The Second Time Around

by Marie Ferrarella

  Her skin was tingling. She pressed him to her as tiny volcanoes began to erupt in sequence up and down her body. Talking was an effort. Thinking was an effort.

  “Good…very…good,” she finally breathed out the answer to his question. “But I don’t understand. Why the change?”

  She felt him smile against her belly. Her flesh quivered beneath his lips. “Must be the glucosamine I’ve been taking,” Jason said. “I’ve upped the daily dose.”

  She wiggled beneath him, drawing in his heat, his strength. Feeding on the passion Jason was exhibiting. The same passion that could always ignite within her own breast.

  “God bless the pharmaceutical companies,” she murmured as she raised her hips in a silent offering.

  As desire urgently slammed into her, Laurel bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. Morgan hadn’t been home when they had gone up to their bedroom, but he might have come in after they’d closed the door.

  “Here,” Jason murmured, “let me.”

  And then, before she could ask what he was referring to, she felt him gently bite down on her lower lip. Suckling, he ran the tip of his tongue along her tender skin.

  She climaxed.

  And then again as he thrust himself into her, immediately increasing the tempo of the dance that seemed so new in its familiarity.

  She dug her fingertips into his shoulders, trying hard not to scratch him the way she wanted to. Even in the full blast of heat, with her mind winking in and out, she couldn’t help thinking that she was one of the lucky ones.

  “Maybe he realizes that he’s been acting unfairly. Or maybe he’s been kidnapped by aliens who left a clone in his place,” Laurel concluded flippantly the next morning.

  Both in the office early, she and Jeannie had retreated to the alcove that housed a combination sink/refrigerator/microwave oven. The coffee machine stood on the minuscule counter, yielding both fairly decent coffee and hot water, depending on which spigot was pressed. Jeannie had tossed a dollar into the empty coffee can and filled her extralarge mug with black liquid, while Laurel had put in the same amount for hot water that would activate the chocolate crystals she’d deposited into her cup.

  She stirred it now, waiting for the crystals to dissolve and the mixture to thicken.

  “God knows, I don’t have any answers,” she confessed after having given Jeannie a cursory response as to why she seemed to walk on air this morning. Jeannie had looked at her with unabashed envy, asking what her secret was for activating a husband who’d spent the past few years essentially in “sleep” mode. “Jason’s acting like he’s twenty-five again.”

  To her surprise, Jeannie accepted the theory and even backed it up. “They say that having a baby later on in life makes you feel young again. Makes you relive your earlier years.” She grinned wickedly and added, “Either that, or he’s having an affair and he feels guilty so he’s sharing the wealth.”

  Laurel took a sip of her hot chocolate. She hadn’t shared with anyone just how withdrawn Jason had been lately and she didn’t allude to it now. Holding the cup between her hands, she gave Jeannie a less-than-pleased glance.

  “Not exactly something I want to hear at a time when I feel like the incredible expanding woman.” And then she smiled. “Besides, I know that Jason is as faithful as the day is long.”

  To Jeannie, men were only as faithful as the length of the leash around their necks. “Are we talking about a regular day or an Alaskan midwinter day?”

  “An Alaskan midsummer day,” Laurel countered with utter conviction. There were a few things she knew with a fair amount of certainty and this was one of them. “They’re what, twenty hours long?”

  Jeannie shrugged, her wide shoulders moving up and then down carelessly.

  “Something like that. I was only kidding,” Jeannie added before taking a long sip of the inky brew in her mug. “The man knows when he has a good thing going. If I was to pick which of you stood a better chance of being unfaithful, I’d pick you.”

  Laurel came dangerously close to choking on her hot chocolate. It took her a second to clear her throat and find her voice. “Me?” she cried incredulously. “Why?”

  “Not because you’re out there looking for it,” Jeannie told her. “At least, I don’t think you are.” She laughed as Laurel raised her mug, pretending to hurl it at her. “But look at it logically. You’re the one who has more opportunity to get down and dirty with someone who isn’t your husband.” She waved her hand about the office. “Let’s face it, there are a lot of guys who come through here.”

