Not that she was complaining.
"Do you think that thirty years from now you'll still try to seduce me with that particularly charming phrase?"
"If you still want to be seduced."
"I will if you're up for it."
He shot her a smile framed in dimples. "If there's Viagra now, baby, just think what will be around when I'm an old man. They'll have to tape it down when they lower me in the ground."
"You scare me."
Thomas roared with laughter, and she could still hear him snickering as he followed her down the narrow path to the creek. Once they dismounted and flipped the horses' reins over tree limbs, Thomas immediately pressed up against her back and enfolded her in his arms.
"There's a word for your medical condition, Thomas." She snuggled back against him. "It's called priapism, and I hear it's horribly painful."
He kissed the side of her neck. "I'm in pain all right."
His fingers were unbuttoning her denim jacket, brushing over her breasts beneath the T-shirt, fluttering down to the snap of her jeans.
"That house up there belongs to Mr. Martin," she said between shallow breaths. "He's a very nice Mennonite widower."
"Sorry. He can't have you. You're mine."
His hot palms were flat against her belly and the tips of his fingers were sliding down under the elastic band of her underpants. She started to shake. He always did this to her—made her tremble and flush with heat until she was pushing into his hands and squirming against him.
"But he might see us down here," she whispered.
"Nobody's looking, Emma. Nobody but me."
Somehow, her jacket was already in the grass and her shirt was bunched up under her chin and her bra was unsnapped. And somehow, he'd already shoved her jeans and underwear halfway to her knees and she was groaning.
Emma reached back blindly with her hands to find that he'd also managed to remove most of his own clothing, and she was impressed—turned on and impressed.
He twirled her around.
"I love you so much." His kiss was hot and erotic and the sun felt so delicious on her bare skin that she didn't care about Mr. Martin, only Thomas. Just Thomas.
And she found herself dragging her lips down the side of his neck, onto the muscles of his chest, and leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles down the center of his body until she was nearly on her knees.
Thomas bent down and placed his shirt on the grass beneath her.
She peeked up at him. "That was quite chivalrous of you."
"I have a big ulterior motive."
"I can see that," she said, smiling. Then she put her lips around it, and Thomas spread his feet and growled in raw male satisfaction.
"You're so good to me, Emma. Why are you so damn good to me?"
She smiled while she worked, feeling the tremors move through him, inhaling the delicious musk of him. His fingers thrust into her hair, his big hands clasped her head—but he didn't push, just held, touched, rode along as she moved.
"Emma—"
Thomas fell to his knees, his face drawn in wonder, then kissed her again, rougher, lifting her bottom until she was off the ground, suspended by the desperate clasp of his hands and the crush of his lips.
He broke away for breath. "God, I love this."
"Me, too." She pressed up against his erection.
"It's everything, Emma. You're everything."
He'd set her down gently and smiled. He turned her, his hands sliding all over her body, hot in contrast to the cool breeze. He guided her onto her hands and knees as he positioned himself behind her.
Emma whimpered in need. She couldn't wait, couldn't wait for him to get inside her…
She felt the press of his smooth belly against her soft bottom, the prod of his rock-hard cock, poking, teasing, missing the mark so often that she had to reach underneath and touch herself to relieve the distress.
"God, Thomas, don't tease me! I can't stand it!"
Oh! Then he was there, taking her from behind, a big, hot spike that killed her, resurrected her, made her into perfect form and perfect sensation, and it was the best thing she'd ever felt in her life—best in the way it was every time he became a part of her.
She was delirious with it—the feel of one of his hands cupped over her stomach as the other reached up to pinch her breasts, squeeze and roll her nipples until she was calling out for more and begging him to never stop. She was swimming in the rhythm, the rushing need, as he rammed her harder and slid his hand down her belly to her clitoris, so swollen and tender that she knew she was teetering on the edge.
"God, yes!" she hissed.
Thomas lowered himself over her back and laughed into the crook of her neck, still pounding into her. "You're my wild thing, aren't you, baby? Think you could bark like a dog for me now?"
"Let's not go too far with this," she said.
Thomas stopped moving.
His hard chest curved against her back and he brought his lips close to her ear. "We've already gone too far, Emma, but not far enough. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
A hot flash raced through her blood. Yes. She knew exactly what he was saying. His body was sheathed inside her, cupped protectively over her—but it wasn't nearly enough. Why was that? Why did she want so much more of him, so much more from him? Why did she want to reach down into his soul, pull it out, and wrap herself up inside of him?
How could she love him that much?
"I can't get enough of you, Thomas." She pushed her hips into him. "It'll never be enough."
He pulled her up to kneel in front of him, encouraged her to lean back against his chest. Thomas stroked her hair, overwhelmed with the combination of lust and love this woman churned up inside him.
He breathed her in, touched the real beauty of her body and her heart that made him want to fuck her deeper, love her endlessly, protect her and belong to her. Forever.
Her head fell back against his chest and she turned her face so that his mouth could find hers.
She tasted like joy, like one of her smiles, and Thomas felt nothing but absolute connection, like he was plugged into the wettest, hottest, most powerful electrical socket in the universe.
