Perfect for You (23 page)

Freya propped herself up on an elbow. "Now isn't the time to look for a piece of gum."

"A-ha," he mumbled victoriously, pulling his hand out. He joined her again, leaning over her until the only thing filling her field of vision was the sky-blue clearness of his eyes. "You'll marry me, Freya."

Stunned, she blinked her eyes at the huge square cut diamond in front of her. It was encircled with a multitude of small yellow-orange stones and set on a glowing platinum band.

She cleared her throat. "That sounded like an order. Not exactly the way to propose, is it?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never done it before. But if semantics are your only objection, I'll propose to you over and over for the rest of your life until I get it right."

"Okay."

His brow knit in confusion. "Okay what?"

She grinned. "Put the ring on my finger."

"Hell yes." He slipped it on and sealed his mouth to hers, working his way down to the side of her neck, right below her ear where she was most sensitive. She gasped, tilting her head to give him better access.

He pushed aside the sides of her robe to bare her chest. Everything started to spin when his mouth latched onto her nipple. She moaned loudly, arching into his touch.

As his teeth scraped the tip of her breast, his hand untied her robe's sash and pushed it away. His hand traveled down her hip and teasingly hinted at caressing her more intimately.

She needed more. She moaned, trying to wiggle his hand closer to the spot where she wanted him. "Touch me. Please."

He slipped a finger between her clenched thighs right to where she was throbbing. "Like this?"

She could only answer with a sob as he slowly dragged his finger over her folds. The room began to spin as her orgasm crept up on her. His every stroke was light and lingering, grazing the sensitive nerve endings.

It hit her suddenly—wave after wave of pure pleasure until she felt like she was drowning.

Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, it stopped. She opened her eyes to find Greg stripping.

She sat up to help him. "I can take care of this," she told him as she reached up to his shirt collar. With one movement she tore the buttons off and shoved it down his arms.

"I like a woman of action." He pushed his pants down and threw them after the shirt, pulling on a condom. He dove on top and, in one smooth motion, slid into her.

They both groaned. He felt hard and hot and
right
.

"God Freya, I can't hold on." He grasped her hips and pushed into her deeply. Letting go with one hand, he slipped it between their bodies. She cried out as he touched her, feeling another orgasm building. He flipped her over, leaving his hand to manipulate her and drove into her. Once, twice, and she screamed again as he cried out in satisfaction.

He collapsed on top of her. She shivered as his hands skimmed over her body. She listened to his heartbeat and whispered, "You're mine."

He kissed her brow. "Just how it's supposed to be."

One Year Later

"Are you excited?"

Freya looked up. His wife lay across the couch with her head in his lap. She wore one of those tiny tank tops, without a bra, God have mercy, and a pair of shorts. Boy shorts, she called them, but no boy he knew wore shorts like that. One of her feet dangled off the end of the couch, bouncing up and down every now and then. When it moved, her anklet winked at him as if goading him into action.

"Not at all," she said nonchalantly.

Greg grinned, twirling one of her curls around a finger. "Is that why you've read that article ten times?"

She pursed her glossless raspberry lips indignantly. "I have
not
read it ten times. I've been looking over the other articles in this magazine."

"I didn't realize that you were interested in a"—he tipped her hand to be able to see the newspaper—"Brazilian midget dance troupe."

"I've heard they can samba like no one's business," she said with a straight face.

"I'll bet."

They both knew that Brazilian dancers weren't what captured her attention. It was the main article, which highlighted the Webby Awards. She'd won artist of the year for her Sin City design.

The success had brought her another high profile site to redesign. The imminent launch had Freya vacillating between boundless exhilaration and abject terror. Greg didn't think she had anything to worry about. She'd put her body and soul into the design. They were everything she was: sexy, classy, beautiful, and exciting.

She insisted that she was manic because she'd lost her partner-in-crime. Eve had decided to jump ship and open a cafŽ, much to her father's dismay.

He believed Freya's mood swings were because of the baby.

Greg ran his hand over her taut, distended belly. He couldn't keep his hands off her. At six months along, she still looked exactly the same except for her stomach, which grew rounder every day.

