“Halliday,” he greets, his blue eyes—so much like Sterling’s—narrowing with curiosity as he looks at me.
“I chart,” I blurt. “And we haven’t had sex on any of my fertile days, so we’re good. In fact, we could probably have nonstop sex for the next three days without issue. Then, we’ll avoid Sterling finishing insid?—”
Sullivan looks at me in horror.
“—Lovely party.” I smile, internally wincing.
Sterling walks up behind him, chuckling.
“It is. A lovely party.”
He pats Sullivan on the shoulder. Sullivan shakes his head and looks at the two of us like we’re a couple of teenagers caught playing hooky, before he stalks off.
“I don’t know why I told him that.” I meet Sterling’s twinkling eyes.
“He’s a big boy, he can handle it.”
He holds his hand out and links his fingers with mine.
“We should talk about it, though. Like he said. I don’t want you to worry. I know the days we can do it safely. I should have brought it up sooner,” I say.
“Hallie, it’s fine.” Sterling uses his other hand to lift my chin, tracing his thumb softly over my skin. “I knew we were taking risks, and I was going to talk to you about it. But if you’re happy with this charting and it’s a reliable method…?”
“It is.”
“Okay.” His eyes soften. “In that case, send me your chart so I can put it in my calendar.”
“Send it to you?”
“I need to know which days I can’t come inside you.”
“Oh.” Just him saying those words has my core pulsing with arousal.
“We’ll find other ways to enjoy each other.” He gives me a soft kiss.
“Mm-hm, we will,” I agree, taking my time to kiss him back and wondering if anyone would catch us if I were to enjoy him again right now.
He pulls away with a groan. “Now I need to wait a few minutes before we walk out there.”
My eyes drop to his impressive dick tenting his tuxedo pants. Maybe I could drop to my knees and help him with it.
He chuckles. “Later, Baby girl. We’ve got all night.”
I thrum with light, bouncy energy as he leads me out into the store a few moments later, his hand resting on my lower back.
“Did you try any of the new pieces on?” he asks, his deep voice husky in my ear.
“No. I’m too scared, they’re all so beautiful.”
“They’re almost as beautiful as the person wearing them,” he recites the company slogan, winking at me as he waves one of the staff over who’s holding a large velvet display cushion in white-gloved hands.
He stops in front of us, and I stare at the collection of rings.
“Sterling,” I murmur, my eyes darting around to see if anyone’s watching.
“It’s okay.” He takes my left hand and holds it in his. “Which one?”
“Which one?” I balk.
