Page 70 of Why Not Forever?

She waits for me to say more because, obviously, I’m hiding something. But I’m also not ready to tell her what.

“It isn’t my Sterling computer. This one is mine. Wyatt built it for me.”

She sits up and I’m momentarily distracted by the fact that she slept as naked as I had, and now I have a perfect view of her breasts. She’s completely unselfconscious as she raises her hands to undo her braid. “I haven’t ever seen you using it before.”

“I never really had a reason to,” I say, distracted by her tight nipples that seem to be begging for my mouth. “I wanted to do something that I didn’t want on my Sterling laptop.”

Her braid is undone, and she runs her fingers through her hair before catching it and pulling it all back into a new ponytail. “Is it something that could be bad for Sterling?”

“No. But itissomething Richard probably wouldn’t like.”

She smirks. “That could be a lot of things. And you don’t want to show me?”

“Not yet. It’s not ready.”

Which is true. It isn’t ready. But the real truth isI’mnot ready. Because, if I tell her what I’m working on, it’ll open up a whole round of questions I’m not prepared to answer, like why I’m doing this, what it means for my plans, why they’ve changed. And it’ll likely have to end with what I really want now, which isn’t what I told her I wanted in the beginning.

She finishes organizing her hair and drops her hands to her lap. “You’ll show me when it is?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. What’s that?”

She points to the paper crane I made for her.

“What, this?” I shift it on the table, turning it so it’s in profile. “Just something I made for you.”

“You brought origami paper on our honeymoon?”

I stand, moving toward her. “I like to be prepared.”

“A regular boy scout.” She leans back as I get closer, and I follow her movement like a magnet. The bed dips beneath the weight of my knee as I climb over her, kissing her lips, followed by the tip of one breast.

“Have I mentioned to you how exquisitely beautiful your tits are?” I ask before licking her nipple.

Her fingers thread into my hair. “Really?” she asks, her voice a little breathy. “You didn’t seem to notice them a few days ago.”

I meet her eyes. “When you were sick? Oh, I noticed, baby. But you were sick, and I had to take care of you. Now, I need to take care of you in another way.”

I lower my mouth to her nipple once more and spend the next hour doing just that.

After we’ve showered and dressed, I take Vic out for breakfast, then to our massage appointments. I scheduled a couple’s massage and manicures and pedicures while she was asleep this morning. She laughs when I tell her I’m going with her for all of it, asking if I’ve ever had a manicure or pedicure before.

“Not professional ones,” I tell her. “But as I mentioned last night, my sisters liked to torture me. I’ve also never had a massage before, actually.”

With her arm linked through mine like it is, the way she smiles up at me, and the way I can finally give in to the urge to drop a quick kiss to her waiting lips, it feels like the best day of my life. At the same time, there’s a part of me that’s anticipating an inevitable crash.

After we’re done—and I’ve convinced Vic to get a muted iridescent colour for her fingers and a vibrant purple for her toes—I offer to take her out for lunch, but she gives me a mischievous smile and suggests we get lunch to go.

Much later, I take her to dinner at a nice Japanese restaurant where we sit side-by-side with her hand in mine.

“This is a very pretty colour,” I tell her, admiring the nails.

“I don’t usually get much colour on my fingernails,” she admits, taking a sip of her green tea.

I can guess why. It’s the same reason she’s always so neat, wearing business casual almost all the time, her hair always styled, even when she’s not working. She doesn’t want to show anything that could be construed as unprofessional.

I run my thumb over her nails. “But your nails are always done. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without nail polish.”

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