Page 62 of Broken SEAL'S Secret Baby
Charles laughs, James looks at the ceiling while tapping his fingers on his arm, and Grace rolls her eyes. Clearly, all of them know something I don’t. But I stubbornly stand by my question and don’t back down.
“Of course,” the waiter says. “It’s part of your room package. You’ve already paid for it. Will all of you be here for dinner?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Charles . . .?”
“Depends on what we do this afternoon,” he replies. “We’ll discuss it over lunch and let you know.”
“Thank you, sir,” the waiter says. “It helps the cook if guests can order ahead.”
“I want to go on the gingerbread ride,” Cece says. “And get my picture taken with Rudolph and Santa. Please Daddy, please, Miss Kate. Please, please?”
I hesitate. I can see that Charles is not feeling well. Standing outside in the cold had not done him any good at all. But we came to Branson mostly for Cece and to get all of us out of that dismal little cracker box of a house, since the strawbale arks James is building are not ready for occupancy.
For once, James does something both kind and useful. “Grace and I can take her. I see that neither of you feel like going out on the lake in a showboat.”
“Are you sure?” Charles asks. “It’s within Grace’s job description, but not yours.”
“It will be fine,” James says. “She’s a sweet kid, and we’ll have the security guys as backup in case anything goes wrong.”
“All right,” Charles says. “She’s been more excited about that than anything else. I’ll admit that the only water I’m interested in is one of those nice bathtubs with the water jets. They aren’t quite a jacuzzi, but they are the next best thing to it.”
“I can go,” I start to say.
“Stay,” Charles says. “You were sneezing, so I know you aren’t feeling all that great either.”
I’m not sick. Or at least I don’t think I am. But I have to admit that an afternoon with Charles, perhaps in a nice hot tub, has far more appeal than spending time out on a windy lake in December.
In short order, James, Grace, and an excited Cece are headed out the door with half our security team.
As soon as the door is closed, Charles says, “Am I doing that thing again? Did you want to go?”
I shake my head. “No. I could not love Cece more if she were my own, but even real moms want a day off now and then. I’m not that enthusiastic about amusement parks, but James loves them. Cece will have a grand time with him and Grace.”
“Then come have some fun with me,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I have some ideas about how to spend our afternoon. I’ve hardly had a chance to get two words with you alone since we hired Grace.”
“You aren’t angry with me?” I ask, thinking of the play set near-disaster and the hot pepper.
“No, oh, my no,” Charles says, taking my hand in his and pulling me down beside him on the couch. “Kate . . . I’m not really sure how to say this. I loved Em. She was the light of my life, my business partner, and we were as happily married as most people. But with you . . . it’s so much more. And how you are with Cece . . . I can’t even begin to describe all the ways that you’ve made her life better.”
I feel heat rising in my cheeks at his praise, while at the same time I feel as if there is an electrical flowing from his hand to mine. He tugs me toward him gently, and I let him reel me in.
We kiss. It is not the terrified life affirmation I had felt in the storm shelter, or the wild desire to test new-found feelings that we had shared in the camper, or the thrilling explorations we’d carried out on the waterbed in his office tent. This is gentler, deeper, like the earth deep flow from a mountain spring before it tumbles down the rocky hillside toward the river and finally into the sea.
I open my mouth to him, and he explores it, finding all the sensitive places, letting the smoldering embers we’d kept banked around child, brother, and best friend burst into aroaring bonfire. It’s as if we are letting layers of social convention fall away from us, leaving only pure feeling.
Charles slides his fingers through my hair. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, “Like a shower of silk. ‘She walks in beauty, like the night . . .’”
“Lord Byron,” I acknowledge softly. “But I think you give me too much honor . . .my love is not innocent.”
“Innocent enough. You give with your heart, not just with your body.” He cradles me in his arms, shifts me so he can kiss below my ear while softly caressing the back of my neck.
I shiver. The soft kisses and gentle touches are stoking the fire I had carefully banked.
Charles misinterprets the shiver. “You’re cold. Let’s go run some hot water in that tub and get it going. We can share — the thing is big enough to seat four.”
That brings an image that is almost a splash of cold water. “Not with my brother!” I exclaim.
“No,” he agrees, “And not with Grace. She’s a sweet kid, but not at all my type.”
