Something Unexpected (11 page)

Family. Place. Permanence. That was the fourth part of King's Pharmacy, and it was almost as tangible right now as the dry goods, pharmacy or soda fountain.

Glancing back at Rosemary, Dean winked, handsome creases edging his grin. “Training the next generation of Kingsley soda jerks,” he quipped. Then his gaze dropped, briefly and privately, to her stomach.

The tides of feeling surged again from Rosemary's toes and by the time they made it to her head, she was dizzy.
Oh, no…

Hic…hic. Hic! Hic! Hic!

“If you drink apple juice backwards with your fingers in your ears, hiccups go away,” Will advised sagely.

Dean glanced at Claire, who shrugged and whispered, “I made that up.”

“Come on.” He began to pull on Rosemary's elbow to guide her. “Hold down the fort, guys. Claire, if you need to head out before I get back, just leave everything.” Guiding Rosemary, he said, “Let's get those taken care of.”

With her thoughts buzzing like an active hive, Rosemary let herself be led up the stairs in the back of the store and into Dean's immaculate-as-before apartment. Once inside, she stood in her trench coat, body straight and tense, her stillness punctuated only by the intermittent bounce of the hiccups.

Closing the door, Dean came up behind her and tried to slip her purse off her shoulder. Startled, she grabbed the strap.

“Sorry. Why don't you put down everything you're carrying, and I'll help you get rid of those hiccups.”

Embarrassed that she was so jumpy, Rosemary said, “I'm sure they'll go away soon. I almost never get hic—
hic!
—cups.” Shifting the large envelope beneath her arm into her hands, she got down to business, hoping that would calm the jittery sensation in her body. “I brought the prenuptial agreement my sister drew up.”

He hesitated before accepting the envelope. “You want a cup of coffee?”

“Now? No. I mean, you don't have to read it now…and I have to get to work.”

“I wasn't going to read it now. I just thought you might like to relax a minute. And talk.”

“Talk?”
Hic.

“Yes, Rosie. Talk. That's when two people sit, sometimes opposite each other, sometimes side by side, and they converse about any topic that has meaning for them.” He looked at the envelope, a frown between his brows. “In this case, our marriage might be a good conversation starter.”

He closed his eyes briefly, brought his thumb and forefinger up and rubbed before looking at her again. “Sorry. Sarcasm is not my favorite mode of expression.”

She smiled. Who said things like “mode of expression” in normal conversation these days? Every now and again Dean would pop out some comment or action that made him seem as if he came from another era. Like his store downstairs. She liked it. “You're not sarcastic. Usually.”

“Really? I feel sarcastic lately.”

The tilt to his lips and the wry, almost sad expression in his eyes gave the moment an intimacy that for a moment made Rosemary
feel
married to him.

Hic!

“Oh, for God's sake,” he muttered. Tossing the envelope
onto a slim buffet table that stood against the back of the couch, he reached for her purse again without asking and tossed it onto the table, as well. “Give me your coat.”

Don't wanna.
Rosemary knew she should leave before her thoughts ran away with her, but she did have something—a little point she and Lucy had changed in the prenup—that she needed to mention to him.

“I'll only stay a minute,” she assured him, unnecessarily as he didn't seem concerned about getting back to work quickly this morning. Untying the belt of her trench coat, she let him grab it in one hand and toss it, too, over the buffet.

“Come on.” Taking her arm, he pulled her casually around the sofa, where he directed her to one of the leather cushions and seated himself beside her. “Turn,” he said.

“What?”
Hic.

Shaking his head—
I'm not doing this dance again, Rosie
—he turned her shoulders, forcing her either to shift the rest of her body or to twist herself into a yoga pose guaranteed to squoosh the teeny tiny baby.

Dean's hands settled onto her shoulders. She felt his palms through the thin material of the wrap dress she'd donned this morning. His touch was warm and heavy and grounding.
Hic. Oh, man. Hic, hic, hic.

