Ahh, conjugal bliss. We were already enjoying it without the obnoxious over-the-top wedding and ridiculous paperwork.
As the night passed, I made it deeper and deeper into the document. I found no lurid surprises, no secret support payments to illegitimate children, no illicit hideaways for kept lovers, no secret bribery or blackmail payments or the like.
But reading through Adam's accomplishments made me feel like I'd been standing still during these six years of my adult life. He was on a single-handed mission to change the world--investments in leading-edge and green technologies dominated the list. And space exploration.
All this money. And all these decisions...no wonder he was so goddamn busy all the time.
Cora, our housekeeper, brought me my dinner in my study instead of calling me down to eat. She told me that Adam was sleeping and gave me our chef's instructions on how to heat his dinner when he woke up. I nodded.
I'd mentioned to Chef the needed increase in his protein and caloric intake, and she'd said she'd noticed his weight loss as well. "We can't have him not properly filling out that tux for the wedding."
Somehow, her words had caused a lump to form in my throat. Oh yeah, the wedding. I wanted to forget about it. Just jitters. Like the other night after the Real Housewives had triggered my freak-out.
I picked at my dinner and, though it was good, couldn't bring myself to finish it.
Feeling the need for some fresh air, I took the disclosure document with me out onto the deck that wrapped around the back of our house.
I snuck down the length of the deck and sank into the lounge outside our bedroom door. Adam had pulled the French doors ajar, like he often did, to bring in some fresh air. I kept quiet, continuing to plow through the damn paperwork, wishing the mounting uneasy feelings away.
About an hour later, the natural light of the day was dying in a golden blaze, and my attention had been drawn away to the beautiful sunset. I became aware of the sound of stirring from inside the bedroom. The door to the deck swung open, and Adam stepped out onto it, wearing only a t-shirt and his underwear.
He did a double take when he saw me there. "Hey. What are you doing out here?" His eyes flicked to the disclosure document lying open across my lap. "It's getting dark. Still reading all that? How has it not put you to sleep?"
I picked up the booklet and dog-eared the page I'd been reading, setting the thing aside. "It's very interesting. I'm discovering all your sordid secrets. Your pink poodle fetish, for instance."
He busted out one of his signature cocky grins. "Just you wait." He approached, sinking down onto the ottoman across from me.
I eyed his bare legs. "You better put some clothes on, or our neighbors will be pulling out the binoculars. Trish Sinclair did inform me that you are very easy on the eyes."
He laughed. "I'm sure I look particularly fetching right now." He ran his hand through his respectably thick beard. God, it was a disgrace to cover up that face, but it wasn't like I could demand he shave every day while he was sick.
"You hungry? Chef left you some dinner. I'll warm it up."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "In a few minutes. I'll get it."
I stretched my legs out straight, settling my feet gently in his lap. He took one in his strong hands and gently massaged the arch. Shocks of awareness zinged up my legs from that simple touch.
"You seem quiet," he said, sending me one of his careful looks under his thick, dark eyelashes.
I reclined, enjoying his touch even though it had aroused me in seconds. Of course, these days, going without, I got aroused from passing him in the hallway, from smelling him. It didn't help that he was so goddamn sexy all the time. And that beard held no small appeal. It was driving me half to distraction--especially when he wore his glasses. An...interesting look for him.
Relaxing in my chair, I sighed. "Mm. That feels good. And I'm quiet because I don't have much to say. There's a lot to take in. I didn't realize that getting married was going to remind me of studying for the MCAT all over again."
His brow twitched. It had been a joke, of course, but as always, Adam picked up on every tiny subtlety--in the tone of voice, body language...
Should I tell him about my concerns or give it a pass? He'd fought like a dragon from his game to prevent me from having to do this. He'd put everything on the line. I didn't want to confirm that his fears had been right. That I wasn't ready to face this after all.
"You need to eat," I declared, changing the subject. "You've lost weight."
"I've still got these to tempt you with." He grinned, flexing his biceps.
