Chapter 46
I’m flat on top of Reese, his erection pressed between my legs, and he’s kissing me, but there is something in this kiss. Something off. I tear my lips from his. “What’s wrong?”
“You tell me”
“Nothing. There is nothing wrong between us Reese. We are so far from wrong. I love you, husband. I want to die your wife. Well, a long, long, time from now. I want—”
He cups my head and pulls my mouth to his again and there is a demand in his kiss, a possessive demand that guts me. He’s going into his trial worried about us. How have I let this happen? And I can’t go back now. Not hours before his opening statement. “Stop kissing me like something’s wrong. There’s nothing wrong.” I press my lips to his again, and this time I kiss him, and I try to tell a story. I love you. I need you. You are everything to me. I feel the moment he relaxes. The moment we become us, as I know us, again. Reese’s hands slide over my back, and he molds me closer, my naked breasts to his naked chest. He deepens our kiss, takes control in that way he does, and in the midst of a drugging lick of his tongue he presses inside me, and I slide down the hard length of him.
He sits up with me, kissing me, his hand on my breasts, and I am so lost in this man. I want to just blurt out “we’re pregnant,” but I store that thought for later, for the journal. I just—sometimes I don’t know where he begins and I end, and vice versa. We are that connected, and when that would have scared me with anyone before him, it makes me feel safe, and I didn’t even know I needed to feel safe. He nips my lips and lies backward, his eyes are hot, watching me, devouring me, and I’m again thinking too much—do I look different? Can he tell I’m pregnant?
I don’t want to have these thoughts. He’ll know I’m outside of the moment. He’ll know. I drag my hands over his chest, and rock against him, his hand finding my breast, my nipple, and I swear my sex squeezes in reaction. He pumps into me and I push against him, and from there it’s all about need, want, lust. I am free with this man. I want. I need. I have no inhibitions and that is a gift only love can give you. As Reese once told me: love is the freedom to fuck each other senseless. And we do. Crazy, wild, frenzied, and when it’s over, I collapse on top of him.
He rolls me to my back and whispers in my ear. “Every time I want to throttle someone today I’m going to think about you on top of me and smile.”
I laugh and he kisses me. “Come take a shower with me.”
Before I can reply, he’s literally maneuvered me off the bed and is carrying me to the shower.
Forty minutes later, Reese is in a blue suit that I picked out with a blue pinstriped tie and is headed downstairs to make coffee and read over his opening statement. I’m in my robe doing my makeup. I’m about to get dressed when a wave of sickness hits me. It comes hard and fast and I rush to the toilet, fall to my knees and hug the bowl. I heave and it’s horrible. My stomach is empty and the clenching of my belly muscles is torture.
“Cat!”
I cringe at the sound of Reese’s voice and in another instant, he’s on a knee beside. “Sweetheart. What’s happening?” He hands me a washcloth.
“Stupid olives,” I say wiping my mouth. “I told you they tasted off.”
“What can I get you?”
I twist around to face him. “A kickass opening statement. I’m fine. It’s passing. I just need to get dressed.” I cup his face. “I’m ready to go to court.”
“Cat, sweetheart. If you need to miss—”
“I will never miss one of your openings, ever. Ever.” I try to stand and he helps me up. “I’m good, but I should probably brush my teeth again. Go get ready. I’ll be dressed and ready myself in fifteen minutes.”
“You’re sure? Maybe we should have someone come be with you in court today, in case you get sick again.”
“Reese,” I say, grabbing his arms. “It’s nothing. I’m better now. I promise.”
He hesitates and backs out of the small room, guiding me with him, but he doesn’t leave. He hovers until I brush my teeth and prove I’m fine again. Once I’m minty fresh, I kiss him. “I’m great. I’ll be right down.”
His cellphone rings, and he grabs it to eye the caller ID. “Royce.” His lips thin. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” He disappears out of the bathroom and I suspect that Royce calling means that we already have picketers though I’m not sure what they will picket and not even because of the case, as much as the company the family owns. They’re like a Wal-Mart, so big that the public has high expectations and no matter what they do, they never meet those expectations. But the bottom line is the picketers make the trials nuts and I know they would make Reese worry about me if he knew I was pregnant. I’m making the right decision to wait.
Eager to find out what’s going on with Royce’s call, I head into the closet, pull on a pale pink sleeveless suit dress with a jacket. That way I’m prepared for a hot or cold courtroom, and the ever-changing October weather. I give myself a once-over in the mirror, my hand settling on my belly. I got sick and that feels like a normal thing for a pregnant woman. I smile. I’m pregnant and I think we’re having a girl. It’s just a gut feeling I’ll have to write about in the journal. I hurry to the sink, gloss my lips pink and then grab my purse.
My cellphone buzzes with a text and I glance down to find a message from my editor: Have I told you how much I love the way you tease readers? They know you know more than you’re telling and it’s making them crazy. The hits to your article this morning are insane. Now, off the record, did she do it?
I grimace and type a reply: Reese doesn’t defend guilty people.
Her reply is instant: But that recorded phone call had to have taken him off guard.
I’m irritated and concerned. My editor is smart and wide in her thinking, and yet she is focused on the scandal of that call. She didn’t really hear it and that worries me. I think of Reese’s opening statement and type: If anything that call proves innocence.
Once I’m downstairs, I find Reese in the kitchen, staring at his MacBook. The minute I walk in, he glances up, giving me a critical eye. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” I step to the island opposite him. “What was up with Royce?”
“The courthouse is a madhouse. His team will be here in a few to escort us.” He motions to my computer. “I read your column. Brilliant as always.”
“Thank you.” I consider a moment and then say, “I want you to read this exchange with my editor because I think you need to know what you’re up against.” I offer him my phone with the messages pulled up. He accepts it and reads the messages before handing it back to me. “In other words,” he says, “my client is guilty until proven innocent.”
“Can you convince your client to push the trial back?”
“No. She won’t do that. I’ve tried.”
“Then what are you going to do, Reese?”
“Win by making that call, and the assumption of guilt, work for me and my client. I tweaked my opening statement.” The doorbell rings and he stands up. “I’m ready. I feel in the game now.” He heads for the door and my stomach churns again. He’s in the game now. I cannot let him see me get sick again. I rush to the pantry, grab some crackers and stuff them in a baggy, before tucking them inside my purse.
I’ve just finished packing up my MacBook when Reese joins me to do the same of his. That’s when Royce appears in the archway, and his eyes meet mine, a question in their depths. Reese glances at a text message and I answer Royce’s unspoken question by giving a tiny shake of my head. His eyes darken with what I think is disapproval. He thinks I should have told Reese, even though he himself said to wait until after opening. I want to throttle him and worse, I share a secret with Royce that I should be sharing with my husband. The wrong man knows I’m pregnant.
I suddenly can’t wait to get to a place where I can start writing in my journal. Putting down my feelings there is clearly going to be the only way I survive the guilt of keeping this from Reese.