Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows Chapter 6: The Dance Part VI, a guiding light fanfic

Title: Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows

Author: Kimberly21570

Fandom: Guiding Light

Pairings: Olivia and Natalia

Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, Natalia Rivera, Doris Wolfe, Dinah Marler, Joshua Lewis, Matt Reardon, and Greg the banquet manager are owned by Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters of Lena Kundera and Alexander Cambias, Jr. are owned by All My Children, ABC/Disney. The movie Toy Story is owned by Disney/Pixar. The movie Pretty Woman is owned by Touchstone Pictures. No copyright infringement intended with regard to GL, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, AMC, ABC/Disney, Disney/Pixar, Touchstone Pictures, or any other entity. I'm a broke graduate student, so please don't sue me … I promise to return them to their owners, sated and smiling … Besides, you wouldn't get much if you sued me anyway …

The dialogue, props, etc. in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.

I think I've posted individual responses to everyone who has commented on this story; but just in case I missed someone, please know that it was not intentional. As a writer, it means a great deal to know that my efforts are appreciated, and thus, everyone who takes the time to comment is most appreciated in return. So, again, thank you to all who are reading, and for those who are taking time to comment, I can't tell you how much encouragement your words bring. Thank you.

Oh, and one more thing … The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from a Lianca fic called I Knew a Woman; written by my best friend. It's a phenomenal read, as is all of her work, so if anyone is interested in reading it, please let me know. I would be more than happy to provide links, or I can e-mail it in MS Word format.

That being said, I hope you all enjoy chapter 6.5 – The Dance | Wine and Conversation. It's rather long – more than 40 pages, alternating between Olivia and Natalia, and Jen and Tracy.

Rating: Chapter 6.5 is rated R for strong sexual innuendo, sexual situations, and language; but subsequent chapters will eventually reach NC-17. Fair Warning: Portions of this update are also rated 3 hankies, for emotional content, so grab your box of Puffs. If you're the emotional type, like me, you just might need it.

Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows

"Her beauty is like a fine red wine, and my mind marinates in her."

- Uniqueidentity2; I Knew a Woman

Chapter 6.5 – The Dance | Wine and Conversation:

The succulent aroma of fine international cuisine entwined, as if by thoughtful design, with the intrinsic sights and sounds of Watershed. Bustling servers meticulously tended to the needs of patrons who were rapt in conversation, their voices rising just above the soft cadence of light jazz that suffused the candlelit atmosphere around them; bathing them in an ethereal glow of soft lights and sound. A clamorous clanging announced the unceremonious crashing of a large metal pan to the kitchen floor; momentarily drawing the attention of a handful of patrons; while most continued with their conversations, unabated. And then there was the unmistakable shriek of Chef Jacques' sharply accented voice, chastising the responsible party, quickly followed by scrambling footsteps and muted tones that spoke of apology for the incident, seeping out from behind swinging doors. Utensils clinked persistently, though not methodically, against ceramic dinnerware, ice cubes rustled against glass as drinks were refilled, and there was the occasional clinking of wine or champagne glasses, as lovers or friends shared a toast. All of these elements worked together, like a well-oiled machine, creating the familiar hum of the evening rush at Watershed.

Still perched on her favorite barstool, Olivia lingered, completely unperturbed by the clamor around her, as she wordlessly sized up her head bartender. She wondered, not for the first time, if the woman had some sort of "fuck buddy" thing going with her so-called best friend, Jackie. The two of them seemed to be thoroughly enmeshed in one another's business, almost to the point of ridiculousness, and they gave off an air of secrecy that seemed beyond the realm of normalcy for a friendship.

But what did she know? Until Natalia, she had never had a truly close "girlfriend;" someone to confide in, to lean on, to trust; not even when she was growing up. Lena was the closest she ever come to that, until Natalia, that is, and there was so much about her life that even Lena didn't know; including the full extent of her history with one Alexander Cambias, Jr., and the fact that she had once given birth to a son.

After their conversation earlier in the day, Natalia had officially become the only living person to know Olivia's deepest secrets, and for the first time in her life, she felt completely safe in trusting another person. Until Natalia, she thought; recognizing, not for the first time, that Natalia was, in fact, the only close "girlfriend" she had ever known. And look where that had gotten them. Not that she was complaining …

That thought, though, led directly into thoughts of Natalia and their burgeoning relationship, and she wondered if other people, her staff especially, regarded the two of them in the same crude manner. The mere notion of such a thing made her cringe. Even if the thought of sex with Natalia didn't scare the living shit out of her at the moment, Natalia was so much more than a casual fling, and she would never want anyone to entertain the idea that she was using her the way she had used so many of the men in her past. No. Natalia deserved so much better than that. And better, she would have.

If I'm ever lucky enough to fall in love again, I'm gonna do the Opposite of everything I've ever done in my past, she reminded herself. And it was with the remembrance of those words spoken to Dinah that Olivia decided the best course of action with regard to Natalia. She wouldn't hide their relationship from anyone, she wouldn't hide the love she felt for Natalia, because that would only sully it; making it appear as if she regarded it as shameful. And shame was the last thing she felt when she thought of Natalia, and how much the woman meant to her.

The ambiance permeated Natalia's senses, creating the slightest hint of déjà vu, as she crossed the threshold, sauntering into the spacious dining room; her eyes scanning the familiar canvas in search of Olivia. The moment she set eyes on Olivia, the smile on her face reached up into those dark brown eyes, lighting them from the inside; setting off the natural sparkle of emerald and golden flecks. And with another quick brush of those eyes, Natalia surveyed the room, quickly marking a pathway toward her love.

Turning toward the door, as though she somehow sensed Natalia's entrance into the room, Olivia caught sight of her in an instant, and the moment their gaze locked, she felt her body's response to the woman she loved. Her eyes dilated, as her heart began that familiar light palpitation, and she could feel her pulse quicken just beneath the surface of the soft skin along her long, graceful neck; a pulse that was not only echoed, but intensified, in her most intimate places. God, she loved this woman. No other feeling in her life had been so powerful, so completely overwhelming, or so openly welcomed.

Even from across the room, the iridescent liquidity of those mesmerizing jade eyes pierced Natalia's soul. Those eyes, at once, held within them both the crushing intensity of unquenchable desire, and the promise of an eternity hell-bent on conquering that elusive satiation; making them dangerous in a way that was unfamiliar, yet completely intoxicating to Natalia.

Unrelenting, Olivia watched her intently, as Natalia skillfully navigated through the complex maze of tables in the crowded room. As those eyes followed her, taking in the self-assured gait, and the way Natalia's suit clung perfectly to her body in all the right places, Olivia found herself silently acknowledging that, without even an ounce of effort or pretense, Natalia Rivera was the very embodiment of beauty, class, and grace.

And though more sedate in her execution, Natalia was equally as strong, equally as powerful as Olivia; a force to be reckoned with in her own right – A fact which Olivia openly acknowledged; the feisty, headstrong young woman having long ago garnered her respect and admiration, in spades.

And then Natalia smiled at her, that dimpled smile that always made her swoon; and her heart seized, as her breath caught in her chest. My God, I am the Luckiest woman on the Planet, Olivia thought; unable to tear her eyes away from the stunning woman who had stolen her borrowed heart. She drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly to steady herself; then returned the smile, as she waited for Natalia to reach her.

The appearance of that smile on Olivia's lips, fused with the intensity of those eyes, prompted a fluttering that began in Natalia's heart and dipped down into the deep hollow of her belly; and the slow burn it created suffused her entire body with indescribable warmth and unfathomable want. No one had ever evoked such a visceral response within her, and she felt her skin flush under the intensity of it all. She attempted to place herself in check, but quickly realized that even a full mask would prove grossly inadequate in concealing either her physical or emotional responses toward this woman. And so she elected to wear her love for Olivia on her face, in her eyes and smile, as a badge of honor, rather than attempting to sequester it any longer.

Eyes locked decisively on the hotelier's, Natalia stayed her course, approaching her with the quiet grace of a stealthy feline; and finally reaching her destination, she wrapped her arms around Olivia, collecting her in a warm embrace. "Hi, Honey," she whispered softly against Olivia's ear as she held her close, "Did you miss me?"

The warmth of Natalia's breath, the featherlike brushing of those lips against her ear as Natalia whispered to her, caused a light shiver to crawl up Olivia's spine, even as her body flushed with heat.

Between any other two individuals, the embrace would have appeared innocuous, but between Olivia and Natalia, it raised eyebrows from employees and guests alike. It was something in their eyes when they looked at one another; something in the way their bodies melded together; the tenderness in their touch that drew the attention of others.

It wasn't unlike them to embrace, but there was something different between them now. That electrifying spark was still there, but somehow, it seemed … more confident, like it had been acknowledged, Diane noted, and she watched their exchange with curious regard, wondering if perhaps the insinuation in the text she and the rest of the gossip squad had received earlier in the day might have been accurate after all. It had announced that the hotelier had spent the entire afternoon in her suite with her executive assistant, and even better, the bed linens had been in need of attention upon their exit. Damn, Greg was good at his job. Well, at least at his unofficial job as lead snoop for the gossip squad. She hadn't a clue how he had garnered such information, given Rosalie's reputation for keeping her mouth dead-bolted shut. The woman was tighter than the Pentagon when it came to locking up information. Diane cunningly moved closer, attempting to catch what they were saying, or perhaps to just pick up on the underlying cadence of their exchange. Sometimes just the allusion of impropriety is more salacious than actually catching someone in the act, she reasoned.

Olivia sighed contentedly, smiling against Natalia's ear. "You have no idea how much," she whispered, melting into the arms that held her. "I was just thinking about you …" she murmured. Every inch of her body and soul ached for this woman.

"Oh, ya were, were ya?" Natalia chuckled as she released the hotelier; her arms draped casually over Olivia's shoulders. "All good thoughts, I hope …" she smiled; her inner joy sparkling in her eyes.

"Only the best …" Olivia crooned; and the eyes that locked on Natalia's told the story of her ruminations.

Natalia cupped Olivia's cheek and leaned in, nuzzling against the side of her face, "I've been having those thoughts too …" she clandestinely confessed, and Olivia could feel the smile on the other woman's lips as they teased against her ear.

Catching a glimpse of the hovering bartender from the corner of her eye, Olivia wanted to ask the woman why she was still there. Day shift ended at five o'clock, after all. But she didn't want to give the impression that she was unaware of happenings in her own hotel. Especially not to an hourly employee.

Then she remembered that Diane had come to Natalia with an issue earlier in the day, and realized the two instances were likely related. She would ask Natalia about it later, of course, and Natalia would grin and tease her, saying, "I thought there was nothing that goes on at the Beacon that you don't know about;" volleying Olivia's earlier words back at her. Olivia would take the teasing in stride, saying, "That's very true. And in this case, you know, and in my book that's as good as me knowing." It would be a simple statement, but within it, lay the essence of how Olivia viewed both the personal and professional aspects of their relationship: They were One. The acknowledgment would tamp down insecurities that had arisen within Natalia earlier in the evening, landing her in Olivia's arms, where she would kiss her until they were both breathless.

Regarding the prying bartender with a measured eye, Olivia moved back just slightly. It wasn't an indication of uneasiness; but rather, a continuation of her turn as resident bookmaker – Olivia was in a playful mood, hell-bent on having a little fun. If the gossipmongers were going to collect their winnings in this high-stakes game of craps they had waged at hers and Natalia's expense, she was at least going to enjoy the clatter of the dice as they rolled toward her inevitable defeat. In the end, it was she who was the winner anyway, regardless of the negative stream of cash flow. They could have her money. They could have it all; every last penny, she reasoned – As long at it meant that Natalia's arms would hold her, that those tender hands would caress her, that the softness of those lips would kiss her; all of it leaving her breathless and wanting for more. Yes, she could stand being moneyless again, in exchange for a lifetime filled with Natalia. Hell, she would trade it all in a single beat of her borrowed heart for the simple pleasures of the moments they had already shared; thankful for the priceless gift of finally knowing how it felt to love and be loved unconditionally.

