Part 24 (2/2)

He lies next to me, pulling the covers over both of us.

”You were great,” I tell him, remembering all the sensations he's brought on in me.

”It's easy to be great with you.”

I trail my finger along his smooth chest, tracing circles around his nipple, and venturing further south. ”You have a great body.” I slide my finger all the way to his belly b.u.t.ton. ”How do you manage that?”

His smile is bashful. ”I train religiously. Two hours a day, five days a week,” he says matter-of-factly, like this isn't completely impressive.

”Wow. That's a lot of training. When do you find the time?” I ask, suddenly a little self-conscious about my complete lack of exercise.

”I work out from five thirty to seven thirty, Monday to Friday.”

”In the morning?” I blurt out. ”When do you sleep?”

”I sleep six hours a night. That's pretty standard I think,” he says, his hand against mine, his thumb playing with my fingers.

I realize we are so completely different. ”You are very regimented.”

”It's what feels most comfortable to me. I like to follow a set schedule. I like to know what's coming.”

I smile at him. He's such a nerd. A really hot nerd.

”What do you do at work all day?” I ask, wanting to learn more about this beautiful nerd.

”Ahhh...” He lets out a sigh. ”A lot of meetings with suppliers and engineers, conference calls, meetings out of town occasionally, site visits, and quality control,” he explains, looking half-exhausted. ”But thankfully, I have a few men to cover most of it. I delegate a lot.”

”You basically tell people what to do all day,” I tease.

”I suppose you could put it that way.”

”I tell people what to do all day too. But they're all five years old, and they never listen to me.”

He laughs, fine lines edging the corners of his eyes.

”I guess what I do isn't very exciting and important compared to you. Gabe likes to say I get paid to make zoo animals out of toilet paper cardboard rolls all day.”

I think this is kind of funny, but Weston doesn't seem to agree-his smile has completely faded.

He studies me for a second with a serious expression. ”You shouldn't say that,” he chastises me, trailing his finger along my hairline. ”Your vocation is most likely a lot more important than mine. You are molding the minds of our future leaders. You probably spend more time with these children than their own parents. Do you realize just how pliable the human brain is at that age? How much it takes in? How much your presence in their lives will affect who they become?”

I'd never thought about it like that.

”Don't sell yourself short, Mirella.” I don't think I've ever seen him look more serious. ”What you do is very important.”

”Oh...okay,” I say, sheepish. ”I'll try to remember that.”

”You do that,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose.

I kind of like when he does that. He seems obsessed with my nose. It's sweet.

”Why do you do that?”

”Do what?”

”Kiss my nose and stuff?”

He smiles, staring at my nose for what seems like an eternity. I almost start to feel insecure-I don't exactly have the daintiest of noses.

”It's that adorable freckle right here,” he taps it with the tip of his finger, ”I love it.”

I laugh out loud. ”I hate it. I've always hated it,” I confess. ”I hate them all. But that one...it's the biggest. And smack in the middle of my nose. I hate it the most.”

”I think every single freckle on your face is exactly where it belongs. Especially that one.”

I think I'm going to melt.

And I guess he can see right through me because the next second, he tells me he has to go.

I sit up on the bed, wrapped up in the crisp white sheets. ”My five minutes are up?”

”Something like that,” he says, dropping his towel-accidently, on purpose, I'm not sure-what a tease. I peep at the sleek hard lines of his naked body as he makes his way to the en suite, wis.h.i.+ng we could have another go.

d.a.m.n...this is like the same movie playing all over again. I went to the city, h.e.l.l-bent on breaking up with Weston and ending this once and for all. And now I find myself standing on my doorstep, staring down at the potted geraniums, not wanting to go in and face my husband. Because I certainly don't want to admit what I've just done...again!

I suck in a breath, and I slowly turn the doork.n.o.b. My fingers seem to be made of lead-they feel so heavy.

As soon as I get in, Claire runs up to me and hugs my hips tightly. ”Missed you,” she says, and her sweet little voice brings out emotion in me. Gabe comes out of the den, papers in hand, and as soon as his gaze meets mine, he knows-it's as if we communicate telepathically-I suppose that's a result of almost twenty years together. But surprisingly, he doesn't seem angry. He simply walks up to me, gives me a big bear hug, and rests his chin on the top of my head. ”You've changed your mind?”

I can barely croak out the word when I say, ”Y-Yes.”

Chapter Fourteen.

We don't belong to each other...

”HE ASKED YOU TO DO WHAT?” Gwen asks, a little too loudly. We are at our Sat.u.r.day painting cla.s.s and I'm recounting my latest meeting with Weston for her.

”Shush,” I whisper, finger over mouth, looking over at Cecilia who seems completely focused on her task, meticulously adding crimson red to a bouquet of tulips with the tip of her paintbrush.

But I know better. I know she's listening.

She's always listening.

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