“Yep. There’s a list,” I reply teasingly.
I let my lips curl up into an evocative smile, resolving to steer our every conversation away from the subject as much as I possibly can. It’s like an ugly black stain on this trip, and I don’t want to waste one minute of the rest of my life being unhappy or anxious. And I don’t want Nate to either. I have to fight it because I want to give my husband some of his very best memories of me over the next few months. Moments and words and expressions that will one day override the horrible end when it comes for me, an end that he is bound to witness.
“A list? Does it begin with my engaging smile or my winning personality?” Nate is absently stroking his finger along the delicate skin beneath my chin.
“No, although both of those are on the list.”
“No? Then what could be first? What could’ve caught the attention of the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen? Hmm, let’s see. My sparkling green eyes?” His mouth is beginning to show the early signs of a genuine smile. I feel encouraged, my heart lightening noticeably. With a grin, I shake my head. “Lips that could charm the devil himself?”
“Nope,” I deny, inching my way closer to him.
“Well, you hadn’t seen me naked yet, so it couldn’t be my—”
“No!” I hurry to say.
“Then what was it?”
I lift my hand and trail my fingertips over the contours of his face—the edge of his cheekbone, the hollow of his cheek, the dip of his chin. With Nate’s eyes on mine, I skim his jaw and throat, brush his chest and belly, and then wrap around his waist to his tight butt. “Honestly? It was this ass,” I confess with a squeeze of my fingers. “I’d never seen an ass this fine in all my years.”
Nate succumbs to a cocky grin. “It is a mighty fine ass, I must say.”
“That it is. Even after all this time.”
“Wanna take it for a spin?” Nate flexes his hips, the muscle of his butt tensing under my hand. “I’m happy to oblige your every fantasy.”
Desire ripples through me. As always, Nate can make me forget everything else. Our chemistry has been off the charts from our very first meeting, and time has done little to diminish it. We haven’t always made taking the time to enjoy it a priority, but the spark has always been there. Like a pilot light, ever flickering, always ready. Now, like never before, I appreciate my husband’s ability to blot out everything but the sun.
I just never would’ve guessed I’d have so much I want to forget, that so much fear and uncertainty could surround my world when I’m outside the safety of his arms.
********
“Is this the best tea you’ve ever had, or is it just me?”
“It’s just you,” Nate replies, smiling at me over his cup. “Because your company is even making my tea taste good.”
“Then my company must be very good, O Ye Who Hates Tea.” I grin and set down my cup so I can pick up my scone. I bite into the dense treat, sending a spray of crumbs in every direction. They pepper onto my upheld hand, the table, and even onto my lap.
As I chew, I take in the cake-speckled tablecloth and my now-dappled slacks. Sheepish, I glance up at Nate.
“Woops!”
“God, you’re messy,” he teases in a playfully mocking tone, watching me as I ineffectively brush away the debris.
“That’s what you love about me,” I tell him around my full mouth. “I’m so classy.” I pause to take a sip of my tea and wash down the sweet bread.
“Yep. Lena Grant, making a mess, talking with her mouth full. Bringing classy back to Stratford-upon-Avon.” His smile is all mischief.
I chuckle, still dusting bits of scone from my lap. It seems like the more I brush, the deeper the bits burrow. “How do you know Shakespeare didn’t like his women a little on the common side?”
“There’s nothing common about you. And Shakespeare better damn well keep his hands to himself.”
“Awww, still jealous after all this time.”
“Even of dead men,” he adds.
“Even of dead men. How romantic.”
Nate rolls his eyes, and for some reason Nissa pops into my mind. Nissa and her suspicions.
I clear my throat. “This morning you mentioned you’d talked to someone. What were you about to say before I so rudely interrupted?”
“Messy, classy, rude as hell. The list goes on. It’s no wonder I fell in love with you.”
I smirk at Nate over the lip of my cup. “I’m quite the catch, don’t you know?” Before we can get off topic, though, I prompt, “So? Who were you talking to?”
Nate’s pause and the way he watches his fingers as they toy with the corner of his white linen napkin make me distinctly uncomfortable. My husband doesn’t fidget.
Ever.
“Nate?”
The quiet intake of his breath can be heard even over the bustle of sightseers as they stroll up and down the street. In this moment, in this one single moment, doubt assails me, and my pulse begins to dance in my veins, going from samba to salsa in half a second.
“Lheanne,” he responds softly, hesitantly. “We met a couple of times at a bar not far from the office.”
“Lheanne? Lheanne who?”