by Amy Frazier
He chuckled. “So…ready for bed?”
“Yes and no.” She felt a tingle of excitement at the prospect of loving him. Of offering herself without strings, or baggage or ulterior motives. “That depends on what you’re planning to do there. Now, sleep would be a no…”
The smile that lifted the corners of his mouth was for her. The desire in his eyes was for her. There was no doubt in her mind that right now Nick saw and wanted her, only her.
“I love you, Chessie,” he said.
There were no simpler words. No sweeter declaration.
“I love you, Nick.”
He drew her away from the window and toward the bed. Slowly as if time had no meaning. With assurance he slid his hands under her T-shirt, skimmed her sides, lifted her arms and removed the bit of fabric in one fluid motion. The humid night air caressed her skin.
He sat on the edge of the bed and very deliberately pulled her to stand between his knees. His hands on her hips, he trailed kisses across her stomach, lazily unzipped her shorts and let them fall to the floor around her ankles. He pressed the side of his face to her abdomen. Above the baby. Their baby.
She wound her fingers in his thick dark hair and leaned against him, realizing fully that sex between a wife and her husband should not be a favor, a tool or a weapon. It was a mutual gift. Somewhere over the years, she’d lost that insight. She bent to kiss Nick’s brow.
He lay back on the bed, bringing her on top of him where she could gaze into his face. Trace his beloved features with her fingertips. The worry lines at the edges of his eyes were all but gone. She would safely bet he wasn’t thinking of work.
With a grin and a hungry glint in his eye, he turned his head quickly and caught the tip of her little finger with his teeth. Licked the pad with his tongue. Made her shiver. This was like the first time only better.
She moved on top of him. The towel around his hips fell away, leaving only the silkiness of her panties between them.
He pulled her into a kiss that began in languorous exploration and soon escalated to passion. Chessie felt seen and desired. Cherished. And that gave her the power to reciprocate, withholding nothing.
She kissed him for the past and for the present and for their shared tomorrow.
He entered her and with his body made a silent, indisputable promise that in everything that might happen the two of them would take refuge in each other.
Finding release, she cried out softly—for his ears only—and held him tightly as he shuddered then came to rest in her arms.
“I love you,” he breathed against her skin.
And wasn’t that what she’d wanted all along?
EPILOGUE
One year later
“TAKE THAT!” Wielding a cardboard sword, Gabriella lunged at the papier-mâché head of the dragon whose blanketed body undulated on three pairs of feet across the makeshift stage set up on the McCabe cottage’s lawn. The large audience of mostly four, five, and six-year-olds seated on the grass with their parents howled their approval.
Owen and Gabriella had devised the perfect summer job—adapting children’s books to plays and selling matinee tickets to the performances. Owen did the adaptations while Gabriella made the costumes. Both worked on scenery and acted, pulling various members of the McCabe clan in for minor parts. Today cousins Alex, Nina and Noah were playing the dragon, and, by the way in which they were cavorting on stage and drawing out the final confrontation scene, they seemed determined to milk every moment in the spotlight. Gabriella, upping the intensity of her attack, appeared to relish the improvisation. The production was The Paper Bag Princess, in which the princess rescued not only herself but her prince as well.
Chessie, leaning back on her elbows in the cool grass next to Sophie’s carrier seat, smiled her approval. Sometimes the princess needed to take matters into her own hands. Gabriella certainly had this past year with her passion for the stage positively channeling most of her raging hormones. Most. There were occasional flare-ups just to make sure her parents hadn’t lost their edge.
Sophie reached over the side of her carrier seat and plucked a dandelion. Before it could reach her mouth, Chessie scooped up this daughter, who was such a daily surprise. And joy.
She nuzzled the baby’s soft, fragrant neck. “Are you hungry?”
Sophie cooed.
“Let’s go get you a bottle and see if Izzy needs anything.”
With a big grin Sophie pulled Chessie’s nose.
Leaving behind the sold-out crowd, Chessie danced with her five-month-old daughter in her arms, up the driveway to the gallery where Isabel was presently minding the store. Isabel had applied to and been accepted by Boston University where she’d be living in an apartment with five other girls, no less—in the fall. This summer she was working the gallery for Chessie during the days and, in the evenings with a select group of friends, frequented the Portland cafés that held open mike poetry readings.
As they entered the gallery, the bell above the door tinkled, making Sophie’s eyes go round with wonder. That was one of the many blessings of this child—the reminder to find delight in the minute particulars of each day.
“How’s our girl?” Isabel came forward to take Sophie.
“Ready for her bottle. Can we bring you anything?”
“I’m fine.” Isabel cradled her baby sister, gently blowing on her wispy curls, making Sophie squint and wriggle in pleasure. “You go fix the bottle. I’ll wait here with Miss Squish.”
Chessie looked around the gallery with a sense of satisfaction. “How’s business?”
“Good. I sold a set of blueberry bowls, a hemp textured vase—the biggest one—and a birdbath.”
It hadn’t been easy finding time to care for an infant, create her pottery, conduct classes and run a gallery. But Nick and the girls had pitched in to make it all happen.
“And I could have sold the Goddess,” Isabel added. “Again.”
“Never.” Chessie smiled on the piece that held court on a pedestal in the center of the gallery. A constant reminder of the wide spectrum of her existence. From the pedestrian to the sublime. The challenge lay in savoring it all. “I’ll be right back.”
She was in the kitchen only a few minutes when she heard the side door open and close. “I’m home!” It was Nick.
He’d been home a lot this past year. He, Eleanor, Hattie and Richard had engineered some extra money from the board as well as some federal grant funding to get another administrative assistant.
He lifted her off her feet and spun her around. “And beginning right now, I’m officially on vacation. Two weeks. Cell phone’s off. Eleanor’s in charge. I’m yours. Can you stand it?”
“I’ll try!” She laughed, then kissed him soundly, reveling in the few moments they could steal alone before they stepped out into the ever-widening concentric circles of love called family.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-2459-9
INDEPENDENCE DAY
Copyright © 2005 by Amy Lanz.
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