The Widowed Don Hired a Doctor for His Son, and She Brought Two Boys Who Wore His Face novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: The Seawall

I called the babysitter at nine and told her to stay until midnight.

Then I drove to the end of Broadway, where the seawall runs out toward the jetty.

I parked the Corolla behind a black pickup with its engine ticking.

I got out of my car, walked to the pickup, opened the passenger door, and climbed in.

Nico sat behind the wheel with one arm along the back of the seat and a paper cup of coffee going cold in the holder.

He turned his head and looked at me.

"You asked me to meet you here," I said.

"I did."

"You didn't say why."

"No," he said.

The Gulf was black and loud beyond the wall.

A single light moved far out on the water, a shrimp boat heading for the channel.

The wind pushed at the truck and rocked it very slightly on its springs.

I had been thinking about this for nine days.

I had told myself every night that I was a grown woman and a doctor, and that it was a tension that would pass.

It hadn't passed.

It had got worse each time he said my name.

"I'm going to do something," I said, "and you're going to let me."

His eyes went very dark.

"Yes," he said.

"Say it again," I said.

"Yes, Ines."

I climbed across the console.

It wasn't graceful.

My knee hit the gear shift and I swore, and he caught my hips in both hands and lifted me over.

Then I was in his lap with my back against the wheel and my hands on his face.

He had gone completely still under me.

He was holding himself still on purpose, his big hands flat on my thighs and every muscle in his arms drawn tight.

"You don't have to hold back," I said.

"I'm not sure that's true," he said.

His voice was rough.

"I'm not a gentle man."

"I didn't ask for gentle."

I kissed him.

It was slow for about two seconds.

Then his mouth opened under mine and he made a low sound in his chest.

His hand came up into my hair and closed.

He kissed me like a man who had been starved and was only now allowed to eat.

He tasted of coffee and salt, and his day-old beard scraped my chin.

I gripped his shoulders and kissed him back with everything I had.

When we broke apart we were both breathing hard.

"Fourteen months," he said against my mouth.

"I haven't touched anyone in fourteen months.

"I don't know if I remember how."

"You remember," I said.

I pulled at the hem of my sweater and dragged it over my head and dropped it on the dash.

He looked at me in my plain gray bra with the streetlamp coming through the windshield, and he stopped breathing.

"Look at you," he said.

It was soft, and almost afraid.

"Touch me," I said.

He did.

His palms slid up my ribs, rough and warm, and cupped my breasts through the cotton.

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