Caleb had trouble with his vision after that. Somehow he managed to blunder his way back to his car, and turn his head towards the roof, needing time to think. The man had lost his wife, and he was thanking him.
And he needed – he needed...
He reached for his phone, punched Ava’s name, impatient for her to pick up. He knew it wasn’t too soon. Her texts told him it was okay to call. Her voice was husky when she picked up, like she’d been working late last night and sleeping in, like she often did.
“I need to see you.”
“Yes,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “When.”
“Now.”
“Okay.”
“And Ava?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t bother getting dressed.”
This was what she wanted from him, she thought, her fingers curled in his hair as he tripped every nerve ending in her body with his clever tongue, this passionate whirlwind of sexual pleasure. He’d arrived less than half an hour after his call and torn off his clothes and promptly buried his face between her legs and sent her senses and her heart rate soaring.
This was how things should be.
And then she stopped thinking, and gave herself up to the wave of pleasure that rolled over her, higher and higher as it approached the shore, until it crashed on the sandy beach, leaving her gasping for air. He kissed his way up her humming body then, raining kisses over her sweated skin, and, with a cry half victory, half anguish, buried himself deep inside her.
There was no reprieve and no time to come down before he was taking her right back up again, his powerful thrusts urging her on to catch onto the second wave and ride that one too, all the way up to the dizziest of heights before, with one final thrust, the wave crashed beneath them and she clung to him as they fell together, spinning into the foaming wash.
Oh, yes, she thought with his sweat slickened body slumped over hers, this was what she wanted from Caleb. Nothing more. Nothing less.
It was good to be back in Ava’s bed. He lay on his back with Ava curled against him. He leaned over and kissed the dark curtain of her hair, breathing in her scent. It felt good. It felt right. And now his body was sated and his mind was resting. Blank.
Except for one tiny thing with long eyelashes and a cupid’s bow mouth.
When had he stopped wanting kids? When had that dream died? When he’d divorced Angie, or before, during those troubled years when the thought of bringing another life into their tortured world was anathema to him, even when she’d begged him and said it would help, that it would bring them closer together?
Why fuck up some poor kid’s life, he’d reasoned, when your marriage was already heading for the rocks? And then, in the aftermath, he’d been so relieved to put that era behind him, he’d forgotten.
He breathed in deeply and blew out on a sigh. On the air, he could smell the scent of frangipani flowers that she’d put in a vase by the side of the bed. Half of them had fallen off, some of them lying on the wooden bedside table, the edges of the snowy white petals turning brown. Alongside him, Ava stirred briefly and settled back into a doze. He was thirty-two already. Three quarters of the way to the big four-oh, when it all came down to it. If he was going to have kids before he was too old, if he was going to show them the tracks and cliffs and caves he and Dylan had scrambled over as kids, or take them on holidays before he was on a zimmer frame and too old to enjoy it, maybe he ought to think about it.
It would sure make Mum happy too. She’d be all over grandkids. Dad too, for that matter.
One day, he might want to think about it.
Idly, he stroked Ava’s arm with his thumb, thinking about her at the show. Ava was good with kids and they loved her. She’d smiled and chatted and sent every kid away happy. Their kids would look pretty cute too, he figured especially a girl. She’d be a stunner like her mum, no doubt.
Didn’t Ava want kids one day? He’d always assumed wanting kids was pre-programmed into women’s DNA, a bit like he’d always figured he’d have his own one day without knowing the detail. It would happen. It was the natural progression of events. Like Monday turning into Tuesday and not skipping direct to Saturday.
Not that there was any chance of having kids with Ava. Not the way she was determined to keep their relationship strictly at arm’s length, even while they were busy shagging each other stupid. It was some kind of miracle he was back in her bed at all. He could just imagine how she’d take the news he was even thinking about babies. He snorted and sighed again.
Still, shame.
Ava stirred at his snort. “Wha-?” she said, sleepily, blinking.
“Coffee?” he asked, his stomach rumbling up a storm and thinking it was almost lunch time.
She nodded, sweeping her long hair from her face as she sat up, “Mm, please.”
“Be right back, in that case.”
He eased out of the bed and watched as she stretched her arms up high, long slender limbs that moved with catlike grace as she stretched away her sleep and Caleb shook his head as he headed for the kitchen. Yeah, bloody shame.
Ten minutes later, coffee in hand, she showed him her studio with the artworks
