Bare In Bermuda (36 page)

She nudged his legs apart until she could reach between them and suck on his balls. One, then the other, was drawn into her mouth. Again, his head tipped back and his teeth bit into his lip. At first, she just kissed around his ass. Small, fluttering kisses, with just a bite of teeth. She placed her hand on his dick and started masturbating him. Not gentle little strokes, but the firm tugging he liked. Then her tongue found its way to the opening of his rectum.

A string of soft moans slipped from between his lips as her tongue swirled and circled around the sensitive opening. His stomach muscles started to clench as one hand milked his cock while the other grabbed and tugged a handful of his balls. Her tongue withdrew as the hand that had been playing with his balls released them. One squirming finger began to massage and circle the pucker of his ass. As her finger penetrated his rectum, he sighed and his eyelashes fluttered. He wanted more than her wiggling finger, but that would have to wait until later. That probing finger found his prostate. Henna knew what it took to make him come, and she did it.

When he came, it was with a hard shudder as thick jets of cum shot from his cock, splattering against the smooth shower tiles. He slapped his hand against the wall as a shout erupted from his throat. While the spasms subsided, her finger slipped from his ass. He stood, turned around, and pulled Henna into a rough embrace. He lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist. With a swift thrust, he filled her. She held tight to him as he moved swiftly in and out of her. With her eyes closed, it didn't matter if they were in her home or the hotel. The feeling of being together didn't change with the location.

The constant and familiar movement worked to slowly and steadily build a level of pressure inside her that made her orgasm overflow more than explode from her body. Without releasing her, he turned off the water, wrapped a towel around them, and carried her to bed.

His fingers moved wet tendrils of hair from her face. “Good sex just doesn't happen in Bermuda.”.

****

When the alarm clock went off at six the next morning, Henna knew reality had arrived.

“Turn it off,” Eduardo mumbled.

She turned off the alarm and slipped out of bed.

“Come back to bed,” Eduardo mumbled.

“I have to go to work,” she said. “Vacation’s over.”

She stood under the shower, letting the water wake her up and wash away the vacation hangover. What did she know of her day? She had patients from eight until one. Then a break. Then more patients. The door to the bathroom opened as the deep conditioner worked. Eduardo put a mug of coffee next to the sink then lifted his own to his lips.

“You made coffee?”

“I think so,” he said, sniffing at the cup. “You don’t have a French press.”

“You mean one of those plunger things?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I don’t have one of those.”

“Tell me about your day.”

“Patients from eight until six.”

“Do you get a lunch?”

“In theory.”

“Time?”

“I have a break in appointments between one and three.”

“Okay.”

“But I’ve been gone for two weeks.”

“I’m taking you for lunch. I’ll be there at one.”

“Might be tricky.”

“Do your best. I’m getting dressed then I’ll drive you to work.”

“You want to drive my car?”

“It's that or carry you on my back.”

Her car. The first true test of whether or not she was ready to really let a man into her life. “Are you a good driver?”

“Henna,” he said. “It's just a car.”

****

Henna spent her morning seeing patients until it was her turn to be a patient. Simon unpackaged the prepared injection of birth control that would last her the next three months. Time enough to think about the future.

“You let him drive your car,” he repeated. “You must be in love.”

“I am in love.” She pulled up her skirt, giving Simon access to her thigh. She looked away from her thigh to the collage of pictures of each baby he'd delivered on his exam room wall. There had to be five hundred babies on that wall. Perfect to focus on when getting a shot.

“Have you been having unprotected sex?” Simon asked.

“I really don't think that's any of your business.”

“Henna. Look at me.”

She turned and looked at him. He held up the shot. “Just trying to do my job.” He might have been her best friend, but he was still a professional.

“Right,” she said. “Yes. We aren't exactly using condoms anymore.”

He put the shot down. “Pee or blood? Choose your bodily fluid.”

“You're really going to give me a pregnancy test?”

“Yes. Your period hasn't started. I'm not going to shoot you up with hormones without confirming you're not pregnant.”

“I never get a period when I'm on injections.”

“Blood or pee?”

