Dominion Trust Series - Vol.1 (77 page)

“Mr. Forster thought you might need a ride earlier than planned.”

“Figures,” Keihl said. He cocked a thumb toward the driveway. “You ready to go?”

Chapter Eleven

“D
amn, that smells great, hon.” Keihl gave his wife a quick smooch behind her ear, his hand whispering over her lower belly. “What’s the occasion?”

The meal was spread across most of the kitchen in various states of readiness. Nobody but Keihl and a few of Kirsten’s closest friends were privy to this secret.

She could cook —
really
cook.

“I knew I made a good decision when I married you,” Keihl said, sitting down at the far end of the long dining room table.

Kirsten stuck her tongue out as she set a steaming plate down in front of him.

“Mmm, carbonara. You trying to kill me?” He beamed at her, then dug in, his growl of pleasure a sound that brought a secret prideful joy to her.

Her mother, Lucia, first generation Italian from Torino, made sure that Kirsten knew how to cook. Her mother had always expressed puzzlement at the “modern” women who didn’t think learning how to prepare a delicious meal was particularly important. Kirsten’s eye-rolls and vociferous gender role protests aside, the family recipes were passed from mother to daughter, by sheer force of Mama’s will.

“What’s the occasion?” Keihl took a huge swallow, his throat working. “You haven’t cooked like this in months.”

Her travel schedule had been brutal lately, and it didn’t look like it was going to improve anytime soon. In her profession there was no rest for the wicked. The more you built a reputation as a killer, the more your boss deployed you as a weapon of mass destruction — or “seduction”, as her painfully politically incorrect boss liked to put it.

Kirsten wanted to be home more, especially once she learned they were expecting. She’d always thought the “nesting” instinct to be bullshit, but she definitely did feel something … different.

A pull toward home. Toward him.

“I just figured I needed to brush off the cobwebs.” She wiped her hands off on the white dish towel draped over her shoulder. “Use it or lose it, you know?”

“Oh, you’ve still got it, girl. This is great!”

She smiled at him. She always liked watching him eat for some reason. She knew it was a little odd, but she found men who tore into their meals, well,
manly
.

“You keep cooking like this Kirsten, and you
will
lose something — a husband who isn’t a fat ass.”

Kirsten laughed, slapping his arm, and walked back into the kitchen to get her plate of eggplant parmesan. She dimmed the lights before joining her husband. She sat for a moment, just watching him. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d shared an actual meal at home, alone. It was something she knew she’d make a point of doing more often. Like so much else in a woman’s busy life, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the simple things. Like a meal with her man.

You picked a fine time to feel like reconnecting, Kirsten. Sleep deprivation and screaming babies aren’t particularly conducive to solidifying the bonds of a relationship.

She poured him some wine, an eight year old Sauvignon Blanc that would have had Keihl wincing if he’d known how much it cost. They ate in silence for a minute or two before Kirsten put her fork down. Keihl looked up at her, his mouth quirking to a half smile as he sipped from his glass.

Kirsten wished she could drink her own glass of wine, needing that courage.

“I feel like I’m torturing you, drinking when you can’t,” Keihl said, winking.

She exhaled, licking her lower lip, her mouth suddenly dry. “So, there is a reason for all this.”

Keihl wiped the corner of his mouth and laid the burgundy napkin on the table. He leaned back in his chair, one hand flat on the table. “I knew it.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You never cook, dear. Shit, you’re hardly ever here,” he said, smiling. “Knew it must be
something
special.”

Kirsten refilled his glass to Keihl’s amused chuckling, then she gathered up the plates.

Keihl rose from his chair. “Wait, I should do that. You cooked all—”

Shaking her head at him, she pursed her lips into a kiss. “Be right back.”

She took the plates to the kitchen, then walked quickly down to their bedroom. When she came back into the kitchen, she stood in front of the stove, steadying her trembling hands on the black glass top.

“Get it together, Kirsten,” she whispered, trying to ignore the tremble in her voice. “You can do this.”

Then she walked back out to the dining room.

* * *

“J
esus Christ
,” Keihl breathed, his eyes wide.

Kirsten strolled around the table to stand next to her husband. His eyes followed her as if his head were on a swivel.

“What — what are you up to?” He reached out for her, and she grasped his wrist. She moved his hand under the brief black robe she’d changed into, the long, lithe legs he so admired fully exposed to his gaze. The hem barely covered her ass, and as his fingers explored beneath it, his eyes registered the heated surprise of finding she hadn’t a stitch on underneath it.

“I need you to tell me.”

“Tell you what?” His eyes rose to hers.

“If you’ll do it. I need to know before I go any further.”

A flash of something flickered through his gaze, and she feared it might all be ruined. Killed before it could ever begin.

“Sit down.” He indicated the chair next to him with a slight movement of his head.

“Answer me, Keihl. Please.”

If he said what she knew he was about to say, she would die. Just die. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way! But she’d seen it. The doubt. The uncertainty. She knew her husband well, and that look, that hint of the clever mind that whirled behind those bewitching eyes, spoke volumes. He was going to back out.

“If you want my answer, you’ll sit down,” he said, his voice rougher. “Come on, sit.”

She fought the tears that wanted to form behind her eyes. She shrugged, her shoulders heavy, and sank to her seat.

“I’ll do it.”

“Look, maybe this was all a mist—” Her mouth gaped, and she felt her heart squeeze to a halt. “What?”

