“The minute he laid a finger on you,” Zoe grumbled.
“Absolutely,” Juliet conceded, still wondering why she hadn’t. “And stuck to the decision the first time I told him I didn’t want to marry him instead of convincing myself to give him another chance. But leaving him at the altar was a lousy thing to do. I feel like I should at least see him face-to-face and tell him I’m sorry for any embarrassment I caused.”
“Humph,” Zoe huffed.
“If you’re set on doing that,” Lily said, “I think one of us should go with you.”
“I’ll do it!” Zoe declared with a bounce. “I’ve got nothing better to do, but somebody needs to stay here and take care of the store, and Nigel is flying in from Los Angeles soon, so I know you’ll want to be here for that,” she said to Lily.
Then she wiggled her brows and shot Lily a teasing grin. “Just think—you’ll have the whole loft to yourselves.”
“Well, that certainly would be nice,” Lily replied with a smile and a faint hint of color rising to her cheeks.
Rolling her eyes in amusement, Zoe said, “Do me a favor, though—Lysol any public surfaces when you’re done. I don’t need to eat my corn flakes at the kitchen island knowing my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s bare butt was on it first.”
Eleven
If there was one thing Reid excelled at, it was compartmentalizing. He had no problem waking up in the morning, getting dressed and ready and heading into the office. He had no problem putting his head down and focusing on work all day, not letting a single thought of Juliet or the baby throw him off his stride.
It was only once he returned home to his big, quiet, empty brownstone that he lacked enough distractions to keep those thoughts from popping straight to the forefront of his brain and taking up residence like characters on a movie screen.
There was no fire in the hearth of his study, but that didn’t keep him from taking a seat in front of it and cracking open a fresh bottle of scotch while he stared at the unlit logs and let the liquor’s heat kick down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. At the rate he was going with this evening ritual of his, he figured he might have to buy stock in his favorite drink manufacturer or acquire a distillery and start making his own.
He remembered another night spent in this room not so very long ago. There had been a fire blazing bright in the fireplace then, snow falling lightly outside, but instead of scotch, they’d been drinking wine.
It had been one of the nights he and Juliet had agreed to meet after work in secret, even though she’d already called off her engagement. There was no reason to sneak around any longer, but she’d insisted.
She’d arrived by taxi, wearing a long coat, hat, a scarf and a pair of dark, large-rimmed sunglasses similar to the ones he’d bought for her to wear to the doctor’s office even though they were hardly needed on a dreary winter evening. He’d met her on the stoop, sweeping her inside and into his arms for a deep, mouthwatering kiss. Kicking the door closed with his foot, he’d lifted her up Rhett Butler–style and carried her to his room, never taking his lips from hers.
They’d made love fast and furiously that first time. Hot and desperate and passionate. Hell, maybe it had been even twice...as much as they’d tangled up the sheets and steamed up the windows, and as many times as they’d rolled around, switching places, lingered and then started over, the exact details were a little blurry.
What was crystal clear in his mind, however, was the silken smoothness of Juliet’s flesh beneath his hands and mouth. The musky floral scent of her perfume and hair and natural essence. The way she felt in his arms and how he felt when he was with her, inside her, lying next to her in the aftermath.
And he remembered how comfortable he’d been with her even when they weren’t making love. Talking on the phone late at night when no one else was around, or hearing her voice over his office line in the middle of the day. Sitting across from her at his kitchen table while they raided the refrigerator to fill their bellies after the rest of their bodies were thoroughly sated.
Which was how they’d ended up in his study, sharing a bottle of wine in front of the fireplace. As though it were yesterday, he remembered the ivory camisole and panty set she’d been wearing beneath one of his wrinkled dress shirts, and the black silk pajama bottoms he’d stepped into before they’d come downstairs.
After grabbing something to eat, he’d collected the wine and their glasses and carried them into the study, where he’d found a spot on the rug in front of the fire and sat with his back against the base of one of the leather armchairs. Juliet had waited while he poured more of the rich chardonnay, then lowered herself into the crook of his legs.