He felt their baby kick under his hand. "She's going to be a soccer player."

"
He
is probably just stretching his legs," Freya retorted, still perusing the article.

"
She
is practicing her martial arts. She's going to be a black belt."

Freya smiled indulgently. They'd decided to let the sex of their baby be a surprise, but she was certain it was going to be a boy. He wanted a passel of girls, all of them with shiny red-hot curls and big amber eyes.

Life had changed dramatically for Greg over the past year. He rushed Freya to the altar as quickly as humanly possible. He didn't want to take any chances on her changing her mind. After they got back from their two-week honeymoon in Rome, they bought a house, not far from their former apartment building. It was modern, with three stories and plenty of bedrooms to be filled out with children. Freya had fallen in love with the kitchen, which was professional grade, but when she saw the two-person Jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom she was sold.

Greg smiled. If a little bubbly hot water was all it took to keep her happy, he was a lucky man indeed.

Freya had cut down her hours at work the past month, only consulting as needed.

He still had his office downtown, but he worked from home as often as his clients permitted it. He hoped to transition into half his time there and half at home by the time the baby arrived. He wasn't going to be an absentee husband and father, like his father had been.

Anna had moved into Freya's old flat. She was excelling in law school and thinking about practicing malpractice law, unsurprisingly. She was thrilled about being an aunt and already plotting what she needed to teach the baby. She and Max stopped by whenever their schedules permitted.

The baby kicked again. Freya's hand joined his on her stomach. "Will you still love me when I'm as fat as a heifer?"

"There'll just be more of you to love."

She grinned. "Oh, you're good."

"That's never been called into question. And though I love your body and the way look, they aren't what I love most about you."

She turned onto her side, facing him, her hand stealing under his tee shirt. "What do you love most about me?"

"Can I list the top five?"

She nodded solemnly. "Go ahead."

He ticked off each item on his fingers. "One. I love that you can cook."

Freya whacked him on the chest with an indignant frown.

Greg laughed. "Well, if you didn't know how to cook, we'd have to eat out all the time. Think of all the time we'd waste being in public when we could be in private." She chortled at the comical waggle of his eyebrows. "Two. I love how you always manage to curl up and sleep practically on top of me at night, even though we have a king size bed."

"It's your fault that you're so warm and cuddly."

"Three, I am quite mad for your ankle bracelet." She shivered as he skimmed over it with his palm. "I'm delirious over the fact that any chocolate in this household is mine by default. I love how you radiate with fire and light. And I love that you're mine."

"Hey." She struggled to sit up. "That's six reasons."

"I had too much material to work with. It'd be impossible to make the list any shorter."

She kissed him, a melting of their mouths that always made him want more. Lips glistening and swollen, Freya pulled back with a Mona Lisa smile and lifted her magazine again.

"Wait a minute," Greg objected. She aimed her amber gaze at him. "Don't play coy with me."

"Coy?" She batted her lashes.

"Yeah. I'm waiting for you to tell me what you love most about me."

She tapped a finger against her lips, as if in serious contemplation. Finally, she grinned. "Your fast car."

She shrieked as he grabbed her and dragged her onto his lap. Twining his hand into her luxurious hair, he pulled her head back and took her mouth possessively, delighted that she gasped with the touch of his lips to hers.

"My wife," he murmured.

She cupped his face, love shining in her eyes. "Always."

When Kate was a little girl, all she dreamt about was moving to France and living in a stone castle while painting the Provencal countryside. To prep herself, she studied French, stocked up on berets in every color, and practiced her shrug for hours in front of the mirror.

But then, because indentured servitude seemed more attractive than eating baguettes and drinking wine, she took a detour into the world of high tech. Mostly, she worked as a lackey for companies like C|NET and ClearStation/E*TRADE. In those years, she developed interactive online tutorials, designed training programs, and published education articles and product-training manuals. Eventually, that insanity wore off and she decided to try something more stable. Writing seemed the logical choice.

Now she lives in San Francisco. Unfortunately Kate doesn't own her castle yet, but she holds out hope that one day soon she can pull her berets out of storage.