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Brodie stood from the table as soon as the bill and an enormous tip were paid and their leftovers were packed. He was a little lightheaded, and a cold sweat was forming on his brow, but he didn’t say a thing about that, as he didn’t want to spoil the mood.
They hurried upstairs to put the food in the refrigerator, then headed back down the elevator.
“I can’t believe we’re about to buy our wedding jewelry,” Julie said.
“Shouldn’t we get clothes too?” he asked.
“If we’re doing this now,” she said, “we’ll have to take a pass on all that formality. Thomas is past due for his nap. I hope that’s not too disappointing. If you want, we can wait till later and—”
“No, Julie,” he said without hesitation. “I love that you always think of Thomas’s needs first, and no matter what, you’re going to be my wife by this evening. What is there to be disappointed about?”
Brodie hoped his son would serve as their witness, but by the time they returned to Cartier to check the rings out again, Thomas was fast asleep in his stroller. While Julie tried on a pile of diamond rings, he called the chapel to make sure Elizabeth had made the reservations. In the end, Julie settled on a band with three diamond chips for him and an elegant emerald-cut diamond for herself. She would have been happy with something smaller, but he pressured her into a medium-sized stone in a similar design, and it looked gorgeous on her hand.
As Brodie’s driver escorted them to the chapel, he glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. As much as he wanted to dismiss it as work stress or travel lag or side effects of all the drama he’d been through lately, he had to acknowledge that he was actually coming down with something. He felt like crap, and all he wanted to do was make it through the ceremony.
He toughed it out until the end, until the minister pronounced them man and wife, but then he had to drop the act. He hated that his first words as Julie’s husband comprised a complaint, but as soon as he applied his signature to the certificate, he admitted, “I don’t feel so good.”
“Wow. Talk about bad timing,” Julie said.
“No, not about the wedding,” he clarified. “I just feel...sorta sick.”
The new bride instantly went into nurse mode and felt his forehead, then looked at him with a touch of amusement in her gaze. “I think I know what’s going on,” she said. She then turned him around to look at his reflection in the mirror the chapel provided for last-minute vanity checks.
“What the...?” he said as he noticed the red eruptions on his face. “Oh no. Either my son gave me chicken pox, or I’m the world’s oldest teenager with nervous acne.”
“We have to go back,” she said.
“I can sleep it off. Let’s just have another nap,” he argued. “I’m sure I’ll feel better later, and then we can—”
“Mr. Rogan...” she said in a very Mother Hen sort of way, placing her hands on her hips.
“Yes, Mrs. Rogan?” he replied.
“You need something for that temperature, and when you wake up from the nap you are about to take, you are going to want something for the itching,” she said.
“I’ve already figured that out. We’ll nap in our luxurious, spacious hotel room while my driver plays the tables, like I promised him he can. When the itching attacks, I will dive in the pool and let the sun and chlorine take their course,” he said.
“You can’t. You have chicken pox. You’re a walking health hazard,” she said. “We’ll start with that nap and see how you feel when you wake up,” she said. “I can tell you right off the bat that it’s a whole lot harder on adults than it is on kids. As a matter of fact, I can’t believe you didn’t know you had them already.”
“I didn’t even think about it,” he said. “I didn’t think I was going to catch it.”
“You’re going to catch something from me, Mr. Rogan,” she playfully scolded.
“Jeez! Marry a woman, and she starts laying down the law within five minutes,” he teased. “Talk about a ball and chain!”
“Keep that up, and I’ll show you a ball and chain, mister.”
On the way back to their room, he whispered, “You don’t happen to have one of those sexy nurse uniforms handy, do you?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “Trust me, they aren’t as interesting in real life as they are in the pornos. I worked for a pediatrician, Brodie. I doubt scrubs with happy neon dinosaurs on the top are going to turn you on.”
“Taking it off of you will,” he argued.
“Mr. Rogan, you will take that nap! That’s doctor’s orders...or at least nurse’s.”
Slammed with disappointment, he shook his head. “Damn. I wanted us to honeymoon in Sonoma.”
“Sonoma isn’t going anywhere. If you’re a good patient, maybe I’ll go find a skimpier nurse’s uniform and some heels to go with it,” she said. “A girl’s supposed to wear white on her wedding day, isn’t she?”
In spite of his visions of Nurse Julie in a tiny nurse’s uniform, he crashed as soon as they walked through the door of their hotel suite. He slept deeply and soundly, but just as she promised, he awoke to the torture of a gazillion itchy pox. He soaked in the jet stream tub, medicating himself with tequila, both internally and topically.
“What are you doing?” Julie asked.
“Trying to hurry up the healing process,” he said, pressing his ice-filled glass to his forehead to bring his fever down.
“We need to go home,” she said.
“But we just—”
She wagged her ring finger at him. “We’ve accomplished everything we need to accomplish for now. We will buy the wedding clothes and have a lovely renewal ceremony in Sonoma, but for now, it’s best that you rest and recuperate in your own bed. You need to, before you make everyone else sick or get worse yourself.”
“We have to get to Sonoma eventually,” he pitifully said.
