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“I need to get ready for work then get William ready for daycare,” I whisper.
“It’s too early,” he says, pulling me back into his warm, comfortable arms. “You must’ve read the time wrong.”
This feels good. It’s like I’m in a soft, protective cocoon, with Adam’s chin on my head and his leg over mine.
“Adam, I’m going to be late,” I say reluctantly.
“Call in sick,” he says. “We’ll take William somewhere. We’ll have a day trip. How about the wine country? The leaves must look great this time of the year.”
Damn it, that does sound good. A mental picture flashes in my mind, of Adam and me walking on a dirt path while William runs onto a pile of colorful leaves . . .
“I can’t. I can’t just not show up at work.” As I wiggle out of Adam’s arms, I remind myself to return to the real world.
“Maybe some other time?” Adam’s green eyes are slightly dulled by sleep, but I can still see the same passionate embers I witnessed last night. “I just said the first thing that came to mind. But now, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all. There’s plenty of hiking trails we can explore in the area. How does William feel about jumping into a pile of dry leaves?”
“I have to go.” I sit up, realizing how abrupt I’m being, but I just . . . I can’t.
I can’t just keep lying there in his arms, listening to him talk about the three of us like we’re an actual family, and not get carried away.
A storm’s already raging in my chest. If I’m not careful, I’m going to drown. And if that happens, if I can’t even take care of myself, then what chance do I have of taking good care of William?
“Stay another five minutes?” Adam asks in a husky, lazy voice.
“I can’t.” I clamber over Adam’s body and hop off the couch. I can’t stand another minute pressed up against him, breathing in his musky scent.
Blood rushes in my ears as I rush away into the bathroom to take a shower. I think Adam may be saying something—something about pumpkins and Halloween?—but I can’t hear it over the commotion in my brain.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Adam when I open the door, my heart racing. I didn’t expect to see him, otherwise I wouldn’t be opening the door with pumpkin seeds stuck all over me.
The video tutorial I’m following online makes it look so easy to carve a pumpkin, but it’s all a lie.
I don’t know why I haven’t learned anything from my previous attempts. I’ve always ended up with a clown face when I tried contouring my face or doing smoky eye shadow like the make-up bloggers do.
At the same time, I found out today that I got the promotion at work. So I’m going to have some extra free time anyway that I can use to fail at following how-to videos.
“What, did you think I was an early trick-or-treater?” Adam grins. Stretching his neck to look behind me, he says, “I told you I was coming back on Halloween. Maybe we could go trick-or-treating with William.”
“William’s too young to be trick-or-treating. He’s too young for candy.”
“Oh.” Adam’s face falls, and for a moment, I want to throw my arms around him and tell him it’s going to be okay.
I sigh and swing the door open. Might as well, at this point. “So, are you coming in?”
Adam lights up and grins so wide I can almost swear he’s also pricking up his ears and wagging his tail, like a dog about to be taken for a walk. “Of course. Thank you.”
I step aside to let him through. But when he steps forward, he stalks toward me and grabs me by the waist. Shutting the door with his free hand, he corners me against the wall.
This man’s no dog. He’s a wolf; a hungry, hungry wolf staring straight into the eyes of his prey: me.
“Trick or treat?” he asks as he cages me in, planting his palms on both sides of me.
“You’re too old to be trick-or-treating,” I say nervously. “Have you heard about that one Canadian town that bans anyone over sixteen from trick-or-treating?”
“No, and I don’t care,” he says. “Let me ask you one more time. Trick or treat?”
“I have candy just over there if you want.” I point at the narrow table along the hallway, on which there’s a big, colorful glass bowl full of treats.
“That’s not what I want,” he says darkly. He slowly runs one hand down my collar bone, breasts, and stomach, making my heart pound. He gazes at me and smirks. “You look somewhat flushed.”
“Must be your imagination.”
“Possible.” Adam’s hand travels south to rest between my legs. He chuckles at my reaction. “Was that gasp my imagination, too?”
