Chapter 6 Be More
Be More
Franki
Iwait until we’ve made our way upstairs, past the McRae bodyguard on duty, and into the quiet shadows of the corridor. “Did you really dangle Noah’s brother off a cliff?”
“Yes.”
I stop walking and turn to face him, studying his expression in the yellow light of the wall sconces. “You don’t think that was a little extreme?”
“There was very little real danger.” With his jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loose, and his sleeves rolled up, he looks like a man who believes he has handled a problem and is ready to think about something else.
Or, in this case, someone else.
“It was a cliff. You could have been hurt.” And what a silly thing to say when he regularly returns from missions exhausted, sometimes bloody and bruised, and always with a heavy heart from what he’s seen.
You’d think I’d become inoculated to the anxiety—so used to the threat of danger that I’d grow numb to it. Instead, it’s grown teeth and claws.
I understand what’s at stake. He’s saving lives. I can’t ask him to stop, but that’s not an excuse for him to be reckless. “Don’t take unnecessary risks. Please.”
He brushes my cheekbone with his thumb. “I was careful. I promise. And you’ll be happy to know, I stayed extremely pleasant with Elliot. I even smiled when I did it.”
I huff and tug on his shirt to pull him closer. “You are such a smart-ass.”
“This is true.” He squeezes my butt with both hands. “Now, let’s get inside our room.”
He unlocks our door and enters before me, performing a scan of the room. The moment he knows we’re alone, he tosses his glasses and jacket to a nearby chair, then secures our door, pinning me against it.
When I release my cane and it clatters to the floor, he lifts my arms over my head and holds both of my wrists in one hand, yanking my dress up to my waist with the other.
“Henry, I can’t touch you like this.”
“If you touch me now, I’m coming all over you before I even get inside you,” he grates.
His mouth lands on mine, his tongue thrusting inside as his fingers delve under black lace, his thumb finding my clit, and one strong finger pressing inside me. This isn’t his usual technique.
He’s usually slow and methodical. At least, until he isn’t. There’s something wildly arousing about seeing a man who is always in control let go of the leash.
He drops his mouth to my neck, and I writhe under his lips and hands. He smells of cedar and bergamot and Henry. His warmth envelops me, and his fingers and thumb move and move and my body coils tighter and tighter, climbing that peak. “Oh God. Henry.”
He laughs against my neck. “That’s it, love.”
A fierce yowl pierces the hushed quiet of our room. In the dim, moon-washed darkness, Henry lifts his head to peer into my eyes. “Tell me that was you, about to have the best orgasm of your life.”
“I’m—”
YOWL.
He closes his eyes on a slow blink. “I’ll check on the cats when we’re done. They can wait.”
YOWL.
“I—”
YOWL.
“She sounds distraught. Something’s wrong.”
“Goddammit.” He screws his eyes shut tight, releases me, then uses the edge of his fist to make one soft thump against the door.
I relate to the frustration, but the cat needs something, so I tug down my dress and duck beneath his arm to turn on the table lamp, ignoring my cane now that I’m in the smaller space of our room. If I need to hold on to furniture or sit, I will.
For a moment, Henry remains as he is, facing the door, then he scoops up my cane to prop against the wall and turns.
Mama Cat, a calico, remains cuddled with her babies on the towel we placed with her. Her food and water dish aren’t empty.
Doing my best not to frighten her, I approach slowly. “What’s wrong, Mama?”
Henry comes close and drops to a crouch, his forearms resting on his thighs. Understanding what I don’t immediately, he springs to stand and pivots, his gaze sweeping the room. “One of the kittens is missing. The little black one.”
I scan the room. “How? Isn’t it too little to toddle off?”
Henry shakes his head. “I don’t know, but they’re pretty squirmy. I’m going to wash my hands. Be right back.”
YOWL.
“I won’t step on him,” Henry says gently. “I’ll be careful. We’ll find him.”
While Henry is in the bathroom, I check to be sure the kitten isn’t hidden somewhere in the base of the lectern, but no luck there. Then, I scan every exposed corner of the floor. I slide the curtains aside to see if a little ball of fur is trapped behind one.
Henry returns and uses his phone flashlight to check under the bed. “Not here.”
“How can he not be there? We’ve looked everywhere else.”
“Hmm.” He strides to the closet door and opens it. “There you are,” he murmurs.
