have,” I countered.
“Panty-melting? I like the sound of that,” he murmured, pushing my hair over my shoulder and kissing my neck, nudging the collar of my PJs aside to caress my shoulder. “Tell me, do these panties match your black bra?”
I squirmed away from his lips. “Rule number three. No doing any of that shit you just did.”
He laughed again and helped me up as I tried to wiggle out of the crevice between his leg and the arm of the chair.
“I guess I’ll have to imagine they match,” he said.
“Oh, they match, don’t you worry.” I rubbed my tingly butt as I crossed to the bed. Daniel followed me, possibly hoping to help me rub away the tingles, when his phone rang.
He grinned as he looked at the display. “Hello, Penny. How are things at the homestead?”
Moving to stand behind me, he wrapped one arm around me and rested his hand on my stomach as he continued his conversation. He swayed me gently as he talked, his side laced with giggles, sounds of surprise, and affectionate expressions, his lovely English lilt getting stronger the longer he spoke.
“How’s Penny?” I asked when he’d hung up.
“Good. Worried that Brad’s going to give himself a hernia, moving gigantic pieces of furniture around. And she told me to say hi to you when I spoke to you next. So, hi from Penny,” he said.
“What was that about going over there to help with something next Sunday?”
“The former owners painted the kitchen walls sea-foam-green. Penny’s dying. Jer and I are going over to help repaint. Maybe you could come along?”
“That sounds fun. And speaking of,” I said, dragging him over to the bed, “can we? I mean, are we allowed to cuddle now? Or are there more ground rules?”
“How about we use our common sense? After you.” He gestured to the bed.
I threw myself onto the comforter and flapped my arms around as if I was making a snow angel.
“What are you doing, woman?” he asked, perching his knee on the edge of the mattress.
“This bed is huge! I love it!” I scooted up toward the throw pillows and flopped against them. “Ah, this is the life.” I beckoned, and he stretched out beside me, taking my hand and resting our entwined fingers on my stomach. He looked down at me, his eyebrows drawn together.
“What is it, sweet knees?” I asked, rubbing his bare foot with mine.
“Penny asked if I’d seen you since Friday, and I said I hadn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever lied to her before.”
“Why didn’t you tell her I was here?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe I wanted to keep this between us. Keep it for us.”
I scanned his face. “That’s one of the most wonderful justifications for a lie I’ve ever heard,” I said. “Although, the truth shall make you free, Daniel.”
“Oh, don’t start with that. You saw that paperweight?”
“I did. What’s that line from?”
“‘ The truth shall make you free ’? That’s from the Bible. John 8:32. Any guesses who gave me that as a gift?”
“Your dad?”
“You’re a quick study, Miss Price. He gave it to me last year for my birthday. After everything that had happened, he said I needed to remain true to myself and, in the end, everything would work out. I think he was trying to be helpful or inspiring. Most of the time, looking at it makes me think too much.”
“In what way?” I sat up a little.
“Usually it makes me wonder if he really does think I’m lying about what happened at Oxford. Sometimes I get philosophical, thinking about the definition of truth. There’s a big difference between, ‘what is the truth’ and ‘what is truth.’ You know what I mean?”
I didn’t have a clue. Maybe if it wasn’t well after ten o’clock on a Sunday night and I wasn’t lying in bed with Daniel, I’d be able to focus on the question.
“You’re hurting my brain.”
“You want a sore brain, try writing my PhD paper.”
“What’s it about?”
He sighed and folded his hands under his head. “In a
“Panty-melting? I like the sound of that,” he murmured, pushing my hair over my shoulder and kissing my neck, nudging the collar of my PJs aside to caress my shoulder. “Tell me, do these panties match your black bra?”
I squirmed away from his lips. “Rule number three. No doing any of that shit you just did.”
He laughed again and helped me up as I tried to wiggle out of the crevice between his leg and the arm of the chair.
“I guess I’ll have to imagine they match,” he said.
“Oh, they match, don’t you worry.” I rubbed my tingly butt as I crossed to the bed. Daniel followed me, possibly hoping to help me rub away the tingles, when his phone rang.
He grinned as he looked at the display. “Hello, Penny. How are things at the homestead?”
Moving to stand behind me, he wrapped one arm around me and rested his hand on my stomach as he continued his conversation. He swayed me gently as he talked, his side laced with giggles, sounds of surprise, and affectionate expressions, his lovely English lilt getting stronger the longer he spoke.
“How’s Penny?” I asked when he’d hung up.
“Good. Worried that Brad’s going to give himself a hernia, moving gigantic pieces of furniture around. And she told me to say hi to you when I spoke to you next. So, hi from Penny,” he said.
“What was that about going over there to help with something next Sunday?”
“The former owners painted the kitchen walls sea-foam-green. Penny’s dying. Jer and I are going over to help repaint. Maybe you could come along?”
“That sounds fun. And speaking of,” I said, dragging him over to the bed, “can we? I mean, are we allowed to cuddle now? Or are there more ground rules?”
“How about we use our common sense? After you.” He gestured to the bed.
I threw myself onto the comforter and flapped my arms around as if I was making a snow angel.
“What are you doing, woman?” he asked, perching his knee on the edge of the mattress.
“This bed is huge! I love it!” I scooted up toward the throw pillows and flopped against them. “Ah, this is the life.” I beckoned, and he stretched out beside me, taking my hand and resting our entwined fingers on my stomach. He looked down at me, his eyebrows drawn together.
“What is it, sweet knees?” I asked, rubbing his bare foot with mine.
“Penny asked if I’d seen you since Friday, and I said I hadn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever lied to her before.”
“Why didn’t you tell her I was here?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe I wanted to keep this between us. Keep it for us.”
I scanned his face. “That’s one of the most wonderful justifications for a lie I’ve ever heard,” I said. “Although, the truth shall make you free, Daniel.”
“Oh, don’t start with that. You saw that paperweight?”
“I did. What’s that line from?”
“‘ The truth shall make you free ’? That’s from the Bible. John 8:32. Any guesses who gave me that as a gift?”
“Your dad?”
“You’re a quick study, Miss Price. He gave it to me last year for my birthday. After everything that had happened, he said I needed to remain true to myself and, in the end, everything would work out. I think he was trying to be helpful or inspiring. Most of the time, looking at it makes me think too much.”
“In what way?” I sat up a little.
“Usually it makes me wonder if he really does think I’m lying about what happened at Oxford. Sometimes I get philosophical, thinking about the definition of truth. There’s a big difference between, ‘what is the truth’ and ‘what is truth.’ You know what I mean?”
I didn’t have a clue. Maybe if it wasn’t well after ten o’clock on a Sunday night and I wasn’t lying in bed with Daniel, I’d be able to focus on the question.
“You’re hurting my brain.”
“You want a sore brain, try writing my PhD paper.”
“What’s it about?”
He sighed and folded his hands under his head. “In a
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