'effed up relationship' is why you're here," he says after a moment, the wipe caressing my cheek. "Want to tell me about it?" The cloth makes another delicious swipe across my jaw.
"No," I answer honestly.
The cloth caresses the other side of my face, brushing across my mouth before his lips gently press into mine. "You can trust me," he murmurs into them. "Please."
Trust. What a concept.
But I do trust him. With my life. With my safety. Why can't I trust him with my heart?
"Why?" I wonder. I hear another wipe being pulled from the container and then the cool fabric is on my neck. "Why do you want to know?"
He kisses the side of my mouth. I turn toward him, eager to explore the salt of his kiss again, hungry to feel his tongue in my mouth.
"It's part of who you are," he says into my lips. "I want to know you, everything about you, every inch of you."
I open my eyes to a mixture of concern and lust in his beautiful brown gaze. I'd be happy to skip the concern and focus on the lust. I'm half afraid when he discovers I'm nothing more than cast aside trash the lust will disappear and be replaced with pity.
"Please," he repeats. That deep growl of his could potentially make me do just about anything, especially when he begs. "Trust me."
The desire to open my heart to him is overwhelming. And incredibly frightening. I don't know why I feel compelled to share something that nearly destroyed me with him. But I want to. I really do.
"Are you sure? You want to hear this? It's pretty pathetic."
"Andrea…" His tone is almost scolding.
I sigh. "Fine. But I'm warning you, it's neither glamorous nor spectacular."
"What makes you think I long for glamorous?"
I give him a sidelong glance. He smiles.
"And the woman next to me is nothing short of spectacular."
It wasn't that long ago I would have agreed with him.
"Okay…" I inhale and exhale loudly. "Seven months ago," I begin, the tension in my throat making my voice tight, "I thought my life was pretty much perfect. I was happily married, had a great job, a fabulous house, an amazing husband… Or so I thought." I can't help the roll of my eyes. "The only thing missing in my life were children. We'd been trying for a few years without any success. We were getting ready to start fertility treatments, but after some rather unpleasant tests, I got the whammy of bad news. I'm broken. Infertile. Barren as a desert."
"I'm so sorry."
"Oh it gets better," I tell him bitterly. "I was struggling with the realization I will never have children of my own when my husband, a professor at KU, decided to knock up one of his grad students. And then leave me for her."
Every muscle in his body seems to tense up. It makes the curved muscles of his shoulders grow a good two inches. "What a fucking prick."
"My exact sentiment." I sigh again. "I was handling everything okay considering. I mean, I wasn't dancing in the streets or anything, but I was managing. Until…" I find myself fiddling with the edge of my shirt.
"Until what?"
"Until I ran into the grad student…at the grocery store…wearing a tight T-shirt and a very obvious baby bump ." I openly cringe. I hate that term, but it's the only one that fit. "I made arrangements to come here the very next day."
I lift my eyes to look at him. Tiny grains of sand cling to his salt and pepper stubble, jet-black eyebrows, and eyelashes, and a fine layer of red covers his tanned face.
"I think you need your own wipe-down," I say, ready to move away from my past.
His teeth are a flash of white in the dimly lit room. "Maybe later." He pulls a fresh wipe from the container and slides it over my neck. "What your ex-husband did was despicable. I feel the need to apologize for my entire sex."
I try to shrug it off. The cool fabric sliding over my skin helps. "I'm over it. For the most part."
"Are you over him?" I can't be certain, but there seems to be a slight edge to his voice.
Am I over Jim? I have to think about it. I know I'm still
"No," I answer honestly.
The cloth caresses the other side of my face, brushing across my mouth before his lips gently press into mine. "You can trust me," he murmurs into them. "Please."
Trust. What a concept.
But I do trust him. With my life. With my safety. Why can't I trust him with my heart?
"Why?" I wonder. I hear another wipe being pulled from the container and then the cool fabric is on my neck. "Why do you want to know?"
He kisses the side of my mouth. I turn toward him, eager to explore the salt of his kiss again, hungry to feel his tongue in my mouth.
"It's part of who you are," he says into my lips. "I want to know you, everything about you, every inch of you."
I open my eyes to a mixture of concern and lust in his beautiful brown gaze. I'd be happy to skip the concern and focus on the lust. I'm half afraid when he discovers I'm nothing more than cast aside trash the lust will disappear and be replaced with pity.
"Please," he repeats. That deep growl of his could potentially make me do just about anything, especially when he begs. "Trust me."
The desire to open my heart to him is overwhelming. And incredibly frightening. I don't know why I feel compelled to share something that nearly destroyed me with him. But I want to. I really do.
"Are you sure? You want to hear this? It's pretty pathetic."
"Andrea…" His tone is almost scolding.
I sigh. "Fine. But I'm warning you, it's neither glamorous nor spectacular."
"What makes you think I long for glamorous?"
I give him a sidelong glance. He smiles.
"And the woman next to me is nothing short of spectacular."
It wasn't that long ago I would have agreed with him.
"Okay…" I inhale and exhale loudly. "Seven months ago," I begin, the tension in my throat making my voice tight, "I thought my life was pretty much perfect. I was happily married, had a great job, a fabulous house, an amazing husband… Or so I thought." I can't help the roll of my eyes. "The only thing missing in my life were children. We'd been trying for a few years without any success. We were getting ready to start fertility treatments, but after some rather unpleasant tests, I got the whammy of bad news. I'm broken. Infertile. Barren as a desert."
"I'm so sorry."
"Oh it gets better," I tell him bitterly. "I was struggling with the realization I will never have children of my own when my husband, a professor at KU, decided to knock up one of his grad students. And then leave me for her."
Every muscle in his body seems to tense up. It makes the curved muscles of his shoulders grow a good two inches. "What a fucking prick."
"My exact sentiment." I sigh again. "I was handling everything okay considering. I mean, I wasn't dancing in the streets or anything, but I was managing. Until…" I find myself fiddling with the edge of my shirt.
"Until what?"
"Until I ran into the grad student…at the grocery store…wearing a tight T-shirt and a very obvious baby bump ." I openly cringe. I hate that term, but it's the only one that fit. "I made arrangements to come here the very next day."
I lift my eyes to look at him. Tiny grains of sand cling to his salt and pepper stubble, jet-black eyebrows, and eyelashes, and a fine layer of red covers his tanned face.
"I think you need your own wipe-down," I say, ready to move away from my past.
His teeth are a flash of white in the dimly lit room. "Maybe later." He pulls a fresh wipe from the container and slides it over my neck. "What your ex-husband did was despicable. I feel the need to apologize for my entire sex."
I try to shrug it off. The cool fabric sliding over my skin helps. "I'm over it. For the most part."
"Are you over him?" I can't be certain, but there seems to be a slight edge to his voice.
Am I over Jim? I have to think about it. I know I'm still
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