"I'm already a puddle of lust due to the outfit you're wearing. Boxer briefs and t-shirt. Man lingerie. Mangerie?"
He chuckled, but his eyes returned to the booklet. "I'll go eat in a minute. Come with? We can talk about all that if you want."
I worried my lip, but nodded, getting up. Adam disappeared into his closet and came out in a clean shirt and pair of sweat pants. I gave him a smooch on his hairy cheek.
"I'm proud of how you're handling this no-work challenge," I told him.
He shrugged. "I still don't really feel well enough, to be honest. And...I've been philosophical about it. Thinking about why it happened and what you said when I was diagnosed. That it was my body's way of telling me to slow down. I mean...it could have been a lot worse than mono. It's been a challenge to remember that work-life balance thing."
"Of course. You're a natural-born overachiever." I smirked, holding up the thick disclosure document as we made our way down the stairs to the kitchen.
I pulled the tray that Chef had prepared for him out of the fridge and followed her directions for reheating. He flipped through the document that I'd left on the counter near where he sat.
"You took a lot of notes," he murmured as I set his plate down in front of him and went to pour him some ice water to drink with dinner.
"Well, I figure you can't be the only overachiever in the family. I'm going to have to run to keep up with you. That's the realization I came to today as I was poring over that."
"Well, it takes one to know one."
I shook my head, laughing. "You're no average overachiever, Adam Drake. You're in, like, the one percent of overachievers. I mean...I don't even understand half the stuff in that portfolio. Those notes you saw are stuff I had to Google on my phone to figure out what was being listed--the mutual funds, the venture capital shares, the vested funds, the charitable institutions, the licenses, the NPOs. It's endless. No wonder I hardly ever see you."
He shook his head. "Most of that stuff takes care of itself. I don't deal with it on a daily or even a monthly basis. That's all stuff for the financial managers and whatnot. Did you...did you get a chance to go over the contract?"
I nodded grimly. "Yeah, I have objections there."
His brows knitted, and he appeared disappointed. "Really? Well, we can rework it however you need."
I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the counter in front of him. "Good, because there's no mention whatsoever of a free lifetime subscription to DE in the event of a divorce. I might someday have to learn to live without you, but I'm not going to live without DE."
His jaw dropped before he started laughing. "Ahhh, I think I can work that out."
I nodded. "And sex?"
He raised his eyebrow, but didn't speak as he slowly took in a forkful of herbed mashed potatoes.
"Guaranteed number of orgasms per week?"
He choked on his food. I pushed the glass of water forward so he could reach it easier. Once he was through coughing, he sucked down a gulp and replaced the glass, watching me with narrowed eyes.
"I didn't think you could put that kind of stuff in there."
I waggled my eyebrows at him. "You can put anything in those. Another factoid I learned from Professor Google today."
He took another bite and then--taking care to swallow first before continuing--he continued, "I'm going to make sure I ask this with a clear windp
ipe but...anything else you'd like to add?"
I rested my chin in my hands and stared off into space, thinking. "Workweek hours limitation. Definitely."
His expression turned skeptical.
"No more than forty-five hours a week, I think? Sixty under special circumstances."
"Jesus. I hope you're kidding. And how would I even prove special circumstances?"
"A signed note from your CFO."
That made him belly-laugh--and realize that I'd been pulling his leg, hopefully. I'd never be serious about him getting a signed note from Jordan.
I busied myself about the kitchen, and we chatted about other stuff while he finished eating. I insisted, like an overprotective nanny, that he clean his plate.
Then we moved into the living room, where I checked his throat and ears with my otoscope. I also touched his neck glands to monitor tenderness and swelling.
"Noticeable improvement. You're being a good boy and getting your rest."
"I may be getting my rest, but I'm not a good boy," he said. To reinforce his point, he reached out, hooked an arm around my waist, and pulled me into his lap where he sat on the couch. "I'm having dirty, not-nice thoughts about my sexy doctor."
