More chuckling. But, I noted, no answer.
“For my peace of mind, I’ll take that as a yes. So, did you break any laws?”
“Leah –”
I cut him off with, “Speeding ticket?”
He burst out laughing.
I fumed.
“You’re sounding better,” he commented after his hilarity died down.
“Like I said this morning, I’m fine.”
“You’re fine because you’ve rested your throat all day,” he returned.
He was probably right. That and Edwina’s obsessive administration of throat lozenges. I didn’t share either of these tidbits of knowledge with him.
“I’m on my way home,” he informed me.
“Goodie,” I said with saccharine sweetness but I felt my pulse race.
I ignored my pulse. Lucien ignored my grumpiness.
“Have you eaten?”
“Edwina’s making dinner now.”
“Good. I’ll be home in five minutes.”
“You know,” I said chattily, “you don’t have to call when you’re five minutes from home. We could have had this extremely pressing conversation five minutes from now, when you are home.”
“Yes, my pet, but I worried about you all day and found I couldn’t wait five minutes more to assure myself you were all right.”
That took the bitchiness out of me. Mainly because his words made me feel really, really good.
And that scared me silly or, in this case, it scared me right back to bitchy.
“Stop being so nice,” I snapped.
“Why?” His voice held a burgeoning chuckle.
“Because I don’t know what to do with it,” I replied.
His voice turned velvet. “Tonight, I’ll teach you what to do with it.”
My womb (and parts south) rippled and it felt great.
Moving on!
“See you soon,” I told him.
“Soon, pet,” he replied and then disconnected.
I hit the button to turn off the phone, ignored my still rippling female parts and announced to the room, “Lucien says I can talk and he’ll be home in five minutes.”
Edwina flitted forward, wielding a throat lozenge. “One more, dear, just to be on the safe side.”