"Did you know it could be this way?" he whispered, cupping her breasts, nuzzling her neck as he thrust into her.
She cried out, overwhelmed with the hot rush of emotion and stab of pleasure that left her gasping, lost.
"Because I had no idea, Emma. No idea."
She felt a drop of his sweat—or a tear—fall to her shoulder. She reached around and pulled his face to hers again. She kissed him. And the circuit was complete.
* * *
Emma felt like she was going to die.
"I'm sure it was Mrs. Q's tuna casserole." Thomas kept his voice in a whisper as he patted the cool washcloth on Emma's forehead and kissed her cheek. He winked at Leelee. "I think I might have hurled the first time I tasted it, too."
They all laughed.
Beckett shushed them. "She's going to hear you. It wasn't that bad. She's a damn fine woman."
Thomas wagged an eyebrow at Leelee, which sent the girl into hysterics. The burgeoning affection between Sylvia Quatrocci and Beckett had diverted some of Leelee's attention from her own love affair, much to Emma's relief.
"Gag," Leelee had said the other day. "Isn't there some kind of law against old people kissing?"
Not that Leelee seemed particularly opposed to having Thomas around. As Emma watched the two of them now, she was filled with an easy sense of well-being. All the pieces of her life were falling into place. All the pieces of herself seemed just the right shape and size to fit the big picture, for the very first time.
Emma groaned and pushed herself to a sitting position on the couch, and Thomas immediately reached to support her back. "I'm good, really, guys," she said. "Let's finish our game. And Pops, please go tell Mrs. Q to stop cleaning the kitchen."
Beckett looked down at the Scrabble board and sighed. "I quit anyw
ay. I ain't seen a vowel in two turns."
"Vowels?" Leelee grabbed for her imaginary pistols and pointed them at Thomas. "We don't need no stinking vowels!"
Emma smiled as Thomas accepted Leelee's challenge with a wicked grin and pulled her to the Scrabble board.
Hairy chose that moment to jump up into her lap, the boxer shorts hanging from his mouth.
"Hey, little guy! Did you come to comfort me?"
You're looking mighty green around the gills, Soft Hands. You smell different, too. What's going on with you?
"I'm okay, Hairy. Don't worry."
She kissed the little dog's snout, then scratched behind his ears, smiling as he held her gaze with his bug-eyes. It was nothing short of miraculous how Hairy had improved. He was off his meds. He no longer needed the maxi pad or the crate or the relaxation exercises. He'd settled into a comfortable routine of a life equally divided between the farm and Federal Hill, and he seemed happy, well-adjusted, and calm.
And he was staring at her.
Uh-oh.
"What is it, Hairy?" Emma laughed uneasily. "You can stop staring at me now." Her headache swirled. Her stomach lurched.
"Oh, boy," she mumbled, tossing Hairy aside. She staggered toward the bathroom.
"Are you okay?" Thomas was on his feet and right behind her.
Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Uh-oh.
* * *
Three days later, Emma was still sick to her stomach and so tired that her arms and legs felt like they were encased in wet cement. She couldn't remember the last time the flu had hit her this hard, and was reevaluating her decision to come to work the way she always had in the past.
"I must be getting old." Emma accepted the new-patient questionnaire from Velvet, and scanned information about a calico who'd compulsively licked her front paws bare. "This virus is knocking me on my butt."
"Whatever you say."
Emma looked up to find Velvet glaring at her, her hands propped on her hips.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Emma … is there … well…?"
"What?"
"Could you possibly be pregnant?"
Emma's hands fell to her sides and she heard the chart slap against her leg. "Excuse me?"
"Pregnant. With child. Expecting."
"No." Emma quickly resumed reading. "You can tell Mrs. Wilson to come on back."
"Not yet. Just a minute."
Emma was already shaking her head. "Look, Velvet. I've got the flu, okay? I'm not pregnant. There's no way." She started toward the exam room.
"Why not?" Velvet was close on her heels. "We all know you and Thomas are … uh…"
Emma threw open the exam room door and whirled around to face her friend. "There's no way, okay? Let's get Mrs. Wilson in here so I can go home and die."
Velvet was in her face now, her expression menacing. Emma's heart began to race. This was ridiculous. She couldn't be pregnant! She just couldn't be…
"I'm running to the CVS for a pregnancy test," Velvet said. "Don't go anywhere."
An hour later, Emma was so freaked out, that she couldn't tell if the twin blue lines were real or the result of blurred vision and trembling hands. Velvet was pounding on the door again. How long had she been in the bathroom? How could this have happened?
She looked at herself in the mirror, splashed cold water on her face, and smoothed the hair back from her brow. She looked pale and tired. She looked shell-shocked. Well, hell. She looked pregnant
But Thomas was sterile.
Emma flung open the door and held up the test stick like the Statue of Liberty's torch. "Thomas said he was sterile."
Velvet's mouth dropped open. "What?"
Emma returned to her perch on the closed toilet lid and rested her head in her hands. "He was injured playing rugby and had all these tests…" She looked up and blinked. "I don't understand."
Velvet squatted in front of her and dug her manicured nails into Emma's knees. "What are you saying?"