"Now, now...better not go there. We don't know what that spleen looks like."
He heaved a deep sigh. Likely, he'd been hoping that smaller neck glands meant he could return to certain activities he very much enjoyed before getting sick.
"You've gone for longer without sex before, and you weren't even sick."
"Well, it doesn't help that I have to see you and all your sexiness walking around the house, every damn minute of the day."
I quirked my mouth at him. "I wasn't trying to be sexy in my shabby yoga pants and big t-shirts and my hospital greens. I'm sorry, but how can you find hospital greens sexy?"
"You're wearing them." His hand slipped down to the small of my back, holding me against him. "That makes them sexy."
I kissed his cheek then gave his beard a good-natured tug. "Enjoying this? Because you're losing it before the wedding, you know."
"I am? What if I want to be the beardgroom?"
I groaned. The pun didn't merit acknowledgement of its awfulness. As I tried to get up out of his lap, however, he held me fast to him. I turned, and he was watching me with serious, even concerned, eyes.
"So are you really okay about the prenup stuff?"
I hesitated. How much should I tell him, really?
The truth. Put it all out there and trust that he'll know enough about himself and me that he won't have to go nuclear...
"Okay, so if I tell you the truth, I don't want you to freak out and go into overprotective mode. We've had problems with that."
He blinked. "Okay, now I'm concerned."
I shook my head. "If you want me to spill all, then you have to promise not to go into beast mode."
He sighed, glancing away.
"Promise!" I repeated.
He rolled his eyes. "Okay, I promise. Now tell me the truth."
"Well, it's freaked me out a little, but not why you think."
"How do you know what I think?" His forehead wrinkled--frown almost concealed by the thick beard.
"We've known each other a while." I idly combed my fingertips through the coarse hair on his jaw. This thing on his face was oddly fascinating. "I'm suspecting you think I'm getting all emotional about the business details and the implications that you don't trust me."
"And that's not what has you upset?"
I traced the line of his cheek. "Upset is too strong a word. I'm not upset. Just...uncomfortable?"
"About?"
"About the coldness of a contract."
Despite his mouth being mostly shrouded in darkness, I could tell that was a cocky smirk hovering on his lips. "You can say that without even a little a sense of irony?"
I shook my head smiling. "Oh, I get the irony. Our whole relationship started with a contract...or did it? Our relationship started long before all the paperwork came along."
His gaze flicked off to the side and then back to me. "True."
"It's...hard to imagine, I guess." I tilted my head slightly, our temples touching. "I know how I feel now. I know how I hope I'll feel in ten years, and looking at that agreement..." I shook my head to mask the hesitation. "It's hard to imagine a time when you and I will part ways and become strangers again--or distant acquaintances at best."
"That's because it's not going to happen." His arms around me tightened almost imperceptibly.
"But it could."
"Any marriage could, Emilia. That's the risk you take. But ours isn't any more likely than anyone else's. In fact, less so. Studies show that couples who were friends before they became lovers have a better chance of making marriage work. And we were friends--good friends. For over a year."
I grinned at him.
He narrowed his eyes, and I grinned wider.
"What's the smile for?"
"You've been reading studies. About marriage. You're such a nerd."
"If you're only realizing that now, I don't hold out much hope for you."
"You're a nerd's nerd, Adam Drake. A goddamn sexy nerd." I shifted in his lap to hug him around his ribcage. He rested his head on my shoulder.
"So that means I can keep the beard for the wedding?"
"Hell no."
"How about some...panky?"
I shook my head. "Consider this good practice. Abstinence can help us for when we're old."
His hands were on my butt again. "You think old age is going to stop me?" he asked, his thick brows rising as I smoothed my fingers over his pale forehead, noting the dark circles still under his eyes. He might be feeling a lot better, but he wasn't looking it. Not yet, anyway.
"Oh really?" I kissed his nose. "So you're already planning on being a dirty old man?"
