James Patterson: Honeymoon

“Absolutely. That’s what it’s for.”

She looked at him, the corners of her mouth curling mischievously. Her hands were suddenly nowhere near the ignition. They were playing between Connor’s legs.

“Oh,” he said happily, his deep voice cracking.

Nora nimbly climbed out of her seat and over to Connor. On top of him, knees bent, she began to run her fingers through his thick black hair while gently kissing his forehead, both cheeks, and finally his mouth. She unbuttoned his sports shirt.

“How far back do you think these seats go?” she asked.

“I’ll have to check that out.”

He reached down along the side of his seat, and like that, it began to recline with a low-pitched hum. They began to undress each other, and it was as if their clothes were on fire. His shirt, Nora’s blouse and bra. Trousers and skirt, briefs and panties.

“I love you,” Connor said, staring up into her eyes. There was no way not to believe him and to feel something for him.

“I love you, too,” she replied.

And right there in the garage, Nora went for a ride in her new car.

Chapter 17

“DO YOU REALIZE there’s only one room left in this house we haven’t made love in?” Connor asked. He looked as if he was doing the math in his head.

“Well, I suppose the night is still young,” said Nora.

He pulled her tighter in his arms. “You’re insatiable.”

“And aren’t you the lucky one.”

They’d finally come in from the garage and were standing in the kitchen, holding their clothes as well as each other.

“Speaking of insatiable…,” he said.

She stifled a laugh. “How did I know that was coming? All right, naked boy,” she said. “How does an omelet sound?”

“It sounds fantastic. Or we could just go out? I could call the Inn at Pound Ridge? Or the Iron Horse?”

Nora shook her head.

“What do you want in your omelet? I want to cook for you.”

“Surprise me,” he said. “In fact, we’ll make that the theme of the evening—surprises.”

And for the first time, Nora felt a pain in her stomach. This is it.

He went off for a quick shower but not before bringing in her suitcase, which had been sitting out in the driveway. She opened it in the kitchen and removed a neatly folded pair of jeans and a white cotton T-shirt.

Then, like an old friend, a little voice inside her head showed up.

C’mon, Nora, keep it together now.

She got dressed and began preparing the omelet. With a look in the Sub-Zero she found half a Vidalia onion, a whole green pepper, and some Virginia ham, a quarter-inch thick. That was settled. She’d make a western omelet.

You’ve already made your decision. It’s just nerves, that’s all. You know you can get past this—you’ve done it before.

The kitchen had a magnetic strip along the backsplash for holding large knives. Nora stared at them. They all hung in a perfect row, razor-sharp. She reached for the biggest one and gripped it in her hand, her fingers adjusting to the slight curve of the handle before squeezing tight.

Forget about the car. And the ring. Especially the ring.

The eggs were cracked open and whipped, the green pepper diced. Nora was making small cubes of the ham. She stood at the cutting board by the sink, her back turned to the entrance of the kitchen. She could hear Connor.

“I’m so hungry, I could eat a restaurant,” came his voice, getting louder by the word.

Do it, Nora!

He was walking right toward her.

Do it, now!

She cut off another piece of ham and stared intently at the knife, her knuckles going stark white as she gripped it tighter. The lights from the ceiling shone down and danced off the blade.

There was still time to change her mind.

Connor’s footsteps were just behind her now, getting closer and closer. She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck. He was right there, within reach. She spun around quickly, her hand raised high.

Chapter 18

“DOES THIS TASTE okay to you?” she asked.

Connor opened his mouth for the piece of ham hanging from her fingertips. He chewed for a few seconds. “Delish.”

“Good, because I didn’t know how long you’ve had it,” she said. “How was your shower?”

“Felt great. Not as good as you feel, though.”

Nora finished cubing the ham and began slicing the onion. Still time to change your mind.

Connor, wearing only sweatpants, his wet hair combed back, went to the fridge and grabbed an Amstel. “You want one?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I’ve got my water.” She raised a bottle of Evian for him to see. “Watching my waist—for you.”

He opened his beer and took a swig. He looked at Nora from the side. “Honey, are you all right?”

She turned to him, a lone tear streaking down her cheek.

“Oh,” she said, realizing it was there. She wiped it away and forced a smile before averting her eyes. “I guess onions make me cry after all.”

Nora cooked up the western omelet soft, no burn on the outside, the way he liked it. She placed it in front of Connor at the kitchen table. He doused it with salt and pepper and dug in his fork.

“Fantastic!” he declared. “This could be your best.”

“I’m glad you like it.” She sat down next to him. He took a few more bites and she watched.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe we can take my new car out for a spin.”

“You mean actually leave the garage?”

He laughed and raised his fork for another bite. But with his hand halfway up to his mouth, Connor froze.

In a split second the color drained from his face. He was as white as milk. His head began to weave. The fork dropped to the plate with a noisy clang.

“Connor, what is it?”

“I don’t…” He could barely talk. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice straining. “All of a sudden I feel really…”

He immediately grabbed his stomach as if he’d been viciously punched. Or stabbed. His eyes rolled back into his head. He lurched in his chair before falling off with a horrific thud.

“Connor!” Nora sprang from her seat and tried to help him off the floor. “C’mon,” she said. “Try to get up.”

He struggled to his feet, his legs like rubber. She guided him to the bathroom in the hall. Connor fell to the floor again, nearly passing out. Nora lifted the seat of the toilet, and he tried to crawl to it.

“I’m… I’m… going to be sick,” he muttered between gasps of air. He was beginning to hyperventilate.

“Let me get you something to take,” she said, her voice ripe with panic. “I’ll be right back.”

She ran into the kitchen while Connor labored to raise his head above the lip of the toilet. His body was an inferno, and not just his stomach anymore. Sweat gushed from every pore.

Nora returned with a glass in her hand. In it was a clear liquid, fizzing. Looked like Alka-Seltzer. “Here, drink this,” she said.

Connor took the glass, his hands trembling. He could barely lift it to his mouth, so she helped him. He took one sip, then another.

“Take more,” she said. “Finish.”

He took another sip before clutching his stomach again. Connor clamped shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, the jaw muscles so taut that they looked ready to burst from his skin.

“Help me,” he begged. “Nora!”

Seconds later, it was as if his prayers had been answered. The awful trembling began to subside. As quickly as it started, it was ending.

“I think the medicine is working, honey,” said Nora.

Connor was back to breathing normally. Some of his color had returned. He opened his eyes, slowly at first, then wide. He breathed out a long sigh of relief. “What was that? ” he asked.