“I’m sure they can transfer your reservations to another time, Brodie.”
“Reservations? I don’t need reservations to stay in a villa I own.”
Julie’s eyes widened. “You have a place in Sonoma too?” she asked.
“It’s leased through my business, for meetings. People are a lot more apt to sign contracts after a tour of the vineyards and a little tasting. I see no reason why we can’t set up house there for a while,” he explained.
“I kinda like that idea,” she said, imagining it. “Still, this is no time to go on a honeymoon. I can wait, and so can you.”
“Actually, I can’t,” he replied. “It will be the same as being at home, with no public intrusion and just a handful of staff. Really, it’ll be just you, me, and baby makes three.” He then pressed his lips against the side of her forehead and spoke so only she could hear, “I have the most beautiful pool there. It makes the one at this hotel look like a mud puddle.”
“It’s really a little chilly for swimming now,” she said with a smile.
“In weather like this, a heated pool is like taking a bath outside. There’s just something about being naked under the big, open sky,” he tempted her.
“Uh...” she muttered.
“You okay there?” he asked, knowing full well that he was turning her on.
“I’m suffering but in a really good way,” she said. “I love my ring, by the way,” she said, trying to change the subject and wiggling her finger around.
He laughed. “That was random,” he remarked.
“I know. It just popped into my head. I can’t believe we’re married. I’m so happy, Brodie,” she said, then kissed him quickly on the forehead. “Would it be okay if...,” she started, then stopped, as if she wanted to bite back her words.
“If what, babe?”
“Is it really all right for me to think of Thomas as our son, as my son?” she asked shyly. “I mean, he does have a real mother already.”
“I think he would like that very much,” he answered.
Just like that, Angelique came to mind again, for the second time that day. He knew he should admit to Julie that she might be back in the picture, that if she really was well enough, he had to consider allowing her to visit their son. The moment was so perfect, though, and he didn’t want a virus or his ex to keep them from going on an unforgettable honeymoon in one of his favorite spots, so he kept it to himself yet again.
They checked out, packed up, and headed off, chaperoned by his driver. Brodie slept for most of the ride, but he awoke just in time to enjoy the scenic route as they approached the villa. The nice thing about being away for a while was that the spectacular roadside view seemed fresh and new again, like a postcard come to life.
Rather than risking more drowsiness as a side effect of the antihistamine, Brodie opted for drinking to stave off the itching. Whenever his arms and legs began to crawl, he applied camphor and took a slurp of his toxic beverage.
“We need the open air,” Julie said, holding her nose as she caught a whiff of tequila mixed with medicine.
“Then I have a lovely surprise for you,” he said.
The car pulled up to the front door, and they were instantly greeted by the house manager when they climbed out. Together with the driver, they unloaded the car, and Brodie informed his driver that he could have the next few days off, then tipped him well, even though he was already on the payroll.
“Just bring the bags up if you will,” Brodie said to the manager.
The new little family followed his lead to the master bedroom. He pushed a button, and, just like in his San Francisco home, a wall retracted to reveal the lush Sonoma countryside, striped with row after row of orderly grapevines.
“Many of my homes have this feature,” he bragged. “This country music star has one in his home on a private island, and I fell in love with the idea.”
“Yeah, I know,” she teased. “I get my best decorating ideas from pals with private islands and whatnot.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, blushing a bit. “That sounded pompous. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m just yanking your chain, Mr. Rogan,” she said seductively.
“You can yank anything of mine anytime you want, honey,” he played back.
“I would point out that there’s a difference between being on a private island and being on the second or third floor, but there really isn’t,” she said.
“I assure you no one will barge in on us here,” Brodie said. “I’ve got security everywhere I go. I have had the occasional four-legged visitor though.”
“Really? Like what?” she asked, her eyes wide and wondering.
“Oh, just the cute and cuddly kind, like deer, and a little fox. Totally worth it.”
“Aw, that’s lovely,” said Julie. “Speaking of cuddling, are you feeling any better?”
“I think I need another nap,” he said. “I didn’t sleep very well in the car, and I could probably use an oatmeal bath. I am going to take one, but first, I want to take care of my little man.”
“I’ll handle that. You just go soak in some oatmeal, and I’ll bring you some juice and some...special medicine,” she said flirtatiously.
“Special medicine? Something about sugar and going down?” he teased.
“Hurry along now,” she ordered softly.
As soon as Brodie was alone with his conscience, he felt guilty again. He considered confessing to Julie about Angelique, but he had waited too long, and fear had taken hold. He knew it would hurt her, and he didn’t want to spoil their wedding memory with news about his ex invading their lives, even if she did seem saner and safer.
He reached into the bathroom mini-fridge and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. He filled the soaking tub with cold water and oatmeal to soothe his itching skin. The cool water and bubbles were a refreshing combination, and it wasn’t long before he almost felt normal.
After the bath worked its wonders, he released the drain, climbed out, and wrapped a sheet towel around himself. He hurried into the bedroom and lay atop the cool sheets, enjoying the feeling of the breeze that wafted in from the open window. He closed his eyes and drifted to a dreamlike state.