She caught Natalia's eyes, and a moment of silent acknowledgment passed between them, as effortlessly as the undercurrent of electricity that accompanied it. And then amusement sparked, lighting Olivia's expression with unbridled mirth. "What can I get you to drink?" she offered; the wiggle of an eyebrow hinting at the mischief that lurked beneath that lopsided smile.

Just … follow my lead …, Natalia heard Olivia saying in the back of her mind, as she recalled their conversation in the car that morning. She rewarded Olivia with a knowing grin, and turning her attention toward the bartender, she smiled, "I'll have a glass of red wine, Diane," she said, "Please …"

The request playing perfectly into her plan, Olivia piped in, "Make that the Altesino Brunello di Montalcino, 1990, from my private stock, Diane, with crystal stemware," she instructed; knowing that the crystal made it possible to capture the harmonious and compound nature of that particular vintage.

The placement of such an order was not lost on Diane, and her attention perked into high gear. This was going to be a good night. She could literally smell it.

"And bring the whole bottle, please. We'll be over in the corner booth," Olivia informed, rising from her bar stool with the grace and elegance of a classically trained dancer.

Her mouth dropping open, Natalia gasped, and tugged the hotelier's arm. "Olivia, that wine is a thousand dollars a bottle," she quietly informed; her knowledge of their stock being surpassed only by the hotelier herself.

Olivia turned, arching a deliberate eyebrow at her. "I know …" she said casually, yet resolutely, "but it goes perfectly with the dinner I ordered for us," she informed. "Hope you're hungry …" she said with a satisfied smile, taking Natalia's hand in her own, leading her to their table.

Diane's eyes followed them as they edged their way through the labyrinth of tables toward the far end of the restaurant, noting the way their fingers effortlessly intertwined. Nothing that she had seen or heard thus far could be considered concrete evidence of their alleged affair; but the night was young, and the wine surely would be flowing, so pay dirt couldn't be far off, Diane reasoned. And the need literally itched inside of her to be near that table as the evening progressed.

"Starving," Natalia was exhaling sharply, ravenousness evident in her tone, as she dropped down into the booth, effortlessly sliding along the soft black leather toward the wall.

"Good," Olivia said, as she slipped in beside Natalia, "because I ordered something really special for you tonight," she informed, as they sat with their backs on the side nearest the other tables, allowing the rolling drone of dining patrons and the high wall behind them to effectively shelter them from prying eyes and ears. It was one thing to not hide their relationship. It was another thing entirely, to purposely make a spectacle of it. Natalia deserved far better than that.

Leaning her elbow on the table, Natalia planted her chin in her upturned hand. A slow smile spread across her lips, as she gazed into Olivia's eyes; finding that liquid jade sparkling in the soft iridescent glow of candlelight. "Tonight isn't supposed to be our first date," she said, with a giggly lilt in her voice.

"Oh, I know," Olivia acknowledged, with a quiet smile. "Tomorrow night, our first official date … Well, that's a completely separate issue – one that I've already planned right down to the last detail," she reported.

"Oh, really? And just when did you have time to do all this planning?" Natalia inquired playfully.

"When you kicked me out of my office this afternoon …" Olivia answered dryly.

Natalia flushed ever so slightly at the memory of the two of them together in Olivia's office that afternoon. She knew they hadn't done anything that was truly flush-worthy, but she felt like a teenaged girl, experiencing her first love all over again. Only this time, the love was real, it was lasting; it was Olivia. The realization made her smile.

And then she laughed, remembering how she had literally been forced to shoo the hotelier away so that she could actually get some work done before dinner …

Flashback:

Since returning to Olivia's office after their conversation and subsequent nap, the hotelier had spent more time kissing her executive assistant than she had actually working. It was a playful exchange, much like their characteristic banter, and both women admitted they were thoroughly enjoying the new, more intimate cadence to their repartee. But after nearly an hour of accomplishing absolutely nothing, Natalia reached up, taking Olivia's face into her hands, her gaze falling into liquid jade, "As much fun as I'm having here, I'm never gonna be able to have dinner with you tonight, if you don't go, so I can get some work done …" she said gently; hoping the distracting hotelier wouldn't take offense.

"So, what, you just want me to leave?" Olivia asked; confusion etched on her brow.

"Yes," Natalia answered bluntly, with a firm nod of her head for emphasis.

Reality registered in those jade eyes, and Olivia surveyed her carefully, searching for any sign of jesting. She found none. "You're seriously kicking me out of my own office?" she groused, feigning disgruntlement, as Natalia promptly showed her to the door.

"Yes," Natalia reiterated, just as forthrightly as she had the first time.

"But … you have your own office. Why can't you use that?" Olivia protested.

"I like yours better," Natalia answered forthrightly. "Now go," she commanded, lightly snapping her fingers and pointing. "I can't get anything done with you around …"

"I'm too much of a distraction?" Olivia wondered aloud, the expectant grin that toyed on her lips tattling that she knew just exactly how distracting she truly was. This pleased her beyond measure, and Natalia knew it.

Natalia just gave her a wry smile.

"Well, what am I supposed to do until dinner time?" she pouted; whining almost pathetically enough to make Natalia feel sorry for her.

"I'm sure you can find someone to torment until I get there," Natalia said dryly. "But stay away from the Concierges," she ordered; a reprimanding tone to her voice.

"And just what, exactly, are you saying, Ms. Rivera?" Olivia asked, toying with her executive assistant.

"I'm saying, I don't have time to screen replacements if you scare him off," Natalia answered bluntly.

Donning her most innocent face, Olivia declared, "A little game of cat-and-mouse never hurt anyone …"

"Olivia," Natalia said, a stern warning in her tone.

Olivia crossed her arms defiantly. "You're no fun," she pouted.

And then the corners of her mouth quirked into that Cheshire grin. "I'll call Doris," she declared, her mood perking up significantly at the very thought of all the delicious fun she could have at the Mayor's expense.

"On second thought, perhaps you should stay here," Natalia quickly retracted; the thought of Olivia alone with the Mayor making her more than a bit nervous. She wasn't certain which unsettled her more – The Mayor's unseemly influence on the hotelier, or … the hotelier's penchant for mercilessly antagonizing the cranky incumbent.

"Oh, no," Olivia rejoined, shaking her head, "You've already banished me … You don't get to take it back just because you don't approve of my choice of playmates …" she grinned.

"She'd better not be your playmate," Natalia said forcefully; admonition in her tone.

An image of shoving Natalia against the wall, pressing firmly against her, whispering salaciously in her ear, "You're the only playmate I'll ever want," as she nipped at that enticing expanse of soft flesh on Natalia's neck, right where it sloped off into her shoulder, flashed through Olivia's mind. She flushed, shaking the image away. Why was it so effortless to conjure up such vivid images, to evoke such feral desire; yet so frightening to contemplate actually following through? Get a grip on yourself, Olivia. "You know what I mean," she countered; attempting an air of coolness that belied the heat within her body.

Natalia saw the flash of desire in the deepening jade of those eyes, and almost as though she could read Olivia's thoughts, see those images along with her, she felt her own body react. I want it, too, Olivia, she thought; feeling her body flush.

And then, as quickly as the desire had appeared, Natalia watched it fade into that inexplicable fear once again. "Playmate, my ass," she sighed; seeking to alleviate the tension she felt emanating from Olivia's body. "Your choice of cantankerous prey is more like it," she muttered, almost under her breath. "I see that mischievous twinkle in your eyes …"

Olivia arched an eyebrow in amusement; thankful for the reprieve. "You know me so well …" she laughed lightheartedly. "Don't worry … that snarky Bitch gives as good as she gets …" she said, an air of fondness for the woman in her tone.

"Oh, Olivia," Natalia sighed, shaking her head at the wayward hotelier.

Olivia just smiled at her, and lightly grasping Natalia's left bicep with her right hand, she leaned in, brushing their lips together. "Seven-thirty at Watershed?" she said, by way of reminder.

Natalia nodded her head and smiled, kissing Olivia again, and with that, and a quietly murmured "I love you," from both parties, the hotelier was on her way out the door; poised to make some trouble for an unsuspecting Mayor.

End Flashback

"Hey …" Olivia said softly; tracing a light finger along Natalia's jaw line, drawing her out of her thoughts, "where did you go?"

Natalia smiled at her. "I was just thinking about this afternoon in your office …" she admitted, a slight blush pinching her cheeks again.

Olivia leaned closer, nuzzling Natalia's ear. "Which part?" she murmured, brushing her lips against the other woman's jaw.

"All of it …" Natalia whispered, her senses heightening from even the lightest touch of this woman's mouth. Her expression turned a bit sharp then, and she pulled back from the embrace. "Which reminds me … I saw Doris leaving as I was coming in, and she looked a bit, well … off. Perhaps even ill," she reported.

Olivia's face wore that Cheshire grin again, and Natalia's stomach dropped. "Oh, Olivia," Natalia sighed, "what did you do to her?"

"Nothing," Olivia answered; an air of innocence in her tone. "Much …" she added; a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

"Damn it, Olivia!" Natalia cursed; causing the hotelier to jump back in surprise at the uncharacteristic outburst; an "Ooo," squeaking through her lips, unbidden.

Olivia canted her head to the side, sizing up the other woman. "I'm pretty sure you owe the swear jar for that," she grinned.

Natalia shot her an exasperated look. "Why do you insist upon antagonizing that woman?" she sighed; feeling almost drained by the prospect of what might now be looming on the horizon for the two of them. She grabbed her head with her hands; holding it, as if she thought it might explode if not somehow contained.

"Because it's fun?" Olivia suggested; unbridled amusement tap dancing in her eyes. "And it only cost me a few martinis. Where else can I have that much fun and pay so little for it?" she reasoned, attempting to sell her point.

Natalia shrugged, conceding only to herself that Olivia did have a point. "But at what cost to us?" she asked, concerned. "If you rile her up too much, God only knows what she'll do to us next," she said, by way of reminding Olivia of the Mayor's recent press conference regarding their family.

"Doris and I have … an understanding," Olivia said; her tone paradoxically cryptic in its attempt at reassurance.

"Why doesn't that make me feel any better?" Natalia sighed helplessly; shaking her head at the hotelier. Sometimes the woman really tried her patience. Ironically, though, truth be told, it was one of the things Natalia loved most about her. Sometimes love just didn't make sense; but she could live with nonsensical, if it meant having Olivia in her life.

Upon their arrival home, Jen and Tracy fell into their evening routine; albeit a bit later in the evening than normal. What should have been a quick change of clothes from their Beacon uniforms into comfy jeans and t-shirts, as usual, turned into several minutes of kissing and other assorted activities on their bed, while the boys embarked upon their nightly hunting and gathering expedition for bath time toys.

"You know if I don't go supervise, there won't be any room for the boys or water in that tub …" Jen reminded, grinning down at Tracy; who was happily occupied with Jen's bare breasts. It hadn't taken but a few moments for her to relieve Jen of the navy suit jacket and trousers, gold tie, and crisp white shirt that fashioned her Beacon uniform, and the lacy white bra that lay just beneath; easily discarding her own accouterments along with Jen's, as she skillfully maneuvered her toward their bed.

Tracy glanced up toward the source of the voice, her tongue still tracing slow circles around Jen's right nipple; lightly flicking at it, teasing. She loved the way it pebbled and strained against the play of her tongue. "I can't believe I have your breast in my mouth, and you're carrying on about rubber ducky," she groused, with the distinctive familiarity of longtime lovers.

"Oh, stop it," Jen laughed, playfully swatting at a well-defined bicep. "You know I'm enjoying this …" she grinned.