She hopped off of the exam table and snatched a specimen cup off a stack before going to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, she sat on the exam table.

“Henna...” Simon broke the silence.

“Don't talk,” she told Simon. “Do not say a word.” She pulled off her white lab coat then quickly rolled up the sleeve of the deep purple silk blouse she'd put on that morning.

Simon didn't say a word as he prepped her arm then drew a tube of blood. “I'll put a rush on it.” He dropped the tube into a plastic bag. “We'll know this afternoon.”

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She checked the screen. “Eduardo.”

“I'll give you a minute.” Simon left the room with the bag.

She answered the call.

“I'm here to take you for lunch.” His voice sounded odd and somewhat surreal over the phone. There was distance between them.

“I don't—”

“Henna. Please. I want to see you. I don't want you getting pulled back into your work and forgetting about me. I miss you. Come have lunch with me.”

“I miss you, too,” she said. “Where are you?”

She found him sitting on a bench, just as he said. Next to him, a large bag from a local place she often bought her lunch rested. Everything about him was familiar. She knew every line of his face and the way his clothes molded to his body. Why did he seem so foreign and out of place to her?

“You have a strange look on your face,” he said.

“Do I?” She sat next to him, with the bag between them. “It's strange seeing you here.”

He shrugged a little. “Don't think I don't know you're trying to talk yourself out of me. I know you better than you think you do.”

“What's wrong with me? I love you. I do. I'm really my own worst enemy.”

“And I'm your staunchest ally.” He opened the bag and handed her a salad. “Don't worry. You'll get used to me being in your space soon enough.”

“How is my car?”

“Fine,” he said. “I've driven though Paris at rush hour. I think I can handle San Francisco. I bought you a present.” From inside the bag, he pulled out a box and handed it to her.

She looked at it for a moment. “You bought me a coffee maker?” Sure enough. It was a French press. Slowly, one millimeter at a time, her head turned to him. “Did you learn nothing when I told you about the blender?”

The grin on his face told her he had. “Open it up.”

Inside was a French press and a box from Tiffany. “Clever.” She took out the box and pried it open. “Oh.” Inside was a ring. A giant rock of a ring that sat like a shiny blue pillow on a circle of platinum.

“It should fit.” He plucked out the ring and picked up her finger. “I took one of your rings with me.”

“I love sapphires, but—”

“It's a diamond,” Eduardo told her. “It's a blue diamond. Not a sapphire. It's as rare, precious, and beautiful as you are.” He slipped the ring on to her finger. It fit perfectly.

“I'm not ready to get engaged.” The ring sparkled and sang to her. A small wicked part of her wanted to shove it in her sister's face and chant something diabolical and childish like
mine is bigger than yours
.

“Did I say it was an engagement ring? No. It's just a ring. A present from me to you to show you how much I care for you. If you don't like it, I'll get you another present. Maybe a toaster. Or a microwave.”

She laughed a little then tried to stop. The laugh wouldn't stop. It grew until there were tears running from her eyes. Eduardo put his arms around her. “Why are you crying?” he whispered into her hair.

“Because I love you,” she said. “And that scares the hell out of me. What happens if you stop loving me? What if it doesn't work out?”

“At this point, aren't we already in too deep to worry about what if? Our lives are already tangled together.” He pulled her tighter to him, and her arms draped over his shoulders. The blue diamond on her finger sparked and twinkled like a star.

“You really have no idea,” she said. “I love my ring. How did you manage this so quickly? Don't tell me they have giant blue diamonds in stock.”

“I have my ways.”

“It looks like an engagement ring,” she said.

“Do you want it to be an engagement ring? It can be if you want it to be.”

“I might like that,” she said. “I think I'd rather know now that you want to marry me for me instead of some other reason.”

“Do you want to marry me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do. Not anytime soon, but yes. Someday.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “When you're ready, just let me know.”

After lunch, she sat in her office, watching the sun reflect off of her ring and bounce against her wall. There was no point in trying to get any work done. The four stacks of files on her desk would have to wait.