“I, um, I do have something…a little point…I need to discuss with—”

“Shh. We'll talk in a minute. Relax first.” Sliding his hands down the outside of her arms, he lifted her shoulders until they were hunched around her ears, held them there a moment and then let them drop. Not at all a sexy move, which was rather reassuring, but definitely relaxing.

Stretching her shoulders back, he used his thumbs to work into the muscles, the massage rhythmic and efficient, and her body began to settle into his capable hands.

“Hiccups can be caused by tension in the diaphragmatic
muscle,” he murmured, his mellow voice seeming like yet another aspect of the massage. “Once they begin, the muscle contraction takes on a life of its own.” His fingers walked slowly down either side of her spine. Rosemary had been tense for so many weeks, she almost moaned. “Some people try to relax the muscle by distracting themselves.”

“Like drinking apple juice upside down with their fingers in their ears.” She remembered Will's suggestion.

Dean chuckled softly. “I'd never heard that one before. But yes, like that.” He used the entire surface of his hands to knead his way slowly back to her neck.
That feels sooooo good.
“Most people still believe in the scare tactic, catching someone by surprise.” He began to work on her nape…into her hairline…behind her ears… “I've never found that to be effective. Have you?”

She responded with something that sounded vaguely like, “Mmm-nnnnrrfflephlumph,” and didn't trouble herself to clarify. He palmed the back of her head, his fingers pressing circles into her scalp like a hat with benefits. Nothing,
nothing
had ever felt this good, except…

Except for the last time he'd touched her with this kind of freedom. Well, more than this kind of freedom. Last time, he had touched her naked body, and relaxation wasn't quite the release they'd been after.

Well on her way to cooked-noodle state, Rosemary couldn't summon even a smidge of alarm over that thought. Why had touching never felt this good before? She'd been married, and for the ten years, everything had been hunky-dory—from her perspective. She'd had no complaints about sex, either the frequency or the intensity. Although…

In comparison to the fireworks Dean's lovemaking had set off, her ex-husband was more of a…sparkler.

Desire had crashed upon her like a tsunami when she and Dean were on the dance floor. Her body had needed him, or
so it had seemed at the time, the way bread needed flour to exist.
Don't dance with him, not ever again,
she'd commanded herself the morning after.

Dimly she realized that letting him massage her was not in line with her decision
never to lose control again.
But this massage wasn't about tsunami-like sexual heat. No, no, it was…gentle. Relaxing. Platonic, right?

His hands made a return trip down her spine, stopping to work an extra minute on her lower back. As she was wearing a dress rather than pants, Dean did not need to fight a waistband in order for his magic fingers to press and knead, working into her hips. A haze of sensation dulled Rosemary's thoughts until they felt about as fluid as oatmeal.

Never felt sooo good…

Do… Not… Stop,
she thought.

“I won't,” Dean whispered back.

Oops.

When his palms slipped up her back like smoke, Rosemary leaned into them. She didn't mean to, really… Although she didn't exactly mean
not
to. Regardless of how she tried to care about the future and about not being weak or impulsive, she couldn't seem to access the principles her mother and sisters wore like a second skin.

True to his promise, Dean did not stop massaging. When he tilted her neck, pressing his thumb and fingers along the stiff muscles, cupping her jaw in a palm as warm and soothing as a summer day, Rosemary sighed and leaned into the caress. She turned her head to say, “Thank you,” but no words emerged. Instead they locked gazes, and the words she should have spoken became a kiss she should not have given.

Really should not have.

Should not have brought her hand up to reach for his neck and pull him closer…

Should not have moaned into his lips as she tasted him for the first time in months.

This was what had stunned her so the night they'd gotten together, this hunger. It made her feel alive, strong. It made her feel daring and bold and free. And she'd never felt that way, not even as a kid. Life had always been a field filled with land mines to avoid. Caution had to be exercised, and her family's brand of caution generally involved “healthy cynicism,” which translated to “Trust no one.”

But none of that mattered now, with Dean. As the eddying sensation pulled her deeper and deeper to its center, Rosemary knew the physical spell he cast was not the sole reason she was abandoning her cloak of protection; she couldn't ignore the way he interacted with his family, his Mr. Rogers naturalness with children….