Frowning, I join him as he scoops up the little guy and cradles him against his chest.
My heart rate accelerates. “How did he get in there? Did someone come into our room and move him?”
Henry shakes his head. “There’s no indication of that.” He nods toward the bottom of the door. “The gap is big enough for him to fit. The question is—” He lifts the kitten to eye level. “Why are you off adventuring when you should be snuggled up with your mother?”
The tiny ball of black dandelion fluff cupped in Henry’s hands gives a high-pitched imitation of his mother’s plaintive cry. Mama Cat rubs anxiously against Henry’s shins.
“All right then. Let’s get you back where you belong,” Henry says.
He gently settles the kitten next to its siblings, then considers the lectern with his hands propped on his narrow hips.
He turns to one of the bedside tables. The drawer inside it contains nothing but a notepad and pen.
Without a word or fanfare, he removes the drawer and positions it on its side in front of the base of the lectern.
It won’t block the mother cat, who can easily step over it.
And it wouldn’t stop the kittens if they were even a week older, but for now, it works to keep them confined.
The four larger kittens immediately converge on their mother, looking for milk, but when the little one noses forward, squirming ineffectually for his turn, he gets nowhere.
I glance at my watch. “It’s time for another feeding.”
Henry scrapes his palm over the fresh stubble on his jaw. “I’ll feed him. You get ready for bed. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done here.”
I don’t offer to feed the kitten instead. Henry would only say, “Rest. Please.”
So I close myself in the bathroom for long enough to do what I need to, then return wearing my nightgown. Only a single low-wattage table lamp burns in the otherwise dark room. Henry has pulled the curtains closed.
He looks up from where he sits with his back to the wall and his knees raised, the kitten cuddled against his chest.
“Considering we only have time for one orgasm session now, the Victorian Bride Nightgown is cruel. Very, very cruel. I’m rolling over the remaining orgasms to tomorrow.” He lifts his chin in demand, and I bend to press my lips to his. He groans in exaggerated misery into my mouth, and I laugh.
Henry has always said this white cotton nightgown reminds him of a Victorian bride on her wedding night. And for some reason that turns him on. I told him it’s not historically accurate, but, for once, he doesn’t care about accuracy.
I tug back the coverlet, crawl into the four-poster bed, and lie on my side, watching Henry as he feeds a tiny feline with a syringe, my world in soft focus without contact lenses.
Henry’s voice is a gentle rumble, like thunder in the distance, as he tells the kitten how clever and strong he’ll grow up to be.
When the kitten puts its paws on the syringe, holding it like a baby bottle, Henry glances my way with a delighted grin, to see if I see it too.
My throat tightens, and my eyes grow damp.
“If we had children, it would be harder to find as much time alone. It would be like this weekend. For a while,” I blurt.
Then, I flinch. Why did I say it now when I’d planned for Sunday?
And why that way? Like I’m handing him his objections first, so I’m braced to hear them.
I should have said something simple like “I’ve been thinking . . .”
But Henry is Henry. We’ve known each other—loved each other—far too well and far too long to get tangled in words, and understanding settles behind his eyes. “This is what you’ve been thinking about. You want us to have a child?”
My nerves vibrate, my stomach churning with a hundred butterflies in flight.
“When I went off hormonal birth control, my rheumatologist asked if I wanted to change my other meds to be safe for a pregnancy, and I did. I thought it was a good idea in case condoms failed. But then, I started to imagine it. To hope for it. The only thing is . . .”
He takes a heavy breath. “Me.”
“The plan was always to leave running the family businesses behind when your brother was ready to take over. I think he’d jump at the chance.
But if you don’t think he’s ready, maybe it doesn’t have to be all or nothing.
I don’t want to wait for our lives to be perfect first .
. .” I trail off. “Unless you need that. And if you do, I understand.”
Henry’s brows lower, his expression contemplative. The kitten, belly round and eyes sleepy, finishes the formula. Henry returns him to the clean nest he’d set up for them.
Then, Henry disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower start.
If he were another sort of man, I’d probably take the fact that he left as him shutting me out, but he’s not. He’s thinking, and when he’s ready, he’ll start talking as if there was no break in the conversation at all.
He could be in that bathroom quietly deciding he wants to be a father. It doesn’t have to mean he’s figuring out how to tell me no.
