Color Her Red (19 page)

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Authors: Crystal Shaw

BOOK: Color Her Red
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“P
eople will see.  Not here.”  I pout; I want it now.  I don’t want to wait.  Before I can object a light flashes in my eye.  I wince and settle back down into my seat.

“Good evening, everything all right over here?”  It’s a female cop, African Ame
rican with a very nice figure, really busty for a cop.  I find myself staring at her breasts even though they are tucked conservatively into her uniform.  I feel a rush of blood to my face, I’m slightly embarrassed but more than that I am annoyed. 


Yes officer, everything is fine.  We were just leaving.”  Thomas gives her a small smile, he seems calm, a little embarrassed maybe.

“Did you two have anything to drink tonight?”  She shines the light back to me.
 
No shit Sherlock.  It doesn’t take a genius to hit that nail on the head.

“Yes, I had half of a Bloody Mary about two hours ago,
but my wife has had four.”  He looks at me and smiles.  “It’s been a little while since we’ve had a date night.”  He smiles back at the officer who is eyeing me curiously.  “I was just taking her home.”

“I see Mr.?”

“Thomas Grant.”  Her eyes light up and she tilts her head.


Thomas Grant, as in Grant Enterprises?”  He nods his head modestly.  The officer smiles slightly and then her demeanor changes and she points the flashlight into my eyes again.  I wince; she is looking above my eye. 
Seriously?  How long has this fucking article been out?

“He didn’t hit me.  I slipped and fell.”  I answer her before she has time to question.  And then I realize what I said and I begin to laugh.  I try to hold it in and that only makes me laugh harder.  Thomas shakes his head holding the wheel and the o
fficer looks at me as though I’m insane.  “I don’t know why I am laughing.  I’m sorry Officer.  Domestic violence is not a laughing matter.”  I can’t hold it in any longer.  I have to put my head on my knees to try to muffle the laughter; small tears are forming in the corner of my eyes.  I look up and do my best to be serious.  “I really did slip in the shower.”  I try to calm my breathing and contain the laughter.  I don’t know what has gotten into me. 

Thomas sighs, “I didn
’t hit my wife.  And for that matter, I didn’t cheat on her either.”  He looks pissed now.  I can’t resist a comical reply.

“Yeah, if he did, I’d cut his balls off.”  I manage to shock both Thomas and the officer.  I wipe the tears from the corner of my eyes and nestle down into the seat, pulling my seatbelt across my chest. 

“All right you two, get her home safe Mr. Grant.  … And good luck.”  I smile at her last comment.  As she walks away, Thomas pushes the button to bring the top back up, concealing us from the public.

“You’d cut my balls off?”  He looks at me, still in shock.  I bite my lip and nod.

“Well Emma, I can safely say that I’m happy you only had wine at Kate’s house.  God knows what would have happened if you had gotten your hands on Bloody Marys.”  I let out a laugh as we pull out of the parking lot.

 

Chapter 11

 

I wake up to the bright sun in the room and his arms are still around me, holding me to his chest.  I roll over slowly and meticulously, still in his arms, so that I can face him.  I study his face while he sleeps.  I only get away with it for a moment.  His eyes gently open and a smile forms on his lips.

“Good morning, Beautiful.”  He puts his hand behind his head and stretches. 

“Good morning yourself.”  I kiss his bottom lip and smile. 

“Did you have fun last night?”

“I did, did you?”  I can’t help but smile. 

“I have to admit that I enjoyed myself.  Especia
lly when we got in bed.”  My cheeks blush scarlet at his response.


You took advantage of me.”  I tease him.

“If I remember correctly, I’m pretty sure
you
took advantage of
me
.”  I laugh, hiding my smile under the blanket.

“What are the plans for today?”

He sits up and stretches more, arching his back and yawning, which makes me yawn.

“Whatever you’d like.”  He brushes curls away from my face and I blink up at him.  “I just have a bit of work I have to do this morning.”  He gives me a small smile and rubs his thumb on my bottom lip.  “I promise I won’t be long.” 

He gets up from bed and puts his flannel pajama bottoms on letting his hipbones show.  That only makes me want him more.  I readjust in bed to get a good look at him, resting on my elbows.

“So no time for a little loving?”  I give him a small pout and move my hand through my hair.

“Mmmm, Baby, you tease me.”  He crawls on the bed until he is on top of me.  I grab the blanket and squeeze. 
Yes! 
His lips touch mine and then he breathes into my ear, “How about later.”  I look up and his huge handsome smile is staring back at me; I gape at him. 

I smack him hard in the chest, “You tease!”  He laughs and jumps off the bed.  I throw my pillow at him as he runs to the bathroom.

I rest back into the bed.  I feel like we are on our honeymoon again.  We didn’t go anywhere tropical though and we weren’t blessed with such good weather, not that we noticed the weather anyway.  We had plans to visit the castles in Ireland and sightsee; instead we ended up spending two weeks in bed, exploring our sexual boundaries.  I blush remembering his body and the way he gasped when he saw my lingerie.  I curl up into the blanket, feeling his warmth and taking in his scent, I can’t imagine loving this man anymore than I do now.

 

 

 

 

I TAKE MY TIME getting ready.  Enjoying the shower and pampering myself with the oil lotions I find in the bathroom.  They make my skin feel so soft; I can’t help but to run my fingers up and down my legs.  I think Thomas will l
ike the way my skin feels.  I prance to the closet where I left my bag and pull out a pair of black lace panties and matching bra. 
Yes, I will wear these and the skimpy black dress. 
I smile. 
That’ll teach him to tease me. 
Once again I feel a little chunky and bloated in the dress but not so much that I feel the need to change. 
I need to start exercising again and stop stress eating.