Tracy smiled around the taut nipple, "I know …" she murmured; her tongue swirling around the tip; drawing a small whimper from Jen. Pulling the straining bud deeper into her mouth, she established a familiar rhythm, as her hand found Jen's other breast; caressing in perfect time with her mouth and tongue. Slowly, her fingers slid along the edges of the other nipple, expertly bringing it to screaming attention.

Jen let out a low groan, "Ohhh, that's it, Babe," she growled, her hips shifting beneath Tracy's body, telling Tracy she had found just the right pressure and timing.

These after-work encounters weren't meant to incite sex; rather, they were a way for Jen and Tracy to relax together, to reconnect with one another, before dealing with the stresses of dinner preparations, bath time, homework, and just life in general. Oftentimes, these stolen moments entailed quiet conversation, and sometimes, like tonight, they entailed physical pleasures. But regardless of the context, it was their time, and the boys knew instinctively not to disturb them, unless something was truly wrong.

Jen allowed Tracy to continue her exploration; losing herself in the sheer ecstasy of that skilled mouth and tongue against her skin. God, life was good. She thought about how much better it would be, though, to feel the play of that mouth and tongue against another tiny nub; the one that had been pulsating at the apex of her thighs all day long. Truth be told, she had been thinking about exactly that ever since their satisfying, but all-too-brief encounter in the shower that morning. She had come hard and fast against Tracy's hand; those sinewy fingers working her body with such expert precision – a testament to the skills Tracy had honed to perfection during their relationship – as Tracy rocked their bodies against the wall; the steaming-hot water pulsing against their skin. The encounter left her sated, yet with a relentless aching pleasure that granted her no release. Damn, that woman knew how to touch her. It was a maddening pleasure to feel both thoroughly sated, and yet still wildly aroused within beat of a single breath. It was no wonder she hadn't been able to find that error in the audit report – Every time Tracy came near her, Jen had inhaled the light, musky scent of her, and her head began to spin. All she could think about was how exquisite Tracy's mouth, hands, and tongue would feel against her heated flesh; and all reason and logic ran out the door.

Soft noises of contentment emanated from the back of Tracy's throat, as she feasted on the lush landscape of Jen's breasts; drawing a few more quiet moans from Jen for her concerted efforts.

Then, finally, realizing that if they didn't stop, she was going to climax from the sheer pleasure of Tracy's mouth on her nipples, which would, no doubt, lead to them having steamy sex with the boys awake and within earshot, Jen reached down, tipping Tracy's chin; drawing her, without a single word, into a slow, deep kiss. And their bodies melding together perfectly, they reveled in the familiar sensation, as Jen willfully tamped down the flames of desire, into a more manageable slow burn; one that could be fanned into a raging inferno once the boys were down for the night.

When their kiss ended, their eyes met, and Jen tenderly brushed a lock of dark curls from Tracy's face. "I love you so much," she whispered breathlessly; the tips of her fingers gently touching the kiss-swollen flesh from which her lips had just parted.

Tracy propped herself up on her elbows, smiling softly at Jen. "I'll never grow tired of hearing those words, Cara," she whispered; addressing Jen by the Italian endearment her heart had chosen for her beloved years prior.

"It took me long enough to say them to you that first time," Jen woefully admitted; the usual clarity of her blue eyes clouding over. Reaching up, she gently traced Tracy's cheek with her finger. "I don't ever wanna hold back like that again …"

Tracy's eyes searched the hazy blue that gazed at her. "Hey …" she called softly, drawing Jen's full attention, "I've always known that you love me. Don't ever doubt that," she whispered. "I knew it was true long before you said it out loud. It was in the way you looked at me; in the stillness of your voice when you said my name. And when you finally told me you loved me, when you finally said those words, the timing was perfect," she quietly reassured; remembering that moment with such clarity that it might have happened only yesterday.

They both lay quiet for a moment, and then Tracy tenderly touched Jen's lips with her fingertips. "I love you even more now than I did then …" she quietly intoned; pressing a soft kiss to Jen's lips, then her shoulder and chest, before finally nuzzling into her neck.

Jen sighed contentedly. Life just didn't get any better. "I love holding you this way," she whispered, her fingers lightly stroking Tracy's arm, as she held her close. "Sometimes I wish we could just stay in bed together for days …"

A smile sprouted on Tracy's lips, and she lightly kissed Jen's neck, before gazing up into those gorgeous blue eyes. "You know, if you'd only agree to marry me, we could spend an entire honeymoon in bed together …" she said suggestively; her eyebrow arched in emphasis.

Jen smiled at her, and lifting her head from the pillow, she planted a deliberate kiss on Tracy's lips. "Nice try," she playfully pronounced.

Tracy understood, without need of further explication. She reached up, gently brushing her fingers across Jen's cheek. "Five years ago, you said we could never be lovers," she quietly reminded. "I didn't give up on that, and look at us now," she said softly; brushing her lips against Jen's. "And I won't give up hope on this either," she declared.

"Oh, ya won't, huh?" Jen grinned; knowing she'd been forewarned.

"Huh-uh," Tracy grinned, shaking her head. "You'll agree to marry me someday …" she challenged; kissing Jen again.

"Maybe …" Jen countered; smiling into their kiss.

Several cacophonous thuds startled them from their kiss, announcing that the boys had started the ritual piling of toys into the tub. Tracy laughed. "I guess playtime is over for mommies," she said, as she reluctantly peeled herself off of Jen's body; both of them mourning the loss. She kneeled on their bed beside Jen, and grabbing her t-shirt from the foot of the bed, she slipped it on.

"Yeah, mom duties call," Jen sighed; sitting up, reaching across the bed for her t-shirt. Slipping it over her head, she leaned over, kissing Tracy again, before climbing from their bed; pulling Tracy along with her.

Tracy exhaled a disgruntled groan, and scooped her comfy jeans up off of the floor; slipping into them with ease, as Jen grabbed her jeans from the chair and did the same.

Within what seemed like mere seconds, they were both dressed, and with one final lingering kiss as they buttoned and snapped their jeans, they headed out the bedroom door.

Going their separate ways, Jen shepherded the boys into the bathtub, while Tracy headed toward the kitchen to begin preparations for a late dinner.

Before she even turned on the faucet, Jen found the bottom of the tub lined with a deluge of G.I. Joes, assorted Superheroes, and other such bath time favorites. She shook her head at the menagerie, and smiled softly, as she watched her two little boys, laughing as they stripped down for their bath. At eight and nine years old, they were no longer really all that little, she had to admit, and she found the acknowledgement of that fact bittersweet. Her bright blue eyes misted over with tears. They looked so much like their Daddy, with their lightly tanned complexions, those mops of unruly dark curls, and warm brown eyes, almost like saucers of melted chocolate; and she wished, for their sake, that he could be there to watch them grow up.

Forcing her melancholy aside, she remembered what fun bath time had been when they were truly little; Mr. Bubbles, Rubber Ducky, and a fleet of Fisher Price boats being their constant waterlogged companions. The whole world existed within that tub of water, and the possibilities were endless, as their imaginations wandered, taking them to faraway places where new adventures awaited them. They would play for hours if she would let them; finally dragging them out under duress, when their fingertips wrinkled like little prunes and their toes threatened to snap like popsicles. She would wrap them in thick towels, drying them off then, and warm their bodies with clean pajamas and a hug, before sending them on their way to whatever new adventure awaited them within the confines of their bedroom.

They were old enough now to wash and dress themselves, and she wondered how much longer it would be before bath time was no longer equated with adventure on the high seas, and the thought of being naked together became cringe-worthy. The thought sobered her, and she prayed that their innocence would last just a bit longer, for both their sake and hers, as she filled the tub with water warm enough that they could play for awhile, yet not hot enough to burn them.

As they climbed into the water, each grasping for their favorite toys, Jen couldn't help but chuckle to herself, as she recalled a scene that had unfolded in that very tub nearly six years prior. And then she closed her eyes, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips, as she relived some of the history that had led to that moment …

It was late summer, the year that Tracy had joined the staff at the Beacon, and they had been friends for nearly six months. The girl was young, to be certain, having just graduated high school the previous May; but Jen found her to be intelligent, articulate, and mature beyond her years. She possessed a genuine love for other cultures, and had become fluent in several languages, beginning with the Italian that her grandmother had taught her as a child, and moving on to include French and Spanish in high school, where she was afforded the opportunity to study abroad for two semesters, one in France and the other in Italy. Jen admired the girl's insatiable hunger for new experiences, and secretly wished that she had possessed some of the same.

They had bonded quickly, and soon became inseparable, spending many an evening, playing with the boys until bedtime; then talking, about work, and school, and their plans for the future, about music and books, and learning one another's stories, laughing until the wee hours of morning, forging what would become a lifelong friendship, and laying the groundwork for so much more, during those long, languishing days of summer.

Jen told Tracy the story of how she met and fell in love with a dashing young attorney named Jake Morgan. Clean-cut, and well-dressed, he was a muscular young man, not much taller than her, with broad shoulders, soft brown eyes that sparkled with hints of green and gold, wavy dark hair that looked like it might prove unruly if allowed to grow out just a little, and a smile that warmed her from the inside out. She met him while working at a luxury hotel in Boston, where he was attending a week-long seminar on forensic science and the law.

He flirted with her from the moment he walked in the door; asking her to dinner before his check-in had even been completed. She declined, of course; telling him that dating the clientele was strictly forbidden; and he responded with a roguish grin, aptly pointing out that he was not technically a guest at her fine establishment, given that she hadn't yet provided him a room key.

She laughed heartily, readily conceding his point. That rascally charm was already working its magic.

And then he added, with a winsome smile and something akin to boyish merriment dancing in his gorgeous dark eyes, that he would gladly sleep in his rental car, thus rectifying the problem, if only it meant she could accompany him to dinner.

Her response had been a perfectly arched eyebrow, and a playfully rhetorical question. "Has anyone ever told you you're ridiculously flirtatious?" If he were only half as compelling in court, she imagined he would have quite the lucrative career ahead of him.

"Ya know, I can honestly say, not a single soul," he answered; clearly amused by her question. "Least not until you, Princess," he added, the dimples in his cheeks prominent, even with only a hint of a smile.

"Ahh … an answer for everything," she sighed, continuing their banter.

"And for everything, an answer," he countered, with a mischievous grin.

"Oh, you're one of those, huh?" she teased; feigning contempt.

"Guilty as charged," he said; woefully lowering his head in mock shame. "Might as well cuff me now," he sighed, extending his hands out in front of him in surrender.

"Were you in the drama club?" she teased; easily keeping up her end of their repartee.

"Sadly, no," he answered; offering her a doleful expression. "Such a shame, too, because some of my performances have been Oscar-worthy," he sighed; shaking his head at the unfathomable loss.

"Oh, I'll just bet they have," she laughed.

Had his playful personality not charmed her almost instantaneously, he surely would have won her over with those rugged good looks and that roguish grin; and defying all reason and logic, before she finished his check-in, she slipped him a note with her cell phone number. "My shift ends at five," she whispered, offering him a furtive grin, "Give me a call."

He accepted the number, and pocketed it, looking much like a five-year-old with a gumball machine and a pocket full of pennies. "Just so ya know, when your phone rings at ten after five, it'll be me," he said, that flirtatious grin on his face.

"I'll think about answering," she replied; feigning indifference, as she announced his room number, and handed him his key.

His fingers lightly brushed her palm as he accepted the key, drawing a small shiver from her. The sound drew his attention, and he met her eyes then; and with quiet sincerity, he whispered, "This just turned into the best day of my life."

She was powerless to control the erratic palpation of her heart, as she watched him walk away.

Six years her senior, he was kind and thoughtful, generous and principled, with a witty sense of humor and playfully boyish charm, and best of all, he was respectful of her beliefs; and she found him completely engaging in every imaginable way. Dinner that night turned into dinner every night that week; and after he changed his reservations, extending his stay in Boston by two days, just to be with her, they shared a relaxing weekend replete with endless laughter and romance.