“I said, I’ll do it, Kirsten.” His mouth was a thin line, but his eyes blazed, boring into her with the powers of acute observation she knew served him well in the courtroom.

Mostly, those eyes just made her want to jump his bones.

“Oh... okay,” she whispered, her head tilted downward. “Are you … sure?”

“There’s something you need to know first.”

The other shoe. There was always something else. Just as her dream looked to be coming to life, the delicious possibilities of fantasy laying themselves out before her, the harsh sting of reality was ready to dispel it all.

“I’ve been talking to someone about … things like this.”

“You — what?”

He nodded. “Tom.”

“You’ve got to be joking. Tom? As in ‘
Doctor Tom
’?”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?” She sat back in her chair, pulling the robe closed over her blatantly displayed cleavage.

“Don’t,” Keihl said, shifting forward and grasping one of her hands in his. She clamped onto him firmly, eager for his touch, even though her subconscious was registering the danger ahead.

“Did you tell him about—” she swallowed, looking away “—this?”

“No, never,” Keihl said, his jaw clenching.

The vehemence with which he said it gave her some small reassurance. The thought of Keihl and Tom talking about what The Game had been evolving into made her feel — awkward.

Aren’t you looking for ‘hot fucking pissed’?

But she knew that wouldn’t quite be the truth though. It should be, but it wasn’t. She’d always liked Tom and Sharon, though she wondered why Keihl didn’t express interest in the four of them doing much together as couples. She’d guessed it was simply a matter of Keihl needing friends that were separate from them. Neutral ground. Like Joely was for her.

Now, she wasn’t so sure there wasn’t something else to it.

“He wanted me to tell you about him and—”

“What did you tell him?”

Keihl frowned at her, his eyes darkening. That look always elicited equal parts irritation and arousal in her. It was different, now. There was a heated weight to that gaze. As if it were a signal of something ahead.

Consequences?

“I already told you — nothing. Don’t interrupt me, Kirsten. We need to talk about this. It’s important.”

She closed her mouth on the retort trying to claw its way out.

Stop with trying to prove your feminist bona fides, Kirsten.

That tone made her pussy tingle. It was as if he were speaking to a little girl. A disobedient little girl. She felt like such a slut, thinking about sex at that particular moment. But the whole conversation revolved around sex, and she couldn’t help herself.

“He and Sharon.” He rubbed at his chin, long fingers tracing his strong jaw. “They live a lifestyle — similar to what you said you were interested in.”

Kirsten felt her heart skip a beat and excited butterflies begin their frantic fluttering in her belly. “Okay. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, some of what they do.” He looked away for the first time. “I’m not sure I could do. To you.”

She swallowed, elation and nervousness warring within her. How was it possible? She put her hand to her lips, nibbling on the tip of her finger.

“With the baby and everything.” His eyes darted downward for the briefest of moments. “Maybe the time isn’t right for all this?’

“Keihl.” She sat forward, her grip on his hand tightening. “I don’t want you to worry about the baby.”

“Why not?” The note of frustration in his tone surprised her. “I can’t very well be beating your ass red with you nine months pregnant, can I?”

She inhaled sharply at the imagery his words elicited in her mind. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one harboring such thoughts.

“Well, no, you probably can’t.” It was her turn to look away, and she felt the heat at her cheeks. “I’ve been doing some — reading.”

“Reading?” His lips curved slightly.

“Yes.” She locked eyes with his, willing herself to stay calm. “As long as we aren’t
too
rough, we can do quite a bit, even into late stage pregnancy.”

Keihl stared at her a moment, then reached for his glass, sipping.

“Besides. You won’t even want to touch your bloated wife anyway. So this is all academic.”

He set his glass down, hard. “Stand up.”

She let go of his hand and stood, her fingers clamping the edge of the table in an effort to steady herself on trembling legs.

“Closer,” he said, spreading his knees.

She moved within the span of his legs. Her legs felt about as stable as a ladder in soft sand. The five inch heels she’d chosen as part of her outfit didn’t help in that regard either.

He stared up at her, his eyes flashing, mouth a hard line. “I don’t want to hear you say that again.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Her voice quavered. She remembered what Joely had told her about her own pregnancy. The thought made her blood run cold. Rejection.

“Maybe for some men. But not for me.” He pulled at the sash, and flicked the robe open, almost as if the clothing bothered him. His gaze coursed down her body, and she closed her eyes, the warm coiling beginning deep within her belly.

“This body.” He reached up and lay a hand at the base of her throat. “Is beautiful. And it will be even more beautiful when you’re swollen with our baby.”

She shook her head, at once hopeful that maybe he was telling the truth, and at the same time fearing he was just telling her what he thought she wanted to hear.

“Some men.” He shook his head, frowning. “Well, let’s just say some of them don’t know a good thing when they see it.”

His hand meandered down her body, the fingertips slipping under the edge of the robe to ease one breast fully out from behind the fabric. He ran the back of his knuckles across her nipple, once, twice. It pebbled almost instantly, his touch like electricity on her flesh.

“These,” he said, grasping the nipple firmly between thumb and finger. “They’ll turn darker, and get longer and wider.”

She bit her lower lip as he squeezed.

“They’re already long though, aren’t they?”

She averted her eyes. She’d always been embarrassed by her prominent nipples. She’d usually had a difficult time finding the right bra that would completely conceal them. Once she met her husband it had become even more difficult. Just the smell of his cologne as he brushed by would be enough to have them stand up for him.