His lids were so low that she could hardly see his shining eyes. "Are you sure you want that shower?" asked an extremely aroused Joe Shanahan.
She nodded, and he practically pulled her out of her shoes. He hauled her willingly into the bathroom, and while she turned on and tested the water, he stripped. Then he stripped her, too, and they stepped into the shower stall. Warm water poured over their heads, and he reached for a bar of lavender soap. He lathered his hands, then rubbed suds all over her body. He paid a lot of attention to her breasts and the peaks of her stiff nipples. He washed her belly and between her thighs. Then he kissed all those places, long, lingering caresses of his tongue and mouth. Her breasts. Her navel. He knelt before her, placed her foot on his shoulder, and grasped her behind in his big hand. He combed his finger through her short pubic hair, then tilted her pelvis toward his mouth and kissed her there. She leaned her head back against the shower wall as the tension inside her built tighter and tighter. Then he stood and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His smooth, hot erection slid against her bottom, and she shivered.
"This is my favorite part," he said, lifting, then lowering her onto his engorged penis, burying himself deep inside. "Touching you where you're all hot and slick. Where it feels so good. Where you feel so good."
"The really good part."
"Yes." He withdrew, then pumped his hips and thrust into her, slowly at first.
"I love you, Joe." He moved harder and faster, and his breath rushed in and out of his lungs as he hammered into her. It didn't take long before both of them shattered in a reeling climax that almost sent Joe to his knees. Her heart pounded in her ears, and it took several long moments for Joe to catch his breath. She didn't realize the water had cooled until he turned it off.
"Sweet baby Jesus," he swore as he withdrew and lowered her to her feet. "That was like trying to run, juggle, and come, all at the same time."
"I appreciate it," she whispered and kissed his neck.
"I wasn't complaining." He grinned and patted her behind. "Do you have anything to eat? Maybe some bacon and eggs? I'm starving after that."
She offered him cornflakes. They sat at her dining room table, wearing nothing but towels and huge smiles. Gabrielle looked beside her at the man she loved and wondered what she'd done so right to deserve everything she wanted. She didn't know, but she figured it was about time her karma started to repay her for the past few months.
That night as she lay in her bed, wrapped in Joe's arms, a feeling of complete balance and utter happiness filled her body, mind, and spirit. She thought perhaps she'd found a bit of nirvana on earth, but she did have one question.
"Joe?"
His hand slid down her ribs to her hip. "Hmm."
"When did you know you loved me?"
"Probably last month, but I didn't know it for sure until you walked into the Hillard party last night."
"What took so long?"
He was silent a moment, then said, "After I was shot, I had a lot of time on my hands to think, and I decided it was time to start a family. I got this picture in my head of what my wife should be like. She'd like to cook and make sure I have clean socks."
"That's not really me."
"I know. You're who I wanted before I knew what I really wanted."
"I think I understand. I always thought I'd fall in love with a man who would meditate with me."
"That's definitely not me."
"I know. You're who I wanted before I knew what I really wanted." She pulled back and looked up at him. "Do you still think I'm crazy?"
"What I think," he said and gathered her in his arms, "is that I'm crazy in love with you."
Epilogue
Joe walked into Gabrielle's studio and studied the portrait she was painting of Sam. The subject in question hung upside down from his perch, watching her. The bird on the canvas looked more like a partridge than a parrot, and it had a yellow glow around its head that looked like the sun. He knew it was supposed to be Sam's aura, just as he knew better than to give his opinion.
"Are you sure you don't want to paint me naked instead? I'm willing." Sitting for Gabrielle usually turned into a session of taking those soft little brushes and smearing each other with some non-toxic paint she had. It gave him a whole new appreciation for art.
She smiled as she dipped her brush into a blob of bright yellow. "I have a lot of portraits of your Mr. Happy," she said and pointed toward the stack of canvases against the wall. "I want to paint Sam today."
Damn, he'd been usurped by a bird.
He leaned one shoulder against the wall and watched Gabrielle work. They'd been married for three months, and sometimes he'd catch himself just watching her. His mother had been right about that, he could look at her for the rest of his life, whether she was painting, or making her oils, or sleeping. He especially liked to watch her eyes when he made love to her.
In a week they'd celebrate the day she'd juiced him with a can of hair spray. He really wasn't into celebrating made-up anniversaries, and that was one memory that brought a bigger smile to Gabrielle's lips than his, but he'd celebrate to make her happy.
His gaze lowered to her stomach, and he imagined, if he looked hard enough, that he could see the slight rounding of her belly where his baby grew. They figured she'd conceived the night they'd moved into their new home two months ago. Now that had been a celebration.
Sam let out a squawk, then flew from the perch to Joe's shoulder. He puffed out his chest and rocked from one foot to the other.
"You've got to ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya-punk?"
Joe gazed at his wife, in her white shirt splattered with paint. Everything he'd ever wanted or would ever need was in this room. He had a beautiful wife he loved so much that it brought an ache to his chest, a baby growing safe and secure in her womb, and a very naughty bird. What more could a guy ask for?
"Yes I do," he said. "I'm one lucky punk."
RACHEL GIBSON
***
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It Must Be Love Page 26
