His entire future had a softer, gentler look this morning.
"Good morning."
He turned from the rail to see Valery standing in the open door, wearing one of his shirts and nothing else. Definitely softer, he thought with a smile. Infinitely gentler. "I was wondering when you might wake up," he said, although it was a lie. If he'd given the immediate future any thought at all, his plans likely would have been to return to bed with her, to let her sleep until the lines of weariness that etched her face were gone, and then to wake her with kisses, to make love to her when she was soft and drowsy, and again when she was awake and passionate.
"I was wondering when you might come back to bed." She folded her arms over her chest, shivering with a chill. The cotton was pulled tight across her breasts, outlining their rounded shape, revealing their erect nipples.
"You plan to sleep the day away?"
She smiled sensuously. "I didn't say anything about sleeping."
"Good. Because I want to talk."
Immediately she sobered. "That phone call… Remy…?"
"He's fine. I want to talk about us."
Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed one ankle over the other, drawing his attention to her legs, her incredibly long, bare legs. "We can talk in bed where it's warm."
Emptying his coffee cup, he started toward her and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her snugly against him. "If we go back to bed, sweetheart," he said while nuzzling her ear, "talking is going to be the last thing on my mind."
With a delicate shiver and a rueful sigh, she nudged him back. "All right. You can have five minutes. Then we go to bed. What is it you want to talk about?"
"Five minutes, huh? All right. The wedding."
"As soon as Remy's out of the hospital."
"Where?"
"Your father's church."
He grinned. "Good answers. Living together."
"We already are."
"Officially. As in giving up your apartment and moving all your stuff over here."
"Tomorrow." With a lascivious smile, she reconsidered that. "Or the next day."
"Okay. The balcony."
That one puzzled her. "What about it?"
"Quit climbing off it. I always thought it could be a problem with kids, but, honey, you're thirty-four years old. Give my heart a rest and only leave by the door from now on."
"I promise," she replied solemnly, but the effect was diminished by the grin that immediately followed. "Michael?"
"Hmm." He was gazing down at her, noticing yet again how clear and blue her eyes were, how stubborn her jaw was, how utterly kissable her mouth was. Feeling a slow burn starting deep inside, he began to think that her request to return to bed was more than reasonable. More than desirable. It was quickly becoming downright necessary.
She touched his face, claiming his attention, not going on until she was certain she had it. "I love you, Michael."
Taking her hand from his jaw, he pressed a kiss to her palm, then wrapped his fingers tightly around it. "I learned to hate the visions after Evan died," he said quietly, fiercely. "I was convinced that nothing good could ever come from them again. But I was wrong. When the visions of you started, I was in despair. I thought I couldn't bear it again. I didn't know that they were different this time. I didn't know how I would need you. I didn't know how I would love you. I didn't know that they were visions of my future."
"Of our future," she corrected him in a husky whisper.
Yes, he silently agreed as he kissed her. Visions of their future.
Visions of life.
Visions of love.
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MICHAEL'S GIFT Page 25
