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  “Oh, Mommy, what does this one do?” Cara’s clumsily running her fingers over buttons and switches and it’s making me really nervous.

  Crap! I should’ve kept this room a secret as if I’m harboring an international fugitive. “No, baby. Don’t touch.” Everything seems so delicate and breakable. I’d prefer it to be intact when Declan sees it for the first time.

  She bounces off the black, leather swivel chair and then skips over to one of the extra microphones. “Check! Check! Is this thing on?” She taps her little hand on the foam sponge, emulating one of her favorite Disney teeny-boppers.

  I come up from behind and lift her from underneath her arms. “Back away from the expensive equipment.” I say slowly as to not hurt her feelings. “You’re absolutely, stinking adorable, but there will be no DJ Cara Jean on the ones and twos today. It’s time to wake up Charlie from her nap. Daddy will be home soon.”

  “And then we can show him his studio?” Her blue eyes glaze over as she claps her hands together as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wings.

  “Geez, girly, I think you’re more excited than I am.”

  “I can’t wait to see Daddy. I miss him,” she admits with a tiny smirk.

  I know the feeling all too well. “I miss him too, baby.” Does she know I don’t just mean this time, but all those months we spent apart? Business trips and trial separations—can she even decipher between the two? I contemplate having a heart-to-heart with her, but decide against picking at healing wounds. Luckily, the girls walked away from our separation unscathed. Sure, they ask questions every now and then, mostly concerned with how long Daddy will be gone when he leaves for a trip, but other than that, it’s like it never happened. Thank you, sweet Jesus. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing my early midlife crisis impacted their childhood.

  Wishing away the guilt that’s nestled itself in the nooks and crannies of my heart, I scoop Cara up and swing her against me, digging my nose into her soft cheek. “So you think he’ll like his anniversary surprise?”

  Her sweet, resonating laughter fills the room with unparalleled warmth. I wish I knew how to work the recording equipment. I’d snatch up the sound and play it on repeat every time I need a pick-me-up.

  “Put me down. I want to wait by the window,” she requests, squirming out of my hold.

  “Sure thing, Miss.” I place her back on her feet and tap her bottom, sending her off. “I’ll be right up, ‘kay, sweets?”

  She nods, her blond curls bouncing in the breeze she creates as she disappears up the stairs.

  With my hands on my hips I admire my handiwork. Okay, not my handiwork, but it was still my idea. I peruse the room, taking it all in. The project was completed right on schedule as promised by John, so that gave me enough time to give it a few Declan-inspired finishing touches. I knew the space wouldn’t be complete without the essentials: his two favorite guitars, the glass fish bowl full of picks he’s collected over the years, framed lyrics from the songs Declan’s performed for me onstage and off, and a picture of us from the night he proposed at The Alibi. But my favorite purchase is the ream of blank sheet music paper. One day those pages will be filled with words and chords and notes all created by my talented man. I just know he’s going to love this gift. And it’s the gift that keeps on giving because there is nothing I love more than hearing Declan sing and play—my weakness is that man’s voice. Thinking about it sends tingles over my skin and want pooling between my thighs. God, I can’t wait for him to get home.

  And right on cue: “Mommy! He’s here!” Cara’s shriek breaks me from my daydream.

  “Shit! He’s early.” I give the room another once over before rushing to turn off the light and head upstairs to greet my husband.

  Hong fucking Kong. Hong fucking Kong. That place is a thorn in my goddamn side. I wracked my brain the whole flight back, tossed and turned while I should have been catching up on missed sleep, but I still can’t make this decision without Mia. So on the cab ride home, I dial Robert to ask for more time.

  “Yello?” he answers after three rings.

  “Hey, Robert, it’s Declan.”

  “Was there a problem with the connecting flight? Is everything okay?” Robert left for home the day he dropped the Hong-Kong-bomb on me so he has no way of knowing where I am at the moment.

  “No, the flight was fine. I’m actually on my way home from the airport right now.”

  “Oh, okay. Well then, what’s up? Have you made a decision about the offer?”