Any other time, I’d have drifted off to sleep while I waited, but anticipation and anxiety fizz inside me like bubbles in champagne.
Henry would never be cruel if he wasn’t ready for children. He’d be matter-of-fact and logical.
I’m not sure that won’t sting just as badly.
When he returns, stripped down to bare skin and smelling of soap, he switches off the light and climbs in beside me, drawing me against him.
I go eagerly, more than willing to wait on the conversation for a better time if it means I don’t hear a “no” tonight.
One of his hands burrows into my hair to hold my head, the other drags the fabric of my nightgown higher and higher, and his mouth closes on mine.
He groans when his fingers reach the bare skin of my thigh, as if just the feel of me is a relief. “This nightgown is like a treasure hunt.”
I run my hands over the warm, smooth muscle of his shoulders and back as he moves over me, his knee parting my thighs to make space for him.
He lifts his head slightly, his voice hushed in the darkness. “I like to make schedules, but people don’t always fit into an itinerary.”
My heart flutters in my chest like a bird fighting to escape a cage. “Could you be flexible with this?”
“If I decided it was the right decision, I could adapt and adjust. But, Franki—” He seems to search for the right words. “You don’t worry about having children with me?”
Outrage, immediate and visceral, floods through me. “You would be a phenomenal father. You’d be gentle and loving and—”
He huffs a laugh and cuts me off with a kiss before lifting his head and sobering. “I know. I know I’d love them. I meant, aren’t you afraid they’ll turn out like me?”
My mouth drops open. I can’t wrap my brain around what he said. Then, words pour out of me. “What are you talking about? I love you. Children will be themselves, but if they turn out to be like you, then I’ll be thrilled because the world would be a better place with more people like you in it.”
I feel my hair move with his heavy exhale. Feel his chest expand against mine as he braces himself over me. “I could pass autism to my children, Franki. That’s reality.”
In the past, he’s always been so matter-of-fact about his autism. When I was eight years old, he told me he was neurodivergent, and it was just him. “Like having blue eyes and brown hair.”
As far as I’m concerned, he’s perfect. “Do you wish you were different?” The thought forms a pit in my gut.
He shakes his head. “I imagine it would be nice to get a haircut and not feel like I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Or hear someone chew and—” He shudders. “Life would be easier in many ways, but no. I don’t. The way my brain works makes me who I am. I was asking for you.”
“Then we agree.” I reach up to cup his face, my thumb brushing across his cheekbone.
“You’re not something that went wrong. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.
If we have children, we’ll love them for who they are.
And we’ll meet them where they are, the same way we do with each other.
There are no guarantees about anything in this life. ”
He presses his forehead to mine, and I sift my fingers through his hair.
“I can understand you not wanting to wait for perfection. But I work long hours. It would put a lot of pressure on you,” he says.
I stroke his cheek and speak carefully. “I won’t try to convince you. You can’t decide something this important just because I want it—”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t like when I don’t get what I want—”
He lifts his head. “I wouldn’t. We’re talking about bringing a new person into the world, not whether a painting looks better in the dining room or the dumpster.
So talk to me and tell me what you think and what you feel.
This is how we work, and it’s why, when we’re eighty, we’re still going to work. ”
I swallow. “Okay. Here it is. You and I are more than capable of figuring things out as we go. We can create an environment that works for everyone, no matter what job either of us has. And if it’s a lot for me, I don’t care. It will be worth every second.”
He brushes his fingers across my forehead. Down my temple. Over the crest of my cheekbone. But he doesn’t say a word.
The physical demands of the day catch up to me in a swell of fatigue, and a yawn slips out.
The emotional crash of no longer holding all of it inside feels like permission to rest. The ball is in his court now, after all.
“You’re exhausted,” he says.
Though I can’t see in the darkness, I drag my eyelids open to prove to myself I can. “I’m not too tired to talk,” I mumble.
His warm laugh brushes over my temple before he presses his lips against my skin. “We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow. I promise. I need to think, anyway. Any more tonight would be going in circles.”
I nod. He didn’t say “yes,” but he didn’t say “no.” Either way, Henry and I are solid.
“I failed on my orgasm mission today. I didn’t take certain variables into account. Now I have to roll today’s missed opportunities forward to tomorrow,” he muses. “Rest. You’re waking in the morning with a bang.”
My laugh follows me into my dreams.