I wrinkle my nose. “Absolutely not.Rendez-vous?”
“It makes me feel too pretentious speaking French. How about ‘date?’”
“I thought the whole point of marriage was that you got to stop dating.”
“That’s when ‘date’ refers to awkward conversation over burned coffee,” James says. “Our ‘dates’ involve a much more…rewardingactivity.”
His eyes darken and dip to my lips. My tongue slips out to moisten them, and he follows the motion.
“If I didn’t have a call in ten minutes, I’d push ourdateup to right now,” he says, his voice dark and gravelly.
A shiver runs through my body. “We could get a lot done in ten minutes.”
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have time to get you ready for what I want to do to you.”
Heat floods to my lower belly as I take in the implication of his words. I remember how carefully he had to stretch me to get me take all of his cock—and how intense it felt when I had all of him inside me.
Then James’s eyes flit back to the opal pieces littering the floor. He might have been polite about the mess, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. Especially with how little time it took me to break my promise to keep my mess in the studio.
“I promise, I’ll get all this cleaned up while you’re busy,” I tell him.
“Don’t bother. The staff can take care of it.”
“Oh, I couldn’t let them do that.” I shake my head. “It’s my mess.”
James raises his brows. “I pay them to clean both our messes, you know.”
“Yeah, but it would probably make Helga roll over in her grave.”
“Who?”
“Helga was our housekeeper when I was growing up. She’s probably the person I spent the most time with as a kid, which means she saw a bunch of my art project messes. Finger paint on the refrigerator, watercolors on my bedroom walls, half-finished paper mache dripping all over the bathroom floor—she saw it all.”
James chuckles. “So you were always creative—and always messy.”
“Yup. Anyway, when I turned seven, Helga decided enough was enough. If I made a mess, it would be my job to clean it. She handed me a sponge and a mop and told me to get to work. So if I left rocks all over your kitchen, I’d probably wake up to her hovering over my bed, glaring Germanly at me.”
His brows raise. “You believe in ghosts?”
“Not most ghosts. But if anyone could cross that mortal coil, it would be Helga.” I smile, remembering her narrowed eyes and fiery red hair, which she swore wasn’t dyed, despite its vibrance well into her seventies. “She had a way of making reality reflect her own desires.”
“My parents never made me clean,” James says thoughtfully. “They were strict about homework, but they figured that if they could afford to pay someone else well to take care of the house, they could spend the time with their family, instead.”
“That must have been nice.” I sigh. “Family time wasn’t exactly a priority for my father.”
James’s jaw clenches, just for a moment. “And that’s not what you want for your baby?”
“No. I want something more like what you had. That’s what I plan to give it.”
James’s mouth opens, but his phone rings before he can answer. “I’ll see you later, at our date,” he murmurs, before he picks up his call and strides away.
13
MAURA
“Tell me I heard you wrong,” Pippa says, clutching at her heart. “Say you didn’t order what I think you just ordered.”
I raise my brows. “I said, ‘I’ll take a decaf coffee.’”
