Wife by Design

He touched her nipple through her shirt. And then slid his hand up underneath her scrub top and touched it for real. As though he had every right to do so. He was looking her straight in the eye. Claiming his right to touch her intimately.

She closed her eyes and felt her knees go weak.

And with one more quick kiss because she couldn’t help herself, she got the hell out of there.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THEY SCHEDULED THEIR once-a-week dinners for Friday nights. Lynn wanted a set time for her calendar—apparently it was Lynn who lived by lists—and, truth be told, so did he. His schedule was too tight to allow for all this spur-of-the-moment stuff.

He’d be much more relaxed if he could at least get his time back under control.

And have sex, of course. As soon as Wednesday arrived, he’d have a whole new world on his hands.

With the promise of Friday dinners, and Grant’s agreement to consider the possibility of a wedding, Darin had agreed to the diving lessons. With Angelica’s full support. The water activity was good exercise for Darin’s arm.

His brother wasn’t as coordinated in the water as he’d once been, but after just a couple of lessons, some of the skills were coming back to him.

All in all, Grant’s life was pretty damn good. If he ignored the constant pain he carried around in his loins. Or the cricks he kept getting in his neck from constantly swiveling around whenever he was working at The Lemonade Stand. Looking for Lynn.

Always looking for the long-haired beauty who had a look in her eye no other woman had.

A tone to her voice that no one else had.

And as soon as he had a chance to sink his body into hers, to get relief, then life would be perfect.

He stood for an extra long time in the shower on Wednesday morning. Shaved under the hot water so that he got the smoothest skin he could possibly manage. Took time to blow-dry his hair. And grabbed the newest pair of black briefs he could find before pulling on jeans and a Bishop Landscaping shirt. There was only so much he could do. Wednesday was a workday—though he was CEO all the way today. He wasn’t about to sweat.

And once he got to Lynn’s house he wasn’t planning on keeping the clothes on, anyway.

“Grant! What’s taking so long?” Darin called out from the front room.

Technically, they didn’t have to leave for another twenty minutes. But on a normal day he’d have been on the road already.

“Coming,” he called, opening his nightstand drawer to grab some condoms out of the box and shove them into his wallet before sliding it into the back pocket of his jeans. He snapped on his watch on the way down the hall.

“Phew, you stink!” Darin wrinkled up his nose. “What did you do?”

“It’s just my normal aftershave.” He’d given it a few extra squirts so that it lasted throughout the day.

“No, it’s not. It stinks.”

“Have you got your diving gear?” Darin was wearing his sweats and carrying his duffel bag. After Grant had sex, he had to take Darin swimming.

“Yes, and a change of clothes for working in the cafeteria, too.” As per usual, Darin would be spending the day at The Lemonade Stand while Grant met with clients and oversaw job sites.

Off they went. He’d be a different man when he returned that night. More peaceful. Satisfied. Not quite as hungry, and, if he had his way, with a steady Wednesday afternoon sex date on his calendar for as long as the foreseeable future.

* * *

LYNN WAS AT home eating lunch with Maddie and Kara, listening to chatter she wasn’t hearing as she checked her mental list. As soon as Maddie left to take Kara to day care, Lynn would throw her sheets in the washer.

It wasn’t laundry day, so she’d just do the one set. While they were in the wash she could dash to her office to finish the morning’s charting and see one prenatal patient for a quick monthly check.

And grab some condoms from the free supply at the clinic.

Once she got back, she could throw the sheets in the dryer with an extra dryer sheet and take a hot bath.

The bath had to be rose-scented. She couldn’t forget to shave her legs and pits. She was going to wear black leggings, leftover from her days as another man’s wife, and a thigh-length short-sleeved sweater dress, and hadn’t decided yet on whether or not to answer the door barefoot….