Page 33 of Loving at 40

“Why would you say that?” My voice lowers, softens even, while Archer remains stone-still behind me. He doesn’t offer a sound of rebuttal or shock.

“Because only daddies go to bed with mommies,” Rosie explains.

“Who told you that, sweetheart?” She isn’t exactly wrong. I don’t need to go into the explanation of how when two people love one another, and the timing is right blah-blah. Let her think for now it can be only moms and dads married to one another who sleep in the same bed.

“Trevor said it,” Talia explains. “He says his daddy sleeps with Miss River because she’s going to be his new mom soon, and when she has the baby, she’ll be a real mom.”

Out of the mouths of babes.

Archer remains in place, silently behind me. His hand came to my hip when I quickly turned to face the girls, settling me from a sharp spin, and his fingers remained there. Whether to continue steadying me or him, I’m not certain.

“No, sweetheart. Archer isn’t going to replace your daddy. Mommy will be on the couch again.” I try to assure both my girls, feeling very awkward discussing this before Archer. Stepping forward, I reach for Rosie’s wild, blond curls and brush them back from her forehead before kissing her cheek and rubbing my nose to hers.

“Love you, warrior. Time for sleep.”

“Love you, ’Locks.”

I giggle as she meant love you lots, but she’s been hearing Archer call me ’Locks. I straighten her covers, which will only be disheveled within minutes of her falling asleep. Crossing the space between the beds, I lean over Talia next, swiping a hand down her cheek as our eyes meet. Hesitation and question fill those young eyes matching mine. If only she knew inside me felt the same as her. I don’t know what to think of Archer.

“Good night, my angel,” I whisper to her as she is that to me. She’s the miracle I never thought would happen. Then I got lucky, and it happened a second time.

Archer remains during this final ritual, and when I stand, he slowly backs out the door, hitting the light switch before we both exit the room. A small night-light in an outlet offers the girls a hint of light so they won’t be frightened in an unfamiliar bedroom.

Closing the door, I lean my back against the wall to the side and tip back my head. “I’m sorry about that,” I whisper to the ceiling while addressing Archer. I’m afraid to look at him after the daddy comments. Then I remember he started that conversation with his statement.

Sleepover with Mommy. My head snaps forward. “But what were you thinking?”

Archer steps up to me, closing the distance between us. His fingers capture a strand of my hair and brushes it over my ear. “I was thinking I gave a woman an orgasm, two in fact, and I can at least let her sleep in my bed with me.”

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, fighting between thinking he’s sweet and wondering how many women he’s given multiple orgasms to and allowed in his bed next to him.

“Why did we do that?” I whisper, focusing on his throat instead of his face. I can’t look at him as I recall earlier. How brazenly I’d spread my knees for him. How vigorously I practically humped the showerhead. How open I was to him touching me.

“Because you wanted it, babe.” His voice drops as he repeats the motion of stroking my hair, although the strands are already behind my ear. His fingers scoop around the lobe and lower to my neck. Then his hand slips to my chest. I’m wearing a lightweight robe I found over my summery pajamas of a tank top and shorty shorts. Archer’s palm pushes aside the material to continue touching my skin, and he pauses over my racing heart.

“That’s it,” I stammer around his explanation.

“Babe. Be real. You wanted it. I wanted to give it to you.”

“Archer,” I groan. I have so many questions with answers I don’t want to hear. I don’t want him to regret earlier. I don’t want to regret it. I don’t want to call it a mistake. However, it certainly wasn’t smart. It wasn’t responsible. It wasn’t motherly.

“It’s only sleep. I’ve been good so far,” he mutters, referencing his comment about sleepovers and sharing bedrooms. “The bathroom seems to be the danger zone with you.”

For some reason, this makes me chuckle, and I shake my head.

“Let’s watch a movie,” he suggests, and I tip my brow. He doesn’t seem like a hang on the couch, watch a movie kind of guy. There’s so much I don’t know about him. “I know you have a penchant for porn, but I was thinking we could find something a little more PG.”

This only makes me laugh harder, brushing away my lacking knowledge of who he is, where he’s been, and what he’s been doing. He’s here now, for some reason, and I focus on that as the important part of Archer. With his hand still on my chest, his palm vibrates against the heaving motion. He slowly smiles, one side of his mouth curling more than the other. His eyes drop to where his hand rests on me.

“That’s a nice sound,” he whispers, and I stop mid-laugh, surprised by the comment.

“Why do you do that?” I glance down at his fingers spread above my left breast.

“It reminds me I’m alive, and so are you.”

Well.

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