appeal?

‘What about your family?’

Campbell felt the cool air against his hand as she abruptly removed hers, like a slap in the face. She returned her concentration to her meal and Campbell regretted having opened his mouth.

‘Nothing to tell really. Nowhere near as colourful as your lot. Just Mum and Dad and me. Dad took early retirement a couple of years ago … for medical reasons.’

Campbell didn’t dare ask about that. From the rigidness of her back he doubted she’d tell him anyway. They ate in silence for a little while, Campbell groping for a way to continue the conversation without her completely freezing him out.

‘Have you always lived with them?’

‘No. I moved back in a few years ago.’ She placed her knife and fork down on her empty plate. ‘Mmm, that was delicious.’

Campbell knew when to take a hint. ‘Pleased you liked it. We’ll have to come here again. Do you like sorbet? It’s divine here. Better than anything you’ll get in Italy.’

‘Sorbet sounds perfect,’ she agreed, and watched as he leaned back to beckon the waiter. His shirt pulled slightly out of his waistband. Claire tried really hard not to ogle but the tantalising glimpse of tanned skin gliding over muscle proved too much temptation. It certainly distracted her from the awkwardness she’d felt when he’d been quizzing her about her family and from his comment about them coming back here together.

Campbell placed their dessert order, aware the entire time of Claire’s gaze. He felt his heart beat faster in anticipation. He looked at her and she didn’t even bother to hide her hungry stare. He wanted her more now than he had since he’d first met her.

‘Let’s skip dessert,’ he suggested softly, their gazes still entwined.

‘Too late.’ She gestured to the fast-approaching waiter.

‘It’s never too late.’ His gaze didn’t waver.

‘I’m hungry.’

‘So am I.’

Claire had no doubt as the waiter placed their plates before them that Campbell wasn’t talking about the sorbet. Their desserts started to melt as their eye contact continued. The air between them grew thick with unspoken desire.

‘You no like?’ The waiter, completely oblivious to the raging atmosphere, interrupted their silent exchange.

‘Oh, I like,’ said Campbell, his eyes never leaving Claire’s face. ‘I like very much.’

Claire smiled at the waiter and rolled her eyes dramatically, assuring him that everything was fine. She picked up her spoon and took a mouthful of the tangy sorbet.

‘Mmm, I think you’re right. This definitely beats the sorbet I had in the Platz de San Marco in Venice. I didn’t think that was possible.’

‘Maybe it’s the company.’

‘Maybe.’

* * *

The evening air was balmy as they stepped outside twenty minutes later.

‘Why don’t you come back to my place for a coffee?’ Campbell kept his voice light.

‘Oh, Campbell, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I’ve had a lovely evening but I think I should go home.’ Claire was surprised at how badly she wanted to go with him. Still, that didn’t make it wise.

‘No strings, I promise. I’ve got this great home video of a footling breech I delivered while I was in France. I thought you might be interested.’

‘A footling?’

‘Ever seen one?’

‘No. We just don’t deliver them any more.’

‘It’s fantastic footage,’ he coaxed.

‘OK,’ she agreed slowly, and smiled. Sure, why not? It sounded interesting. Claire knew it was a probably just an excuse to spend more time with her, but she was an adult. Whatever his motive, she was there to watch the video, make some polite conversation and then leave. Nothing was going to happen. She was sure she could keep her hormones in check for an hour or so.

‘I’ll drive you,’ he suggested, holding out his hand.

‘No. I’ll follow you in my car.’

* * *

‘I really thought you were going to do a runner,’ Campbell told her as he inserted his key into the front door.

‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ she mocked him playfully as she stepped into his apartment. He switched the lights on then dimmed them to a soft glow. Claire wandered over to the bank of huge floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering a spectacular view of the river and the city skyline.

‘Wow! Nice digs,’ she complimented him as he clattered around in the kitchen, fixing coffee.

‘Yes, I was really lucky to find it,’ he said, carrying a tray to the lounge area where the television rested in a beautiful heavy wooden cabinet. He placed the coffee-mugs on a matching low table and indicated for Claire to sit beside him on a double-seater leather lounge chair.

She sat sipping her coffee, watching his jeans pull and strain across his taut bottom as he found the tape and placed it in the machine. She tried not to look but, hell, he was sexy!

