Janelle Denison - Private Pleasures

"Come here, Dad, quick," the doctor said to Grey. "This is something you don't want to miss."

Grey was torn between obeying the doctors orders and remaining by his wife's side. Mariah made the decision easy. With a reassuring smile, she said in between pants of breath, "Go, I'll be fine."

Grey rounded the table and stood next to the doctor, his eyes widening at the miracle in process. "Oh my God, the head's out!"

Mariah gave a strangled laugh that turned into groan as her belly spasmed. She gave a mighty heave as her body demanded, and Grey watched as their baby slipped into the doctor's capable hands. Wearily Mariah slumped back onto the bed.

The baby wailed. Grey stood stunned, awed, paralyzed by an overwhelming wave of emotions as he watched this tiny baby squirm in the doctor's hands.

"It's a girl," the doctor announced with a broad smile, and the nurses standing nearby issued verbal congratulations. Grabbing a pair of sterile scissors, he handed them to Grey. "The honor's all yours, Dad."

Grey stared at the scissors in horror, until the doctor chuckled and explained, "You get to cut the umbilical cord."

Nervously, Grey severed the connection between the baby and Mariah. Then the nurses quickly whisked the child away to be cleaned and have her vital statistics checked.

Still stunned, he made his way back to Mariah's side. "A daughter," he whispered, because he still didn't trust his voice not to crack. "We have a daughter."

Mariah smiled tiredly. "Yeah, we do."

Grey didn't think it possible, but his love for Mariah had increased over the past four months of their married life, had grown richer with each passing day. After the priceless gift she'd given him today, he was near bursting with emotion. "Thank you."

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him down for a quick kiss. "I think you had a hand in this, too, Nichols."

"A hand?" he murmured, grinning wickedly against her soft mouth. "I thought it was that other part of my anatomy that did the trick."

Mariah rolled her eyes, and he chuckled.

A few minutes later a nurse returned with their squalling daughter. To Grey's chagrin, she unceremoniously plopped her into his arms. Kayla, as he and Mariah had decided to call her, had a healthy pair of lungs and had no problem voicing her displeasure. Her face was beet red, and her little hands curled into angry, flailing fists.

Shaken by Kayla's distress, Grey looked to Mariah for help. He'd been poised and controlled all through the birth. Now he felt nervous and uncertain. His daughter depended on him, and he hadn't a clue as to how to soothe her.

"What do I do?" he asked anxiously.

Mariah gently touched the baby's head, stroking the soft, dark tuft of hair there. "You hold her close and you love her," she said simply.

As he cuddled his daughter securely and gently rocked her, Kayla's cries settled and she stared up at him, listening to his deep voice as he crooned to her. She was beautiful, he thought with pride as tears stung the backs of his eyes. He fitted his finger into her little palm, and his heart gave a funny tug as she latched on, trusting him, counting on him to be there for her. And he would be. Always.

In that instant, the precious bond between father and daughter formed. He lifted his gaze to Mariah and smiled, feeling like the luckiest man in the world.

Hold her close and love her. Grey didn't think that was going to be a problem. Not when she already had him wrapped around her little finger.