They shared long, leisurely walks in Boston Common, ice cream and smoothies at Emack & Bolio's on Newbury Street, romantic breakfasts and lunches at some of her favorite outdoor café's, and an evening with the Boston Pops on Nantucket, where they enjoyed fine cuisine and dazzling music set against the gorgeous backdrop of an August evening on Jetties Beach. He had even attended church with her on Sunday morning; not only without complaint, but actually with an enthusiasm that had somewhat surprised her, though she knew it probably shouldn't have, given his intrinsically good nature.

He met her family that morning as well; greeting them with genuine warmth and ease, charming them as easily as he had charmed her. He proudly sat next to her during the service, listening intently, as her father delivered the sermon; and afterward, he asked if he might treat them all to a mid-afternoon lunch at the restaurant of their choosing. They had graciously accepted, and by the time their meal was finished, her sisters were completely enamored with him, and best of all, he had gained her father's coveted approval; not an easy feat, by any means.

Everything about that week had been perfect, and when he told her goodbye at the airport late on Sunday night, his kiss held within it a promise of tomorrow, and they both knew it was only the beginning.

He hadn't kissed her until their fifth date, and then, only after seeking her permission. He hadn't slept with her that weekend, either, or any of the weekends they shared together throughout their courtship, as doing so would have asked her to compromise her beliefs; and that was something he just wouldn't do. It wasn't that sex was foreign to him. On the contrary, he'd had his fair share of women during his football "glory days" in high school and undergrad. But he knew very well that there were women a man took to bed … and women they took to the altar. Any truly wise man could see that Jennifer Dylan was the kind of woman a man took to the altar. And Jake Morgan was a very wise man.

As the weeks turned to months, she found herself falling head-over-heels for the handsome young attorney with the most expressive brown eyes she had ever seen; and when he proposed to her during a romantic dinner cruise on a private yacht on Boston Harbor one sultry August evening a year after they met, she hadn't hesitated for a moment before jumping into his arms, laughing and kissing him as, over and over, she alternately squealed and whispered, "yes."

She also hadn't hesitate when he asked her to relocate to Springfield, so that he could continue his pro-bono work with the local women's shelters, while continuing to build his career at the firm where he had worked since graduating from Harvard Law. "My position at the firm pays the bills, and it pays them well. And it keeps my father off my back," he had said forthrightly, "but the work I do for those women and their children, feeds my soul. I just can't imagine walking away from the commitment I've made to them." The emotion in his voice brought tears to her eyes; and there was no other answer she could give him, than another heartfelt "yes."

He was strong and determined in every aspect of his life, but never more so than when standing up to his father; marrying her, despite the tyrant's vehement objections that she wasn't of his caliber, and would only drag him down in his career. The simple truth was that Preston Morgan always operated from an agenda that suited only himself and his business, and ensuring that his son married well, meaning into a family with the suitable political connections, was his primary objective once Jake had finished law school. It was the first time in his life that he had willfully defied his father, and he counted it amongst the best decisions of his life.

"A tyrant will always find a pretext for his tyranny," Jake had said, quoting Aesop, as he attempted to comfort her after a particularly atrocious encounter with the caustic old man. "Really … this isn't about you, Princess. It's about his incessant need to control every minute detail of my existence," he had explained, as he held her close, kissing her temple. It was one of the reasons he was so determined never to limit her or take away her choices; his forward-thinking nature allowing her the freedom to be whatever she wanted to be, without his making demands upon her or attempting to control her life. And she believed him, having witnessed the way his father seemed to control everything around him, right down to the creases in the cloth napkins on the dinner table. Nothing escaped the man's scrutinizing eye; and no matter how hard one tried to please him, nothing was ever to his satisfaction. She wondered how anyone could live with such discontentment in their heart.

She smiled brightly as she recounted their wedding day – a perfect June afternoon on the sun-kissed Nantucket beach where he had first kissed her; with her father officiating at the ceremony. Her sisters were there, standing up for her as she married Jake; and her older brother had managed to arrange his two week furlough to coincide with their wedding date, so that he could be there, as well.

Her mother cried buckets full of tears, her brother lectured Jake about taking good care of his "baby sister," while her sisters teased her mercilessly about her impending wedding night, and her father hugged her close, telling her how proud he was of her, and the choices she had made in her life. Nothing had ever felt better than that day, and as she realized that it would very likely be years before they were all together again, she found herself eternally thankful to have had her entire family there for the special day.

Then she blushed profusely, as she recalled their wedding night, saying only that it was "surprisingly better than I had anticipated, thank God, given the horror stories I had been told." She laughed then, saying, "I'm quite certain now, that those stories were fabricated to keep me from having sex before I was married."

Tracy laughed with her, telling her that she could certainly relate. Thanks to her Irish-Catholic father and her Italian-Catholic mother and grandmother, her family was equally as conservative, and she had grown up with a similar set of values.

And then Tracy had turned quiet, thoughtful, as she looked at Jen with tender regard. "If you had it to do all over again, knowing what you know now, would you still have waited?" she asked, her voice soft and comforting.

"Wow, a woman who isn't afraid to ask the tough questions," Jen smiled, buying herself some time to consider her answer.

"Oh, I'm … I'm so sorry," Tracy said, gently touching Jen's hand with her own. "I didn't mean to be so intrusive …"

The touch of Tracy's hand warmed something inside Jen that had been cold since losing Jake. It both unnerved her and brought her comfort in the same moment. She didn't know it yet, but it was the kind of reaction that would mark her burgeoning relationship with Tracy as the weeks turned to months, then years. "Relax, okay?" she said soothingly; sandwiching that hand between her own. "I appreciate someone who makes me have to think before responding to them," she said candidly.

She turned pensive for a moment then, as she considered Tracy's question, and finally, her answer came. "Yes, I still would have waited," she said, the strength of her conviction evident in her tone. "There are some things I might have changed, like … I wouldn't have wasted a year planning our wedding. I would've married him the weekend he proposed. But I don't regret waiting until our wedding night to be with him," she said openly. "That decision honored our marriage, it honored my parents, and most of all, it honored God."

"Sounds like those things are really important to you," Tracy quietly observed; her regard for this woman increasing exponentially with every conversation they shared.

"Yes … Yes, they are," Jen had answered with a smile.

And finally, Jen described the excitement she and Jake had shared in learning they were pregnant just a few months after they were married. As long as Jen could remember, her greatest longing was to be a mother, and it had been exactly what they hoped for, to get pregnant quickly, and start their family together.

The pregnancy went smoothly, and she was able to continue working at the Beacon right up until the end. She didn't need to work at all, of course, but she wanted to, and Jake understood her need for a sense of self-satisfaction and independence. He was an absolute dream throughout the entire pregnancy, doting on her, insisting upon taking care of her every need when they were home; and calling to check on her when they were at work. And though he was concerned about the demands of her job in the later stages of her pregnancy, he wouldn't take that freedom away from her, and she loved him for that, and so much more.

She loved that he volunteered his time, taking on as many pro-bono cases as he could manage without compromising the integrity of his work, as he assisted battered women in their fight for their own freedom and for custody of their children and, on occasion, defending them against criminal charges when, out of fear for their safety, the battle turned deadly. He was staunch in is support of these women and their children, and she would often find him in his study, engulfed in tears over the stories of the abuse they had suffered, as he prepared their cases for trial. His tears didn't weaken him in her eyes, but rather, they made him stronger; moments such as those telling her how amazing he would be as a father. She couldn't wait to see such love in action.

Jacob Aaron Morgan II was born just a week shy of their first anniversary, and they couldn't have asked for a more breathtaking gift. She would forever carry in her heart the picture of Jake the first time he held his son – The image of a strapping young man, reduced to tears by a five pound, two ounce baby boy, who was the absolute spitting image of his Daddy, as he lay outstretched on Jake's forearms, his head tenderly cradled in those strong, capable hands.

Jacob was perfect in every way, and Jake was the proudest husband and father she had ever known. He carried pictures of his wife and son everywhere, showing anyone who would pay attention, and he literally beamed with pride when friends, colleagues, and even complete strangers commented about how beautiful their boy was, and how much he resembled his Daddy.

Their joy expanded exponentially when, just a few months later, they learned they were pregnant again. Her sisters had teased her mercilessly, saying things like, "Don't you know what causes that?" and "Haven't you heard of birth control? There are these amazing things called condoms, ya know." But she just laughed it off, telling them to watch out, because paybacks were a bitch, and then ignored them, as she and Jake happily began preparations to welcome their second son a few weeks after Jacob's first birthday.

Their joy was short-lived, however; crushed by a knock at their door late one Friday evening – A state patrolman, telling her that Jake had been killed in a drunk-driving accident on his way home from the office. The driver of the car that hit him was the teenaged son of a local politician; ironically, the same young man whom Jake, at the insistence of his father as a "favor amongst friends" had defended against drunk-driving charges just three months prior. Jake was good at what he did; and thanks to that, the boy had been set free with only probation and community service. Free to drive under the influence again.

And in a single moment, with the screeching of tires against pavement and the crunching and twisting of metal, their life was gone forever; leaving her alone at the age of twenty-three, with a toddler in her arms, and a new baby due any day. Jake was just shy of turning thirty, and they hadn't even made it to their second anniversary.

Her mother had come immediately when Jen called her with the news, and her father and sisters arrived in the days that followed; though, she could remember very little, if anything, of those seemingly endless days and nights. Her sisters had willingly tended to Jacob, while her parents helped her with funeral arrangements; her father taking on Jake's father in a battle over who would make such decisions. She hadn't the strength to even sit upright; let alone argue with the willful old man. Legally, of course, the rights fell to her; but Jake's father had endless amounts of money and a reputation for disregarding legalities, and true to character, he had been insistent upon having his own way. In the end, though, even with his bottomless bank account, the man had proven no match for her father and his interminable faith. She was eternally thankful for her family, and couldn't have imagined how she would have survived those long, anguishing days without them.

Dylan Ashton Morgan was born two days after his after his father's funeral; the stress of the ordeal having sent Jen into labor. Her mother was there with her, filling the role that should have been Jake's; and Jen was profoundly grateful for her. Her little boy had been born into a tumultuous sea of uncertainty, with Jen barely able to recall her own name in some of her darker moments. And the tears that she cried as she held him that first time were an incongruous amalgam of inexplicable joy tainted with immeasurable grief, as she gazed down at him, seeing her husband's eyes reflected back at her.

In the weeks and months that followed, there had been many days when every muscle and joint in her body ached, and the prospect of even moving a finger seemed torturous; let alone having to get out of bed. She wanted to fall apart; to lose herself in her grief, but that simply wasn't an option. She had two little boys who needed her, who looked at her with those big, brown eyes so full of trust and expectation, and she knew she was the all they had left in the world. Her father and sisters had returned to their lives in Boston following Jake's funeral, and her brother was in Afghanistan, running search-and-rescue operations for the ground troops near the Taliban stronghold of Kandahar. He had just started on his third tour of duty, and wasn't eligible for furlough for another six months at least.

It wasn't fair of her to expect any of them to uproot their lives for her; not in the long-term anyway, she had reasoned. She had chosen to quit school and move away. She had chosen Jake. And she had not a single regret over those decisions. It was with such reasoning as her impetus that she had insisted her mother return to Boston when Dylan was just two weeks old.

She could have returned to Boston with her mother, of course, but she didn't want to leave the home that Jake had bought for her. The place where they had shared so many precious memories. The bed where both of their sons had been conceived. The thought of that was far too overwhelming for her. And truth be told, even if she had returned to her parents, or if any of them had been willing to come to her rescue and stay in Springfield, their presence would have been but a mere band-aid on a gaping wound, because at the end of the day, no one else was Jake. And he was all that she wanted.

