Aaron rubbed his eyes. “Right. Believe me, I think about that constantly.”
“My painting party’s tomorrow,” Bella told him.
“What?”
“The painting party. Everyone’s going to help me freshen up the Barn. Slade and Natalie, Morgan and Josh, ’cause it’s a Sunday and he’s free, Ben and Dad, and Brady, too. And you, remember?”
Clearly Aaron hadn’t remembered. “I didn’t realize it was scheduled for tomorrow. So soon. Bella, why don’t you wait? I mean, why go to all that work when …” He let his sentence trail off.
“I’m going ahead with it,” Bella said. “I’ve made a lot of plans.” Suddenly she wanted to hurt Aaron. “Slade’s staying for a few days. He promised to help Ben and my dad move some furniture into the shop next week after the paint dries.”
“You didn’t tell me this.”
“We just agreed on it by email today,” Bella explained. “Aaron, you can’t be angry with me for discussing the shop with Ben and Slade instead of with you.”
“No. No, I know you’re right about that.” He ran his hands over his face. “You know what? We are in what my grandmother would call a pickle.”
Bella smiled at him, grateful for his attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
“I think we should both just go to bed, get some rest, and see where next week takes us. Perhaps I won’t get the job, and then I’ll have to figure out some new plans for my life. Or perhaps I will get the job, and we can talk about it then. What do you think?”
“I think you’re wonderful, Aaron,” Bella told him.
They kissed for a while, tender, affectionate kisses without a trace of urgency or lust.
Aaron pulled away. “Good night, Bella.”
“Night, Aaron.” She stepped out of his car and went up the walk to her house. To her parents’ house. She slipped inside and made her way up the stairs, calling good night to everyone in the living room before hurrying into the safety of her own room. She was too tired for any more conversation. She threw herself on her bed. She heard Aaron’s car start up and drive away.
16
Morgan absolutely could not believe it! It was Sunday, and Josh had gone in to work! Furthermore, he’d gotten up before she had and sneaked out of the house like a ferret, leaving her a note on the kitchen table: Have to work. Sorry.
“Have to work. Sorry?”
She was so angry she burst into tears. They really had to talk, because this was no way to live. It was summer, it was Sunday, they’d made plans to help Bella paint, taking turns playing with Petey, and then their new gang would get together for beers and burgers afterward—and all of a sudden, without forewarning Morgan, without even having the decency to wake her this morning and talk to her about it or sit down last night and explain it to her, Josh just took off.
She dialed his office phone. He didn’t answer. She dialed his cell. No answer, straight to voice mail. She said, Josh, you’d better call me!
When her cell trilled, she snatched it up.
“Hey, Morgan, it’s Bella. Ready to paint?”
“I am, but Josh has gone into Bio-Green and I don’t know when he’s coming back.” She knew her voice had taken on a note of self-pity and she tried to sound less pathetic, but she added, “So I don’t know if I can help, because I’ve got Petey, and Petey and paint are a sure recipe for disaster.”
“Can Felicity babysit?”
“I’ll call her,” Morgan said.
“Good. Let me know when you’re ready. You can ride down with me.”
Felicity was thrilled to babysit, but Morgan still felt cranky as she threw on shorts and an old tank top and slammed out of her gorgeous husbandless house.
As they settled in Louise’s SUV, Morgan said, “Don’t even ask me why Josh had to work.”
“Well, too bad for him,” Bella sympathized.
Morgan glared at Bella. “Too bad for him? Too bad for me and Petey. We never see him. He’s always working. And why couldn’t he at least have woken me up to tell me he was going in?”
“Perhaps because he knew you’d be angry?” Bella suggested.
Morgan snorted. She felt like Bella was taking Josh’s side.
“Men and their work,” Bella continued, and now her own voice grew thick with discontent. “Aaron really wants to take the job in San Francisco.”
“San Francisco is amazing,” Morgan said quietly.
“So everyone says.” Bella was practically shooting sparks, she was suddenly so fired up. “Why is a big city better than a small town? Why is his dream more important than mine?”
