appointments and finishes?" Please say no. Let this be something you allow me to finish on my own because you do not have the time. She still felt his touch under her breasts and his scent still lingered in the air around her, both of which caused her to feel unsure of her ability to stay detached and still do that which was necessary to get her a babe. "To speed things along, I'll see if I can find the lists from Ajax, and..."
"What time would you like me to arrive?"
She wondered how early he rose, then decided not to inconvenience him too much. "How about eight in the morning? If we're fortunate we can get through all the lists tomorrow and I can finish the drawings in a few days. Hopefully, Friday afternoon you can sign off on them, so the process can begin." She then remembered what Mr. Watkins had asked her to do before letting their client leave today. "Captain, what do you prefer as a main course for dinner on Friday evening?"
His gold-flecked, brown-eyed gaze met hers, and he smiled. "I'm sure I will enjoy whatever you choose."
"But this celebration is in your honor," she reminded him, "I would have Sally make your favorite dish." For as much as she knew it was sinful to desire this man as she did.
"My favorite dish is whatever you select." He then lowered his voice to just above a whisper when he said, "I want what you want." He looked around as if to make sure no one stood near enough to overhear him. He leaned toward her as he spoke, and Mary-Michael felt the warmth of his breath in her hair as he added, "Always remember that, Mrs. Watkins. I want what you want." That said, he smiled, then walked away and left her standing where she was, still quivering inside, and her heart still as unsettled as the bay in a storm.
The moment he was gone Mary-Michael ran up the steps and into her husband's office so she could watch him walk away. Lord help her, but he was handsome, with his dark good looks and confident manner. And, did she just hear what she thought she did? Was that an attempt to flirt with her? If so, he was making her eventual seduction of him easier than planned.
He was also taller than she by a good head, and he had a way of making her feel dainty and feminine when she knew she wasn't. If he was flirting with her, it must mean he found her at least somewhat attractive. Didn't it?
If she had this man's son, she prayed he would have his father's height, build, and handsome visage. The captain was certainly healthy-looking, and with that rugged appearance it would make it easier for a son to find a wife one day.
Once he was out of sight, she plopped into her husband's over-stuffed desk chair. Her chest tightened as she struggled to get a deep breath. Could she love a child again? Risk her heart again?
She thought about Rowan and Emily and instantly her eyes welled. Her arms ached to hold them again, and she wondered where they were. Surely they'd made it to Tennessee by now. It's been almost three months since they'd gone. She still missed them terribly, and she prayed constantly that the brother and sister would grow to love their uncle and aunt. And that they never be haunted by the loss of her and Mr. Watkins, just as she was haunted by the death of her parents. Granted she might have been older when her own parents died and had more years with them, but Rowan was a smart little boy and she feared him having confusing memories. Mary-Michael certainly had many happy ones of the two children—until the day she got the message from Father Douglas that the next of kin had traveled from the Tennessee mountains to fetch them. Instantly her world had grown dark. For two weeks straight all she did was cry. Then, slowly, the tears subsided, though easily brought back with a mere thought. After the children left with their maternal relatives, Mary-Michael began to pacify herself in the darkness of her room with crying into a second pillow and squeezing it tight until she fell asleep.
Now, when she thought
"What time would you like me to arrive?"
She wondered how early he rose, then decided not to inconvenience him too much. "How about eight in the morning? If we're fortunate we can get through all the lists tomorrow and I can finish the drawings in a few days. Hopefully, Friday afternoon you can sign off on them, so the process can begin." She then remembered what Mr. Watkins had asked her to do before letting their client leave today. "Captain, what do you prefer as a main course for dinner on Friday evening?"
His gold-flecked, brown-eyed gaze met hers, and he smiled. "I'm sure I will enjoy whatever you choose."
"But this celebration is in your honor," she reminded him, "I would have Sally make your favorite dish." For as much as she knew it was sinful to desire this man as she did.
"My favorite dish is whatever you select." He then lowered his voice to just above a whisper when he said, "I want what you want." He looked around as if to make sure no one stood near enough to overhear him. He leaned toward her as he spoke, and Mary-Michael felt the warmth of his breath in her hair as he added, "Always remember that, Mrs. Watkins. I want what you want." That said, he smiled, then walked away and left her standing where she was, still quivering inside, and her heart still as unsettled as the bay in a storm.
The moment he was gone Mary-Michael ran up the steps and into her husband's office so she could watch him walk away. Lord help her, but he was handsome, with his dark good looks and confident manner. And, did she just hear what she thought she did? Was that an attempt to flirt with her? If so, he was making her eventual seduction of him easier than planned.
He was also taller than she by a good head, and he had a way of making her feel dainty and feminine when she knew she wasn't. If he was flirting with her, it must mean he found her at least somewhat attractive. Didn't it?
If she had this man's son, she prayed he would have his father's height, build, and handsome visage. The captain was certainly healthy-looking, and with that rugged appearance it would make it easier for a son to find a wife one day.
Once he was out of sight, she plopped into her husband's over-stuffed desk chair. Her chest tightened as she struggled to get a deep breath. Could she love a child again? Risk her heart again?
She thought about Rowan and Emily and instantly her eyes welled. Her arms ached to hold them again, and she wondered where they were. Surely they'd made it to Tennessee by now. It's been almost three months since they'd gone. She still missed them terribly, and she prayed constantly that the brother and sister would grow to love their uncle and aunt. And that they never be haunted by the loss of her and Mr. Watkins, just as she was haunted by the death of her parents. Granted she might have been older when her own parents died and had more years with them, but Rowan was a smart little boy and she feared him having confusing memories. Mary-Michael certainly had many happy ones of the two children—until the day she got the message from Father Douglas that the next of kin had traveled from the Tennessee mountains to fetch them. Instantly her world had grown dark. For two weeks straight all she did was cry. Then, slowly, the tears subsided, though easily brought back with a mere thought. After the children left with their maternal relatives, Mary-Michael began to pacify herself in the darkness of her room with crying into a second pillow and squeezing it tight until she fell asleep.
Now, when she thought
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