Just before she was due to see her first afternoon patient, a knock on her door roused her from contemplation of her ring and the way the sunlight caught it. Simon walked in, wearing scrubs instead of the polo shirt and chinos he'd had on that morning under his lab coat. Someone had gone into labor. There was a reason she liked being a fertility specialist. The hours were much better and the patients she didn't shift to Simon when they were pregnant, generally gave birth on her schedule.

“Why do you think women like to have a woman gynecologist, but a male obstetrician?” she asked him. She looked at him and tried to see him as a pregnant woman might. Tall, solid, warm eyes, caring smile, big hands that wouldn't ever drop a tiny baby. She knew who was going to deliver her baby.

He had a paper in his hand. “I've thought about that, and I have a couple of theories. Mostly, women think that a man is going to be more sympathetic than another woman. Another woman is just going to tell them to suck up the pain and push. A man is going to feel guilty about the fact it was a man that got her in that position in the first place. Maybe be a little nicer. Who knows? If I figure it out, I'll tell you. Do you want me to tell you what you already know?”

“Go on.”

“You're pregnant,” he said. “Based on your blood levels, implantation occurred about ten days ago.” He offered her the paper which she took. She was pregnant. No doubt about it.

“I'm pregnant. How the hell did that happen?” Lucky sperm. Unbelievable.

“The usual way I suspect,” he said. “No method is a hundred percent.”

“You're going to lecture me on birth control?”

“Nope,” he said. “I'm going to do whatever you need me to do. Just let me know what that is.”

“I'll do that.”

“Nice ring. I wonder how many shots of espresso that cost.”

She looked at the ring on her hand. “It's a blue diamond. As rare and precious as I am. That's a quote. Not me being a snot.”

“You are rare and precious.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I've got to go.” Simon gave her a kiss on the head, then left her alone with the results of her blood test and the four stacks of files that needed to be reviewed.

“I need to go, too,” she said.

Chapter Sixteen

Henna stood on the balcony that looked out over the fields behind the colonial hacienda Eduardo had called home his entire life. He'd left hours earlier before sunrise as was his custom leaving her in bed to wake when her body was ready. It had become her custom to get out of bed, ring the kitchen to bring her breakfast then drink her coffee on the balcony as she studied the many moods of the mountains. She loved them the best when they were covered in mist.

True to his word, he'd spent a month with her in San Francisco. He'd bonded with Simon, laughed at her method for folding fitted sheets, sat on her couch during the day, watching soccer while she worked, prepared her dinner when she came home then took her to bed. She knew after two weeks that she never wanted to be apart from him.

Making plans to leave her life behind had been easier than she thought it would be. Her patients had been redistributed to other doctors. A week after deciding to follow her heart, the people in her department were throwing her a going away party. Simon assured her they were not happy to see her go.

When she first arrived in Colombia, Eduardo had brought her onto the balcony to show her his world. He swept an arm in front of them as his other arm held her tightly. “Here. As far as you can see and then farther still belongs to my family.” Once she'd arrived and saw his world through his eyes, she knew there was no going back, only moving forward.

After a couple of days in the house, she learned quickly that the platoon of women who ran the place looked at her as if a question mark hung over her head. When she'd asked Eduardo for a solution for her problem with the staff, his suggestion was that they get married. One solution for all of her questions about her place in his life. For this reason, she'd hesitated for longer than she should have to tell him that he was three for three in paternity, and in fact had the luckiest sperm ever to swim up a uterus.

Any suggestion that they refuse to get married on principle, make a united stand against the tyranny of middle-aged women who had a tendency to judge and wield marriage like a stick to beat single women with, had been met with laughter. Eduardo was clear in his attitude. She was not going to change the beliefs of a group of people who had been raised and lived with a certain set of values by refusing to conform.

If she didn't want to marry him, that was her prerogative. He wasn't going to force her. He was a grown man and didn't need to win the approval of his employees if he decided to have a woman live with him who wasn't his wife. He wasn't the one they would look down on. This fact had to be accepted whether she liked it or not. He made it very clear to her that if she went down that path then she would have to accept the fact that she was the one who would remain on the outs.