Hannah bit into the peanut butter bar with alacrity and mumbled around a mouthful of sugar and calories. “Don’t go all dramatic on me, Elda. The sun is still shining. Remember? They aren’t looking for landfall until the wee hours of Friday morning.”
Hannah sniffed. “That’s barely thirty-six hours from now. And what about your windows? Have you picked up plywood? And do you have plenty of nonperishable food? And what about Morgan? Will he be there with you? You shouldn’t be alone.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a soap opera, my love. I’m not boarding up any windows, because Constance is not supposed to be more than a category one. My cabinets are full, thank you very much, and as for Morgan, I’d say he’s got his hands full out at the site. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine in my apartment, I swear. Unless you want me to ride out the storm here with you.”
Elda frowned. “Of course not. But I don’t like the idea of you being on your own.”
Hannah stood up and hugged her. “I’ve been on my own a long time now. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with one barely impressive weather pattern. And as for Morgan, I sure as heck am not going to add to his stress by whining like a sissy girl. He’s having to make all sorts of preparations and take tons of precautions at work. We didn’t even get to eat dinner together last night, because they called him out to the site unexpectedly. And I doubt I’ll see him tonight, either. But quit worrying. I’ll be fine.”
Rachelle turned off the Weather Channel. It was making her nervous. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at the stupid graphic that showed a swirling eye bearing down on Florida. She still remembered the terrible hurricane that had ripped a swath of devastation through her neighborhood when she was only seven years old, and even though Constance was barely up to speed in terms of being a powerful storm, the very uncertainty of it all scared Rachelle.
She heard the front door open and knew Timmy was home. He was expecting them to leave for their appointment as soon as the sitter arrived.
Rachelle bit her lip. She felt guilty and confused and ready to cry.
He found her in their bedroom. She held a finger to her lips. “I finally got her to sleep. Please be quiet.”
He’d been about to scoop her up in one of his enthusiastic hugs, but her body language warned him off. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his expression troubled. “Why aren’t you dressed, babe? Beebo’s sister will be here in twenty minutes.”
Rachelle winced. Beebo was a longtime buddy of Timmy’s. A beer-drinking, loud-mouthed, motorcycle-riding hulk of man. She was terrified at the thought of leaving her innocent baby in the care of the guy’s unknown sister.
Her face must have been easy to read, because Timmy frowned. “What’s wrong?” He stared at her, almost belligerent, it seemed.
She shrugged, tightening the sash of her thin nylon bathrobe. She’d showered, but that was as far as she had gotten. “I’m not sure I can do this, Timmy. You know I don’t like leaving the baby.”
His face softened. “I went over and talked to Beebo’s sister. She’s a very nice lady, two years older than him, and enrolled in college. She wants to be a teacher. We can trust her, I swear.”
Rachelle knew he was telling the truth. And she knew she wasn’t being fair. She had promised Timmy she would try to book them two appointments this week, but somehow, it just hadn’t happened. And now with the storm coming, the late-morning time slot reserved for them today was their last shot before Friday night’s group session.
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “We could make love here,” she said. She smiled at him, even though she didn’t feel at all amorous. It didn’t take much to coax her young, hormone-driven husband into bed. And surely she could convince him to send the sitter home.
Timmy froze in the act of peeling off his T-shirt. His typical buoyancy faded, and suddenly he looked at least ten years older.
He dropped the shirt on the floor, his face pale. “I
need
this, Rachelle. And I’m not talking about having sex. I know that being parents means we have to sacrifice for the baby, for our family. But I need to know that I come first with you
sometimes
. I have to know if you still want me. I can’t be on the edges of your radar indefinitely. Please don’t break this appointment. I’m begging you.”
The raw vulnerability in his voice, on his face, shocked her. Timmy was not a deep man. He worked and played and loved with abandon. And he was a happy person. But the boy looking at her now, a boy far too young to have a wife and a child, seemed haggard and desperate.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Of course I want you. You’re my husband.”
His jaw firmed, his eyes turbulent with emotion. “Then show me, Rachelle. Today.”