Bet you never wanted to shag Mr. Rogers, though, did you?

It was Dean who brought them face-to-face. And Dean who pulled back long enough to look into her eyes, to make sure she knew that this was no mere indiscriminate lust, not on his part.

He began kissing her again, his mouth hot and ravenous, and soon they were lying on his couch, their legs tangling discourteously, her hands running up his sides and traveling across his back as she noted for the first time that he'd ditched the lab coat.

Rosemary's breasts tightened and tingled even before his hand found the generous mounds. As he touched her, managing to tease her nipples through her thin dress and lacy bra, she thought she might levitate off the couch.

She began to yank his shirt from his trousers, needing to feel his skin…needing, really, to feel his skin on her skin…and recognizing the precise moment when she decided she
couldn't stop, wasn't going to stop until the sharp, painful ache inside her had been soothed—

Then, suddenly, it was over.

Rosemary wasn't sure what had happened at first. Her eyes were closed, so all she knew was that one moment her body felt like an inferno with a gasoline drip and the next moment she was cold, floundering, wondering what was wrong.

She opened her eyelids with extreme effort, blinked at the light coming through the windows on the other side of the apartment and saw Dean sitting up, one of his hands on her tummy as if he required the continuity, his chest rising and falling visibly as he panted his way back to normal.

When he was sufficiently recovered, he helped her sit, straightened her dress at the shoulders and with a small smile noted, “This probably isn't a good way to kick off a celibate marriage.” Running first one hand then the other through his hair, he expelled a breath filled with pent-up energy. “How are those hiccups?”

Rosemary figured her options at this moment were a) embarrassment, b) relief or c) frustration. Since she'd always been rotten at multiple choice, she aimed merely for coherent. “Fine.” Her voice sounded hoarse and thready. “Gone.” Attempting an urbane laugh, she said, “I think you found a new cure.”

“I doubt it's new.” Reaching out, he looped one of her curls around his forefinger. “Effective, though.” Hovering on the brink of speaking again, he changed his mind, released her hair and stood. “I'll take a look at that document after work.” Again she had the sense he had something more on his mind.

Rosemary couldn't regroup nearly as quickly as he seemed able to and stood more slowly. Lucy had told her to tell Dean something about the prenup, but what was it…? She frowned. Oh, yeah—

“Um, my sister wanted me to mention something that's a bit different from what we discussed. About the marriage. A little detail.”

“Oh. Uh-huh.” Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah…. Changes—they happen.”

“Yes.”

His tie had loosened during their…activity…and yet he tugged on it now as if it was choking him. “In fact, I was going to talk to you about… I wanted to mention…” He shook his head. “What's the change?”

Rosemary stared at him. Up to now he'd always seemed enviably sure of himself. “What do you want to ask?”

“What's the change in the prenuptial agreement?”

“Oh, it's not actually written into the prenup. It's part of our verbal agreement…about the length of time we're going to be together. Married.”

His brows rose abruptly then swooped lower than before as he awaited elaboration.

Rosemary hadn't thought the change would be a problem since this marriage was destined to have a short shelf life from the get-go, but now anxiety fizzed inside her.

Silly. It's not going to matter. Just tell him.
“Well, originally, we agreed to one and a half years of marriage from our wedding day, if you remember? But Lucy said the divorce might be smoother if we stick it out two years. I think she considers two years some kind of magic number for proving you gave the marriage the old college try.” Rosemary swooped her fist through the air.
Cute. That made you look like an idiot.
Dropping the smile and her hand, she shrugged at him. “Are you okay with that?”

Dean lowered his head and pressed two fingers to his eyes. Imminent migraine. Probably not a good sign. Although he was the one who'd been pro-marriage from the start, anything could have changed since they'd spoken about it. Maybe
it appeared to him that she was trying to manipulate their agreement to her advantage, which…well, she was. Sighing, Rosemary told herself to be prepared if he was perturbed.