The Empty Jar(13)

“Well, you hadn’t seen me naked yet, so it couldn’t be my—”

“No!” I hurry to say.

“Then what was it?”

I lift my hand and trail my fingertips over the contours of his face—the edge of his cheekbone, the hollow of his cheek, the dip of his chin. With Nate’s eyes on mine, I skim his jaw and throat, brush his chest and belly, and then wrap around his waist to his tight butt. “Honestly? It was this ass,” I confess with a squeeze of my fingers. “I’d never seen an ass this fine in all my years.”

Nate succumbs to a cocky grin. “It is a mighty fine ass, I must say.”

“That it is. Even after all this time.”

“Wanna take it for a spin?” Nate flexes his hips, the muscle of his butt tensing under my hand. “I’m happy to oblige your every fantasy.”

Desire ripples through me. As always, Nate can make me forget everything else. Our chemistry has been off the charts from our very first meeting, and time has done little to diminish it. We haven’t always made taking the time to enjoy it a priority, but the spark has always been there. Like a pilot light, ever flickering, always ready. Now, like never before, I appreciate my husband’s ability to blot out everything but the sun.

I just never would’ve guessed I’d have so much I want to forget, that so much fear and uncertainty could surround my world when I’m outside the safety of his arms.

********

“Is this the best tea you’ve ever had, or is it just me?”

“It’s just you,” Nate replies, smiling at me over his cup. “Because your company is even making my tea taste good.”

“Then my company must be very good, O Ye Who Hates Tea.” I grin and set down my cup so I can pick up my scone. I bite into the dense treat, sending a spray of crumbs in every direction. They pepper onto my upheld hand, the table, and even onto my lap.

As I chew, I take in the cake-speckled tablecloth and my now-dappled slacks. Sheepish, I glance up at Nate.

“Woops!”

“God, you’re messy,” he teases in a playfully mocking tone, watching me as I ineffectively brush away the debris.

“That’s what you love about me,” I tell him around my full mouth. “I’m so classy.” I pause to take a sip of my tea and wash down the sweet bread.

“Yep. Lena Grant, making a mess, talking with her mouth full. Bringing classy back to Stratford-upon-Avon.” His smile is all mischief.

I chuckle, still dusting bits of scone from my lap. It seems like the more I brush, the deeper the bits burrow. “How do you know Shakespeare didn’t like his women a little on the common side?”

“There’s nothing common about you. And Shakespeare better damn well keep his hands to himself.”

“Awww, still jealous after all this time.”

“Even of dead men,” he adds.

“Even of dead men. How romantic.”

Nate rolls his eyes, and for some reason Nissa pops into my mind. Nissa and her suspicions.

I clear my throat. “This morning you mentioned you’d talked to someone. What were you about to say before I so rudely interrupted?”

“Messy, classy, rude as hell. The list goes on. It’s no wonder I fell in love with you.”

I smirk at Nate over the lip of my cup. “I’m quite the catch, don’t you know?” Before we can get off topic, though, I prompt, “So? Who were you talking to?”

Nate’s pause and the way he watches his fingers as they toy with the corner of his white linen napkin make me distinctly uncomfortable. My husband doesn’t fidget.

Ever.

“Nate?”

The quiet intake of his breath can be heard even over the bustle of sightseers as they stroll up and down the street. In this moment, in this one single moment, doubt assails me, and my pulse begins to dance in my veins, going from samba to salsa in half a second.

“Lheanne,” he responds softly, hesitantly. “We met a couple of times at a bar not far from the office.”

“Lheanne? Lheanne who?”

“Taffer. Lheanne Taffer.”

“My oncologist? That Lheanne Taffer?”

“Of course, that Lheanne Taffer. Do you know more than one?”

I frown. “Why were you meeting her at a bar?”

Nate continues avoiding my eyes, still toying anxiously with his napkin. “I wanted to meet with her off the record.”

“Off the record?” Thud-ump, thud-ump, thud-ump. “Why?”

Finally, Nate raises his eyes to mine. I feel a momentary stab of panic at the guilt shining from the emerald depths. “I wanted to talk to her about your treatment.”

“But I’m not taking treatment.”

“I know. You’d already made up your mind, but I guess I just wanted to know more about the options.”

“There are no options, Nate. You know that.”

His breath hisses angrily through his vocal cords. “Maybe I…” he begins harshly. The muscle along his strong jaw tenses as he grinds his teeth together, a tell of the temper he’s had for as long as I’ve known him. “Maybe I just wanted to know what your chances would be if you did take treatment. I wasn’t there when you got all the details.”

“Is that what this is about? About me getting the results while you were out of town?”