He smiled at her as he sat beside her and pushed the play button on the remote. She dragged her gaze from him with difficulty as the screen flickered to life and the low moans of a woman in labour commanded her attention.

For the next fifteen minutes Claire watched, intrigued, as Campbell deftly guided the couple through the birth of their baby. He supplied a low commentary from time to time and when Claire saw the first foot hang free from the birth canal she was totally involved and in awe of Campbell’s cool and professionalism.

Despite the risks, the baby was delivered without a hitch and Claire felt tears prick her eyes as the emotional couple embraced Campbell and wept openly. She was touched by his handling of the sentimental moment and somehow wasn’t surprised to see his eyes shimmer with tears as he held the newborn he had helped into the world.

‘That was beautiful, Campbell,’ Claire said, blinking rapidly as the screen went blank.

‘It was one of the most incredible experiences of my life,’ he admitted quietly.

She stood before she was tempted to turn and look at him. They were a little too close on the lounge for comfort. After witnessing such an emotional scene, Claire didn’t trust her reactions.

‘Why don’t you open the doors and go out onto the deck?’ Campbell suggested softly. ‘I’ll bring us out a drink.’

The fresh air hit Claire’s heated skin like an arctic blast. She sucked in deep, cleansing breaths, waiting for her heart rate to settle. She had to get out of here. Seeing Campbell all dewy-eyed with the naked, wet newborn had started Claire’s thoughts on a path she didn’t want to go down. She had to leave. Now.

He crossed to where she stood on the far corner of the deck, her hands gripping the railing, her back to him. He drew closer until he could feel the nervous heat radiating from her body. He was careful not to touch her, ignoring the urge to pull her against him.

‘Port,’ he murmured quietly, and watched her shoulders tense as she turned to face him.

‘Th-thanks.’ OK. One drink and then she’d leave.

Claire sipped at the warm liquid and felt its fiery residue trail a path all the way to her stomach. She looked into the glass, swishing the liquid around and watching it coat the sides of the glass.

He stood beside her, sipping his own drink. Nearly touching. Nearly.

‘Claire …’ he murmured, his voice deep and throaty. He turned to face her and the breeze enveloped him in her scent. ‘God, you smell incredible,’ he groaned as he closed the small space separating them and nuzzled her hair. He inhaled the exotic aroma of her shampoo and felt himself tighten.

Claire swallowed as his nuzzling sent the most delicious sensations crawling along her scalp.

‘I really must go,’ she croaked, desperately trying to fight the fog of desire and sound like she meant it.

‘OK,’ he whispered, as his lips travelled to the sensitive skin of her neck where he continued to nuzzle up and down the slope of her neck and along the slant of her shoulder as far as the fabric of her dress would allow.

Claire shut her eyes tight and felt herself swaying into Campbell. She wasn’t sure if she made it all the way by herself or if he met her halfway. Her thought processes were beginning to blur as her skin broke out in goose-bumps and her abdominal muscles contracted with desire.

She felt the hardness of his erection immediately. Her toes curled as she heard his swift intake of breath. He pressed his lips into her neck just below her ear and gave a groan that conveyed pleasure and pain.

‘Don’t do that,’ she begged passionately. ‘I can’t do this,’ she panted. ‘We have to stop.’

Campbell drew back, his chest heaving. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, and his eyes conveyed the pure sexual agony he was feeling.

‘I shouldn’t …’

‘But you want to?’

Claire watched, mesmerised, as his lips descended slowly towards hers. He was taking his time, giving her time to back out, but she was rooted to the spot, hypnotised by the magic she knew his lips would unleash.

She sighed softly as his mouth gently touched hers. She needed this kiss like she needed her next breath. She opened her mouth and it was all the encouragement he needed.

Claire matched his ardour, one intoxicating kiss following another. The solid wall of his body pinned Claire back against the railing. He used the position to his advantage, rubbing his pelvis long and hard and slow against hers, placing the most exquisite pressure on the sensitive flesh beneath her dress. She cried out for mercy, sure that she was about to break into a thousand pieces from the pleasure.

‘Let’s go inside,’ he suggested raggedly, sweeping her up into his arms.

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. Deep, wet, delicious kisses. If she’d been at all aware of her surroundings she would have admired the way Campbell strode through the apartment, blindly navigating his way past furniture and through rooms, not once breaking contact with her lips.