“I didn’t realize Bella’s has been a dream of yours,” Morgan said.
Bella inhaled deeply. “I didn’t realize it either.” She grinned a bit sheepishly. “I’ve been such a good girl, doing what was expected of me all my life, teaching because Dad taught and I admire him, coming home to help Mom when she fell. This shop idea is new to me, too, but, Morgan, it’s so strong, getting stronger every day. It makes me happy thinking about it, and excited.”
Morgan laughed. “You sound like you’re in love.” As they pulled into the parking lot, Morgan suggested, “Why not give yourself a chance to see how it works out? It’s not like there won’t be planes to San Francisco in four months or a year. It’s not like you can’t visit Aaron, and he’ll come back and visit you. Who knows, you might get bored with the shop. But you don’t have to make a huge black-and-white decision now.”
Bella brightened. “You’re right, I know.” Grinning, she added, “Since you put it so well, want to tell Aaron for me?”
“No,” Morgan said, getting out of the car. “I want to paint.”
Ben, Louise, Dennis, and Brady arrived with buckets of paint, brushes, rollers, plastic sheets, masking tape, and ladders. They divided up the work: The men would take the outside; the women, the inside.
Natalie showed up with her brother. She slipped inside without talking to the men, and Slade ambled in after her.
“Hey, ladies.” He wore ratty old jeans and an Arcade Fire tee shirt. “Morgan,” he said, coming close to her. “I’ve got something for you in my van.”
“Is it the settee?”
“Would you like it to be the settee?” he teased. His grin was roguish. Slade flirted as he breathed; could he do one without doing the other? He jerked his head toward the door. “Come out and I’ll show you.”
Morgan was aware of how Bella was staring at her, a glint of—could it really be suspicion in her sweet blue eyes? “It’s a piece of furniture for our living room!” she called to Bella. “Slade’s emailed me photos, and I’ve been eager to see it. I’ll be right back.” She hoped Bella got the tacit message: And I’m not going to have sex with Slade because I’m mad at my husband! Although that was not the most repulsive thought she’d ever had.… Stop it! Morgan told herself. Concentrate.
She followed Slade out to the van. He keyed the doors open so she could peer inside. The white Victorian settee was protected by sheets of Bubble Wrap and held in place with wide straps.
“It looks perfect,” Morgan said.
“Want to go over now and put it in your house?” Slade asked. “It wouldn’t take long, and then this afternoon when you walk in, it will be in place, you’ll be able to tell how you react to it.”
“I don’t know. We should be painting, helping Bella.” Morgan tilted her head questioningly at Slade. “Shouldn’t we?”
Slade rolled his eyes at her twinge of conscience. “We’ll paint. But let’s move this while we’ve got the energy.” He ran his eyes over Morgan. “I think you and I can do it. We won’t need Josh.”
“Good thing,” Morgan muttered. “Josh isn’t around.”
“Oh?”
“He’s at work.”
“On a Sunday?”
“Don’t ask.” Morgan went around to the passenger side of the van and climbed in.
They drove out of the parking lot just as Aaron was pulling in. “That will make Bella happy,” M
organ said, waving at Aaron.
“What—that Aaron showed up?” Slade didn’t seem particularly interested.
Morgan filled him in on the whole dilemma: Aaron wanting to move to San Francisco, Bella wanting to stay here, how would they decide? Aaron would know this week if he got the job in San Francisco.
“Yeah, marriage,” Slade said. “Cramps your style.”
“It certainly does,” Morgan agreed.
Slade looked over at her. “Cramps your style?”
“Slade, I’m trained in biosafety. I know how to handle bacterial and parasitic agents. I’ve written a pamphlet on sewage spills—”
“Whoa!” Slade yelled. “That’s extreme. You are completely grossing me out.”
Morgan gave a wicked laugh. “The things I could tell you.”
“Please. Don’t.”
“Who would dream you were so squeamish?”
“Who would dream a babe like you enjoyed sewage spills?”
“Ah,” Morgan bantered. “Now you’re getting sexist. Anyway, I didn’t say I enjoyed sewage spills.”