So every morning, she prayed for strength to make it through just one more day; and every night, she thanked God for sustaining her through even her darkest moments. And with her faith as her driving force, she set her course, squared her shoulders, and soldiered on.

Though it was difficult, Jen had opened up to Tracy about those dark times, the difficulties of losing her husband and raising two small boys on her own; and about the anger and resentment she felt toward Jake for having defended the very boy who took him away from her and their boys, and toward Jake's father for having insisted that he take that case in the first place. It wasn't Jake's area of expertise; there was no logical reason for him to have been involved. But the self-serving old man had wanted to secure a hold over the politician, and scoring a win in court for the man's son was just what he needed to accomplish his goal.

She hoped the leverage had been worth the cost.

It was a clear choice she had made though, to go it alone; a choice made to protect her children from her husband's family. They were powerful, wealthy, and would have provided generously for her boys, no doubt. But their provision came at a price: Control of her life and of her boys' futures. She wouldn't have that. Not after witnessing the way Jake's father had attempted to destroy him with his disapproving stares, cutting remarks, blatant manipulation, and deliberate stabs at his son's self-worth; despite the fact that Jake had built a lucrative career as a high-profile criminal defense attorney. Her sons, she vowed, would never endure such condemnatory stares and outright abuse, and they would never be controlled by the likes of Preston Morgan; not while she had breath left in her body. And that was why, after Jake's death, she had taken the money from his life-insurance policy, paid off their house to ensure they would always have shelter, and placed the remainder of the insurance proceeds in trust for their boys; thanking God that Jake had been so proactive in protecting their family.

Later, upon the insistence of Jake's colleagues at the law firm, she filed suit against the boy, his family, and their insurance company on behalf of her sons; and when they prevailed, as they knew they would, she added the proceeds of the civil suit to the trust. The money was of little comfort to her, except that it secured her sons' futures, and thus she made the deposit, vowing never to touch any of that money except for their benefit, and to never accept a single cent from Jake's family.

And so it was on this summer evening that Jen and Tracy had decided on popcorn and movies, to commence promptly after bath time and jammies – a relaxing break from the heavy conversations that had taken place over the course of recent nights, as Jen had shared her story. The boys were two and three by this time, and they were thoroughly attached to Tracy after a summer of her consistent and nearly undivided attention. At their insistence, Tracy had taken on bath duty, while Jen picked out a movie that was age-appropriate for the boys, and yet wouldn't bore Mommy and Tracy to tears.

Luckily for her, their copy of Disney/Pixar's original Toy Story had been easy to unearth from the growing pile of kid-friendly DVD's in their family room, and she quickly turned her attention to other matters at hand. Not wanting to start the popcorn before they were ready, lest it be cold by the time they finished their baths, Jen walked into the bathroom, disc in hand, to announce the movie choice and check on their bath time progress.

The sight she beheld as she stepped inside literally made her burst into a fit of laughter: Tracy, fully clothed in khaki shorts and black tank top, sitting in the tub between two giggling boys; her entire body covered, head to toe, in bubbles, with more being piled on by the second.

"What are you doing?" Jen laughed, shaking her head at her friend.

Tracy's eyes danced with unrestrained mirth, as she gazed up at Jen and smiled; swiping away some of the suds from her face. "They wanted me to join them," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders helplessly, as if to say what was I to do? before finishing her explanation, "and I figured this was the only appropriate way to accomplish that."

"You're a little bit crazy, ya know that?" Jen smiled; her genuine affection for the girl evident in her tone.

"I'm crazy about them," Tracy said softly. "And you …"

The latter part was nearly inaudible, but it hadn't escaped Jen's attention. Her heart skipped a beat, and she closed her eyes, leaning against the counter to steady herself. She knew she felt something stronger than friendship for the girl, but the notion of it was completely unfathomable. She was eighteen, for heaven's sake. And a woman! She had never been physically attracted to a woman before; but there was something about this woman, something that drew her, like a moth to a flame. The girl had breathed life back into her with nothing more than her mere presence. It was intoxicating. She couldn't stay away from her, and she was at a complete loss as to what it meant, or what she should do about it. Even if she could manage to wrap her head around it, her faith made such a relationship impossible; and beyond that, Jake's family would never stand for such a thing. They were staunch conservatives, wealthy, powerful, and well-connected, and they could take her boys away with the single stroke of a pen on a check to the right judge. She would never risk losing her boys; not to that man, or anyone else.

Those arguments would surface, one after the next, as they debated their relationship over the course of months, tumbling into years. And one-by-one, Tracy would debunk them; never once losing faith that in the end she would win Jen's heart. "I'm too old for you." "Bullshit, you're no more my senior, than Jake was yours." The girl had a point, but Jen didn't want to hear it. "I can't love you. You're a woman. The Bible says it's wrong for us to be together that way." "You do love me. Deny it all you want, but we both know it's true. And it isn't wrong. The Bible says we were formed in God's perfect image, and that He doesn't make mistakes. He would never condemn you just for loving me, when He's the one who created love." She had no choice but to deny it. Her feelings for this girl flew in the face of everything she had ever known. But how could she deny it, when these feeling suffused every part of her being? "How can you be so certain you want to be with me, when you've never been with anyone else?" "How did you know you wanted to be with Jake?" The question was gentle and sincere rather than confrontational, and it had stopped Jen in her tracks; leaving her mind reeling for weeks. "Jake's father will try to take my boys away." Her precious little boys were all she had left of Jake, and the thought of losing them terrified her. "Then we'll fight him, and if we have to, we'll take the boys away, to somewhere he can't find us." The flash of uncertainty in Jen's blue eyes had prompted Tracy to continue, her voice soft, like a warm caress that suffused Jen's body, "Don't you get it? There's nothing I wouldn't do, to be with you, Cara. I love you." Those three words, spoken so firmly, yet so tenderly in the soft, velvety cadence of Tracy's voice, always made Jen's heart stop, and she had given in to the slow, sultry kisses that followed; allowing herself a transitory moment to feel, to experience the physical manifestation of Tracy's love; but she couldn't bring herself to return those words. It was one thing to feel them, to acknowledge them in her head; but to lend voice to them, to actually speak them out loud, felt like a betrayal of her love for Jake. And when all other arguments had been presented and debunked, the strongest one remained: She still loved Jake, and nothing would ever change that …

Opening her eyes, Jen conjured up a smile. "How does Toy Story sound?" she posed; showing them the DVD case.

Dylan squealed excitedly, flinging water everywhere, as he hopped up and down, clapping his hands. And then he slipped, losing his balance, and Tracy scooped him up before he could hit the water; pulling him to her in a protective embrace. He giggled and kicked, as she nuzzled against his sweet cherub face, "Be careful, Mi Cariño," she softly admonished, kissing a dimpled cheek.

Jen's smile was genuine then, as the endearment reached her ears. How could I Not feel something for you? Look at the way you are with my babies … It flew in the face of everything she had ever believed; yet it felt like the most natural response in the world to simply love this girl.

Reaching behind her, she grabbed a towel from the counter. "You stay put while I get them dressed," she instructed with a grin, pointing at Tracy. "You're gonna be a mess to dry off."

"Could be fun …" Tracy replied airily, a glimmer something Jen couldn't quite gauge in those dark eyes. The girl had perfected the art of suggestive undertones.

Jen hit the lever releasing the plug, and the water started to drain, as she wrapped the towel around Jacob, lifted him from the tub, and began the drying process.

Sitting Dylan down in the draining water, Tracy shifted to her feet, crouching down. "Hand me a towel, would you?" she requested. "I'll get Splash here dried off," she grinned.

The requested towel was proffered with a soft chuckle and a thankful smile, and Tracy returned the smile in kind. Lifting Dylan from the water, she stood him on the throw rug just outside the tub. "Be still, okay?" she instructed, wrapping the towel around him.

Chewing on his finger, he nodded, submitting to the playful jostling, as she dried him off; arms, torso, legs, and feet, each in methodical order. He giggled and squirmed when she dried his neck, and she laughed, tickling him until he screeched with the carefree laughter of a two-year-old. And finally, with a quick tousling of the mop of damp curls on his head, he was deemed ready for pajamas.

Fully dressed in his light blue Scooby-Doo jammies, Jen turned Jacob over to Tracy, who swiftly scooped him up in her arms; playing with him just like she had his baby brother. She turned him upside down, and tickled him, giving him raspberries on his tummy until he shrieked with laughter. And when she finally set him down, he smiled at her, flashing those perfect dimples, and she fell just a little bit more in love. He insisted upon a hug and kiss from her then, and with that and a quick tousling of his dark curls, he raced off to claim his place on the family room sofa; his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors as he ran.

Turning her attention to Dylan, Jen shook her head at the little handful of naked boy, prancing around in circles. Wrangling him with the skill of the experienced mother she was, she quickly diapered him. "You're lucky he didn't pee on you, ya know," she grinned at Tracy, as she slipped him into his dark blue Elmo jammies. Potty-training was on the horizon, and she admittedly couldn't wait for diapers to be nothing more than a fading memory.

Tracy laughed. "Believe me, I know," she said drolly.

Jen laughed with her.

A quick hug and kiss from both Mommy and Tracy, and Dylan was off too. His gate wasn't nearly as steady as Jacob's, of course, but Jen smiled at the familiar sound of bare feet padding down the hallway.

"They're growing up so fast," Jen said wistfully; tears misting her eyes, as she folded their towels and hung them to dry.

A gentle touch of her hand on Jen's arm communicated Tracy's empathy for her friend. "They're amazing little boys," she quietly complimented.

Jen's smile was small, but genuine, as she met the sincerity of Tracy's eyes. "Thank you," she whispered; gently squeezing the hand on her arm.

And then they heard giggling; most assuredly the result of an impromptu wrestling match on the sofa, and they laughed together at the undeniable cuteness of it all, as Tracy pulled her sodden sneakers from her feet. They made a loud, slurpy kind of sucking sound as the suction was released, and then hit the bottom of the tub with a cacophonous thud. A pair of drenched white ankle socks soon joined them.

"The shoes, too? Really?" Jen said; amusement registering in her tone.

"I don't believe in doing anything half-way," Tracy replied nonchalantly; but again, Jen noted that suggestive undertone. Or was it just her imagination? Wishful thinking, perhaps? She had to stop thinking this way.

"You love my boys," Jen quietly observed; distracting herself from those other thoughts, as she handed Tracy a thick, white bath towel.

Tracy dabbed at droplets of water on her neck. "Yes," she quietly admitted, "very much." She glanced at Jen through thick dark lashes then. "And I'm quite enamored with their Mommy, as well …" she confessed; her voice soft and alluring. She stripped off her tank top and shorts, dropping them into the tub; leaving only a matching set of lacy black undergarments to cover her perfectly tanned and extremely toned body.

Jen blushed, both from the comment and the girl's lack of clothing; and Tracy smiled at the response. She enjoyed having such an effect on the woman; and the knowledge of that both surprised and unnerved her.

Diverting her eyes, Jen suddenly found the Italian porcelain floor tiles completely captivating. It wasn't the first time the girl had so brazenly flirted with her; and she had a strong suspicious that it wouldn't be the last. "I can't believe you got in the water with your clothes and shoes on," she chuckled, attempting to divert the conversation. "Let me get you something dry to wear."

Tracy laughed airily; her youthful exuberance shining in her soft brown eyes. Wrapping the towel around her body, she managed to wiggle out of the matching bra and panties, without inciting any further blushing from Jen. "I have a change of clothes and a pair of basketball shoes in the car."

"Running away from home?" Jen suggested; an attempt at lightening the tension between them.

