Selena Kitt - Grace

“A house?” He didn’t even open his eyes.

“I want to move out of the warehouse,” she said, leaning up on her elbow. “I want a real house with walls and rooms and a deck and a backyard and a fence and a dog and a nursery for Grace…”

“Wait…” Now his eyes were open. “A dog?”

“If you buy a house, you have to buy a dog. I’m pretty sure there’s a law.”

He smirked. “And where do you want to buy this house?”

“I was thinking… New York.”

“New York!”

“Well, that’s where the School of American Ballet is,” she reminded him. “And if I get in, it would be a long commute from Detroit. I mean, you can work anywhere. And Erica will probably end up at a school out east anyway. We’d all be closer.”

“New York…” He considered it, staring at the ceiling for a while. Then he smiled, shrugged, and said, “Okay. New York it is.”

Leah squealed. “You mean it?”

“I would move to the ends of the earth to be with you, Mrs. Nolan.” He pulled her closer and kissed her smiling mouth.

“Well, luckily, we don’t have to go that far.” She laughed. “Want to order room service? I’m starving.”

“Yes, Dear.”

She giggled. “Spoken like a good husband.”

“I’m learning.”

Erica fell face-down on her bed and slept until noon the day following the wedding, waking up with a champagne headache and cotton in her mouth to the sound of nothing. Complete silence. Solie, who still had that hacking cough, had said she would come by today, had promised Mr. Nolan she would check in and make sure Erica didn’t burn the place down trying to cook for herself, a comment which had elicited a tongue stuck out in his direction from his daughter.

She stumbled out to the kitchen in her bra and panties-she had managed to hang her bridesmaid dress and take off her garters and stockings, but that was it, before she’d passed out, so exhausted she couldn’t see straight. Putting together a wedding in a week-including personally calling everyone on the invitation list, because she wasn’t sure, even though many were sent by courier, that they would all arrive in time-had completely wiped her out.

Coffee was the only thing on her mind. She put the percolator on, smiling as she remembered Clay driving her home the night before. She had asked him to stay over-“No one will be home,” she reminded him-but he said his mother would have a heart attack. It was probably best anyway, because she would have done nothing but snore in his ear all night, and she didn’t want to spoil her feminine magic and mystery this early in the relationship.

Relationship.

Yes, she had to admit she was in one. She didn’t know, exactly, how she felt about that. Her own emotions, everything in her life, actually, had taken a backseat to the crazy wedding planning. She had run around like a mad woman setting things up, plunking down her father’s American Express card to pay for it all. She didn’t even want to think about the bill he was going to get in the mail next month and she hoped he’d really meant it when he handed it to her and said, “The sky’s the limit. Just make it happen.”

And she had.

The day had been the magical, fairy tale wedding Leah had wanted and deserved. Erica was proud of her accomplishment, even if she was still feeling her way around this new relationship of “twin” to the girl who had been her best friend since-forever. And she had definitely not gotten her sea legs when it came to accepting Patty Wendt as her mother, although they had sat in the loft for an hour, talking about it.

She had just been getting used to the idea of being adopted when that bomb had been dropped on her. And Father Michael’s revelations had been like the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Erica hadn’t told anyone that little secret, not yet. She wanted Leah and her dad-she still thought of him that way, and probably always would-to have a good time on their honeymoon and giving either of them any more drama or heartache would just be cruel, under the circumstances.

The doorbell rang just as Erica was pouring herself a cup of coffee and she groaned, taking her cup with her to the door, sure it was Solie. She probably forgot her key. Erica yanked the door open, standing there in her bra and panties, hip cocked and mouth firing off without thinking.

“I’m not a baby, I can take care of myself, you kn-ohhhhhhboy.”

“Hi.” Clay grinned, gaze sweeping her nearly naked form. “Wow, I need to knock on your door more often.”

“Crap. Get in here.” Erica stepped out of the line of sight, letting him in and shutting the door behind. “I thought you were Solie. What are you doing here?”

“It’s nice to see you too. Missed you at church.” He was still staring, mostly at her cleavage, and he held up the brown bag in his hand. “I brought donuts. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re very fetching in your underwear?”

She smirked, sipping her coffee. “Are you a dog? Do you want to go fetch?”

“Woof.” His eyes met hers. “Can I come in or are we just going to stand here in the hallway?”

“My dad said I shouldn’t let strange boys in the house,” she teased, very aware of the way her hips swayed as she walked the length of the hallway.

“Am I strange?”

“The strangest.”

“Wow, this is your room huh?” He followed her in, looking around as she grabbed a sweatshirt off the floor. “Awww, no, don’t get dressed on my account.”

“Solie could show up any minute.” Erica smiled as he slipped his arms around her waist, turning her face up, ready for his kiss.

Clay lowered his lips to her neck, kissing under her ear, a spot he’d discovered, much to her ambiguous protest, was quite sensitive and elicited the type of reaction he seemed to be going for. “Well, I’d hate to have her interrupt…”

“Damn it.” Erica swore as the phone rang down the hall. “Stay here. Don’t… don’t be bad. I’ll be right back.”

She waggled her finger at him, pulling her sweatshirt on as she ran for the phone.

“Hello?” she said, out of breath.

She was greeting with a horrible whooping and hacking sound. Erica held the phone away from her ear, wincing. When the ruckus had died down, she put the receiver back to her ear and asked, “Solie?”

“I’m sorry, I-” A deep, whooping breath and more coughing. “I’m too sick to come today. Can you manage? I put a casserole in the fridge. It’s tuna. No milk delivery on Sundays but-”

“Solie, stop talking. I’m fine. Go to bed. Good Lord, you sound awful. Don’t even say goodbye. Hang up the phone.”

More coughing. Then the line went dead. Good. Poor Solie.

Erica went back to the bedroom, finding Clay sitting on her bed, sifting through her 45s.

“That was Solie,” she told him. “She’s sick. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

He frowned when he saw she’d put her sweatshirt on.

“You’re just making more work for me.” He patted the bed, tossing her records on the night table.

“I haven’t showered. I haven’t brushed my teeth,” she protested, but she went, sitting next to him on her bed.

“That’s okay.” Clay grabbed the edge of her sweatshirt, pulling it over her head. He put his hands on her hips, looking down at her cleavage like a starving man standing in front of a buffet. “I like you dirty.”

“You are a very bad, bad man.”

He nodded, bending and kissing the tops of her breasts. “I’m about to get badder.”

“Worse,” she corrected him.

“If you insist.” Clay unhooked her bra, cupping her breasts and letting them fill his eager hands. Erica moaned when he tongued her nipple, bathing it with saliva before moving to the next, and she gave in, letting him guide her back to the bed she’d just recently vacated.