by Dawn, Penny
Allison petted Kimberley's diamond and spun the ring around her mother's finger, a threadbare, pink rabbit dangling from her other hand. “Working?"
"Maybe he is.” An online look at their checking account showed a two-hundred-dollar debit at two a.m. Brennan had never been gone this long before, and her heart trembled with horrifying thoughts. Maybe he was bleeding on a highway median, fucking a stripper, or running from some irate giant to whom he'd lost a ridiculous bet. Worst of all, chances were he'd yet to pull himself out of the drunken stupor she'd left him in at the Depot last night.
"Could we call him, Mommy?"
She'd called him no less than twenty-seven times, to no avail. “I have a better idea. Let's call Auntie Lauren for a play date."
Allison's violet-blue eyes sparkled like forget-me-nots in the rain. “A play date today? Can Pink come?"
"Yes. You and Pink can play with Deacon and the girls, and maybe I'll pick up Daddy. How does that sound?"
Allison screeched a giggle, prompting Kimberley to dial her best friend. “Lauren, I need a favor."
"Absolutely."
"I need you to watch Allison."
"That's not a favor, Kim. It's a pleasure. When?"
"Well ... now, and unfortunately, I don't know when I'll be picking her up. I have to go looking for Brennan, and—"
"What do you mean, go looking for Brennan?"
"I mean I can't find him. I don't know where he is."
"Honey."
"He didn't come home last night."
"He's fine, honey, he's fine. Probably just now waking up. Screw him, he'll find his way home."
"Still, I'd feel better—"
"Of course I'll take Allie, and you go shopping. Buy something for yourself. And I'm not talking napkin rings, I'm talking armoire. Maybe a new settee for your breakfast room."
"I like the one I have."
"Hit back where it hurts. Call that professor at UIC, leave a voicemail, tell him you're fiercely interested in that position, and wait for the calls to roll in."
"I don't know.” The professor wouldn't likely care if she called, but she knew what would redeem her squashed esteem. And this time, she'd go straight to the jogging path at the preserve to find him.
* * * *
Thirty minutes later, she lounged on a blanket, about to surrender to much-needed sleep. He wasn't going to show. Dumb idea, waiting for him. Doubly hurt, she began to gather the things she'd brought with her. He was probably at home, naked and entwined with his wife. Stupid to think he might keep his usual routine for the sole chance she'd be waiting for him someday. Sure, he'd held her hand, but that didn't mean—
"Hey, Kimber."
She blinked up, her heart racing, to see him jogging in place. “Hi, Luke. How are you?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Thinking."
"About what?"
"Why don't you have a seat?"
His nose wrinkled, as if it itched, and he jogged his way over. “I'm kind of dirty and sweaty, but—"
"I don't mind."
He plopped down next to her, a single bead of sweat dripping at his temple. “How long have we known each another?"
Seven days, twenty-one hours, and forty-three minutes. “I don't know. A week, maybe."
"So, are you ever going to answer me outright, or do I have to butter your bread every time? Let's try this again.” He wiped his brow and boldly tucked his sweaty hand against her stomach. “Are you looking for me?"
"I'm just here. Thinking."
"About what?” His fingers tapped against her.
"Sex."
"Sex.” His lips parted into a delicious grin.
"About having it. With a man who loves me."
"This man have a name, Kimberley, or are you inventing him out of thin air?” He licked his upper lip.
"That all depends on whether I'm remembering him in his true capacity or building him up in my mind."
He squinted into a beam of sunlight and tickled her stomach. “I love the taste of pregnant women.” His back met the ground, but his hand maintained its intimate contact.
Heat crept into her cheeks. To think of Luke's perfect mouth pressed against her vagina—
"Do you have a deep, soft cunt? I mean, most mothers do, but I'll bet you know how to use yours."
"I beg your pardon?” She hadn't meant to whisper.
He shrugged, massaging her stomach. “There's something about childbirth that creates a deep, soft pocket in the birth canal. Did that happen to you?"
"How would I know?"
"What? You've never felt it? Feel it now. Go ahead. I won't look."
I'd rather you watched. “Absolutely not."
"Just do it, Kimber.” His voice, tender and dreamy, lulled her. A bedroom voice, if she'd ever heard one. “Slide that dainty hand down your pants and stick a finger in. Up to your wedding ring."
"Do you request this sort of thing often?"
"If I did, I'd be inside you.” His hand slithered down to her lap and grazed, for a split second, against the clothing that covered her most private parts.
When did she part her legs?