  “That’s just it, Robert. I need a little more time. Mia and I are off to Newport in a few days—it’s our anniversary. I wanted to wait to talk to her about it. Is that okay?”

  There’s a long, pregnant pause and an exaggerated huff. I’ve been working for Robert long enough—he’s a good guy, a friend, but maybe I was presumptuous in thinking I could do this on my terms. He clears his throat and answers, “If that’s what you need, that’s fine. But I’m asking you to really think about this. I know you’ve had your eye on partner for a while now. I’m not trying to sway you, but sometimes we have to sacrifice other things to reach the ultimate goal.”

  Yeah, I totally get that, but am I willing to sacrifice my wife and kids for a title at a job that I only half love? My career is important and my salary allots for everything we need and more, but my family… I can’t put a price tag on any of this. “Point taken, Robert. I will take it all into consideration. Thanks for everything.”

  “No problem, Murphy. Enjoy your vacation.”

  We hang up and I feel no less confused than I was when I called in the first place. At least I have more time, though. I don’t plan on walking through the door and breaking this shit to her after being gone for a week. I’d like to think we’re finally back on solid ground, but even the tiniest mishap could put a crack in our newly built foundation.

  I lean back and rest my head against the dingy taxi seat. Staring up at the cigarette holes and rust rings on the roof of the upholstery, my mind wanders to a dark time—a time when I thought I’d never get her back. It was right after the month-long trip to—that goddamn place. It was right after she left me that fucking voicemail! A Dear-John-style voicemail that rocked my fucking world. And as much as it killed me, I allowed her to go through with it—I let her walk away hoping she’d find her way back to me even if it meant almost losing her to another man… almost losing her for good. I replay it all in my head, my heart aching all over again. How I ever survived those months, I have no goddamn clue, but I did, we did and now—

  Shit! What the fuck?

  A cacophony of unrelenting horns interrupts my thoughts. The car comes to a screeching halt and almost slams into the one in front of it. My body jerks forward, my face collides with the driver’s seat, and my mind is knocked out of my trance-from-the-past. “Whoa. What the fuck, buddy?”

  “Sorry, Mister. Asshole slammed on his breaks.”

  Asshole broke me out of replaying that shitty memory so I guess he’s not a total jerk. Plus, we’re still alive. “It’s okay. Just get me home in one piece, please.”

  That’s all I want. To be home with Mia and the girls to enjoy this week together and worry about all the rest later. But by the time we pull up to my house I’m jittery and anxious from the near-accident, the painful memories, and the impossible decision Robert’s left me to make. I hope I can pull this off as jet lag—I don’t need Mia worrying about anything. We’re supposed to be over all that.

  With our daughters in bed—fina-fucking-ly—Declan and I are ready to enjoy his anniversary present. Together.

  When he came home earlier, the girls bombarded him with kisses and Cara could hardly contain her excitement about the secret-studio-surprise, as she liked to call it. Within minutes of him walking through the door, not even enough time to bring his luggage past the foyer, the girls were giggling and whispering and asking me when we could show him. Declan picked up on their little scam immediately—I mean who wouldn’t? My girls aren’t
subtle. They certainly don’t have futures as CIA or FBI agents.

  But now that it’s just the two of us I can really give him the full experience. Let him understand the hows and whys of it all. It should be as simple as telling him I think he’s talented and I want him to do what he’s always said he would, but it’s so much more than that. Declan was born to write music. He might not even know it, but I know it. It lives in the marrow of his bones—I see it when he sings along to a favorite on the radio, or on the rare chance that he takes out the guitar to jam. My husband should have been a rock star, not a CPA.

  “Mia, I still can’t believe you did this. I love it.” He’s manhandling everything while exploring his new man cave. His enthusiasm makes me smile. I did good! It’s the least I can do.

  I come up behind him, my arms hooking under his, wrapped around his muscular torso. “I’m so happy you love it. Happy almost-anniversary.” I kiss him behind his ear and he leans into me. I smile against his neck, basking in our aloneness and then he laces his fingers with mine, turning to face me.