“Come on. You implied as much. Anyway, what do you mean? What do you enjoy?”
“The safety aspect of it,” Morgan replied instantly. “I love knowing how to protect people from things they don’t even realize are dangerous. For example, Slade, let’s say there’s a blockage in a dorm toilet. Normal, right? Happens every day. A custodian dealing with the problem could be exposed, which could lead to something entering his digestive system and causing bacterial disease like salmonellosis and hepatitis A. To start with. He might have symptoms like vomiting, fever, abdominal pain, diarrhea—”
“Okay, stop!” Slade shuddered. “You are the weirdest chick I’ve ever met.”
“Well, Slade, you have to understand, I’ve got a master’s degree in biosafety. I don’t go around campus with rubber gloves cleaning up shit. I supervise. I run programs. I train and I test, people as well as equipment. I do most of my work at the computer and at the phone. I work with an enormous team.…” Morgan went quiet. After a moment, she said, “Rather, I worked with an enormous team. At Weathersfield College. I gave it up to come here. With Josh, because he got such a plum job at Bio-Green.”
They’d arrived at her house. Slade pulled into the drive. “I’ll unlock the door and just check the house phone,” she told Slade hurriedly. Josh hadn’t called her on her cell yet.
He hadn’t called on the house phone either. She fixed the screen door to remain fully open and went back down the steps to the van. Slade was inside, undoing the packing straps. Morgan climbed up to join him. It was warm, shady, even gloomy inside the van.
“Let’s edge it to the end, then I’ll jump down and take it until you have to get down,” Slade instructed. “We can rest it on the floor while you jump down.”
Morgan checked to be sure her hands were clean. The settee was so white. But it was protected by lots of Bubble Wrap. She hefted the far end of the settee and slowly moved forward as Slade inched backward.
“You’re at the edge!” she called. “Don’t fall!”
“Thanks, Mom.” Slade jumped down.
Raising his arms, he took the far end of the settee and carried it out of the van into the light of day, pausing for Morgan to jump down. Together, they lugged it across the lawn, up the steps, and through the open door into the house. They turned into the living room and gently positioned it in the spot in front of the window facing the street.
“Got scissors?” Slade asked.
He wasn’t even sweating, despite the hot day, but Morgan was puffing after carrying the solid old piece of furniture.
“I’ll get scissors and some ice water,” she told him, and went off to the kitchen.
She returned to find Slade lifting one end of the settee to slide protective rubber squares beneath the ornate mahogany claw feet. She handed him the scissors, not sure where to start the process of unveiling, and stood back to watch. He sliced at the top, cutting quickly and surely, and before long they were both tearing at the wrap, pulling it away to expose the exquisitely carved, curled, and embossed back and arms of the settee and the Arctic white silk of the seat and back.
“What was I thinking?” Morgan chuckled. “Petey will turn this into a Mondrian in two minutes.”
“Really?” Slade asked, looking at Morgan.
“Actually,” she replied, “maybe not. Mostly he plays in the kitchen or the den or his playroom or his bedroom. In fact, Josh and I are hardly ever in the living room unless we have company.”
“Lots of rooms in this house.” Slade had an odd expression on his face. He said, “Let’s sit on it.”
“What?”
“Sit on it. The new settee. It is a piece of furniture meant for sitting on. Don’t you want to try it out?” He wasn’t sweating, yet he gave off heat. Or, no, not heat, more like an exotic incense, as if he were some sort of plant she wanted to lean into and inhale.
Why did Morgan suddenly feel so flustered? “Of course!” She pretended more enthusiasm than she felt. “It’s just …” Bending, she tried to scan the back of her shorts.
“They’re clean,” Slade told her. “So are mine.”
Morgan sat down on the new settee. Not at the far end, because that might seem rude, but not in the middle either. “Ooooh.” She hadn’t expected it to be quite so cushy.
“When we refurbished it, we added foam stuffing to make it softer. When they were first built, the seats contained horsehair and were about as hard as wood.” Slade sat down next to Morgan.
Their arms almost touched.
