"Not necessarily," she said. "But I wanted commitment. I needed the words. And I needed to know that our futures weren't going to be a shallow grave in some foreign country and that we'd leave our children as orphans for someone else to raise."
"You wanted children?" he asked, his face going pale.
Miranda shook her head and closed her eyes, wondering why she'd decided it was important to communicate at this moment.
"No, never mind," she said, resting her head against his arm again, her body stiff.
"No, Miranda," he said, putting a finger beneath her chin and lifting it so her eyes met his. "Don't stop now. I want to know. I never thought you wanted those things. You always seemed so focused on your career and the writing you were able to do after our finds. I never wanted to take that away from you. To make you feel like I'd try to keep you from your dreams because I wanted marriage and family."
Her body relaxed into his and they lay in silence for several minutes, each in deep thought.
"So where do we go from here?" she finally asked.
"I don't know," he said. "I'm on vacation. I don't suppose you need any help finding the Fountain of Youth?"
Miranda grinned and continued the exploration of his body with her hand, and then she rolled on top of him and looked into his eyes as he slid deep inside of her.
"I thought you told Damian you were ready to retire?" she teased.
"How about I semi-retire?"
"Semi-retire?" Her gaze flitted back and forth between his expression and what he was doing with his hands.
"You know, avoid the dangerous jobs. More of a consulting partner."
"As it turns out, I could use a good partner," she said.
He grabbed her hips and then rolled them, so he lay on top of her, and she gasped as he hit somewhere magical inside her.
"A good partner?" he said.
"Great," she gasped as he started to move. "I meant great partner."
"That's better," he said, silencing her moan with his mouth and riding them both to ecstasy. "Much better."
Liliana Hart is a New York Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly best-selling author of more than fifty titles. After starting her first novel her freshman year of college, she immediately became addicted to writing and knew she'd found what she was meant to do with her life. She has no idea why she majored in music. Liliana can almost always be found at her computer writing, work
ing on various projects with her own real-life hero, spending time with her children, or traveling all over the world.
"I DON'T THINK THE fetal pig was gonna have such a great life, hon." Jerome glanced at his battered watch. Time to go.
Keisha side-eyed him and shifted her backpack from right to left shoulder. She'd turned thirteen in October, so she knew everything now. "It's barbaric."
Kids streamed into Walton Academy around them. A couple nodded or waved, other black kids mostly. He knew that tuition and tradition put private schools out of reach for a lot of New Yorkers who weren't from rich, white families. Being a private school black kid made for some weird dissonance. He knew that from personal experience.
Knife-slim in her red coat, Keisha crossed her arms. "Mom wouldn't have made me cut up some pig." Now she was stalling for guilt and rewards. She was right, though. If her mother had been there, some savory bait would have been dangled to get their daughter into the building before homeroom started. They both knew it. Fetal pig or not.
But her mother had been gone for almost three years, sick for two before that.
Keisha glared at him.
Powerless, Jerome shook his head and frowned at the sidewalk. Even from the grave, his wife had the last word. Olivia had always been better at negotiation.
"Then skip school, Keesh. You've got rehearsals anyway. Your call." His hands shook 'til he hid them in his pockets. "Fine by me." A lie and they both knew it.
She stilled, one eyebrow up. She didn't get many days off during the holidays. In general, October through December meant racing from Brooklyn Heights to school in the Village, then up to Lincoln Center so she could spend her downtime as a very acrobatic mouse in The Nutcracker.
"The fetal pig won't know the difference. You can always come to work with--"