  I stare into his icy blue eyes, mesmerized as always. His eyes are home. I’m so grateful to be back home. How could I have ever doubted this? The guilt starts to set in again so I break our hypnotic gaze. Declan must sense the shift in my mood, because he lifts my chin with his index finger, bringing my eyes back to his. “You know, this is perfect timing, babe? I did a lot of writing while we were apart,” he admits, pulling my body against his.

  “While you were on the trip?” I ask, hiding my insecurities. I feel like he can see right through me—like he knows every one of my thoughts and emotions. Not good. I hate feeling so naked. Like any minute he’s going to pick apart the thoughts running through my brain. The thoughts that keep me up at night and make me wonder if we’ll ever truly overcome the shit we’ve been through in the last seven months.

  “No, while we were apart. Turns out a broken heart and a muse actually do stimulate art.”

  Art. He couldn’t be more accurate. Declan’s voice, his words, and the strumming of his guitar make some absolutely incredible art. Instead of giving in to the guilt for a change I give into curiosity. “You’ve been writing? And you’re holding out on me?”

  “None of them are complete, Mi. Just ramblings of a madman.” His eyes are no longer fixated on me, but on the equipment behind me. He has to be itching to play around with it.

  But even his excitement over his new toys can’t mask the pain behind his words—madman. I drove him mad. Will I ever be forgiven?

  “I’m sorry, Dec. I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but…”

  “Shhh,” he whispers, placing a finger at my lips. “Not tonight. Not again. Please?”

  I want to ask, ‘but when?’ because we’ve yet to actually hash it all out. Sure, things have come up in conversation, but the fact that I pretty much carried on a full-fledged relationship with Noah—nearly fell in love with him, too—has yet to be the topic of conversation in the Murphy household. It’s not that I’m second-guessing my decision. God no, that’s not it at all. It’s just that… Grace seems to think that Declan is the what-you-don’t-know-won’t-hurt-you type of guy. Unfortunately, I’m the I-need-to-get-everything-off-my-chest-to-move-on type of girl.

  He releases his hold around my waist and my skin immediately misses his touch, but he’s heading for the guitar so it’s all good. I ignore the pang of emotions still pent up and taunting me to be released and just enjoy the sight before me—my man, his Martin, and those dancing fingers. Deliciously mesmerizing. Enough to distract me from my haze and bring me back to what’s real—what matters most.

  I sit down opposite him and just listen… and watch. The visual is almost as incredible as the instantaneous music that he creates. I watch as the veins and muscles in his arms and hands tighten with each effortless movement. His foot taps to the beat as he finds his groove, his body in complete sync with the melody he’s created. He starts to hum something, fiddling with a few chords, and then he mumbles some lyrics I’ve never heard before.

  Dreams remain, but we resent

  Forevers change, with one regret

  “What’s that, babe?” I ask, curious because the way he sings it is sinfully beautiful. With meaning and feeling and depth.

  He breaks out of what I’ve come to recognize as a creative trance, his hand resting over the strings as if to silence them.

  I wish he’d continue. I want more. “Why’d you stop?”

  He shakes his head and stands, returning the guitar to its place on the wall. He swaggers toward me with his hands in his pockets, his eyes focused on my lips. Sensing the heat of his stare, I suck my lip into my mouth, biting on it. As if watching him play wasn’t sexy enough, now he’s got the smolder going on? I can’t help but think that my other reason for creating this secluded space is about to be proven completely ingenious.

  “I stopped because it’s not finished yet. You can hear it when it’s done.” He’s inches away from me now, his sweet breath tickling my already pleasure-prickled skin.

  I reach up, locking my hands behind his neck, looking hard into his eyes. It’s still there. The pain. There’s so much we need to say, but not tonight. I’ll give him that. We can take pleasure in this moment and just be us again.

