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I look straight into his eyes.
“And I accept your apology,” I say in a gentle voice. “Besides, Sam, you did everything right, I promise. You were put into a terrible situation— we both were—and we both did the best we could given the circumstances. Besides, like I mentioned, Griselda is exactly the nanny I needed, and I adore her. She taught me how to sew, crochet, and embroider, which are random, but very cool skills.”
Sam grins.
“I can’t imagine you crocheting, baby girl, because I thought that was only for grannies. But Griselda was an amazing cook too. She used to make soup and leave it on the stove so I’d have a good meal when I got home from work. I always thought that was kind of her, to look out for me, too. Do me a favor actually?”
“Anything,” I promise.
“Next time you see her, tell her I say thanks for the soup?” Sam shakes his head and bites into an egg roll.
“Si señor,” I answer coyly. “Will do.”
Sam stops mid-bite. “You speak Spanish?”
“Si señor,” I repeat with a wicked smile. “Griselda taught me. I’m not fluent by any stretch of the imagination, but I can hold my own with her family.”
“Wow,” the older man marvels. “Shit, there are so many things about you that are amazing, sweetheart.”
I giggle. “Yes, but what about you?” I ask. “Enough about me.”
Sam just grins while dipping another appetizer into the spicy sauce.
“What about me? Unlike some people, I can handle my spice.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Ha ha, I’ll wait until you start sweating and then I’ll have the last laugh. But seriously, Sam, what’s it like being a doctor? I feel like you’re so busy all the time. Do you at least enjoy it?”
Sam shrugs and grins.
“Yeah, I love being an ob-gyn. I know it sounds a little weird because these days, people are quitting their jobs in droves, but I actually enjoy what I do. I love babies too and it’s pretty cool to help bring little humans into the world. Each one is special and adorable in their own way.”
I feel my heart skip a beat. I bet Sam’s babies would be special and adorable, I think to myself. Goodness, it would be so amazing to have a child with this man. But what am I thinking? Am I going insane? I blush, and fortunately, he doesn’t notice.
“So how many babies have you delivered in your career?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. He thinks for a moment.
“I kept track for a while, but I’m in the thousands at this point,” he grins.
“Thousands?” I gasp.
“Yep,” he says with another wide smile. “I’ve been in this business a long time. But a few stick out to me,” he adds. “There was a preemie a couple years ago, and she had to fight so hard for those first few months, but she turned three last year and is doing great. Little Jessie still sends a thank you card every year to Doc White.”
Tears spring into my eyes. “That’s precious.”
“Yeah,” my man says gently. His blue eyes flash for a moment as he steals a look at me, but I can’t read his expression. “It really is. Children are the best,” he growls. A hot flush graces my cheeks because OMG, does Sam want kids? I suppose I never really thought about it. But now that I’m sleeping with this man, I go warm and squishy inside as I imagine carrying his baby within me. She would be adorable and hopefully, look just like her daddy.
What are you doing? the voice in my head chides. You want a family with the man of the house?
But I can’t help how my heart contracts at the possibility, even as my cheeks flush and eyes go bright. Can Sam tell my train of thought? Fortunately not because the conversation has begun to wander as we enjoy each other’s company and the spicy Chinese-Caribbean food. There’s an intimacy in the air that grows deeper as the evening progresses, and I have to wonder if this man’s falling for me. I hope so because the air between us is pregnant with possibility, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.
8
Harlow
I lay in a sweaty heap of sheets and pillows, panting hard as my breasts heave, my bottom feeling stretched, sore, but also incredibly good.
“Fuck, that was hot,” Sam groans, rolling over and resting his head on my bare stomach. “Goddamn, you’re killing me woman,” he says in playful jest. My man’s breathing rapidly and I can’t help but smile at the back of his head. I stroke his thick black hair affectionately, loving this closeness.
“Me, killing you? I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk straight for a week,” I murmur. I lean my head against a pillow and close my eyes.
