Another Man's Child

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her once more before he straightened.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of cut-off sweats, and desire pooled in her belly as she ran her gaze up his long muscular thighs.

She lifted the comforter and smiled at him. “Come back to bed, Marcus…”

The omelets Marcus had made for them were still warm, if a little tough, by the time they got to them, but Lisa enjoyed every bite. Hannah provided enough deliciously cooked meals to get them through the week, but they cooked for each other on weekends. Lisa always enjoyed those meals the most.

She and Marcus sat across from each other on the unmade bed, the warming tray a table between them. Or rather, she sat. He was sprawled on his side, propped up on an elbow, taking up the whole length of the bed, and still naked.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said, munching on her last piece of toast.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I know so.” He motioned to the envelope still propped against the bud vase on the tray. “That’s for you.”

Lisa reached for the envelope slowly, excited, but just a little afraid to see what was inside. Marcus wasn’t a card man. In all their years together, he’d only given her two. One on their first anniversary and one for Valentine’s Day. She still had them both.

The intent way he was watching her as she slid the card from the envelope only increased her trepidation.

The front was simple, an airbrushed picture of a sailboat. She o

pened the card.

Every day of my life, I celebrate the day you were born. Love, Marcus. He’d written the words in his familiar scrawl. The rest of the card was blank.

Tears filled Lisa’s eyes as she read the words again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed that reassurance.

She looked across at her husband, smiling through her tears. “Thank you.”

Removing the tray from the bed, he tumbled her onto her back and showed her the truth of his words.

“HOW ABOUT WE MOVE this party to the shower? We have exactly half an hour before we have to be somewhere,” Marcus said almost an hour later.

Lisa glanced at the clock. “Where could we possibly have to be at nine-thirty on a Sunday morning?”

Marcus just grinned and headed across the room to her dresser, pulling out a pair of white shorts and a blue-and-white crop top. “You ask too many questions. Now get your pretty rear into the shower and then into these clothes.” He tossed them on the bed.

Two minutes later she heard him singing in the shower. With one last sip of coffee, she went in to join him. In spite of her efforts to draw him out, Marcus remained closemouthed about where they were going as he hurried her out to his Ferrari. Lisa giggled, enthralled with this playful side to her husband. Marcus hadn’t been so lighthearted since before—

No. I’m not going to think about that. Not today.

“We’re heading toward the ocean. Are we going to Angelo’s?” she asked, naming her favorite Italian restaurant.

Marcus shifted the Ferrari into fourth and grinned at her.

“But, Marcus, we just ate breakfast.”

He kept his gaze on the road, still grinning.

She thought about Angelo’s succulent pasta. The bottomless basket of freshly made Italian bread. “I suppose we could walk on the docks awhile and work up an appetite.”

If anything, his grin grew wider. The man was infuriating. Didn’t he understand that she didn’t want to spoil a perfectly wonderful meal by being too full to eat it?

“You don’t want to walk on the docks?” she asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“That’s the problem. You aren’t saying anything. Going to Angelo’s is a wonderful idea. I want to go. I’m just not hungry yet.”