  Laurel raised her finger, making a point before Jeannie could continue. “Almost all of whom have wedding rings on their fingers, or at least in their lives.”

  “Like Mr. Hunk?” Jeannie interjected mischievously. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

  There’d been nothing suggestive in the way Robert had looked at her, Laurel thought staunchly. And she’d never said anything to Jeannie about his asking whether her marriage was a happy one. She knew what her friend would make of that.

  “He hadn’t seen me in twenty-five years, Jeannie,” she reminded the woman. “If anything, he was probably looking for all the telltale signs of aging.”

  “The man was drooling,” Jeannie contradicted with a finality that said she wasn’t about to be argued out of the point. “So, how’s he doing these days, anyway?” she asked.

  Laurel had told her that her brother-in-law was working on Robert’s newly acquired property. “Waiting to have the renovations finished on that castle of his. It’s pretty close to completed. Jared’s giving it his top priority,” she added, referring to her brother-in-law.

  “That man has a castle.” Jeannie looked at her significantly. “Now all he needs is a princess.”

  “Princesses don’t come pregnant.”

  Jeannie laughed. “This is the twenty-first century. Things change.” Just then, they both heard the bell ring in the front of the office.

  “I believe you’re up,” Laurel said. “Unless you want me to get that.”

  But Jeannie was already, and mercifully, on her way to the front of the office, to bag a client. “Nope, I’ll get it.”

  Thank you, God, Laurel thought. Taking a seat at the tiny kitchenette table, she went on sipping her hot chocolate.

  CHAPTER 18

  One of Laurel’s main credos was believing that, no matter what, she could find a way to get along with anyone. Jason had once paid her the supreme compliment of saying that if anyone could get along with Satan, she could.

  The people who crossed the threshold of Bedford Realty Company bore out her husband’s statement. Some clients were exasperating, others the last word in affable. Some knew exactly what they wanted, others vacillated like newly struck tuning forks. She got along with them all and did what she could to accommodate their wishes. Being resourceful and accommodating was part of her job description.

  However, Denise’s mother, Sarah Wyman—the woman had taken back her maiden name when she divorced Denise’s father—was in a category all her own. It was Laurel’s unbiased opinion that the tall, statuesque onetime debutante was a great deal less friendly than Satan and a great deal more judgmental. Satan might have had a cloven hoof, but Sarah Wyman had a lethal, razor-edged tongue. One which she sharpened on every available body that had the misfortune of crossing her path.

  So it was with no little dread that Laurel agreed to meet with Denise and her mother, as well as the four young women Denise had chosen to act as her bridesmaids and maid of honor, at the exclusive bridal boutique in Beverly Hills. This was supposed to be the final fitting before the wedding. Because being in Sarah’s company made her feel like the lone survivor of a shipwreck floating on a leaking rubber raft, “surrounded” by one very quick moving, hungry shark. Laurel brought along a reinforcement for moral support. Lynda.

  Laurel saw Sarah the moment she walked into the boutique. Blessed with the kind of skin that would have made a porcelain doll green with
envy, Sarah was carefully and artistically made up to an inch of her life. Laurel had it on good authority that Sarah never ventured a foot outside of her bedroom without makeup.

  Seeing her enter the shop, Sarah’s crystal green eyes—a gift from her ophthalmologist via contact lens—narrowed and her mouth twitched with barely contained amusement.

  There was no mistaking where the woman’s eyes were focused. On her stomach.

  “Eyes front, enemy sighted,” Laurel murmured under her breath, taking Lynda’s arm and tugging her sister around.

  In order to gain entrance, they’d had to ring a bell and be admitted to the store by one of the three saleswomen. The boutique, Giselle’s, prided itself on not allowing “just anyone” into their showroom. Clients came through referrals and preferably with a lineage that had originally come over on the Mayflower.

  “I thought they were going to stick me to see if my DNA was good enough to come into this place,” Lynda complained, still looking over her shoulder at the petite older woman who had unsmilingly allowed them admittance to the inner sanctum.

