knew he was never going to like anything with liver in it. Not ever. When he grew up, he was going to make sure he ate steak and french fries and hamburgers and corn on the cob every day of his life.
He glanced around at all the shiny glass and silver in the music room. Everything had an invisible "don't touch" sign on it, as if the entire room had been designed with making kids miserable in mind. He'd never live in a house like this when he grew up. His house would be big and sloppy, crammed with dogs and cats and roller skates and baseballs.
And he would never, ever forget how it felt to be a kid. Or how it felt to want a father of his own who really cared about him and not just some man who happened to be married to his mother....
#
Caroline sat on the edge of her bed and listened as her husband shoved baseball mitts and worn-out jeans into her linen closet. Why hadn't they decided to be civilized about this arrangement and keep separate addresses? T here was something terribly outdated about Donohue's insistence upon actually living together. Being married should have been more than enough to satisfy him but, no. Not Donohue. Only moving into her beautiful home lock, stock, and fishing pole was enough for him.
Gently she cupped her still-flat stomach and sighed. "Seven months and one week left," she said into the perfumed air of her boudoir. "I can do it."
She heard Donohue's footsteps retreating toward the front room. Rising from the bed, she quickly unbuttoned her suit jacket and slipped out of her skirt. A narrow ridge of red flesh remained where the waistband of her skirt had been and she stared at it in the mirror. Apparently there was more truth to the statement she'd made to Sam days ago than even Caroline had imagined: her days in "civilian" clothes were numbered.
She draped the jacket and skirt over the chaise longue by the French doors then retrieved a jade green kimono from the right side of her walk-in closet. Her panty hose felt like a tourniquet. Reaching under her half-slip she began easing them down inch by inch until a noise in the doorway brought her up short.
"Don't stop on my account."
Donohue, still in his wedding finery, was leaning against the jamb, watching.
"How long have you been there?" she asked, sliding the hose off her feet and reaching for the kimono tossed across the bed.
"Not long."
She tied the belt and reached down for the pantyhose. "Will you excuse me?" The last thing she needed was for him to hang around while she put her lingerie in the clothes hamper.
Donohue, however, was not a subtle sort of man. He followed her into the master bath at the near end of the bedroom.
"Decadence is alive and well," he said, whistling low. "Is that a tub or a swimming pool?"
"Garden variety bathtub." She lifted the lid on the built-in clothes hamper and deposited her pantyhose. Everything else would have to wait. "Don't tell me," she said, casting him a look over her shoulder. "You have a shower stall and cold water only at your house."
His grin was a wicked blend of self-mocking and brazen. "You're half right. I get plenty of hot water in the summer."
She started to ask him why he lived in such spartan quarters but common sense told her you didn't make a fortune working as a short order cook in a neighborhood bar. Property was expensive in central New Jersey and he had probably bought exactly what he could afford.
He was fiddling with the swan's neck faucet at the sink, making appreciative male noises about the plumbing fixtures in general and there was something about his proprietary interest that set off warning signals in Caroline's brain. "Before you get too attached to that swan, let me show you your bathroom."
"Should've known this was too good to be true." He gave the swan's neck faucet a fond farewell glance. "What do you have for me, Bradley--a slop jar and basin?"
She couldn't help chuckling at the image. "Afraid you'll have to make do with something a little
He glanced around at all the shiny glass and silver in the music room. Everything had an invisible "don't touch" sign on it, as if the entire room had been designed with making kids miserable in mind. He'd never live in a house like this when he grew up. His house would be big and sloppy, crammed with dogs and cats and roller skates and baseballs.
And he would never, ever forget how it felt to be a kid. Or how it felt to want a father of his own who really cared about him and not just some man who happened to be married to his mother....
#
Caroline sat on the edge of her bed and listened as her husband shoved baseball mitts and worn-out jeans into her linen closet. Why hadn't they decided to be civilized about this arrangement and keep separate addresses? T here was something terribly outdated about Donohue's insistence upon actually living together. Being married should have been more than enough to satisfy him but, no. Not Donohue. Only moving into her beautiful home lock, stock, and fishing pole was enough for him.
Gently she cupped her still-flat stomach and sighed. "Seven months and one week left," she said into the perfumed air of her boudoir. "I can do it."
She heard Donohue's footsteps retreating toward the front room. Rising from the bed, she quickly unbuttoned her suit jacket and slipped out of her skirt. A narrow ridge of red flesh remained where the waistband of her skirt had been and she stared at it in the mirror. Apparently there was more truth to the statement she'd made to Sam days ago than even Caroline had imagined: her days in "civilian" clothes were numbered.
She draped the jacket and skirt over the chaise longue by the French doors then retrieved a jade green kimono from the right side of her walk-in closet. Her panty hose felt like a tourniquet. Reaching under her half-slip she began easing them down inch by inch until a noise in the doorway brought her up short.
"Don't stop on my account."
Donohue, still in his wedding finery, was leaning against the jamb, watching.
"How long have you been there?" she asked, sliding the hose off her feet and reaching for the kimono tossed across the bed.
"Not long."
She tied the belt and reached down for the pantyhose. "Will you excuse me?" The last thing she needed was for him to hang around while she put her lingerie in the clothes hamper.
Donohue, however, was not a subtle sort of man. He followed her into the master bath at the near end of the bedroom.
"Decadence is alive and well," he said, whistling low. "Is that a tub or a swimming pool?"
"Garden variety bathtub." She lifted the lid on the built-in clothes hamper and deposited her pantyhose. Everything else would have to wait. "Don't tell me," she said, casting him a look over her shoulder. "You have a shower stall and cold water only at your house."
His grin was a wicked blend of self-mocking and brazen. "You're half right. I get plenty of hot water in the summer."
She started to ask him why he lived in such spartan quarters but common sense told her you didn't make a fortune working as a short order cook in a neighborhood bar. Property was expensive in central New Jersey and he had probably bought exactly what he could afford.
He was fiddling with the swan's neck faucet at the sink, making appreciative male noises about the plumbing fixtures in general and there was something about his proprietary interest that set off warning signals in Caroline's brain. "Before you get too attached to that swan, let me show you your bathroom."
"Should've known this was too good to be true." He gave the swan's neck faucet a fond farewell glance. "What do you have for me, Bradley--a slop jar and basin?"
She couldn't help chuckling at the image. "Afraid you'll have to make do with something a little
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