reality and my eyes went wide. What if he had come inside of me? What then? I could have gotten pregnant. Were we ready to be parents?
I felt a bit raw between my legs, between the exam and the roughness of his penetration. What was I thinking, having sex so soon after an exam? Actually, I felt raw all over, changed somehow. What the hell was wrong with me today?
Caleb reached for a box of tissues in a steel holder at the end of his desk, then dabbed the wetness from my sensitive skin. I squeezed my lids shut in an attempt to stop the tears. I didn’t know what the intense emotion was all about or why I was feeling so odd.
Was it because of the doctor’s question? I considered whether to tell Caleb about what she had said, but I hesitated. After all, he’d repeatedly mentioned he hadn’t been sure he wanted children with his dead wife.
So why would he want them with me? And did I even want a baby?
I quickly closed my legs as Caleb toe-heeled out of his shoes, then let his pants and underwear fall to his feet. He was being uncharacteristically messy with his clothing. While he never did dishes or straightened a pile of books, he was very particular about his clothing. Usually he carefully removed his clothes before, during, or after sex. He shot me a lazy, wicked smile as I jumped up and plucked my underwear off the floor, trying not to let him see my eyes pool with tears.
But as usual, he was tuned into my emotions. Or maybe he couldn’t ignore my trembling hands or my loud sniffle.
“What?” he murmured, sounding totally at ease as he undid buttons to reveal his muscular chest. He had a post-orgasm dreaminess to his voice, so unlike his normal commanding tone. “You okay? What’s wrong? Did I hurt your wrists? I’m sorry.”
My mouth opened, and I was poised to tell him about the doctor. “No. My wrists are fine. Nothing’s wrong.” I shook my head so hard the tips of my ponytails were like little whips on my cheeks. What if this was some sort of temporary insanity—the question of whether to have a baby?
Ridiculous. No, I needed to keep this from him, at least for now. Until I was sure.
“Nothing?”
I shook my head again and stepped into my underwear, snagging them on the heel of my blue shoes before pulling them up to my hips.
Now naked, he wrapped his arms around me, and I inhaled his oak-vanilla scent mixed with his sweat. My fingers knew the path up and down his back, and I stroked his skin.
“Mmm. That feels good. I love you,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry. I do wish I could come to your costume ball, but I’ve got way too much work on the Brazil project. I’m going to shower and change and get back to it. If I get done early, I’ll stop by, but I’ll definitely see you here later tonight. Could you bring my clothes into the laundry room?”
“I don’t know about later tonight,” I mumbled into his shoulder, suddenly irritated he might not make it to my party that evening and annoyed that he wanted me to pick up his clothes. “I might go to my house to sleep.”
He pulled away and rolled his eyes. “Emma, why? It’s your birthday tomorrow. We have the antique auction in the morning, and we also need to get ready for the dinner party tomorrow night. Unless you want me to pull some strings and get a reservation. I can cancel the chef and the florist and the entertainment.”
Resting my forehead on his shoulder, I groaned because, between the party at my bookstore and the potentially life-altering conversation with my doctor, I’d forgotten about my birthday dinner. Caleb’s sister, who was dating my best friend Sarah, along with Caleb’s brother and his latest fling, were coming over to celebrate.
“No, I don’t want to go out.” Jesus. Could I sound any more petulant? I hadn’t wanted to make a big deal about my thirty-fifth birthday and had agreed to the dinner only at Caleb and Sarah’s insistence. They’d found a celebrity cookbook author in Miami and arranged
I felt a bit raw between my legs, between the exam and the roughness of his penetration. What was I thinking, having sex so soon after an exam? Actually, I felt raw all over, changed somehow. What the hell was wrong with me today?
Caleb reached for a box of tissues in a steel holder at the end of his desk, then dabbed the wetness from my sensitive skin. I squeezed my lids shut in an attempt to stop the tears. I didn’t know what the intense emotion was all about or why I was feeling so odd.
Was it because of the doctor’s question? I considered whether to tell Caleb about what she had said, but I hesitated. After all, he’d repeatedly mentioned he hadn’t been sure he wanted children with his dead wife.
So why would he want them with me? And did I even want a baby?
I quickly closed my legs as Caleb toe-heeled out of his shoes, then let his pants and underwear fall to his feet. He was being uncharacteristically messy with his clothing. While he never did dishes or straightened a pile of books, he was very particular about his clothing. Usually he carefully removed his clothes before, during, or after sex. He shot me a lazy, wicked smile as I jumped up and plucked my underwear off the floor, trying not to let him see my eyes pool with tears.
But as usual, he was tuned into my emotions. Or maybe he couldn’t ignore my trembling hands or my loud sniffle.
“What?” he murmured, sounding totally at ease as he undid buttons to reveal his muscular chest. He had a post-orgasm dreaminess to his voice, so unlike his normal commanding tone. “You okay? What’s wrong? Did I hurt your wrists? I’m sorry.”
My mouth opened, and I was poised to tell him about the doctor. “No. My wrists are fine. Nothing’s wrong.” I shook my head so hard the tips of my ponytails were like little whips on my cheeks. What if this was some sort of temporary insanity—the question of whether to have a baby?
Ridiculous. No, I needed to keep this from him, at least for now. Until I was sure.
“Nothing?”
I shook my head again and stepped into my underwear, snagging them on the heel of my blue shoes before pulling them up to my hips.
Now naked, he wrapped his arms around me, and I inhaled his oak-vanilla scent mixed with his sweat. My fingers knew the path up and down his back, and I stroked his skin.
“Mmm. That feels good. I love you,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry. I do wish I could come to your costume ball, but I’ve got way too much work on the Brazil project. I’m going to shower and change and get back to it. If I get done early, I’ll stop by, but I’ll definitely see you here later tonight. Could you bring my clothes into the laundry room?”
“I don’t know about later tonight,” I mumbled into his shoulder, suddenly irritated he might not make it to my party that evening and annoyed that he wanted me to pick up his clothes. “I might go to my house to sleep.”
He pulled away and rolled his eyes. “Emma, why? It’s your birthday tomorrow. We have the antique auction in the morning, and we also need to get ready for the dinner party tomorrow night. Unless you want me to pull some strings and get a reservation. I can cancel the chef and the florist and the entertainment.”
Resting my forehead on his shoulder, I groaned because, between the party at my bookstore and the potentially life-altering conversation with my doctor, I’d forgotten about my birthday dinner. Caleb’s sister, who was dating my best friend Sarah, along with Caleb’s brother and his latest fling, were coming over to celebrate.
“No, I don’t want to go out.” Jesus. Could I sound any more petulant? I hadn’t wanted to make a big deal about my thirty-fifth birthday and had agreed to the dinner only at Caleb and Sarah’s insistence. They’d found a celebrity cookbook author in Miami and arranged
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