"What would your wife say about this conversation?"
"One less thing she has to do with me, not that she does it with me anyway.” He closed his eyes and drummed his hands against his stomach. “But I don't get it anywhere else, except in the shower, with myself."
What an image—this hunk of a man gratifying himself, dripping wet. His hand jerking over his cock, the muscles in his back tensing. Water trailing in rivulets off his shoulders. A crease forming in his brow with his strokes becoming more determined, about to—
Oh, my. Such a waste. She owed it to women everywhere to straddle him. Could she drink Luke the way Brennan drank whiskey? Could she wager her family-shmamily the way her husband tossed out Ben Franklins for random RBIs?
She locked her gaze on Luke's closed eyes, tucked a finger under her shorts, and pressed it into her vagina. Moist and tight, and it felt good. Ready.
Luke parted his lips and sighed, as if he'd felt the pleasure along with her.
She dragged her finger out and buried it again.
"Do you like sex?” he asked.
"Yes.” She added another finger to the mix, filling her void more thoroughly. Her juices accumulated under her fingernails, and she prodded, but it still wasn't enough. Did she have a deep cunt? She needed Luke inside her, to fill and satisfy her, to judge for himself.
"It feels good?"
"Yes."
"Diane says it hasn't felt good for her since my boy was born."
With the mention of his wife, she snapped her fingers out, suddenly feeling silly. “Did it...” She cleared her throat and wiped her wet fingers against the blanket. “Did it feel good before he was born?"
"I thought so, but what do I know?"
"Maybe she holds you responsible. Maybe she thinks she missed out on a lot because of the way things happened."
"Because I got her pregnant before we were married?"
"Maybe."
He shook his head. “So tell me what you feel like."
"No."
"I wasn't watching."
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Did you do it?” He peeled his eyes open. “Did you feel yourself?"
She gave a quick nod. “Yes."
"Because I asked? Or because you wanted to?"
"Truth first. You don't cheat on your wife?"
"Answer my question,” he whispered with a smile.
"Both. Now you answer mine. Do you cheat?"
"I don't, but I have.” His hand wandered back onto her stomach. “In the Army, in Saudi."
"Were you married at the time?"
"No."
"Planning on it?"
"Not formally."
"So you cheated, but you didn't commit adultery. There's a difference."
"Yeah, but there's one other time I'm not particularly proud of. When she was pregn
ant with Caleb, we hadn't had sex in months, and I got a blowjob at a bachelor party."
"Did you pay for it? Or was it from the bachelor?"
"No.” He smiled. “And no. You're funny, though."
The heat of his hand moving on her belly rushed like wildfire, sending surges to her nipples, which hardened with the anticipation of his touch.
"We were up in Lake Geneva. I ran into this girl I used to know, and she was wearing blood-red lipstick. Vampire red, you know? Trashy, but classy at the same time. I told her I'd like to see what it looked like smeared on my boxer shorts. Evidently, so did she."
"That's it? You commented on her lipstick, and she dropped to her knees?"
"Right there under the table in a crowded bar."
"Some girl."
"Nothing next to you."
"You don't know me."
"You're just so pretty. You're pretty enough I don't have to know you to know how amazing you are. And you don't have to know me. I've never met someone that I just ... clicked with before."
She searched his eyes for a gleam of mischief, but only honesty poured out at her.
"My kids mean everything to me,” he said.
"Mine, too."
"But I wish I'd had them with someone else. I can't leave Diane. Six months without my children was hell, and I know I can't do that again."
"We can get custody of your children.” For half a second, she imagined escaping with him, their four collective babies in tow.
"We?"
Her cheeks grew hot. “I guess that sounded rather suggestive—"
"Thrilling."
"Before Allie was born, I was a lawyer. Family law."
"Oh. For a second there, I thought...” Their gazes met. “I thought you were going to tell me to run away with you."
She took a deep breath and began to shake her head, refusing to admit just how close she'd come. “I helped pay for our house. Brennan forgets that once I had a career."
"You still have one, Kimberley."
"Not much challenge in wiping her nose."
"You don't like being home?"
"No, I do. It's just, you know, all I went through, searching for a way to make it happen—grants, scholarships, all the essays and interviews—and for what?"
"Listen. It's easy for a stay-at-home mother to feel worthless, but it's the most important—and the most difficult—job on earth. I see what Diane goes through day-to-day, and I tell you, I don't know many men who could do it. You're unbelievable. Don't forget that."