Stepping out of the tub, leaning closer, Tracy husked, "I was hoping you would ask me to stay tonight;" her warm breath tickling Jen's ear, as gentle yet insistent fingers dallied against the palm of Jen's hand. There was no question as to her intentions, and the slight shudder of Jen's body and the soft gasp that escaped her mouth told Tracy the message had been both received and processed.

Jen cursed herself. She had walked right out of the frying pan, directly into the fire; and something inside her told her it wouldn't be the last time. Not by any means.

Tracy seriously didn't know what had come over her. She hadn't meant to say it, and was shocked to realize she meant it. She had never been so blatantly flirtatious with anyone before; let alone with a woman. But there was something about this woman that drew her, and she was powerless to control the things that tumbled out of her mouth; never mind the things that her hands did of their own volition …

"Where are your car keys? I'll get your change of clothes while you rinse the bubbles out of your hair," Jen said, attempting to sound unaffected by the towel-clad girl whose breath she still felt lingering in places it hadn't even touched; and Tracy smiled at the catch in Jen's voice. She was anything but unaffected, and they both knew it.

"They're on the kitchen counter next to my cell phone," Tracy answered. "Thank you," she said softly. And with the light touch of her hand to Jen's arm, she stepped into the adjacent shower stall; dropping the towel just outside the door. "There's a black gym bag in the trunk," she called out over the sound of cascading water, "The shoes should be right next to it."

Jen could see the silhouette of the girl's naked form through the lightly frosted glass door, and a flash of heat whipped through her own body. She told herself that it meant nothing; that she was just lonely, and missing that physical connection with Jake. But even she knew that wasn't the entire truth.

She sighed softly, attempting to shove the image from her mind, and slipped out of the bathroom; praying to God she could collect her composure before they settled in for the movie. Clearly, it was destined to be a long night. The problem was, she wasn't certain whether that was good or bad.

Stepping out onto the back porch, Tracy quickly switched on the gas grill; then ran back inside, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill. Dinner would be lighter fare this evening, given the lateness of the hour – grilled tilapia seasoned with fresh cilantro and a light lemon-butter sauce, garnished with freshly prepared peach-mango salsa, and served with wild rice and green beans. It was a favorite of theirs, and Tracy couldn't help the grin that covered her face, as she remembered the first time she had prepared this particular dish for Jen and the boys.

A wave of heat suffused her entire body, and she drew in a deep breath, warding off the rising tide of desire she felt for the woman who fulfilled her every need. And knowing that such continued reminiscences would only leave her wanting more, she forced her full attention onto their evening meal; telling herself that the two of them could relive those memories together, after the boys were in bed.

Running a sink full of hot soapy water, she reached into the third drawer down on the right, grabbing a clean wash cloth. Dipping the cloth in the water, she quickly rung it out, and began wiping down the countertop, readying it for her dinner preparations. As her hand guided the wet, blue and white gingham cloth across the smooth, gray granite, she thought about the countless times she had performed this ritual over the past six years.

She loved this house, and the expansive kitchen, in particular, with its opulent hand-carved cabinetry, the rich, textured appearance of the stone floor tiles, sporting hints of blues and grays that drew in the warm undertones in the wallpaper and paint, the stainless-steel appliances, including the oversized French-door refrigerator, two side-by-side gas cook ranges, a huge built-in double oven, and the vast expanse of counter space provided by the center island that stretched nearly twelve feet in length and ten feet wide; housing the sink and dishwasher, and the bulk of the storage space for large items such as pots and pans, crock pots, and the like, as well as the hidden treasure of this state-of-the-art kitchen: the warming oven.

At the end of the island nearest the living room, there were four leather-padded, armed barstools with high backs; allowing company to sit comfortably and chat whilst the cook, meaning Tracy, attended to her duties. This kitchen was a Master Chef's dream, and she often wondered to herself if perhaps Jake had held some secret hope that such an inviting milieu would inspire in Jen a willingness to learn at least a few culinary skills. If that had been his plan, clearly it had failed, as Jen detested even the mere thought of cooking, and even macaroni and cheese had often presented a challenge to her.

Tracy, on the other hand, loved to cook; loved the creativity of it, and loved the appreciation she received from her family, meaning not only Jen and the boys, but also her family of origin, each time they sat down to enjoy a meal together. She remembered how mother and grandmother, whom she affectionately referred to as "Mamá" and "Grand-mère," thanks to her love of languages and cultures, had taught her to cook when she just a young girl, and how much she enjoyed that shared time together. The kitchen had always been "their place"; her sisters having no real interest in learning anything regarding the culinary arts. They complied with their mother, albeit begrudgingly so, and submitted to the occasional tutelage; all the while plotting their eventual escape. But Tracy always stayed, her attention fully engaged, as her Mamá and Grand-mère passed on family recipes and trade secrets, always tempered with love, laughter, and memories of times spent with their own mothers and grandmothers as those recipes and secrets had been passed down to them.

She smiled to herself, as she remembered their times together; vowing to invite Mamá and Grand-mère over for an afternoon of culinary extravagance very soon. Perhaps they would make chili and a variety of homemade soups to be frozen for later consumption. Tracy had grown accustomed to preparing such items in advance so that Jen would have an easy time of it on nights when she couldn't be home to cook for them.

Then she thought about how fortunate she was that such an afternoon was even possible with Mamá and Grand-mère, and once again, she felt a wave of thankfulness for her family of origin, that they had been willing to look beyond the confines of their religion, offering their unwavering support of the family she had created with Jen and their boys. Though it killed her to acknowledge that the extending of such support would even be questioned in this day and age, she knew what a gift it truly was; especially given the cruelty of the rejection Jen had felt from her own family of origin, without her even telling them outright about their relationship. She often felt the pangs of guilt over the loss Jen had endured for the sake of loving her. She never imagined such a heinous thing could happen; a glaring indication of the immaturity of her youth. She had reassured Jen that all would be well every step of the way; but she had never considered that Jen's family would abandon her. She never saw it coming. She was older now; a bit jaded by what she had witnessed, and most of all, there was always that lingering sense of guilt. But through it all, Jen had insisted that she never regretted loving her, not for a moment, and that she wouldn't change a thing, except perhaps the years that had been wasted while she grappled with reconciling her faith with her love for Tracy, and learning that she could love someone else, without betraying her love for Jake.

Tracy lifted another prayer of thanks to her God for the blessing of her entire family; and then wiping the tears from her eyes, she turned her full attention toward the dinner preparations.

Pulling the butter container, two fresh lemons, and the package of thawed tilapia from the refrigerator, she set them on the kitchen counter. Then, opening the tilapia, she quickly rinsed the filets under the faucet; placing them in a glass baking dish.

A few dollops of butter landed in a small glass dish, and she placed it in the microwave to melt; turning her attention then to the lemons. Slicing them in half, she grasped two halves in her hands, squeezing them over the filets; then, flipping them over, she repeated the process with the other two halves.

Grasping the bunch of fresh cilantro, she considered it for a moment. A product of the same plant that birthed the coriander seed, cilantro was one of those precarious herbs that one either loved, or hated, with no room for middle ground or even friendly debate. She loved the light citrus overtones of the plant, and the way it could be used to "lift" other flavors as it mixed with them, and thus, she used it in any recipe that might benefit from its unique gustatory nuances; thankful that Jen and the boys weren't opposed to it.

Her movements were quick, yet measured, as she chopped the cilantro, mixed a portion of it with the melted butter, and soaked the filets with the mixture. While the filets marinated, she pulled the peaches, mangos, and the remainder of the necessary ingredients for the salsa from the refrigerator and pantry, setting them on the counter, before starting the rice. And once the filets had been sufficiently marinated, she took them outside, placing them on the waiting grill.

The flames sputtered and the fish sizzled, and with a satisfied smile, she returned to the kitchen; leaving the back door just slightly ajar. The aroma of grilling tilapia quickly seeped in through the open door, filling the kitchen, and then wafting out into the remainder of the house, as she turned her full attention to the salsa.

The aroma of dinner called to Jen, drawing her back to the present. She watched the boys splashing around in the water, and smiled. So much had happened in the past six years; half of them spent living suspended between fear and desire as she grappled with her feelings for Tracy, and the other half basking in the love she had found in the arms of the one who completed her. What she realized, though, was that she had acknowledged her love for Jake without hesitation. She had quit college after her sophomore year, moving away from her family and friends to be with him. She had taken that chance for him

But now it was Tracy who shared her life, Tracy who loved her boys, Tracy who now meant more to her than anyone else. She had spent more of her life loving this woman than she had her husband, and yet, she had never acknowledged that love to anyone other than Tracy; not really, anyway. Her family "knew," of course, but they never discussed it. The past three years had been an endless stream of veiled innuendo and disapproval from her mother, passive-aggressive comments from her sisters, and deafening silence from her father. She hadn't heard from her brother, so she could only assume his response was attuned to theirs. And the three years prior to that, when she was grappling with her feelings, hadn't been a picnic with her family either. Her mother and sisters had picked up on the tiny nuances of her relationship with Tracy; things that seemed more intimate than just friendship, but that Jen couldn't bring herself to acknowledge. Based upon those nuances, they had formed assumptions that fueled their behavior; making Jen cringe at the thought of even talking with them. And thus began the slow disintegration of her relationship with her family.

Tracy's family knew, and had been incredibly supportive, and Jen was eternally grateful for them; but beyond that, no one of any great importance even had a clue. It struck her, how unfair it truly was that she had failed to openly acknowledge Tracy's importance in her life, and beyond that, how unfair it was that she had expected Tracy to lie, even if only by omission, about who she was, and what they meant to one another. Admittedly, it wasn't the first time she had considered such matters; but this time, she knew she had to take action. She wondered if she could ever do enough to make things right.

She sighed achingly at the ponderings, and after a stern but admittedly futile admonishment to both boys not to make a mess with the water, she left them to their own devices, heading toward the source that beckoned her: Tracy.

With Natalia's rhetorical question hanging in the air around them, Olivia opened her mouth, poised with a deliciously snarky response. But she was interrupted by Diane's arrival with the requested wine service.

"Your wine, Ms. Spencer," the bartender announced, setting the crystal stemware down on the table. "The Altesino Brunello di Montalcino, 1990," she said, presenting the bottle draped against her left hand.

She easily could have passed this tedious duty off on the wait staff, but she couldn't resist an opportunity to observe the hotelier and her executive assistant up close. She smelled victory on the horizon, and wanted to be the first to have definitive proof of their illicit affair, as she considered it. After all, it couldn't be more than a forbidden tryst, given the hotelier's reputation as a man-eating python, and the executive assistant's illogical affinity for all things Godly, she reasoned. Either way, though, she didn't care, as long as it meant money in her pocket.

Diane watched them both with a scrutinizing eye, as Olivia took the bottle from her hand, inspecting it thoroughly. She checked the vineyard, the style, and the vintage, ensuring that it was the bottle she had requested and, once satisfied, she handed it back to Diane; confirming her approval with a nod of her head.

"Thank you, Ms. Spencer," Diane said, without missing a beat. She uncapped the top, reached into the deep pocket of her apron, retrieving a corkscrew, and began the process of uncorking the bottle. Round and round, she twisted it, until it was securely in the center of the cork, and then pressing down on the handles, she released the seal on the vintage wine, allowing the air to breathe life into it, as she set the cork in front of Olivia for inspection.

Olivia picked up the cork, checking it carefully, making certain that it was alternately wet and dry in the appropriate places, indicating that the bottle had been properly stored and the wine was likely to be at its most excellent.

Another nod of Olivia's head informed Diane that the cork was acceptable, and that she should continue with the presentation. Diane lifted one of the crystal wine glasses between her index and middle fingers, and poured a small amount for the hotelier, setting the glass in front of her.