It had been a long time since Morgan had been alone in a room with a full-grown male other than Josh.
“It’s luxurious,” she said, running her hand over the silk. She was aware of her bare legs extending from the hem of her shorts. His legs, next to hers, were longer, leaner. She was aware of her bare arms, her bare neck.
“It suits you,” Slade said, and he ran his eyes up and down her body.
She knew she should pull away, stand up, grab her glass of ice water and hold it to her burning cheek, but she only croaked, “Hah. First time anyone’s equated me with luxury.”
“I think you’re very luxurious,” Slade assured her. Angling his body toward hers, he lightly touched her hair, which she’d pulled up in a high ponytail to keep it out of the way when painting. “Such thick, glossy hair. Skin like satin.” He drew the tip of one finger down the side of her face, down her neck, stopping at her collarbone.
“Slade.”
“Did you know this old settee is long enough for most people to lie down on? To sleep on? Or … whatever?”
She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. He looked like some dark prince materialized from one of the gothic romances she’d read as a teenager.
And he had said what no one else in the world had ever said about her. That her skin was like satin.
Turning, she rammed her face at his before she could change her mind, and smashed a kiss on his mouth. Taken by surprise and by the force of her lunge, Slade fell backward, but he was quick enough to wrap his arms around her and pull her with him. On top of him. They tangled together on the white satin, adjusting arms, torsos, mouths. Slade was too tall to get all of his long body onto the couch, so he had to keep his legs turned sideways, and Morgan slipped onto her side, only the embrace of Slade’s arms keeping her from falling to the floor. His mouth was salty, hot, and much more knowing than any other mouth she’d ever kissed. As she pressed forward, Slade gently brushed his lips along her cheek, her jaw, the pulse in her neck, the tender tip of her ear. She arched upward, eyes closed, surrendering to a kind of lust she couldn’t even remember.
“This isn’t working.” Slade struggled to sit up, forcing her to sit up, too.
“It’s not?” Morgan’s hair had come out of the band and hung down on one side of her face and against the back of her neck. “It’s working fine for me,” she panted.
“I mean, the settee. It’s l
ong enough for a short man, but not long enough for me and not wide enough for two people.” Slade’s eyes were half closed, his lips wet with her saliva, his cheeks flushed with heat. His chest was heaving. He was as vivid as a poppy, as breathtaking as a thunderstorm.
Morgan understood what he meant. He didn’t have to say that if they were going to continue what she had started, they’d have to move to a bedroom.
She couldn’t do that. She was married. To that irritating jerk Josh.
“Slade,” she apologized, pulling away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I don’t know what came over me.”
Slade’s grin was crooked, astute. “Beauty queen, we’re just getting started.”
Beauty queen. Morgan had never been that. His words, and the desire in his eyes, tugged at her, pulling her into the force field of his sexuality. Morgan had never been sexually wild. She’d never surrendered, she’d never been taken. She had always been interested in safety.
She still was, if only for Petey’s sake.
Morgan stood up on trembling legs, walked to the coffee table, picked up a glass, and held it out to Slade. “Ice water?”
His laugh exploded. “Yes, please.” He stood up, arranging his clothing.
Morgan slugged back her own ice water as if it were an anesthetizing Scotch. “We should get back. Help paint.”
“Right.” Slade walked away, carrying his empty glass out of the living room, down the hall, and into the kitchen. He returned. His face was blank, his posture stiff. “I’ll wait for you in the van.”
Morgan carried her own glass to the kitchen. Petey’s toys were on the floor. No sign of Josh, not even a coffee cup in the sink. He’d left so quickly he hadn’t even taken time for the coffee he loved. What the hell was Josh doing?
She locked the house and climbed into the passenger seat of the van. Slade wasn’t there. For a moment, her heart stopped—she had no idea why. Then she saw him coming out of his aunt’s house with a portable CD player in one hand and a pile of CDs in the other. He tossed them in back, then slid into the driver’s seat.
“Natalie called,” Slade told Morgan. “She wants some music.” He didn’t look at Morgan.
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