by Claire Adams
“I'll build her a soundproof studio.”
“Good thinking, build the two-year-old a music studio. That’s not spoiling her,” I gave him a look.
“What? Eddie can use it, too,” he defended himself.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now, about next month . . .”
“Our wedding anniversary,” he said with a sly grin as he pushed up next to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I know, and I've been thinking about it. I'm really leaning more towards the Seychelles for our trip. How do you feel about that?”
“The Seychelles sounds just perfect, my love. White sand beaches, snorkeling, and boating on a turquoise ocean. That sounds like heaven right now.”
“I know. I can't wait! I'll go ahead and get everything booked.”
“How are things at the agency?” I asked him.
I'd stopped working there the day I'd almost lost Hope—the day we finally dropped our walls and started our life together. But that didn't mean I'd lost my ambition or my drive. We just realized that it would be better for us if we weren't working together. So, after I'd given birth, I'd started my own consulting company, taking my experience and talent to the highest bidders—unless that bidder was Brendan Savage—and doing it from the comfort of home.
Despite the money, the success, the house, and the cars, the most valuable things in my life weren't those that money could buy. They were my adoring husband Asher and my beautiful daughter Hope, the light of both our lives. I didn't know what I'd do without either of them. Hope was napping on the sofa, looking too cute for words. I had to take a picture of her to send Eddie, so I stretched and stood in the Sunday morning sunlight beaming through the wall of windows as I took out my phone and got the camera ready.
“She looks absolutely adorable, doesn't she?” Asher said as he gazed lovingly at our daughter.
“She has your eyes,” I said.
“And your smile,” he replied.
I crept up to her as she slept, doing my best to keep quiet and not rouse her from her slumber. She stirred, and I froze momentarily, but then she smiled in her sleep and burbled softly. I aimed the camera at her cherub-like face and snapped a shot. The lighting was just perfect. I uploaded the picture to Facebook, with a suitable amount of hearts and smiley faces.
The first “like” came from Asher, of course. I looked up at him with a grin.
“Mr. Sinclair, are you stalking me on Facebook?” I whispered.
“Why, I'd never do such a thing Mrs. Sinclair. You’re a married woman,” he said in a tone of mock shock.
We both laughed, and I eased over to him and jumped into his arms. He caught me with a laugh, swung me around in a circle and then planted a deep, sensuous kiss on my lips, which got my heart racing and my cheeks flushed with heat. Even after marriage and a child, he was still able to turn me on with a mere glance, or a touch.
Still in his arms, I disengaged from the kiss as the phone in my hand buzzed. It was a notification from Facebook.
“Eddie likes the photo,” I said. “And he just sent a message saying hi to both of us.”
“Say hi back. He and I need to have a beer when his band gets back from touring.”
“I'll tell him.”
“Oh, and Meg wants to come over early before dinner. Shall I tell her we're free now?”
He kissed me before answering, and again electricity rippled across my skin.
“Not just yet,” he said. “You and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”
“Oh we do?” I asked with a cheeky grin.
“Yeah. In the bedroom. Around . . . now, I think.”
“I'll tell her to come over in an hour then.”
He kissed me passionately, and we were both panting when he disengaged.
“Make it two hours,” he whispered. “Make it two . . .”
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