Olivia lifted the glass, swirling the wine around, exposing it to more oxygen and releasing more of the aromatic molecules that comprised the essential components of a wine's bouquet, before lifting and tilting it, taking in the depth of its color from all sides, and beneath. It possessed an opulent, dark color, almost scarlet in appearance, and as she lifted the glass to her nose, drawing in the distinct aromas of black truffles, wild berries, vanilla, and cedar, she found the color and aroma to be a perfectly harmonious blend.

Closing her eyes, she sighed contentedly; and satisfied with the opulent blend, she pressed the delicate crystal to her lips, tasting the rich essence of the wine on her lips and tongue. She pursed her lips, breathing in, allowing oxygen to pass over the wine as it lay on her tongue, releasing even more esters. It was full-bodied, with velvety tannins, and she slowly allowed it to pass through her mouth, savoring it until the last drop had been swallowed; allowing her the fullest gustatory profile available to the human palate. It was a divinely sensual experience, and she basked in the long opulent aftertaste for several moments, before finally giving Diane the final nod to serve the chosen wine.

"Yes, Ma'am," Diane acknowledged, lifting the unsullied crystal glass from the table, filling it with an ample serving.

She set the glass down in front of Natalia. "Ms. Rivera," she said, with a nod of acknowledgment; then reached for Olivia's glass, repeating her actions. And all the while she was going through the motions, it didn't escape her attention that the executive assistant's eyes had been fixed upon hotelier, almost as if mesmerized by her, as she inspected the bottle, then the cork, and later, as she swirled the sample of wine around in the glass, slowly drew in its aroma, and then finally tasted it. And it definitely didn't escape her that the executive assistant had moved infinitely closer to the hotelier, placing a firm but gentle hand upon the hotelier's inner thigh in the midst of the presentation. The sharp corresponding intake of air by the hotelier hadn't been lost on her either. Jackpot.

"Ms. Spencer," she said, by way of acknowledgment, as she set the hotelier's filled glass in front of her.

"Thank you, Diane," Olivia said, "And please ensure that we're not disturbed except for the serving of our meal," she added, by way of dismissal, and the bartender knew it was time to take her leave.

Diane nodded and smiled briefly at the hotelier. "Yes, Ma'am," she said, excusing herself from the table.

Olivia turned to Natalia and smiled. After the day they had endured, the taste of this wine on her lips and tongue was nearly orgasmic, and while she was certain Natalia wouldn't quite get the full effect, still, she couldn't wait to share it with her. "Try it," she said, by way of encouragement. "Oh, but first … a toast: To you, Natalia. Just because I love you," she whispered softly; her eyes shining, reflecting the love in her voice.

The distinctive sound of crystal rang out when their glasses touched, and a soft smile broke across Natalia's lips, as she leaned in, "I love you so much," she whispered; kissing Olivia tenderly, before taking her first taste of the wine.

Natalia knew that Olivia kept the farmhouse stocked with decent wine, never anything cheap; but this was different, and she was uncertain of what to expect. She offered the hotelier a nervous smile then, and lifted the glass to her lips.

The heady aroma filled her nostrils before the flavor touched her lips. It was more intense than she was accustomed to, and it made her head spin just a little. And the taste, heavier on her lips and tongue as she savored it, clung to the back of her throat long after it had been swallowed. It was a far different experience, but certainly not an unpleasant one by any means, and she offered Olivia one of her dimpled smiles as she set the delicate crystal glass back on the table.

"You like it?" Olivia asked, her eyes dancing expectantly.

"I really do," Natalia answered, and she found herself pleasantly surprised that she actually meant it. Not that she would intentionally lie to Olivia but, in her experience, gratuitous extravagance rarely satisfied the way simple things, things garnered through hard, honest work did, and she truly hadn't expected to find the wine so pleasurable.

"I thought you might," Olivia said, almost demurely, as she glanced at Natalia through thick eyelashes.

The sight of Olivia looking at her that way endeared the women to her even more, and Natalia sighed softly, her heart swelling within her chest. She reached out, cradling Olivia's left cheek in her hand, as she leaned in again, lightly brushing her lips across the other cheek; catching the corner of the hotelier's mouth in a brief kiss as she pulled her lips away.

Olivia turned her head, tenderly kissing the palm of that hand, as liquid jade flowed up to meet the softness of cascading mahogany.

Natalia smiled at her, and the tenderness that emanated from within the woman suffused Olivia's entire body with warmth from head to toe. She leaned closer, taking Natalia's face in her hands, kissing her softly, yet with deliberate intent.

When Olivia relinquished Natalia's mouth, they fell into one another's eyes again, and a flicker of recognition passed through dark eyes, as she quietly said, "Me, too …" in response to the hotelier's silent, yet tangible declaration of love.

She leaned back into her seat then, her eyes falling to the open bottle of wine and crystal stemware on the table. "So … what was all this …" her words trailed off, replaced by the chaotic movement of her hands, indicating the whole of the presentation process; then picked up again, "that you were doing with the wine?"

Olivia chuckled at the familiarity of Natalia's animations, wondering who had rubbed off on whom, and settled in for a discussion regarding the finer points of wine tasting. "Well, first, I checked the bottle to ensure the correct one was being presented, paying special attention to the vintage, which is also known as the date of harvest," she said, pointing out the date on the bottle, "because mistakes are most often made with the vintage," she explained.

Natalia nodded her head, indicating her understanding. "Why is the cork so important?" she asked, moving the conversation forward.

A soft smile splayed across Olivia's visage, as she considered the question. Natalia had clearly picked up on things very quickly, which didn't surprise her in the least. "The condition of the cork is a good indication as to whether or not the wine has been stored properly, and storage can have an impact upon the preservation of the wine," she tutored.

"How so?" Natalia asked, wide-eyed, and eager to learn.

"Well, the cork needs to remain moist in order to keep a good seal," Olivia expanded. "It should be wet on the end that was inside the bottle and dry on the end that was outside. If it's dry on the inside, that means that the wine was stored improperly in an upright position, and if it's stored that way for a long period of time, the wine can oxidize. If the cork is wet on the outside, that means there's a hole in it; and again, air can get into the bottle and turn the wine to vinegar," she patiently explained, knowing this evening was only the beginning of her tutelage, and that she had all the time in the world to school Natalia in the ways of fine wine and gourmet cuisine, as well as a few other titillating subjects.

"So … air is good for wine when you're ready to drink it, which is why they say you let it breathe, but … it's bad when the wine is being stored, because it turns sour," Natalia surmised.

"Exactly," Olivia confirmed; once again impressed with Natalia's ability to pull concepts together into a coherent package. "And that's why you swirl the wine around in the glass before tasting it, too. The swirling motion exposes it to more oxygen and that releases more of the aromatic molecules that comprise the essential elements of what we call the wine's bouquet, or … the total aromatic experience of the wine."

Natalia offered her a confused expression, and Olivia set out to explain. "Okay, so … when I inspected the wine after Diane poured it in the glass, I was looking at the color, because that gives me a clue as to the grape variety, and whether or not the wine was aged in wood. That's important, because the way a wine is aged affects its flavor. And when I smelled it, I was looking for the distinct aromas of the grape variety and a hint at the aging process, as well. Those factors allowed me to anticipate the wine's flavors," she explicated. "What I mean is … the deep color of the wine, coupled with the intense aroma, told me to expect a full-bodied, or heavy, taste. That's why it lingered on your palate, and at the back of your mouth, long after you swallowed it."

Natalia listened to every word, regarding the hotelier with rapt attention; soaking up every morsel of knowledge up like a sponge. And when Olivia finished speaking, Natalia looked at her in wide-eyed wonderment. "Wow, you knew all of that just from looking at it, and sniffing it," she said; more an utterance of awe, than an actual question.

"Are you making fun of me?" Olivia asked, giving her the arched eyebrow.

"What? No!" Natalia quickly replied, "I just meant that …"

But before Natalia could finish her explanation, Olivia was already laughing.

"Stop it!" Natalia exclaimed, slapping Olivia's arm, a slight blush tinting her tanned cheeks. Sometimes she hated being teased. Her expression turned indignant then, "If I were making fun of you, I would've said something snarky, like … 'So you knew how the wine would taste just from ogling it, and shoving your nose inside?'"

A roguish grin slowly crept across Olivia's visage. This was too easy. Oh, the possibilities, she thought. "Well, I'll certainly know how something else will taste just from ogling it, and shoving my nose inside," she mumbled under her breath; her heart rate increasing, body temperature rising just from the mere thought of loving Natalia in that way. It simultaneously excited her, and made her more nervous than she'd ever felt in her life.

And then her thoughts took on a life of their own, as her unspoken fears rose to the surface. What if she couldn't go through with it? In theory, the prospect of making love to Natalia, especially in that way, excited her beyond words. In practice, well, that was another story entirely. What if she wasn't good at it? At first consideration, the notion that she wouldn't excel at something sexual seemed ludicrous to her. Yet in the same moment, she had to acknowledge that everything about being with Natalia was uncharted territory, and this act in particular, was exceptionally disconcerting to her. What if Natalia didn't enjoy it? She wanted so much to please her, to make her feel things, to give her experiences she'd never had before, to share the most intimate experience she could imagine with the woman she loved; and the mere thought that Natalia wouldn't enjoy their lovemaking, or worse yet, might be repulsed by it, made her question the prudence in ever trying at all. After all, ignorance is bliss, she reasoned.

Olivia had contemplated such questions myriad times, and though her innate pessimism would never allow her to conclude that things would work out, the internal dialogue always left her feeling more than a little turned on. She shuddered slightly, and a flicker of desire flashed through her eyes, her breath catching, as those thoughts revolved into sensations, manifesting themselves physically in the form of a tingling ache and a flooding of liquid heat into her nether regions. She crossed her legs and squeezed; reveling in that tingling ache at the apex of her thighs, as the corners of her mouth twitched into a roguish grin.

The comment was uttered quietly, but not quietly enough that the din of cutlery and conversation surrounding them could tamp it down. The illicit undertone didn't escape Natalia, but she was clueless as to its inherent implications. "I don't know what that means …" the ingénue glowered, her lower lip jutting out.

Olivia slowly raked desirous eyes over Natalia's body, her thoughts churning a thousand different directions, as she made her way to that beautiful face; and upon her arrival, she offered her a playful, yet ravenous grin. "Trust me, you will …" she growled; prompting that familiar dipping quickening to flutter deep in Natalia's belly, as nipples tightened, straining against confining lace for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Sometimes I wonder if I'll survive you …

The urgent need within her was overwhelming, and Natalia quickly dropped Olivia's gaze, as a secondary blush painted her cheeks crimson; heat splaying throughout her entire body. There had always been an undercurrent of sensuality in everything Olivia said and did, and now that Natalia was more attuned to it, she found that it left her in a constant state of nervous excitement. It was oftentimes confusing to her, this paradoxical state of being, but she couldn't help but enjoy it, and for that, she wouldn't apologize.

With the fire still burning low in her belly, she grinned at Olivia then, and canting her head to one side the way she often did when she was playing with the hotelier, she asked, "Is that something else I should Google?"

Throwing her head back, Olivia laughed heartily. "Definitely not," she replied, her eyes widening, as she shook her head back and forth. "There are some things better learned … en vivo," she said, the corners of her mouth sporting that dastardly grin.

"Ahh … so you want to teach me this one personally – do you?" Natalia assumed, grinning at Olivia's use of the Latin term meaning 'within the living'.

"Oh, very definitely so …" Olivia husked, eyes smoldering as she gazed into liquid mahogany.

Natalia blushed again, and leaned in, nuzzling Olivia's ear. "I can't wait," she whispered, and it was true: her fears, her uncertainties about being physically intimate with Olivia were many, and unknowingly, those qualms paralleled the hotelier's in some ways, but beneath her doubts lay the fledgling embers of desire; sparking, growing ever more intense with each kiss, be it tender or passionate, each loving touch, each gentle caress of Olivia's hands.

