He would not allow her to lift a pin. She was like a guest in her own home. Her bed was made, the laundry done and Mrs. Bent was very territorial about her housework. It did not help much that the woman was as neat as a pin and terrifyingly efficient. Now that she was pregnant, her infrequent forays in the kitchen had been curtailed. Usually on weekends, she would give the woman the time off and cook dinner, but that had stopped.
"No. Absolutely not," he told her firmly. "Mrs. Bent is willing to prepare meals and leave it for us. She has no objections to working on Saturdays. And before you come up with objections, she's grateful for the extra money as she's taking care of her ailing sister." That had stopped her protests as he very well knew it would.
She went into the bedroom and was about to change into something comfortable to do her project for the next day when she caught a glimpse of the late afternoon sun sparkling on the brilliant blue of the water in the oblong-shaped pool and changed her mind. She and her husband often enjoyed a swim before supper. The lunch with Irene had filled her up and she usually waited for Dean to get home to have dinner with him anyway. A swim would do her good and it was a lovely spring day. It was time for school to break for the summer, but she had signed up for some summer classes, something she had yet to tell her husband about.
Grimacing at the thought of the argument that would ensue, she stripped and stood in front of the cheval mirror to stare at her image. She wasn't showing yet and laughed softly at howdisappointed she was. Turning sideways, she expanded her belly and wondered wistfully what it would be like to have her baby growing inside her. Eric had been true to his word and checked on her twice a week. Blowing out a rueful breath, she stepped back and selected a skimpy maroon and red swimsuit that barely covered her breasts. Wrapping the thick coils of her hair on top of her head and securing them with a scarf, she grabbed a robe and headed down.
She had reached the doorway when she remembered leaving her phone on the side table. She would never hear the end of it if Dean called and did not get her.
*****
He was just getting out of his vehicle and headed to the front door when he happened to glance in the direction of the pool. The sound of water lapping at the lip had him turning around. He stood in the shadows of a profusion of cabbage roses and watched as his wife sliced through the water with barely a ripple. His anger at the fact that she hadn't waited for him to get home gave way to admiration. He was an excellent swimmer having been given the training at the fancy boarding school he had attended, but she surprised him with her natural moves. She could almost outswim him and was very competitive.
He was seated on one of the chaise lounges before she swam back and noticed him.
Rolling her eyes, she climbed up and over, reaching for the towel he silently held out.
"I bet I know what you're going to say," she murmured, vigorously toweling herself dry.
"I bet you don't."
"'You're not supposed to be swimming alone. What if, God forbid, you get a cramp?'" Her tapered brows arched as she stared at him. He had to bite down on the laughter, because that was precisely what he was going to say. Just to be contrary, he turned it around.
"See how much you know," he told her loftily. "I was about to say that it's pretty chilly out and you might catch a cold." Her skeptical look told him she did not believe a word.
"Liar." Balling up the damp towel, she threw it at him, and he just managed to catch it before it landed in his face.
"Prove it," he challenged, moving towards her. Catching her around the waist, he lifted her up so he could kiss her. "Hi."
"Hi." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back. "How was your day?"
"Uneventful. My sister came tearing into my office, eyes aglow, the excitement all but pouring from her at the news." He gave her a quizzical look. "I thought we were keeping it to ourselves for now."
"She guessed and I wasn't about to lie to her. I like her."
"Hmm." He brushed his lips on hers again, unable to resist. "She likes you too."
"I think she likes Eric." Catherine ventured.
"Who's--" His expression cleared as the name registered. "He's ten years older than she is, if not more!"
"So?" She challenged him. "He's a very attractive man who has been through a rough patch. And he's sweet."
"Sweet?" Dean's frown deepened. "Darling, I don't think--" he shook his head. "If you're thinking of playing matchmaker--"
"I was thinking we should invite them over for supper on Sunday. He's due to examine me anyway. Two birds, one stone." Kissing him on the lips, she wriggled out of his arms and went to put her robe on. "I'm starving."
He stood there staring after her, his frown deepening. Grabbing the jacket he had shed, he marched after her.
"Catherine, dammit. No interference."
"It's just supper. If they happen to hit it off, then it's all good."
He caught her arm and spun her around when she cleared the threshold. "My sister has been married three times."
"And needs a chance at happiness. Look at us. Don't you want the same for her?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't use that look on me. It's not going to work."