Emma snorted. "I'm saying I don't know what the hell is going on! I'm pregnant, Velvet! Pregnant when there's no way I should be!"
Velvet got up and began to pace the tiny bathroom. It was making Emma's headache worse.
"And he's…?"
"The only one since Aaron, yes. And I went off the pill after the divorce."
Velvet pursed her lips and stared down at Emma. "Did you see his medical records?"
"What?"
"Is there any chance he was lying to you?"
"Of course not!" As soon as the words escaped Emma's mouth her heart twisted in a cold squeeze of doubt. Yes, he'd lied in the past … but that had been different … before his heart-wrenching confession at her feet and the way he'd loved her since…
"I can't even think that way." She shook her head and stared at the absorbent strip dangling from her fingers.
"Why not?"
"Because I love him too much. It has to be some kind of fluke." Her head fell back in her hands.
"What are you going to do, Em?"
"I'm going to tell him."
"Of course—"
"And we'll figure this out together."
"How far along do you think you are?"
Emma looked up and smiled, a rush of excitement moving through her.
"Three weeks at the most."
"What are you going to do?"
"Do?" Emma got up, pressed past Velvet and headed for her desk chair. She swiveled back and forth, biting her lip.
"What are you going to do, Emma?"
She blinked back tears, not sure whether they were tears of joy or distress. "I guess I'm going to have a baby. Is that the weirdest thing, or what?"
"And what do you want him to do?"
Emma laughed a little, and Hairy jumped in her lap. He'd been asleep in the dog bed in the corner of the office, where he hung out during the day when Leelee was at school. "He's already done it," she said. "He gave me a baby."
Velvet rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm asking, Em! I'm asking you if you want him to marry you!"
Emma absently stroked Hairy's head and felt a small smile play on her face. "Actually, he asked me to marry him a few weeks ago."
Velvet's mouth hung open. "What was your answer?"
"I said yes."
"Holy shit."
"Exactly."
"Is he stopping by this afternoon?"
"At five-thirty."
Velvet stuck her hands on her narrow hips and tilted her head. "Are you okay, Em? You look completely blown away."
She laughed, somewhat hysterically. "That would be because I am blown away. A month ago I was alone. Now I'm in love! I'm going to get married! I'm going to give birth!"
Emma launched herself from the chair and threw Hairy to the floor.
"But right now I'm going to be sick."
* * *
Chapter 19
Don't Leave Me This Way
« ^ »
Thomas arrived at Wit's End a few minutes early, anxious to see Emma, worried that she was still feeling under the weather.
The bells jingled as he pushed open the front door and nearly ran over Velvet Miki, who was on her way out. He gave her a big smile.
"Hey, Velvet."
"Asshole."
Thomas whipped around and stared after her. He couldn't quite figure that woman. She was always mad at him for some unknowable offense. Thank God Emma was steady as a rock.
He found her sitting at her desk, Hairy asleep on her lap. She offered him a weak smile and Thomas immediately saw that she seemed sad. Her cheeks lacked their usual pink flush and her eyes some of their sparkle. She looked fragile to him, and his heart lurched.
"Hey, baby. You still feeling bad?"
Emma nodded. Now he could see that her eyes were red, like she'd been crying, and a stab of apprehension went through him.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
He went to her, pulled her up from the chair and into his arms. She felt thin to him, and the worry escalated. "Are y
ou okay, Emma? What is it? Did you go to the doctor? Tell me."
She started to cry, and threw her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. Then it hit him—brain tumor. Of course. He finds the only woman in the world for him and she's dying of a brain tumor.
Emma pulled away from him. "Have a seat, Thomas." She directed him to the chair and leaned on the edge of the desk.
Her eyes were swimming in tears, blue as an in-ground pool, but there was something in her expression he'd never before seen. Fear—real fear. Oh, God, it was going to be bad.
"There's no way to sugar-coat this, so I'll just tell you." She hugged herself tight, an obvious gesture of self-defense. Why in the world would Emma be afraid of him?
She took a huge gulp of air and locked her eyes on his.
"I'm pregnant."
And just like that, the air left his lungs and his brain went black.
Then he felt it—his heart was a tiny pebble in a giant slingshot and it was pulled back, back, back … waiting … waiting … then flung into the void.
While his heart crashed through the emptiness, the rest of him saw nothing. Heard nothing. Felt even less. And his only thought was, Un-fucking-believable.
Then slowly, oh so slowly, the empty buzz of shock became an internal roar of grief, and he allowed the words to form in his mind: Emma had been with another man. Emma had betrayed him. Emma was not his Emma after all.
"Wow," he said.
There were those blue eyes he'd loved only seconds ago, still searching his face, waiting for him to say something more. But there was no response for this, was there? There was nothing to say.
He got up from the chair.
"Thomas?" Emma's voice sounded shaky and small. When he got to the door, he turned toward her. He could see her chest tremble with each breath and his eyes strayed to her belly, where an impossible baby grew inside her.
He really didn't want to know the answer, but he felt the awful question surge up his throat and spill from his mouth.
"Who's the father?"
Emma left the edge of the desk and took slow, measured steps in his direction. "What the hell kind of question is that, Thomas?"
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