That cocky grin that usually made my panties start to smoke... It really should be illegal for a man to be this sexy. "With you, my thoughts never really leave the gutter. I won't lie."
I smiled. "So in my retirement, I'll need to take up knitting so I can fight you off with my knitting needles."
"Even that won't stop me. Come here." He pulled me flush against him. "When we are old, I will take every opportunity to jump you. I won't need Viagra."
I hummed, scouring his face. "Not all that different than the present, except when a virus is stopping you."
"All right, I get it. No panky. Let's cuddle."
"Huh." My mouth quirked.
"What, huh?"
"I mean...that's probably the very first time you've ever suggested cuddling to me and meant that you wanted to cuddle." I pushed against his chest in order to pull away, but he didn't budge.
"I feel bruised by your implication." His tone of voice told me the exact opposite.
"No, you don't. 'Let's cuddle' is every dude's euphemism for 'I'm going to convince her to have sex. She just doesn't know it yet.' Except newsflash, dude, she knows it."
He frowned. "Have you been reading an illegally gained copy of The Bro Code or something?" His arms slackened, and I pulled away, sitting back. Turning, I ran my hand over his tousled hair, attempting in vain to tame it. Not only did he need a shave, but also a haircut.
"I'm an observer of life. I know how you not-so-smooth operators work." I winked. "So you've got me all snuggled up against you, right? And then you slowly, subtly start to 'rub' me somewhere seemingly innocent, like my back or my stomach or something. Your hand moves in circles, growing wider and wider so that you eventually touch more 'interesting' spots, like the bottom of my bra or the top of my panties."
"Sounds about right." He reached out as if to demonstrate, and I knocked his hand away, laughing.
"And then oops, your hand slips under the elastic, all while cuddling." I made air quotes with my fingers. "You wonder why suddenly she's in the mood because you've been not-so-subtly putting the moves on her, all in the name of cuddling."
His features were all
innocence. "I can't help it that my hands and innocent touches drive you insanely wild with desire. It's not like I can turn that off."
I snorted. "You're way too full of yourself."
He licked his lips. "I can't wait till you are way too full of myself."
My head leaned forward, touching my nose to his "Well, you've got the dirty and man parts down perfectly. It's a matter of time before you get the old down." Reaching out to smooth his cheek, I could tell he was exhausted. Despite his frisky talk, he was leaning his head on the couch again, eyes drooping. "Now, I think you have sleep in your future, and I have to get back to that girthy tome. C'mon, old guy. Time for bed, gramps."
And by the way he hardly protested, I could tell I was right.
Chapter 15
Adam
Three and a half weeks after mono body-slammed me and demanded I slow down, I completed a half-day at work. It was the longest half a day of my life. Or it felt like it, anyway.
Nevertheless, I managed to keep a brave face for the duration before going home to collapse. And wisely, on Emilia's advice, I'd scheduled hat day a Friday so I wouldn't need to show up the following day, even if I wanted to.
One of the first things I did was something I'd studiously avoided before falling ill--met privately with Jordan.
Just as two years before, when I'd taken a leave of absence, he'd had to do the heavy lifting for me while I was sick. All this in spite of the tension that had boiled up between us.
Emilia was right. I owed him a lot. I owed him an apology.
Yeah, I was still sore from the things that were said. But since my conversation with Emilia, I'd had a week to think things through.
Jordan sat across from my desk, methodically running down the checklist of the most important items to be handled now that I was here. I listened carefully, jotted notes to myself, and asked few questions. When he finished, he gave a pointed glance at his watch and pushed himself out of his chair.
I capped my pen and leaned forward. "Can you stay for a few more minutes?"
Jordan's brows twitched together briefly as he sank again into the seat. "Sure, man. What do you need?"
"I need to apologize. To you."
He blinked then jerked his head to gaze out the window, ducking to examine the sky. "Huh."
"What?"
"Just checkin' to see if pigs are flying. No flying pigs yet."
I leaned the chair back, watching him. "I deserved that."
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