The sitter’s arrival was almost anticlimactic. Beebo’s sister, all supposition to the contrary, was clearly a capable person. She
ooh
ed and
aah
ed over the baby with endearing enthusiasm. Rachelle assumed the woman thought Timmy and Rachelle were off to see a movie and have lunch . . . the things most young parents love to do when given half a chance. So Rachelle didn’t disabuse her.
Thankfully, their clunker of a car cooperated. They made it downtown right on time and headed upstairs to claim their key and find the room. After a brief stop at the reception desk, they went down the hallway and paused in front of room four.
Timmy reached out to put the key in the lock, and Rachelle laid her hand on his. “I love you, Timmy. And I
do
need you. So much it hurts. I’m sorry.”
His crooked, goofy grin flashed, making his eyes light up. “I know you do, sweetheart. Same here.”
Timmy’s chest was still tight and his knees were knocking. He didn’t know where he’d found the courage to lay down an ultimatum. It wasn’t his style at all. And he felt like a pussy for being so damned needy.
But this fatherhood thing was tough to take. The six weeks of postdelivery celibacy had been bad enough. But watching Rachelle bond with the baby and at the very same time shut him out, made everything inside him feel sick and uncertain.
Did all women do this? Did they turn all their love toward a helpless little bundle of need and in the process forget the husbands who adored them?
He felt shame for not being able to be a better man. For not rising above the physical demands of his body and being able to go cold turkey on fucking until life got better. Or at least easier.
But what if nothing ever changed? What if this was the new status quo? That’s what scared him shitless. He could handle the responsibilities of fatherhood. But he couldn’t bear it if his young wife loved their baby more than she did her clumsy, not-all-that-smart husband.
He looked around the room with interest. It was dark and somber today. A couple of leather chairs sat in front of a fake fireplace complete with realistic gas logs and a small, crackling flame.
One wall had been outfitted with bookshelves, all full of leather-bound volumes, and somehow the good doctors had squeezed in a small pool table, as well. The whole place had a masculine feel to it.
Rachelle had already picked up the instructions and was reading them with a puzzled look on her face.
He peered over her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
She turned to face him. “Nothing. It says I’m supposed to pretend you’re my very rich, very successful husband. You’ve been away on an extended series of business trips, and you’ve been ignoring me. I’m supposed to entertain you and seduce you.”
Timmy’s eyebrows, and his dick, rose. “Sounds fun to me. When do we start?”
“We’re supposed to put on costumes.”
He didn’t waste any time waiting to see what she would do. He turned to the pile of masculine clothing on the nearest chair and starting putting it on. The tweed jacket, dark slacks, and dress shirt were top-of-the-line. He doubted whether he’d ever be the kind of guy who wore such clothes, but he was prepared to do so if it meant hurrying this along. He wanted his wife.
When he was properly clad down to his thin, expensive socks and highly polished wingtips, he felt ridiculous. But he sat in one of the high-back chairs and glanced in Rachelle’s direction. His breath whistled between his teeth and his body tensed. Sweet heaven.
She was already outfitted for her part in a black satin maid’s dress trimmed with white collar and cuffs. Her long, sexy legs were covered in fishnet stockings and she wore black stiletto heels. The scanty frock was cut out on the tits to show Rachelle’s nipples. When he dragged his gaze to her face, she was flushed with embarrassment. He shifted one of his legs to hide his boner. No need to be too blatant about his pressing need.
He cleared his throat. “You look hot, babe.”
She smoothed the small skirt. “I feel silly. Does this kind of thing really turn men on?”
He chuckled hoarsely. “Oh, yeah. No worries there.” He started to stand up and then belatedly remembered that he was supposed to be bored with his wife.
Fat chance. He picked up the newspaper on the table beside him. He opened it and pretended to read. Occasionally, he surreptitiously peeped over the top to monitor Rachelle’s behavior.
She stood irresolute for long agonizing seconds. He gripped the paper so hard, the side of one page tore. His hands were sweaty, and the newsprint rubbed off on his palms. Finally, Rachelle approached him.
