“There isn’t. I only stocked aphrodisiacs and the like.” His tone was so smooth, I nearly managed not to goggle. “Those aren’t appropriate for you and a growing child.”
“Aphrodisiacs like what?”
“Oysters, for one. Asparagus. Red wine. French chocolates.”
“Chocolate sounds good.”
He was already on his feet and headed toward what I assumed was the kitchen. Not that I could follow him to find out, since my bladder took that opportunity to make its presence known.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I called out, quickly shedding my coat. Time was of the essence now.
“Top of the stairs, second right.”
I rose and hurried out of the living room and up the winding staircase that I’d seen off the foyer. At the top of the stairs, I opened the second door on the right, fumbled for the light, and sucked in a breath.
Holy crow, this bathroom rivaled the one in our suite in Vegas. No, it was better, because the bathroom there had been surrounded by tile, where this one carried the same theme of the living room, with wide wood beams and black marble everywhere.
I made swift use of the facilities, washed up, and then tried to do something with my hornet’s nest of hair before declaring it hopeless. I much preferred checking out the big, fancy claw-footed tub with the standalone shower, and heated towel rack, and oh God, even what seemed like a kind of warming body drier from a set of focused vents beside the towel rack. I had turned them on low and was letting the warm air caress the wet ends of my crazy curls when Oliver filled the doorway.
“That tub fits two,” he said nonchalantly, holding out both a half bar of chocolate and a fat strawberry, still damp from being rinsed off.
I leaned forward and let him push the strawberry between my lips, although my attempt at a sexy bite was a major fail and juice squirted onto my décolletage. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his already midnight eyes darkened as they dropped to my cleavage before returning to my face. His thumb traced the corner of my mouth and he licked at the leftover juice he collected on the tip before he broke off a piece of chocolate and offered that to me as well.
“Don’t want you getting hungry,” he murmured, his double meaning more than clear.
We might have already made an unplanned baby, but that didn’t mean he had any intention of ceasing practice anytime soon.
My sensitive nipples and the soaked cleft between my thighs both gave a thumbs-up to this plan.
“As for the tub, I don’t need to get any wetter than I am already.” When his lips twitched, I released an exasperated sigh. “I meant my hair from the snow. Don’t you think the sexual innuendoes have gotten us in enough of a pickle?”
“It was more than innuendoes that got us in that.” He stepped up behind me and broke off another piece of chocolate, nudging it between my lips. “Besides, there’s another way we can look at this.”
I was too busy chewing and swallowing—and licking his fingers, which started out being part of my pursuit of chocolate and soon morphed into something else—to answer.
He offered me the last piece and toyed with my hair as I scarfed it down without shame. “You can’t get pregnant again, now can you?”
Since I was still focused intently on the exquisite dark chocolate I’d just consumed, I didn’t fully get his meaning at first. “Seriously? Your sense of logic is…oddly arousing.”
“Thought so.” He twirled on
e of my curls around his finger. “No condoms.”
“Hmm. What’s for dinner?”
His smoky laughter coaxed my last few sleeping nerve endings to life. “Baked chicken with a lemon glaze, red-skinned mashed potatoes, baby carrots, a garden salad with balsamic, and strawberry shortcake. Seth’s nanny was the source of that strawberry I just fed you, by the way. Strawberries are one of the few appropriate items from our planned Valentine’s feast.” He brushed a kiss over my ear. “Luckily for us, she had prepared extras of what she’s bringing to Seth’s tomorrow. She often does some light cooking and cleaning here, along with her duties there.”
My stomach growled in anticipation. “It’s so late. She must’ve been all tucked in for the night.”
“I pay her handsomely. Don’t worry.” The doorbell chimed and he turned toward the door. “That must be her. Where would you like to eat? The dining room? Or…” He gestured with his chin at the sunken tub.
“Dining room is fine.”
He left and I let out a long, whooshing breath. Was this really my life now? Home-cooked dinner delivery on the spur of the moment, served in bathrooms practically the size of my entire loft? The bathroom. I mean, who did that? Not my parents, that was for sure.
I was having a baby with this man. My child would grow up with this sort of everyday affluence, if Oliver truly wanted to be a full partner in this.
Something I needed spelled out. In detail.