Hot Rocks

projected.
    Coming up on Thanksgiving. In her usual organized fashion—she didn’t care what Jenny said, it wasn’t obsessive or disgusting—she’d have her Christmas shopping finished. She’d be planning holiday parties, and how she’d decorate the shop and the house.
    She’d order a cord of wood and enjoy lighting a fire every evening. She’d stock a few bottles of good champagne so she and Max could . . .
    Uh-oh, there he was.
    She opened both eyes now and studied him. Yeah, there he was. Popping right up in her little projections, lying right there beside her sleeping while Henry, her pre-alarm clock, was beginning to stir.
    She had a feeling if she added six months to that projection and made it a year, he was still going to be there.
    He opened his eyes, a quick flash of that tawny brown, and had her yelping in surprise.
    “I could hear you staring.”
    “I wasn’t. I was thinking.”
    “I could hear that, too.”
    His arm shot out, hooked around her. She had a foolish little thrill tremble in her belly at the easy strength of him when he pulled her over and under him.
    “I need to let Henry out.”
    “He can wait a minute.” His mouth took hers so that thrill twisted into a throb.
    “We’re creatures of habit.” Her breath caught. “Henry and me.”
    “Creatures of habit should always be in the market to develop another habit.” He nuzzled her neck where her pulse pounded. “You’re all warm and soft in the morning.”
    “Getting warmer and softer by the minute.”
    His lips curved against her skin, then he lifted his head to look into her eyes. “Let’s see about that.”
    He scooped his hands under her hips, lifted them. And slid inside her. Those bright blue eyes blurred.
    “Oh yeah.” He watched her, watched her in the pale morning sunlight as he stroked. “You’re absolutely right.”
     
     
     
    Henry whined and plopped his front paws on the side of the bed. He cocked his head as if trying to figure out why the two humans were still in there with their eyes closed when it was past time to let him out.
    He barked once. A definite question mark.
    “Okay, Henry, just a minute.”
    Max trailed his fingertips over Laine’s arm. “Want me to do it?”
    “You already did it. And thanks.”
    “Ha ha. Do you want me to let the dog out?”
    “No, we have our little routine.”
    She got out of bed, which had Henry racing to the bedroom doorway, racing back, dancing in place while she got her robe out of the closet.
    “Does the routine include coffee?” Max asked her.
    “There is no routine without coffee.”
    “Praise God. I’m going to grab a shower, then I’ll be down.”
    “Take your time. Are you sure you want to go out, Henry? Are you absolutely, positively sure?”
    From the tone, and the dog’s manic reaction, Max imagined the byplay was part of the morning ritual. He liked hearing the dog gallop up and down the steps, while Laine’s laugh rolled.
    He grinned all the way into the shower.
    Downstairs, with Henry bouncing on all four legs, Laine unlocked the mudroom door. Per routine, she unlocked the outside door so Henry could fly through rather than wiggle through his doggie door, and so she could take a deep breath of morning air.
    She admired her spring bulbs, bent down to sniff the hyacinths she’d planted in purples and pinks. Arms crossed, she stood and watched Henry make his morning circuit, lifting his leg on every tree in the near backyard. Eventually, he’d take a run into the woods, she knew, to see if he could scare up a few squirrels, flush some deer. But that little adventure would wait until he’d scrupulously marked his perimeter.
    She listened to the birds chirp, and the bubble of her busy little stream. She was still warm from Max, still warm for him, and wondered how anyone could have a single worry on such a perfect and peaceful morning.
    She stepped back in, closed the outside door. And was starting to hum when she walked back into the kitchen.
    He stepped from behind the door and shot her heart into her throat. She was opening her mouth to scream when he laid a warning finger to his lips and had the sound sliding away.

CHAPTER 10
    It knocked the breath out of her so she stumbled back a step, hit the wall while her hand groped at her throat as if to decide whether to push the scream out or block it.
    While he stood grinning at her, his finger still tapping on his lips, she sucked in a wheeze of breath and let it out with a single