Page 94 of One Hotlanta Night
Shivering despite the Miami humidity, I do exactly as he says. As I stand next to him, he tugs me toward him until I’m on his lap, my legs straddling his thighs easily over the armless chair. Even after a full day of work, he still smells delicious, citrus notes mixing with the masculine scent that is all Michael. I bury my face in his neck to get more of it, inadvertently rocking my hips over him and immediately feel his response. Without saying a word, he slides his hands under my halter top, caressing my back before deftly unfastening my strapless bra.
“Michael!” I admonish, trying to pull his arms down. “What are you doing? We—we’re outside!”
“Having my dessert,” he replies, dropping searing kisses along my collarbone and shoulder as he slides the fabric away.
“Feliz aniversario, mi amor.”
Later on that night, after showers and another round of what Michael calls “dessert,” we’re cuddling in bed. My head rests above his heart, the beat soothing in my ear as his hand strokes my head absently. I can hear him thinking. “What is it, mi amor?” It’s my turn to ask him.
He doesn’t respond right away, instead turning me over so that I’m lying on my back. He slides a hand across my belly almost reverently, then kisses it. “Just wondering when you’re going to let me put a baby in here.”
I still. We haven’t talked timelines or anything, but nothing about our relationship has been very planned out. The one thing I’m concerned about is my fibromyalgia and how to handle a pregnancy on top of that. I tell him so.
“Vivian, I’ve got you. Kids or not, I’ll always take care of you. We’ll always find a way to make it work.” He plants another kiss on my stomach, then leans his head on his hand. “And we don’t have to rush this. I was just thinking about Raelynn. She’s such a sweet little girl. Have you heard from Claire lately?”
“Not since last week. Our conversations have been short. She’s had a lot of meetings and hasn’t had much time to talk. She did let me know Raelynn was doing good in school however—”
My sentence is cut short by my cell phone ringing. Who on earth could that be? It’s past eleven, which usually doesn’t mean anything good.
I reach over to the bedside table and pick up on the third ring without checking the caller ID first. “Hello?”
“Viv?”
“Hey, Claire! We were just thinking about you. Is everything all right? Is Raelynn okay?” Nervousness slips in my tone even as I try to hide it.
“She’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine,” she tells me, her voice a little strained.
“Claire? Whatisit?”
“Don’t freak out, okay?”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath.
“I got married.”
