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That excitement rushes through me again. I told her the truth, but I left out the bit where I will never have children because I will never marry again.
"I didn't have any siblings," she tells me, "and I guess that made me want a family of my own. Lots of kids scampering around the house. And of course, a husband who loves me as much as I love him."
"A lovely dream." I sink my fingers into her hair, my palm on her cheek, and wish like hell I could be the one to give her what she wants. When she leans into my touch, that old pang throbs in my chest. "I hope you get it someday."
"I hope you get yours too."
A silence settles between us, not quite awkward but echoing with all the questions I long to ask her and all the things I wish I could tell her. She nestles her head on my shoulder, her face buried against my neck. I hold her and inhale the sweet scent that always surrounds her, and for a moment, I allow myself to fantasize about a life with her—a life with children and happiness that will never fade away. Seven days. That's as much as I can give her. I never want to let her go, but I know I must do it.
The words I can't speak whisper through my mind.I love you, Erica.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When I wake up the next morning, all that sentimental rubbish I wallowed in yesterday has evaporated. I like Erica and love shagging her, but that's all it is. I'd wanted a holiday from my life, and she has given me that. My ex-wife wants to cause me trouble in every way possible, and I let the stress of all that divorce bollocks get to me.
No more. It's time for a road trip with the sexy lass who's lying in bed with me. And I know just how to start our morning.
I roll onto my side and gaze at the woman sleeping beside me. Erica lies on her side too, facing me, her eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips. What is she dreaming of? The two of us naked, I hope, with our bodies entangled. A lock of hair has fallen over her eyes, so I tuck it behind her ear.
Then I grab my mobile off the bedside table and head into the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as possible to avoid waking her. I mean to wake her in a special way.
I lean my erse against the sink counter and dial Erica's mobile number.
Out in the bedroom, her mobile starts ringing. After four rings, she answers drowsily. "Hello?"
"Ah, sweet Erica, it's time to wake up, so I can do wicked things to that body of yours." I imagine I'm doing exactly what I describe to her. "I want to massage your entire body, starting with your feet, and work my way up to your legs, where I'll spread your thighs and feast on all that luscious cream. Your body is the canvas, and I mean to paint it with my lips, tongue, and hands until you're thrashing under me and begging to come."
"Mm, Lachlan, yes," she mumbles. "Get your ass over here and make me come with your mouth."
"Ahm meaning to do that,gràidh. Over and over."
She moans softly, still sounding drowsy.
"After I massage your body," I tell her, "I'm going to flip you over and fuck you from behind."
"Mm, I'd love—" Her words cut off, and silence follows for a few seconds. When she speaks again, she doesn't sound sleepy anymore. "Lachlan, where are you?"
"Right here." I swing the bathroom door open and amble out, tossing my mobile onto the bedside table. "I'd never leave you, especially when you're naked and wet."
"I'm not wet. Haven't taken a shower yet."
I crawl onto the bed and inch my way up her body, licking her skin as I move. "Not that kind of wet."
For the next half hour, I show Erica exactly what kind of wet I meant.
We make breakfast together and eat it in the kitchen, at the table where we had shared brownies three weeks ago. I'd never known a chocolate dessert could be erotic until that day. I remember the soft, sensual look on her face while I had told her about Talisker whisky. She is incredible, and I couldn't have found a better partner for my month-long fling in America.
Erica's mobile rings, shattering my reminiscences.
She looks straight at me, a question on her face.
"You don't need my permission to take a call," I say. "But I'll give you some privacy and wait in the living room."
The devil on my shoulder whispers that I should linger just outside the kitchen doorway and listen in on her conversation, but I ignore the impulse. Instead, I drop onto the sofa and wait for Erica.
I can hear her voice, but I can't make out the words.
A moment later, Erica shuffles into the living room and perches on the coffee table's edge. "I have to go somewhere this morning. It's personal, and I can't tell you any more than that."