When Brodie opened his eyes after his brief nap, he saw his new wife looking down on him, dressed in a baby doll-cut nurse’s uniform, clearly not an authentic one but definitely designed for play.
“Would you like your special medicine now, Mr. Rogan?” she asked wickedly.
“I am addicted, you might say,” he said, cursing his body for not being at its 100 percent best.
“Lie still,” she ordered, then straddled him and dabbed him with very soothing antihistamine cream.
Brodie’s aching imagination conjured up the image of her sitting on his body, and he decided that the first thing he would do when he was well, aside from wearing out that nurse’s uniform with her in it, would be to place a wall-sized mirror at the head of their bed.
When he opened his eyes again, Brodie soaked in the sight of her. Most of the women he’d been with worked hard to be beautiful and fit, but there was something extra special about his bride. She was ultra-healthy, an actual nurse and not just a pretend one in a smoking-hot costume, heating up his loins. Her hair, skin, and fingernails were particularly remarkable, and her perfect muscle tone knocked all the women he had known before out of the park. She wasn’t a steroid queen; she was more like a yoga master, a goddess. Whether it was because of her lifestyle or some beauty that came from deep within, she was absolutely perfect.
“I’ll make you better. This has curative powers,” she purred.
This certainly does, he thought as his fingers sought the heat between the two of them. He pressed his thumb against her damp flesh and worked it back and forth.
“Are you up for it?” she cooed.
He took hold of her hand and showed her how up for it he was; even under the weather, he was rock hard for her.
“Ah. Well, Mr. Rogan, I think that answers my question.” She gripped him, and her body tensed with shivers, one after another. “Why, I do believe I feel a fever coming on myself,” she said, fanning her face.
“Feel free to interrogate and examine me as much as you need to,” he replied in a deep, sensual voice.
Then, with a surge of wellness, he took hold of her slender waist and tipped her to her back. His broad shoulders cast a shadow over her as the sun streamed in. She spread her legs for him, and his intense erection instinctively nestled against her center, pressing and yearning for entry.
She craned upward, snaking her tongue between his lips lazily and teasingly as she wrapped her delicate fingers around his cock. In a sly move, she slipped her legs beneath her, until she was lying flat on her belly. She lowered her head to him, extending the tip of her tongue to the head of his shaft.
The whisper-light contact shook him to the core. Brodie sucked air through his gritted teeth, trying his best to withstand the urge to cave in to the ecstasy. He wanted it to last, wanted to erupt with an Earth-shattering climax.
He could not actually see much, for her luscious hair had cascaded down and blocked his view, but his mind’s eye served him well. He completely envisioned her mouth enveloping his length, and he pushed himself against the wet, spongy walls of her cheeks as she lifted her head up and let it fall again, moving in rhythm for his pleasure.
His palm found the back of her head, and the soft coils of her hair rose through his fingers as he gripped her for dear life. It was not as if she needed his guidance, but he found himself contributing to her movements, pressing her head while lifting his hips against her.
She added tongue action, swirling around his hardness, lubricating its hot wetness. She drew down on him with tightness, closing around his sensitive flesh with her lips and the walls of her cheeks.
He knew he would explode if she didn’t let up, so he nudged her shoulder. She took her cue and lifted, with a sex-drunk look on her face. Then, while he remained on his haunches, she straddled him once more, but only after standing on the bed and pressing off his sturdy shoulders so her flat belly was at his mouth level. He lifted the flimsy nurse costume aside and began to make love to her belly button with his wet tongue.
She placed her feet strategically on either side of him and lowered, sinking onto his rigid phallus. It was hot, liquid sugar. Just when he thought it could not possibly feel better, it always did, and Julie’s perfect weight created just the right amount of tension.
In that position, he took control of her, gripping the sides of her thighs and rocking her back and forth, till she was as delightfully pained as he was. She arched her spine, pushing her costume-clad breasts against his buff chest. She threw her face up toward the ceiling, and her soft curls bounced against the smooth skin of her back.
He pressed her to him and gazed down at her backside, admiring the way her legs were splayed, forcing her cheeks to flex and spread, scalloping before him. He ran his fingers lightly down her spine, ultimately toying with and cupping her bottom. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, enduring the erotic torment.
Then, with sudden inspiration, Julie pressed her knees against the mattress and pistoned her hips up and down, working him fiercely, showing him no mercy. Brodie’s eyes fluttered, threatening to roll all the way back into his head as the pressure mounted within him.
His body tightened, his senses increased, and he was crazed with the need to come, a desire as old as time itself. He wavered in and out of clarity, firmly thrusting into her petite body with animalistic desire. Her fingertips brushed his thigh, and while he could not see it, he felt her touching herself. Through her flesh, he could feel the pressure of her fingers as she sought to bring herself to climax, and when she reached that blissful pinnacle, he was right there with her.
* * *
“THIS IS FAR BETTER than any chicken pox medicine, don’t you think?” Brodie asked a while later, filling their glasses with fresh wine after they freshened up to enjoy a garden dinner on the sweeping wraparound porch.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.
“I am as good as I’m going to get, and there is no place I’d rather be,” he said with a smile.