They tumbled onto his bed and Claire felt his hands glide the zip of her dress down. She was suddenly consumed with the urge to be rid of it. She pushed him aside and stood beside the bed. One shrug of her shoulders and the red linen slipped to the floor.

Claire stood before Campbell in her black lacy hipster knickers and black lacy camisole. The two wispy pieces of satin didn’t quite meet, her flat midriff bare to his hungry gaze.

Claire thought, rather belatedly, that she should feel shy, standing in front of him practically naked. But when he sat up, perched on the edge of the bed and whistled appreciatively, all she could feel was pride.

‘Are you sure about this?’

Claire nodded. Right or wrong, she couldn’t deny her body this. His kisses had woken the part of her that had slumbered for too many years.

She crossed her arms in front of her and grasped the fabric of her camisole, about to pull it over her head, when Campbell placed a restraining hand on her arm.

‘No,’ he stated. ‘I want to take them off.’

He pulled her to him, his head level with her stomach, his mouth finding the bare skin of her middle, his tongue dipping into her belly button. His hands pushed under the silky fabric and slowly ascended her ribs, taking the camisole with him.

When they reached her breasts, Claire gasped and clutched his shoulders as he rubbed the already fully aroused nipples. Whoever had said there was a fine line between pleasure and pain had sure known what they were talking about. It was exquisite torture.

His hands left her breasts and in one swift movement he pulled the scrap of material over her head and flung it across the room. Her breasts swung free into his eager palms, quickly replaced by his even more eager mouth. Claire felt a jolt of desire stab low in her pelvis and radiate further until it tingled between her legs. The friction of her lacy knickers against her engorged flesh was almost too erotic to bear.

Campbell’s mouth laved every inch of her breasts, tugging and sucking at the nipples until they were hard and elongated with need. He had turned her body into one giant, exposed nerve, hypersensitive to his every touch. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t talk. All she was capable of was holding on and groaning monosyllabic primal noises as her body dissolved in a vortex of pleasure.

She didn’t even register him pulling her underwear down to her knees until she felt his fingers gently probing the tingling flesh at the apex of her thighs. She cried out loud and clutched at his shoulders when she felt one, then two fingers enter her. He repeated the motion rhythmically as his thumb found the swollen nub it was seeking and moved in sync to the tempo set by his fingers. In, out, round and round.

Claire’s head fell back as a maelstrom of sensations stormed through her. Her fingers sliced through his hair, hanging on for dear life as she felt her legs give way. He adjusted his position slightly to support her weight, never breaking his rhythm.

He picked up the pace, her desperate cries urging him on. Her hands imprisoned his head against her breasts as a pressure of intense proportions built rapidly in her core. It spread outwards, its tentacles stretching to all her muscles, tensing them to an almost unbearable rigidity. It paralysed her diaphragm, her breath stuttering out in short hiccupy blasts.

Claire heard herself cry out his name, begging him for release. And just when she thought she’d explode, it happened. Her spine arched, her head flung back and an animalistic groan escaped from her open, gasping mouth. She clung to Campbell like flotsam in a swirling, cyclone-tossed sea, grateful to him for holding her up and for the pleasure that battered her like torrential rain.

Campbell held on tight as she rode the crest of her climax, his breathing as ragged as hers. He felt her muscles clench against his fingers still buried inside her. He felt each contraction and revelled in the knowledge that he was responsible.

As he held her body, still quivering in the aftermath, he was amazed at how she’d given herself so completely, especially after her earlier reticence.

‘Claire?’ He eased her away slightly, wanting to look into her eyes. ‘Are you OK?’ Her flushed face and glazed eyes spoke volumes. She certainly looked OK. More than OK.

Claire moved out of his embrace, stepping out of her not quite removed knickers, and collapsed on the bed, her glazed vision coming to rest on the ceiling. Had what had just happened really happened to her? Even now, minutes later, she could still feel the odd ripple undulate through her muscles deep inside.

‘Claire?’ Campbell’s voice intruded on her musings. She turned her head as he lowered himself back so their faces were level. Their gazes met, her brown eyes still a little glazed. His were greener than green. Irish eyes. So expressive. So green. They screamed meadows and shamrocks.