Page 88 of The Homemaker
Then I think about her cleaning up the kitchen after Alice’s accident, and I feel extra guilty. So yeah, I’m going to figure out how to get the job done using her kitchen generosity as mental foreplay.
I scoop her up in my arms, and she squeals. Then I carry her to the bedroom to make love to my fiancée like it’s a chore to check off my to-do list.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alice
There is logic and love. But they can’t coexist.
“Thank you,”Vera says when I deliver a small arrangement of roses to her office off the primary bedroom suite on the second floor.
“You’re welcome.” I smile, replacing the vase from several days ago with this new one.
She pulls off her black-framed readers and sets them next to her computer. I don’t know what she does in her office on her computer. Wedding plans, I suppose.
“I’m not talking about the flowers. Although they are simple and elegantly arranged, just as I like them.” She offers an approving smile.
“Oh?” I smooth my hands over the white apron.
“Whatever book you’ve been reading to my husband.Well, it’s working.” She smirks, a blush blooming along her cheeks.
My eyebrows lift, and I laugh. “Well, that’s good to hear.”
“Keep up the good work.”
“I will.” I take several steps toward the door and pause. “Could I make dinner early tonight. I have somewhere I’d like to be at seven. If not, it’s?—”
“Of course, dear.” She slides her glasses back onto her nose without asking me anything about my request.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear a “Psst,” and I stop, arching my back to look behind me into Hunter’s study.
“Can you help me?” he asks in a hushed tone.
I step into his study, eyeing Murphy on the sofa, his ankle resting on the opposing knee. My gaze ping-pongs between the two men.
“Close the door,” Hunter says, so I do. “Murphy’s trying to show me how to dance so I can surprise Vera. But it’s too weird dancing with a dude.”
I suck my lips between my teeth and nod slowly.
He puts a record on his turntable.
“Uh, where’s Blair? I’m not the best dancer,” I say.
“She’s getting a pedicure and massage,” Hunter says just as Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” plays. “I just need to see it in motion.” He turns and eyes Murphy who lumbers from the sofa and gives me a shy smile while holding out his hand to me.
I look at Mr. Morrison, and he gestures with his head for me to take Murphy’s hand, so I do. His other hand slides to my lower back.
“Don’t step on my feet,” he whispers.
I bite back my grin as he leads.
“Op … sorry.” I cringe, stepping on his foot two seconds later.
“Are you counting?” Hunter asks Murphy.
“I’m not. But if you need to count, go for it.”
