Page 148 of Dying to Meet You
His hand is under her blouse and onto her stomach immediately. He makes a strangled growl that causes her to roll her eyes at the bookshelf across the room.
“You’re going to have to hire a new girl,” she says softly. “Eventually.”
“I suppose. Unless you want to stay on.”
“How could I?” she wonders aloud. “Is there a company daycare somewhere I haven’t noticed?”
“You know,” he says as his fingertips creep across her skin, “the family has arranged a great many adoptions.”
Her heart drops. “I don’t want that.”
It’s not like she never considered adoption, but she grew up in and out of foster care, and some of it was pretty bad. No child should suffer that if there’s a rich man on the hook for its well-being. And the well-being of the mother.
Mr. Wincott is going to paytwiceas much as usual, or she’ll go to his brother and threaten to tell the papers.
His fingertips reach up to cup her breast. “Have you picked out some good Christian names?” he asks.
Her eyes slide toward the thick book of saints, wondering how carefully he’s read it. “Why, yes, I have. A girl name, anyway. I think I’m having a girl.”
“Do you now?” he asks in a voice that’s clearly humoring her. “And what are we calling her?”
The name was on the first page she opened to. Her gaze snagged on a particular phrase about the saint:an illegitimate daughter. It will be her little secret. And—bonus—the saint’s name is lovely, too.
She turns around, straddling one of his thighs and resting her hands on his chest in a suggestive way.
“Marcus.” She cups his chin, so he’ll look at her face and not her tits. “I’m going to call her Beatrice.”
54
Rowan
I’m trying to outrun my anger, but it isn’t working all that well. After several miles, I’m viciously thirsty, and the dog is shooting me worried looks. Like maybe she deserves a drink and a treat for all this exercise.
When I reach the busy part of the waterfront, I slow to a walk and catch my breath. It’s a Friday evening in June, so the sidewalk is packed with tourists and couples holding hands. Clouds are brewing overhead, and the wind is kicking up, and I predict within the next few minutes everyone will scurry into the nearby bars and restaurants.
In the distance I hear a band playing a Jimmy Buffett cover. It might even be Harrison’s band. For fifteen years I didn’t see his face. And now I can’t seem to get away from that man.
I can’t believe he put Natalie on the back of that motorcycle. Sure, he gave her the only helmet. But that wasso stupid. If he’d gotten pulled over, he’d end up in courtagain.
And I can’tbelieveI threw myself at him last night. I’m so angry at both of us. He has to go.
I stop walking and check the time. Maybe I can find some take-out food to split with Natalie. Lickie and I can have a drink at one of the restaurants’ outdoor areas while I wait for the food.
While I’m weighing tacos versus fried fish, I pull my phone from my fanny pack and glance at it. Beatrice has called me. Twice. But she didn’t leave a message.
It’s odd to get a call from her on a Friday evening, so I call her back.
“Hey!” she answers a little breathlessly. “God, do you have a second? I’m freaking out a little.”
My skin prickles. “Why?”
“I was doing a little work on our extra project...”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t get too excited. I found something a little confusing. I have a little theory, and I want to run it by you. But...” She laughs, and it sounds nervous. “You know how I hate it when people talk about ghosts?”
“Yeah?”