I decide to have a small breakfast while he works.  The soft fleshy pads of my feet echo in the expansive rooms of the resort as I walk down the stairs.  I skip to the kitchen and catch a glimpse of a basket on the counter and smell the peaches; I inhale their sweet scent.  I take a bite and the ripe skin peels off.  It’s so delicious.  I take another bite and the juice drips down my hand.  I reach over to grab a napkin and suddenly I stop. 

I put the peach down quickly.  I feel sick to my stomach.  I search the kitchen for a trashcan.  I’m going to throw up.  I dry heave. 
Oh God!  What the hell? 
Finally I find it, under the sink, a small trashcan for me to abuse.  Michael barrels in the kitchen. 
Ugh.  Don’t look at me.

“Emma, are you okay?” 
What does it look like?

“Go away.” I mutter as I release into the trashcan.  I hear him leave quickly. 

When the convulsions stop, I lean back against the fridge.  The cold feels soothing against my skin, but I feel miserable.  I lay there for a moment, trying to collect myself.

My eyes open wide and I manage to pick myself up and go to my purse haphazardly thrown on the counter.  I pull out the tiny calendar that tracks my cycle and I count. 
  Four days late. 
Does that mean I’m a month pregnant?  I look back to the month before.  I had a short period, super short.  Now that I am looking back on it, it wasn’t very heavy either. 
Am I pregnant?
  Michael returns, just in time.

“Mrs. Grant, I brought you a warm damp towel and I have
informed housekeeping.  They’ll be here shortly.”  He doesn’t look at me as he speaks.  “Should I let Mr. Grant know?  Or would you like me to take you to the bathroom or bedroom?  Do you need a doctor?”

“Michael, I think I’m pregnant.”  The words come out of me before I let them.  I feel a mix of shock and anticipation.  He
finally looks at me, and smiles.  I don’t think I have ever seen him smile. 

“Ma’am, you’re pregnant?”  He restrains his smile and tries to remain professional.

“I don’t know, I think I might be.”  I let myself smile.  “I need a pregnancy test.”

“I’ll be right back.”  He leaves before I can protest.  I want to go with him.  Is he really going to go buy one? 

I tie up the trash bag and push it down.  I pick myself up again and scurry to the bathroom.  I brush my teeth and wash my face hurriedly. I look at my self in the mirror. 
Please, please let me be pregnant.

             
I remember the conversation about a week after he proposed; it was the first time we discussed children.  “I want to marry you, spend my life with only you Emma.”  He was so devotedly amorous, kissing me, his hot breath on my neck.

             
“What about children?”  I was so naïve, of course he wanted children, he was just being a romantic prince.  He silently laughed with his nose resting on mine and gently kissed my top lip and then the bottom one.

             
“Of course, if you’d like to have children, we’ll have children.  Plural?”  I giggled at his response as joy spread through my body.  I was going to have a husband
and
children.  I nodded my head and buried my arms in my chest as he embraced me.

We started trying a month before the wedding, we didn’t care if I was a month along by the wedding, and you wouldn’t be able to tell anyway.  I was thrilled; the excitement of having a child overwhelmed me.  He would be such a great dad, he has a tough exterior, but the Thomas I know is caring and gentle, and I couldn’t wait to be a mother.  Our children would want for
nothing.  I spent hours with Kate coming up with potential baby names and researching their meanings. 

But it was all for naught.
Every time I saw the negative, I couldn’t help but to weep.  I didn’t know why I couldn’t get pregnant.  I wanted to give him a baby so bad.  He has given me the world, and all he has ever asked from me was to give him a baby and I couldn’t do it.  We used ovulation tests and when that didn’t work we decided to see a specialist.  They said we should keep trying.  Pregnancies take time.  It’s so hard to believe, given that both of us were surprises to our families. 

The doctors said the stress might be why we have been having difficulty. 
Stress?  What did I know about stress until just a few days ago?

 

I hear someone outside the door.

             
“Emma, I have what you requested, they were available at the front office.”  Michael is back, outside the bathroom door.

             
“That was quick.”  I go to the bathroom door and grab a small bag from his hands.  “Thank you so much.” 

             
“Good Luck Emma,” he nods and walks down the hall.

 

 

 

             
COME ON PEE. 
I always have to pee.  The one time I need a stream and I can’t muster up a drop. 
Concentrate.  You can pee.  You can do this.
  I laugh.  What is wrong with me? 
Apparently I don’t work well under stress.
 

Finally.  I put it on the counter.  I can’t look.  I sit back on the toilet. 
Just wait a minute, just a single minute. 
It’s agonizing.  I hold my breath and rock. I can’t stand it any longer.  I pick it up. 
Two lines. 
I chirp and start jumping up and down.  I silently scream.  I can’t believe it; I’m pregnant.  I run out of the bathroom and straight into Michael almost pushing him over.

“Where is he?”  I can’t contain my excitement. 

“He’s in the study, upstairs.”  The smile returns to his face and he hesitates to say something, and then he speaks.  “I’m so happy for the both of you.”  He nods at me as I run towards the stairs.  I swing on the railing and barrel down the hall.  I halt myself outside his door and knock lightly.   

             
“Yes?”  He is stern in his response.

I open the door.  He’s on the phone so he holds up a finger.  I find a chair in the corner and take a seat. 

“Are you sure? … That fucking bitch.”  My mood drops immediately.  I think about turning around, but he motions for me to remain seated before I have the chance to leave. 

“Make sure this gets out into the press.  … Call Joshua Barker.  Tell him I want to prosecute her to the full extent of the law.  … Thank you.”  He slams the phone down and closes his eyes.  His anger dissipates as I squirm in the chair.

“What was that about?”  I ask under my breath.  I don’t want to know.  I have such fantastic, wonderful, blissful news.  I don’t want him to be bogged down with whatever that was.

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