  “Lynda,” Laurel whispered urgently. “Barracuda, twelve o’clock high.”

  Her sister turned around just in time to see Sarah descending on them. The expression on the woman’s face was slightly pained as she regarded the uninvited invader beside Laurel.

  Sarah’s eyes were cold. “And this is?”

  She was going to make this work, she was, Laurel thought urgently. Family harmony was at stake. Besides, Luke loved this witch’s daughter. “My sister, Lynda.”

  Lynda extended her hand toward Sarah and was left holding it in midair.

  “I hope she’s not expecting to get her dress here.” Sarah was making no effort to hide her distasteful appraisal of her sister. Laurel’s intentions of a peaceful détente went up in flames. Thoughts of dark alleys and strangleholds began floating through her head.

  “No, not at all,” Lynda informed her casually. “I’m having mine flown in from Switzerland. Twelve little myopic nuns are pricking their fingers over it even as we speak.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “She has your sense of humor,” she said icily to Laurel.

  Laurel merely flashed a smile. “It’s a family thing.”

  Sarah made a little disparaging noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “I certainly hope not, for Lucas’s sake.”

  “Luke,” Laurel corrected for what was probably the dozenth time. The woman kept insisting on calling Luke by the wrong name. “His name is Luke.”

  The disdain on Sarah’s face only intensified. She looked put upon, as if she was attempting to lift trailer trash to a decent level, only to meet with resistance.

  “‘Luke’ is something a farm boy would go by,” she told Laurel. “‘Lucas’ has power, strength.”

  Laurel struggled to hold on to her temper. She couldn’t kill the woman in front of witnesses. “Perhaps, but his name is still Luke. After his grandfather. I can have his birth certificate sent over if you like.”

  “Whatever.” Sarah sniffed defensively. And then her eyes dipped down to Laurel’s waist again.

  Despite the fact that Laurel could have sworn she felt it thickening on a daily basis, she was still not showing in the traditional sense. There was no telltale, rounded bump on its way to being a mound. At the moment, she only looked as if she’d indulged in one too many chocolate bars on a daily basis for the past couple of months.

  “Speaking of whatever,” Sarah said, pausing dramatically, “whatever were you thinking, Laurel, dear?”

  Laurel heard her sister draw in her breath. Lynda knew, she thought, that the haughty woman had just skated onto extremely thin ice. She stared at Denise’s mother intently, her eyes never wavering. “About what?”

  “About this.” Sarah waved her hand at her middle. “Why on earth would you allow yourself to get pregnant at your age? To be pregnant at your age?” she emphasized in a tone that was both mystified and ridiculing. She didn’t bother lowering her voice and it was obvious that the saleswomen couldn’t help overhearing. Well-bred to a fault, they gave no indication of listening. But they would have had to have the constitutions of martyred saints not to.

  Laurel never faltered. “Maybe because I like children and I don’t eat my young.”

  Sarah’s pale complexion instantly acquired color. Laurel watched in fascination, wondering if the woman could get steam to come out of her ears as well.

  “Is that a joke at my expense?”

  Laurel was the very picture of innocence as she denied any intended offense. “Just a statement, Sarah, nothing more.”

  She saw the other girls hovering in the background. Even Denise was keeping her distance.

  Initially, she hadn’t been thrilled with the girl when Luke started bringing her around. She thought of her as a little too cool. But seeing what had raised her, or claimed to have raised her, Laurel was beginning to think that Denise had turned out remarkably well, all things considered. It was evident that Denise had not escaped her mother’s sharp tongue unscathed.

  “Now,” Laurel continued, taking charge and knowing that the very act irritated Sarah beyond words, “since I’m sure we all have to be somewhere else—”

  “Anywhere else,” Lynda said under her breath, but audibly enough for two of the bridesmaids to hear. The girls both began to giggle, then stopped abruptly the instant Sarah shot a dagger in their direction.

  “Why don’t we get this final fitting over with?” Laurel concluded.

