Damn it. Whoever was calling me multiple times a day wasn’t going away, nor would they leave a message. Before I could talk myself out of it, I answered the phone. “Hello,” I said gruffly. No response came, and I thought about hanging up until I heard a familiar cough on the other end of the line. Smoking three packs of cigarettes a day took a toll on a man. It wasn’t Axel Washington calling to threaten me; it was someone who could hurt me far worse. In fact, he already had. “Hello, Dad.”
I’D NEVER SEEN A PERSONlose their color as fast as Elijah did after answering the phone. And his voice… I never again wanted to hear his voice shake with hurt and hesitation as it did when he spoke those two little words. I reached for him, but he stepped away from me, his deep brown eyes wide and skittish and mouth forming a stern line as he listened. It was like the last six months had faded away and we were standing at the curb on our old street. We’d recently met and rushed into a night of passion without care of the awkwardness that would come later. Of course, it was made worse when Elijah immediately disappeared for a few days. I later learned he’d retreated to his grandfather’s cabin in Tennessee, but at the time, I just felt the sting of his rejection. After he returned, he was cold and aloof, signaling that whatever we experienced would never happen again.
Oddly, for as new as our relationship was, I rarely engaged in bouts of doubt. Elijah said he loved me, and I believed him. He wasn’t the kind of man to whisper words of love just to get laid. But feeling his rejection again filled me with doubt as I retreated upstairs to lick my wounds in private. On my way to our master suite, I stopped at the door to my favorite room in the house. It was the bedroom tucked inside the turret overlooking the back yard with the amazing window seat and bookshelves built into the large bow window. As if drawn to the room by some invisible pull, I walked inside and flipped on the light switch, bathing the room in a soft, ambient glow. Whoever lived in this room would have a little reading nook and library.
I had big dreams for the room and had even imagined Elijah and myself bringing home our adopted child and placing them in a crib or, depending on their age, a toddler bed in there. I’d had Andy paint the room a soft yellow color that would act as an amazing backdrop for so many themes, like those vintage Beatrix Potter figurines I bought for the store but couldn’t bring myself to list online or display. Why? I knew someone would gobble them up, and I finally admitted I didn’t purchase them as an investment for the store; I bought them for the nursery I would have someday.
Instead of worrying that Elijah was downstairs resenting my pressure to answer the phone or fearing our relationship wasn’t as solid as I thought, I began to design a whimsical mural that would look stunning in the turret and could spread out to encompass the walls around it on a smaller scale. The soft yellow walls on the inside of the turret morphed into a quirky, hand-painted tree, and surrounding the room would be a picket fence with flowers, birds, and butterflies here and there. I knew just the artist to pull it off too. Our, or maybe my, child would sit there, and it would be as if they were in their own little treehouse overlooking the back yard. Andy’s electrician friend could tuck rope or tape lighting under the bookshelves once the mural was complete to give the treehouse extra lighting. On second thought, I could string twinkling lights that would resemble fireflies. How perfect would that be for a kid? He or she would want some task lighting for reading, but I’d find a way to disguise it as best I could.
“Freckles,” Elijah said softly behind me, startling me from my fantasy. “I—” His words died when I turned around to face him, and his eyes opened wide in shock. “Baby, why are you crying?” His voice was so tender which was completely opposite of the coldness I saw in his expression and body language downstairs.
“I didn’t realize I was,” I said, wiping at my face. I looked at my hand in shock. “I’ve become a leaky faucet today.”
He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. I didn’t bother resisting him because it was exactly where I wanted to be. No games. No bullshit. I’d give him a chance to explain. Elijah placed one hand on my lower back and slid the other in my hair, lowering his forehead to mine. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry you met me?” I asked. “Or sorry you listened to me and answered the phone?”
“God no, Maegan. I’ll never be sorry I met you. I wasn’t pulling away from you or rejecting you downstairs. I was just in shock and overwhelmed by all the memories and pain when I realized who was calling me. I’m so sorry for making you cry, Freckles. Please tell me you forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Elijah. You had a terrible shock and you went into protective mode. I get it.” And I did. I’d found myself doing the same thing many times over the years. I heard the sincerity in his voice and felt the love and adoration in his gentle touch. “You don’t have to tell me about the conversation.”
Elijah straightened to his full height and looked down at me. “I want to.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” I knew he might need some time to organize and process his thoughts before he shared them with me. He was deliberate and methodical like that, and it made him a great detective.
Elijah nodded then changed the subject. “What are you doing in here? You looked all dreamy until I saw the tears on your face.”
“I was just fantasizing about the mural I want to paint in here someday.”
“You’ll have your nursery, Maegan. I promise you. We’ll paint any mural you want.”
“We won’t, but Vanessa will,” I corrected him. “She is so much more than a tattoo artist, Elijah. She is so unbelievably gifted, and she already agreed to paint a mural here once I decided what I wanted.”
“And now you know?”
I nodded. “And now I know.”
“So, we can expect the mural complete by Christmas?” he teased.
“Halloween,” I countered half-jokingly. Vanessa was like me when it came to putting plans into action, so it was possible she’d have it done by then. “Of course, we can help fill in the mural after she draws it on the wall. She numbers each section and puts a coordinating sticker on each one.”
“Paint by numbers but on a much larger canvas?”
“Yep,” I answered. “I’ve helped Van paint a jungle-theme mural before. She’ll go back in once it dries to add shading and highlighting to give it an extra special touch.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It was,” I admitted. “I’m in the mood for a hot shower and a big slice of cake. Care to join me?” There wasn’t any suggestiveness in my tone or expression because this felt like one of those times where sex just didn’t fit.
“Not a hot bath?”
“Well, I would, but our earlier activities kind of ruled it out.” I loved Elijah, and I even loved the possessive ways he marked me with his cum, but I didn’t want to soak in the tub while it floated around in the water.
“We’ll take a quick shower to wash the sex off, and you can run a bath while I get a beer for me and a glass of wine for you.”
Bathing in hot-as-fuck July should’ve sounded like a terrible idea, but it was just what I needed. I felt Elijah’s hot gaze on me while I quickly cleaned myself, and I wasn’t surprised to feel his hard dick pressed between our bodies when we kissed. I decided that I didn’t want to waste a good erection, but Elijah dropped his hands from my waist and stepped back before I could reach between us and fist his hard length.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, exiting the shower and wrapping a towel around his hips. I didn’t feel rejected by his actions because I saw the love and tenderness in his eyes and heard his desire in his lust-roughened voice.
