After slipping the book back into my desk, I power up my laptop and type “small business loans” into a search engine.
I study websites about different organizations, loan programs, application types. I write down the contact information for our local bank’s loan office and start to fill out the online application. Less than a quarter of the way through, there are boxes for details about credit reports, taxes, collateral, accounts, a business plan. I turn to ask Dean for help, then stop.
There’s no information requested on the application that I can’t find myself or get from Allie—I just need to research and figure it out. I email Allie asking her about the business plan, then I save the application to finish later and log off the site. Even though I have a lot of work to do, it feels like a good start.
Dean is working in his office by the time I get ready for bed. I fall into a comfortable sleep with the pleasant knowledge that he’ll soon slide under the covers beside me.
The sun is already streaming through the window when I wake the next morning. I’m tucked against Dean’s long body, my leg across his. We have a king-sized bed, so usually we end up apart from each other on either side of the mattress, but sometime during the night I’ve scooted across and draped myself over him.
That’s happened often since we reconciled. It doesn’t take a genius to explain why I now have a tendency to latch on to my husband during the night.
I push my hair away from my eyes and look up at him. He’s awake, one arm trapped beneath my shoulder and the other resting on his stomach.
“Morning,” he says.
“Hi.” I shift. “Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry… crap.” He winces as he pulls his arm out from underneath me.
“Pins and needles?” I massage his arm with quick strokes. “Seems to be the only part of you that’s asleep.”
I glance at his impressive erection, which is tenting the sheet.
“Considering the way you were rubbing up against me,” he says, “that shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“I was sleeping. How could I have been rubbing up against you?”
“Very seductively. I thought you were having a sex dream.”
I feel my face heat up. No need to tell him my dreams have been getting somewhat erotic lately.
Since I know quite well he’ll see the blush, I shove away from him and sidle out the other side of the bed. He’s still watching me as I head to the bathroom. I shoot him a glower.
“Quit it,” I say.
“If you’re still turned on, I can help you with that.” He looks pointedly at his cock.
“I am not still turned on.” I’m getting turned on, but don’t see the need to tell him that either. At least, not now with him starting to look smug.
He wraps his hand around his erection and starts to stroke himself—the sight of which he knows very well makes me hot in two seconds flat. Still I manage to resist him, just to make a point, and go into the bathroom.
In the shower, I have to bring myself to a quick, strong orgasm to take the edge off, because yes, I did have a sexy dream even if I can’t remember the details. After the vibrations ebb, I feel silly for masturbating when I’ve got Dean hard and ready just on the other side of the door.
Must be pregnancy hormones making me irrational, because otherwise I’d be out there bouncing up and down on him like he’s a carnival ride.
When I step out of the shower, I stand naked in front of the full-length mirror. I turn sideways and squint, wondering if my belly is getting rounder and my breasts are getting bigger or if I’m just imagining it.
I do a quick calculation in my head. Almost nine weeks. In another three weeks, I’ll already be in my second trimester.
Can’t wrap my brain around that.
I put my robe on and open the door. Dean has already finished himself off and is lying there with his eyes closed, looking relaxed and sleepy.
“You done?” I lean a shoulder against the doorjamb.
“I’ll be ready to go again in a few, if you’re interested.”
“Maybe later.”
He opens his eyes to look at me. “Playing hard to get, pretty lady.”
“You didn’t seem to have any trouble without me.”
“I had a lot of trouble without you.”
A twinge tightens my heart. I push away from the doorjamb and go to stroke my fingers through his messy hair.
“You won’t be without me again,” I promise.
He grasps my wrist and presses a kiss against my palm before climbing off the bed. After he goes into the bathroom, I stretch out on his side of the bed. The sheets are warm from his body heat. I rest a hand on my stomach and try to imagine what it will feel like when the baby starts to move.
Dean comes out of the bathroom and crawls onto the bed beside me, lowering his head for a lovely, minty kiss before flopping onto his back. I shift to one elbow and run my hand over his chest.
“You know, I was thinking…” I begin.
“Uh oh,” he mutters.
I pinch his arm. “I was thinking about us. That we should do something really romantic to prove our commitment again. Like take a hot-air balloon ride or enroll in ballroom dancing lessons.”