  Sarah wrenched control back. “I imagine they will have to spend the most time on you.” She looked over toward the small, slender older woman in black who stood unobtrusively off to the side. “Giselle, is there enough material on Mrs. Mitchell’s dress for you to let out so that it can fit her properly?”

  The owner of the exclusive shop gave her a tight-lipped smile after glancing at Laurel’s figure. “I am sure there will be no problem, madam.”

  “Obviously Giselle doesn’t know the woman very well, does she?” Lynda whispered into Laurel’s ear.

  “All right, then why don’t you see to the bridesmaids and maid of honor first?” Worded like a suggestion, it was more of an order. Sarah waved the four young women toward the dressing room. She didn’t expect to be contradicted and she wasn’t as the girls meekly shuffled away.

  They were yet to be out of earshot when Sarah turned toward her daughter, a triumphant smile on her lips. “I’m so glad you listened to me, dear.”

  Denise looked at her mother, a little perplexed at the praise. Everyone knew that her mother was not thrilled with the match that had been made. She made it clear that Luke’s bloodlines were less than satisfactory.

  “Listened to you?” she asked uneasily. “What do you mean, Mother?”

  “I’m talking about making sure that the young women in the bridal party weren’t pretty.” She smoothed down a single stray hair on Denise’s head. “After all, a bride should be the most beautiful one at her wedding and, well—” Sarah cocked her head, a look of pity entering her eyes “—you were never really a head turner, darling, so—”

  “That all depends if the head is on the neck of a person with a stick up their butt,” Laurel said, putting an arm around Denise’s shoulders and glaring at her mother. And then she turned to Denise. “We all think you’re beautiful, Denise,” she told her future daughter-in-law. “Especially Luke.” Laurel deliberately emphasized her son’s name as she looked at Sarah.

  Before Sarah could make any rejoinder, the rear curtain was moved aside and the three bridesmaids came out like a gaggle of geese. The maid of honor was behind them. They had on long, ice-blue gowns with straight skirts and empire waists.

  She was getting very fond of empire waists, Laurel thought.

  “And aren’t they just gorgeous?” she declared, posing the rhetorical question to both her sister and the boutique owner.

  Sarah made a cryptic remark, which everyone seemed not to hear. This
gave Laurel immense satisfaction.

  CHAPTER 19

  Lynda waited until after the waiter had placed their orders—Lobster Cantonese for Laurel, Sesame Chicken for her—on their table before answering Laurel’s question about what was behind her wide, pleased grin.

  “You sure gave it to that stuck-up bitchy woman.” Every word sounded like a cheer.

  Taking the rice, Laurel scooped out a portion before spooning half the Lobster Cantonese on top. She frowned, not at the praise, but at her own actions. “I should have kept my temper.”

  Lynda licked the drop of sauce from her forefinger before picking up her fork. “No, you should have decked her.”

  God knows she’d wanted to, Laurel thought. But that didn’t exactly help forge good relations with Luke’s future in-laws, or at least, his mother-in-law. She had a sneaking suspicion that Denise’s father might have applauded her had he been there. But that didn’t change the fact that she should have held her tongue for the sake of peace.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” she admitted to her sister. “It’s like all my emotions are in this huge microwave oven and they keep popping like corn kernels without any warning.” She raised her eyes to her sister. “Most of the time I don’t know if I’m going to laugh or cry the next minute.”

  Lynda watched as Laurel filled her tiny cup with tea before pouring some for herself. She nodded her thanks, then raised the cup in a silent salute. “Welcome to my world.”

  Laurel set the teapot back down and addressed her meal. Her stomach had been growling for the past half hour but she didn’t feel like eating. “No, I’m serious. This isn’t me. I’ve always been even tempered, the diplomat for the family.” She’d lost track of all the arguments she’d refereed between her sons when they were growing up.

  Lynda allowed herself a taste of her food before answering. “Want my guess?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Lynda took a sip of her tea. “You’re pregnant and going through menopause at the same time.” Setting the cup down, she picked up her fork again and ate with gusto. “Twice the fun, twice the emotions.”