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It was something she sometimes discussed with her clients. Now that she was back at work full-time, happily employed by a clinic here in Chicago that considered her an asset rather than a liability, she found she enjoyed her job much more. Mike’s new business was thriving, the only drawback being they both worked long hours.
But when they were home, in their cute downtown apartment, they made up for the hours apart in every way possible.
Smiling, she curled up under the covers, just thinking about all the delicious things they’d done together in this bed the night before.
She thought, and thought, and thought, and...nothing happened. “Oh, well,” she sighed. Apparently she still needed her man to satisfy her.
Frankly, though, despite the popularity of the Thinkgasm method, which had really gained traction when the interview she’d done had been picked up by the mainstream, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Nothing could ever compare to being entirely intimate and open—with no walls or barriers—with the man she loved.
But thinking about him was still very nice.
So nice that she had a Cheshire-cat smile on her face when Mike walked into the room a few minutes later, carrying a tray.
“Happy Christmas Eve!”
She sat up in the bed, smiling at him as he put the tray on her lap. He’d apparently gone all out, because the plate was covered by a giant metal dome, like something out of a restaurant.
“You’re so good to me.”
“I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure it’ll taste delicious.”
He grimaced. “Well, I’m not sure about that.”
“You’re a wonderful cook.”
“Yeah, but I just don’t know if this particular thing is what you want for breakfast. It’s not your average bacon and eggs.”
Her interest piqued, she reached for the handle on the top of the dome. Mike watched her closely, his eyes dancing with secret amusement, which just increased her curiosity.
She removed the cover, and had to blink a few times to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing.
“Is that a...”
“Yes, it is,” he said, joining her on the bed and reaching for the object that sat alone on the white plate.
It was a ring. A perfect, beautiful ring. Platinum with a large, square-cut emerald, simple and stark, it needed no other stones or adornments to be the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes upon.
He lifted it, and stared into her face, letting her see the oceans of love he felt for her.
“Will you marry me, Lindsey?”
She nodded. “Yes. Oh, yes, I will.”
He slid the ring onto her left hand then kissed her almost reverently. In midkiss, Lindsey sniffed, her eyes welling up. Damned if Mike hadn’t turned her into an emotional watering can. He could make her cry with delight, with pleasure and with utter, overwhelming tenderness.
Some analyst might conclude she’d met the man of her dreams and was wildly in love for the first—and last—time of her life.
And they’d be right.
