“Don’t remind me of that.” Gray didn’t bother to suppress a shudder. Brianna might have put that aspect of the event behind her, but he hadn’t. It would live in his dreams, he was sure, for years.

Transition, he remembered with horror. As a writer, he’d always thought of it as a simple move from scene to scene. He’d never think of the word the same way again.

Unable to resist, Maggie tucked her tongue in her cheek. Her affection for Gray made her honor bound to tease whenever the opportunity arose. “How many hours was it? Let’s see. Eighteen. Eighteen hours of labor for you, Brie.”

Brianna couldn’t quite hide a smile as Gray began to pale. “More or less. Certainly seemed like more at the time, with everyone telling me to breathe, and poor Gray nearly hyperventilating as he demonstrated how I was to go about it.”

“A man thinks nothing of whining after putting in eight hours at a desk.” Maggie tossed back her mop of flame-colored hair. “And still they insist on calling us the weaker sex.”

“You won’t hear it from me.” Rogan smiled at her. Being part of Kayla’s birth had reminded him of the birth of his son, and how his wife had fought like a warrior to bring Liam into the world. Still no one thinks of what a father goes through. “How’s your hand doing, Grayson?”

Brows knit, Gray flexed his fingers—the ones his wife had vised down on during a particularly rough contraction. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

“You held back a yelp, manfully,” Maggie remembered. “But your eyes crossed when she got a good grip on you.”

“At least she didn’t curse you,” Rogan added, lifting a dark, elegant brow at his wife. “The names Margaret Mary here called me when Liam was born were inventive to be sure. And unrepeatable.”

“You try passing eight pounds, Sweeney, and see what names come to mind. And all he says, when he takes a look at Liam,” Maggie went on, “is how the boy has his nose.”

“And so he does.”

“But you’re okay now?” In sudden panic Gray looked at his wife. She was still a little pale, he noted, but her eyes were clear again. That terrifying glaze of concentration was gone. “Right?”

“I’m fine.” To comfort, she lifted a hand to his face. The face she loved, with its poet’s mouth and gold-flecked eyes. “And I won’t hold you to your promise never to touch me again. As it was given in the heat of the moment.” With a laugh she nuzzled the baby. “Did you hear him, Maggie, when he shouted at the doctor? ‘We’ve changed our minds,’ he says. ‘We’re not having a baby after all. Get out of my way, I’m taking my wife home.’ ”

“Fine for you.” Gray took another chance and skimmed a fingertip over the baby’s head. “You didn’t have to watch it all. This childbirth stuff’s rough on a guy.”