  I want more than anything to sit down, lock myself away and play with chords and riffs and put those words to the music that’s been banging around in my head, but what I want even more is to make love—no, to fuck my wife. Even after almost a week of single-handed kid-duty, she looks incredibly sexy and just telling her won’t be enough. She needs me to show her how incredible she is. How incredible it feels to be able to call her mine… again.

  “Mi, I missed you.” I know she understands I’m not just talking about these last few days. Will I ever get used to having her back without worrying she’ll be gone again at some point? God, I hope so. Because living in anticipation of the other shoe dropping is no way to live.

  Her cocoa brown eyes glisten with tears—she’s reading my mind. This woman owns my soul—it’s hers to navigate. I belong to her. I always have.

  She presses her body against mine and whispers, “I missed you, too, babe.” Her fingers burrow into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me down to her mouth. I love when she takes control, knowing exactly what I need—what we need from each other.

  The urgency to take her overcomes me and I grip her from behind, lifting her off the floor. She lets out a beautiful gasp and wraps her legs around my body as our kiss goes from sweet to hungry. Years and years of kissing the same woman and it never gets old. It’s still as fucking magical as that first time—under the streetlights, at that bus stop, the words to I Want You swimming in my head as we got lost in how good we fit together.

  I echo the words that are stuck in my head. “Baby, I want you so bad,” I growl, my mouth still open over hers.

  “I want you, too,” she says, breathless, her forehead pressed against mine.

  Lifting her in my arms, I whip her around and then set her down on the nearest surface. One that won’t be ruined with DNA and all that fun stuff.

  “Here, babe? You don’t want to go up to the bedroom?”

  “What fun is that? We can give this room a dual purpose,” I say, sliding her yoga pants down over her ass to find a nice surprise. “Commando? You walk around like this all day?”

  I grab her bare behind as she lets out a musical giggle. “Desperate housewife with a dirty mind. It makes me feel sexy.”

  “Babe,” I cup her chin in my hand and look into her eyes, “you don’t need to walk around pantyless to prove how sexy you are. You do know that, right?”

  Gripping my wrist, she guides my hand between her legs, leans in and says, “Enough talking. This sexy mama is horny.”

  “Good,” I whisper into her ear at the same time as I insert a finger inside her, “because I can think of a million ways to satisfy you.”

  “Mmmmm,” she moans as I rub my thumb a
gainst her in circles, her legs opening wider as she gives in to the pleasure. Her head falls back with her eyes closed, and her bottom lip between her teeth—she’s gorgeous, she’s sexy, and she’s all fucking mine.

  As I watch the pleasure spread across her features, my dick grows painfully stiff against the denim that confines it. It’s damn near impossible not to set it free and dive right in. My body aches for her—my hands want to touch her, my tongue wants to taste her, and the impatient bulge between my legs needs to burrow itself inside her.

  Unable to wait any longer, I use my free hand to unzip my pants. The sound alerts Mia and she lifts her head, her eyes meeting mine. “Let me,” she purrs, her hands already tugging at my jeans.

  She scoots off the desk and stands before me, bending to guide my pants down my legs. I step out of them, one foot at a time, and she tosses them to the side. “Socks,” she orders.

  I laugh because I know that’s always been a pet peeve of hers. “Yes, ma’am,” I say as I pull them off and throw them in the corner to join my pants.

  “I’ll give you ma’am,” Mia jokes as her hands travel up my legs, sending a fantastic message to my dick. She’s coming closer… a lot closer.

  Settling herself on her knees, she cups me from behind and trails her tongue from one hip to the other. I nearly buckle over with shivers; she knows this is a weakness, but I bury my fingers into her hair and stand straight, rolling my eyes into the back of my skull. “Shit, Mia, Happy Fucking Anniversary,” I growl as the warmth of her mouth wraps around me, her lips sliding up and down with slow precision.

  Intimate moments alone have been too hard to come by lately, but with our trip to Newport next week… there’ll be plenty of time for this on the agenda. Now seems like the time to tell her all about my gift to her, but I can’t seem to form any intelligible words other than fuck, shit, and yeah with Mia’s mouth working its magic.