His heart was pounding, but he kept his eyes on the headlines. He felt her at his knee. And then she spoke, her voice tentative.
“Timmy?”
He lowered the paper a half inch, his expression deliberately stern. “Call me Tim. I’m a grown man, not a boy.”
She bit her lip. “Right. Of course. You’re the man of the house.” She said it absently as though trying the words on for size. She wiped her hands on her tiny apron. “I missed you.” The words were hesitant.
He folded the
Times
. “Did you keep busy while I was away?” He tried not to look at her lips. They were shiny and wet and he wanted to lick the gloss. It tasted like peppermint. He knew. It was her favorite.
She smiled. “I’ve been going to aerobics. You know. To keep in shape. I know men like their wives to be thin and beautiful.”
In her words he heard something that rang a bell in his head, even through the haze of sexual hunger. Did Rachelle think her body was no longer sexy? She was a few pounds heavier after the baby, but mostly in the breasts and ass. Two places a man enjoyed a bit of curviness.
And even if she’d gained a lot more, why would it matter to him? She would still be his beautiful Rachelle.
He leaned back in his chair. “You look great. What else have you done?”
She lowered herself with grace to her knees and put her cheek on his thigh. “Mostly I missed you,” she said huskily. Her hands stroked his calf. Even through his pants her touch felt hot and suggestive.
He was embarrassingly close to coming, and they hadn’t even made it twenty minutes into their session. He moved her hand away from his body. “Stand up.” His tone was bland. “I want to look at you.”
She was more clumsy this time, staggering when one of her heels caught the carpet. He reached to steady her and they both gasped when his fingers accidentally made contact with her bare nipples. He jerked back, feeling sweat gather on his forehead. The damn tie was choking him. He closed his eyes for a split second and then tried to emulate boredom as he ran his gaze from her head to her toes.
He nodded brusquely. “Why are you dressed like a hooker?”
She gasped, looking hurt. “I was trying to entertain you.”
His fingers gripped the chair arms. “Why?”
She licked her lips. “You’ve been gone a long time. I thought we should spend some time together. You know. In bed.”
He spread his knees and reached for her hand. “Come closer.” When her thighs were trapped between his, he leaned forward and caught the nearest nipple between his teeth. Rachelle cried out, and he groaned deep in his chest. He worked the nipple with his teeth and tongue until he felt the gradual loosening of her entire body.
She had been tense and stiff since they entered the room, and he sure as hell didn’t want sex unless she was prepared to enjoy it, too. He put a hand between her legs. Her head fell back as she shivered.
She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his fingers delved into her slick, moist warmth. He bit back a curse as he felt his cock tremble and spasm. God, he was close. And it was stupidly embarrassing. A man needed staying power to satisfy a woman. And in that respect, he was still too damned young. He had to gain control of the situation or this was going to be all fucked up.
He reached for his belt buckle and undid his zipper. Rachelle had backed up a step or two as soon as he released her. She watched, her gaze riveted on his lap, as he freed himself and deliberately jerked off. It didn’t take much. His breath caught, his eyes squeezed shut, and a violent, wonderful shudder of release ripped through his aching cock and balls.
He caught the come in the paisley silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket and when he could move, laid it aside. As calmly as he was able with his chest still heaving, he spoke steadily. “Let’s try that again.”
He beckoned her a second time, and this go-round, he was at least able to touch her intimately without desperately wanting to climax. He fondled her sex, keeping his deliberate assault teasing, light.
Rachelle had her eyes closed. He stopped what he was doing and leaned back in his chair.
Her eyelashes flew open, her mouth slack. “What’s wrong?”
He had to stifle a grin. He tucked his hands behind his head, studying her provocative appearance. “I believe
you
are supposed to be seducing
me
.”
She ran her hands through her silky blond hair. “Right. Okay.”
It pleased him that she was clearly rattled. He lifted a finger and circled it in the air. “Face away from me. And strip. Give me a show.”