"What's unbelievable is I aborted Jason's child so I could go to law school, and now I'm a housewife."
"You had an abortion?"
Oh, wow. She'd told him her darkest secret. “I don't want to talk about it."
"All right."
A man in emerald green sweats jogged past, but Luke refused to take his eyes off her. He wove a hand into hers.
"So do you think you'll ever go back to being a lawyer?"
"No, but I might teach at UIC. Political science, history. Brennan doesn't want me to, but—"
"Teachers are good people.” His mesmerizing pink tongue slipped across his lips. “And you'll be a good teacher."
She took a deep breath, staring at his tempting mouth. Why did she feel as if she could tell him anything, and he'd accept her no matter what? “Jason left it up to me."
Luke squeezed her hand.
"I don't think it's what he wanted, but he let me make the decision."
He pressed their entwined hands to her gestating baby. “I wish it were mine."
"Why do you say things like that? You don't know anything about me."
"I know you're still in love with a man who left you. I know I remind you of him. And the one thing I know for certain is the way that makes me feel."
She wriggled away from his touch. “How dare you assume you know my feelings?"
"How dare you assume I don't?” He grinned.
"And what makes you believe you're worthy enough to join Jason's rank?"
"Anyone's worthy, Kimberley. He left you, so he's not worth the quarter to call him, and you still love him. I can't figure it out."
She wanted to slap him.
She wanted to tear his head off.
She wanted to have his children.
"I don't even know what you're talking about,” she said. “I'm obviously not in love with—"
"Relax. You're human, and you're entitled to human feelings. It doesn't mean you have to act on them."
She rubbed away a tear. When had she started crying? Damn hormones. “I don't know how I feel, but I know I married a man who doesn't love me."
"My God, Kimberley, look at you. You married a man who doesn't deserve you. Period."
"You don't know my husband either. He gives me everything he can."
"That might be true, but he doesn't give you what he should."
"You married a woman who won't sleep with you."
"I know.” He brushed his right hand against her cheek and caught a tear. “I know my situation is just as ridiculous as yours."
"If you aren't happy, Luke, leave your wife. But I won't sit here while you try to convince me your happiness hinges upon mine.” She stood, drawing in a long, shuddered breath, and wiping the last tears from her cheeks. “It's absurd really."
"But everything's about you. I told you before—I don't do this kind of thing."
"You're not fooling me. And women don't randomly suck dick under bar tables."
"Did you just say ... I mean, actually say...” He shook his head. “Wow. Look, Kimberley. I wish I understood why I've been thinking of you since I saw you. I wish I could stop thinking about you because it isn't fair to my children."
"I agree."
"But since I caught you when you were falling, I can't stop thinking about how soft you are, how pretty your little mouth is. And I can't stop wishing you'd fall for me someday."
"Stop,” she said, much more quietly than she'd intended.
"I told you before. I'm married, I'm harmless, and I don't cheat on my wife."
"Then stop trying to. Give me an inch of respect, will you?” She began to back away.
"I'll give you seven-and-five-eighths."
"You've measured it.” With a roll of her eyes, she turned away.
A deep chuckle resonated behind her. “Come on, Kimber. That was a joke."
"I have to get home,” she said over her shoulder. “And wait for my husband."
"I'll be thinking of you,” he called after her.
* * * *
He watched until she was out of sight, his fingers caressing the satin edge of the blanket she'd left behind. What a woman. Talk about being ready to burst through his pants! She'd actually fingered herself on his request.
He balled the blanket, tucked it under his arm, and walked the rest of the jogging path in quiet serenity. This woman had come into his life for a reason, and by God, he'd be there whenever she was ready.
Derby grumbled when Luke slid onto the truck's bench seat. “What, boy? Can you smell her on me? Take a good whiff.” The old dog sniffed his master's hand, his soft tongue taking a lap against his palm. “All right, all right. Let's go home."
Upon reaching the white tri-level with the impeccably mowed lawn, Luke helped the dog from the cab and entered through the garage door.
"What's that?” Diane stood at the washing machine, nodding at the light green mass in his hands.
Oh, hell. Kimberley's blanket.
* * * *
Kimberley hesitated before entering the house, an empty space in her stomach. What would she do if Brennan hadn't returned, if she found a message from the police department on the voice mail, requesting she identify her husband's drunken, dead body?
Her hands trembled as she turned the knob, but a familiar warmth welcomed her into the mudroom, a calming reassurance of cherry wood lockers—Brennan's was empty, but he never put anything in it—and floral potpourri. Home.
