Even so, his total absorption was shocking. And thrilling.
Her climax hit hard. Hutch groaned, his face buried in her hair. She clenched him with her inner muscles, wresting from each of them the last ripples of pleasurable sensation. Then he shuddered, his body went rigid and he slumped on top of her.
Time ceased to have meaning. The Grecian shades at her bedroom windows were open, letting the harsh midday sun flood the room. Hutch might have been asleep. She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know whether to let out an exultant sigh or to burst into tears.
When he didn’t move, she surmised that he really was out cold. It was no wonder. He’d spent the last week wandering the halls at night, making sure she was okay. The man had to be exhausted.
Silently, she eased out from under him and went to the bathroom to clean up. Afterward, she put her clothes back on and examined the cold sandwich and soup. The simple meal was a truce flag of sorts. Wrinkling her nose, she made herself eat three-fourths of it.
Perhaps it would have made more sense to go back to the kitchen and heat it up, but she wanted to be around when Hutch roused. She wasn’t about to climb back into bed to eat. Though there were two chairs in the bedroom, she didn’t like the idea of balancing the tray on her lap. In the end, she sat on the floor, legs crossed, and leaned back against the dresser.
He opened his eyes without drama. One minute he was dead to the world—the next he was completely alert.
“Did you eat?” he asked.
She shook her head at his single-mindedness and held out her hand, indicating what little was left of the meal. “As promised.”
Hutch nodded. “Good.” Without fanfare, he climbed out of bed, picked up his clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.
She was rapidly discovering that sex in the daytime was far different than sex at night. There was literally nowhere to hide. Not that Hutch had any apparent qualms about his nudity. Fortunately, she was completely clothed.
The urge to escape was humiliating, but she gave in to it, anyway. It was her house, her bedroom. Why did she feel the need to disappear?
In the kitchen, she rinsed her lunch dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Hutch still hadn’t made an appearance. Chewing her lip, she sat down in front of her laptop. Remembering how he had shut it without her permission should have made her angry. Instead, it made her sad.
Deep in her heart she wanted Hutch to be her date at the masquerade ball. Assuming, of course, she was well enough to attend when the time came. Unfortunately, she sensed that the two of them were fast approaching a showdown. They couldn’t go on as they were.
After giving the mock-up of the invitation one last edit, she hit Send. The card stock and envelopes had been selected days ago. The printer already had a list of the recipients and would take care of the mailing. After that, it was only a matter of how many invitees would RSVP with a yes.
Cecelia and Naomi were supposed to drop by tomorrow afternoon to finalize decorating plans, not only for the tables, but for the ballroom as a whole. Deacon had given them carte blanche to spend whatever necessary to make this a night Royal would never forget.
With that one pressing chore completed, Simone pulled up the Neiman Marcus website. She visited the flagship store in Dallas a couple of times a year, but hadn’t been recently. Fortunately, even though she had been too sick to travel, her personal shopper several hundred miles away had dropped images of four exclusive ball gowns into Simone’s shopping cart.
She clicked on them one at a time. Buying this kind of dress while pregnant might ordinarily have been a risky roll of the dice. But she had lost so much weight, she knew she would still be able to get into her regular size.
With the prospect of a late-stage pregnancy in her future, it seemed only natural to want to look her best on the special night that was rapidly approaching. Two of the dresses were black, another white and the last one was a vibrant red. Although the guests would be asked to wear masks, the evening was formal. No Tin Man and Dorothy or Darth Vader costumes for this crowd.
Royal’s elite would be out in full force wearing tuxedos and couture fashion. Both of the black dresses on her computer screen were beautiful and undeniably suitable for the occasion. But she didn’t feel a strong connection to either one. The white dress was sexy, but a little too bridal for an unwed mother-to-be.
That left only the red. With Simone’s jet-black hair, the vivid color would be dramatic in the extreme, and the style of the dress was perfect. The halter neckline would leave her shoulders bare. The back would plunge to the base of her spine. Though there were no adornments at all, the fabric was a slubbed-silk blend that would hopefully move and sway as she walked.
Only by trying them on could she decide for sure. She selected the red dress and added one of the black ones in case her first choice didn’t work. With overnight express shipping, she would still have plenty of time to shop for other options if neither of these fit well.
She was reaching for her credit card in her purse when Hutch startled her.
“Retail therapy?” he asked casually, dropping a kiss on top of her head.
“How do you do that?” she said.
“Do what?”
“Walk like a ghost.”
He shrugged. “Lots of night rounds. We learned not to wake the patients unless absolutely necessary.”
“Ah.”
He sat at the opposite side of the counter and stared at her. “We need to talk.”