She lightly brushed her lips against the hotelier's cheek; she could feel the wobbly smile form on Olivia's mouth, as she pressed her lips against the smooth flesh, and she smiled, too. "Just being with you like this makes me happy," she quietly confessed; prompting Olivia to turn her head, brushing Natalia's mouth in a tender kiss.

When their lips parted, Olivia leaned her forehead against Natalia's, smiling again. "It makes me happy, too," she whispered; planting another brief kiss on the other woman's lips.

But brief wasn't in Natalia's vocabulary, at least not for this evening, and it didn't take her long to engage the hotelier's mouth in a more thorough exploration of this concept of "being happy."

Sauntering into the kitchen, Jen sidled up to Tracy, whose hands were busily dicing another peach. Wrapping her arms around Tracy's waist, she nuzzled against her cheek, "Smells divine," she whispered, her thoughts drifting back to the night Tracy had first prepared this particular dish. Who would've thought a plate of leftovers and a shared glass of wine could lead to the best sex of her life? And yet, it had led to that, and so much more.

She smiled, brushing her lips against soft skin, "Might I look forward to a repeat performance tonight?" she crooned; and Tracy knew exactly what she meant. "You set quite a precedent that first night, ya know …"

A delightful tingle ran down Tracy's spine, at the sensation of Jen's breath on her skin, the insinuation in her voice, and she smiled roguishly. Halting the knife, she set it on the cutting board, turning to meet Jen's eyes. As she held Jen's gaze, a flicker of desire flashed through those sparkling blue eyes, igniting a flame deep within her own body, "I'd put money on it," she said suggestively; slipping her hand behind Jen's neck, drawing her into a slow, open-mouthed kiss.

Taking Tracy's face in her hands, a slow moan escaped Jen's mouth, as her lips parted, allowing their kiss to deepen. That simple gesture evoked memories of the first time Tracy had kissed her; transporting her back to the moment she first experienced complete sensory overload.

Accepting the invitation, Tracy dipped her tongue inside, lightly grazing the tip against its eager counterpart, teasing it, before delving deeply into the wet warmth of Jen's mouth. She deftly shifted Jen's body, trapping the woman between her own body and the kitchen counter; her right knee easily slipping into place between Jen's legs, as she kissed her slowly, deeply.

Just the perfect amount of pressure with the lifting of that knee, coupled with the caressing of a breast through her t-shirt, and Jen was groaning at the intimate contact; her body craving more. Lost in the moment, the racing of her pulse warred with the pooling of liquid heat between her thighs; Tracy's hands, mouth and tongue imparting both momentary pleasure, and a promise of things to come.

And then, as quickly as the moment began, it was drawn to a screeching halt, as a timer went off in what seemed like a distant fog; calling for Tracy's attention. Simultaneous moans of discontent marked the end of their kiss; neither of them happy with the intrusion.

Leaning her forehead against Tracy's temple, Jen sighed. "I don't want you to stop …" she whispered, her voice like liquid desire.

Tracy smiled, nuzzling Jen's ear; lightly kissing the lobe. She didn't want to stop either; she hadn't wanted to stop in the bedroom earlier, and she certainly didn't want to stop now. But she knew they had to, at least for the time being. "Well, if I don't, we're gonna end up eating a burned dinner with our pruned children," she reasoned; an amused bent to her voice.

"They're used to eating burned dinners," Jen laughed.

'Not when I cook," Tracy teased.

"And just what, exactly, are you saying?" Jen asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm saying that … if you were cooking tonight, we'd likely be having blackened tilapia, and not because of the spices," Tracy grinned; drawing another laugh and a playful jostling from Jen.

Jen shrugged her shoulders, as if to concur, "Charred dinners are my specialty," she admitted without an ounce of guilt or shame.

"Sometimes charred dinners have their appeal," Tracy said softly, inviting another long, slow kiss.

Jen understood the unspoken message in that comment. Tracy had told her many times that she would endure whatever was necessary, even Jen's sorry attempts at cooking, if it meant they could be together. "I'll char you something for dinner tomorrow night," Jen whispered against Tracy's mouth. "It'll be so romantic," she grinned.

Tracy laughed into Jen's mouth. "Date night never sounded so appealing," she said; stifling Jen's laughter by deepening their kiss.

When their lips finally parted, their eyes met, and Tracy offered her a telling smile. Then, her mouth brushing lightly against Jen's again, she whispered, "Later …" stealing one final kiss before releasing her; turning her attention back toward the dinner preparations.

Jen grinned, hooking a finger through the belt loop of Tracy's jeans, tugging her backward. "I'll hold ya to that," she whispered; lightly kissing Tracy's neck, as her hand snaked down between Tracy's thighs, caressing her.

Tracy moaned at the contact, "Lookin' forward to it," she said suggestively; drawing a small laugh from her lover as she released her hold.

"Anything I can do?" Jen offered; referring to the dinner preparations.

Tracy smiled at her, as she stirred the rice. "No, I've got it," she assured, her tone casual, as she tapped the spoon on the edge of the pan, knocking the clinging rice back in, "but … you could pour us some wine," she suggested; heading toward the back door. She relied upon her instincts rather than timing when it came to manning the grill, and the faint scent of cilantro that drifted along just beneath the aroma of fish and flames told her the tilapia was likely ready to come off the grill.

"You got it," Jen readily agreed, reaching above the wine rack to retrieve two glasses. "Anything in particular you'd like?"

"Nah, just … something red, not too heavy," Tracy answered, calling out from the back porch where she was tending to the grilling fish. It never occurred to her to think it odd that she was using an outdoor grill in the dead of winter. That was the way most meals were prepared in their home, and it was just something that she had grown accustomed to doing.

Determining that the tilapia was ready, she plated it, switched off the grill, and platter in hand, she headed for the door.

Upon her return to the kitchen, Jen handed her the requested glass of wine; collecting a sweet kiss and a quiet "Thank you" as her reward.

Tracy took a sip and arched an eyebrow, "Oooh, Beaujolais Nouveau," she smiled approvingly, "excellent choice, Cara."

"What can I say? It's cheap and easy, just like me," Jen smirked.

"As I recall, you were neither cheap Nor easy," Tracy challenged, a teasing grin on her lips. "It took me three years, and … I don't even know how many dinners, to get you into bed."

"Well, I'm cheap and easy, now," Jen grinned. "A bottle of Strawberry Hill will get me into bed these days," she said, "and you can pick up a bottle of that for less than five bucks at the gas station …"

Tracy laughed, shaking her head. "You're such a romantic …" she sighed, returning to the half-diced peach on her cutting board.

"Hey, just lettin' ya know ya don't have to wine and dine me anymore. I'm a sure thing now. Kinda like Pretty Woman. Well, except for the whole hooker thing," Jen laughed, dropping onto the barstool on the far side of the island in their kitchen.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Babe," Tracy replied dryly; her hands busily dicing again. A few more swift passes of the blade, and she set the knife down, scooping the peaches up in her hands, dropping them onto the quickly accumulating pile of peaches and mangos in the glass mixing bowl on the counter.

Jen chuckled at the wryness in Tracy's voice. "My pleasure," she volleyed; meeting the playful sarcasm tit-for-tat, as she watched Tracy grab a mango and run it under the water.

Then, taking a sip of her wine, Jen set the glass on the counter. "So tell me more about this conversation with Ms. Rivera," she prodded, curious.

Tracy stopped for a moment, resting the base of her palm on the counter, as she considered the encounter with their supervisor. "I don't know …" she sighed, her brow furrowed, "the conversation seemed innocuous enough, but … there was just something about the way she phrased things. It was almost like it was just … understood that I take care of you and the boys. I think she knows about us …"

Taking another sip of her wine, Jen mulled the information over. "Would that really be such a bad thing?" she posed.

"A few years ago, you would've thought so," Tracy answered forthrightly. She placed the mango on the cutting board and began the dicing process again. A careful slice around the center, a twist of the knife to split the flesh; then, cracking it open, she quickly pitted it. Swiftly and concisely, she handled the knife, making quick work of the task.

Jen sighed. "I know …" she conceded. "It's just getting really hard, ya know? I mean, we have this amazing life, and I am incredibly happy with you, but … other than your family, neither of us really has anyone that we're completely open with, and I feel like that's my fault, because I've been so afraid of Jake's family finding out about us," she confessed; years of pent-up guilt tumbling out.

An empathetic smile formed on Tracy's lips, and her heart ached for the obvious pain Jen was feeling. "We're not that isolated, Cara," she said softly, attempting to alleviate some of her partner's guilt. "We have friends at church," she offered up, sounding hopeful. She pulled another mango from the bag, rinsing it off in the sink.

"Yeah, in the next county," Jen countered, her tone rife with discontentment. She paused for a moment, drawing in a breath; then sighed. I just … I hate that you're not free to be honest with your friends, Trace," she admitted. "Hell, we've been together three years, and your best friend doesn't even know about us."

"You are my best friend, Jen," Tracy said pointedly, "but if you're referring to Carrie, she doesn't know because she doesn't want to know," she argued; attempting to hold the bitterness from her tone. "Which, in my estimation, doesn't make her much of a friend at all," she stated candidly; the knife in action once again.

Jen nodded her head. "Alright, you've got me there," she conceded. "But that still doesn't make up for the fact that you've virtually lost contact with all your friends because of me," she argued.

"And you lost your family because of me," Tracy countered; believing she left Jen no room for argument. "I think that makes us more than even."

"I lost my family because of their narrow-mindedness," Jen quietly challenged. "It's their choice to live in judgment, even when they have no right," she pointed out. "But your friends are a different story, Trace. They haven't walked away from you. You've distanced yourself from them, because of me."

Tracy abandoned the half-diced mango then, and wiped her hands on the gingham hand towel on the counter. Walking around the island, she pulled Jen into her arms, smiling softly at her. "I love you, Jennifer Morgan," she said softly; those dark brown eyes shimmering with tiny flecks of gold, as she gazed into pools of liquid sky. "Why can't you just accept the fact that you make me happy?" she said; following the request disguised as a question with a light kiss.

"Because I don't want you waking up ten years from now, wondering where your life went," Jen admitted; momentarily dropping Tracy's gaze.

"Listen to me," Tracy insisted, tenderly tipping Jen's chin, "I will never regret the commitment I made to you and our boys," she promised, "and I'll never leave you …"

"Promise?" Jen asked, seeking reassurance.

"Promise," Tracy replied; the corner of her mouth lifting in a grin, "The sex is way too fucking good," she teased; drawing a laugh from Jen. "No pun intended," she winked.

"Oh, yeah?" Jen flirtingly intoned.

"You know it is," Tracy nearly growled. "And it took me way too damned long to get you into bed, so … I'm sure as hell not givin' that up anytime soon," she teased.

"Thank God," Jen laughed, pulling a laugh from Tracy as well.

Tracy met Jen's eyes then, "So … are we finished with this conversation now?" she asked.

"No …" Jen answered honestly; shaking her head back and forth. "You need friends that you can talk to, Babe; and so do I."

Tracy shrugged her shoulders. "I have the girls from my Thursday night basketball game," she contended.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Jen argued, pressing her lips together; frustrated with the lack of progress in their conversation. "When's the last time you had an actual conversation with any one of them?" she challenged.

"We talk," Tracy defended, albeit weakly.

Jen just gave her that look. "Beer and bitching at the bar after the game does not constitute a conversation."

Tracy's lips curled into a devilish smile. "But you know how much I love listening to them bitch," she playfully reminded. "They carry on for hours about how their lame-ass boyfriends don't know how to please them, and I just sit there with a satisfied smirk on my face, knowing that I get to come home and make love with you …" she crooned. Leaning in, she pressed her lips against Jen's ear, allowing her warm breath to linger there, "And you never fail to please me …" she whispered seductively; rolling her tongue across Jen's earlobe, drawing a shiver of delight from her.

"You're trying to distract me," Jen whispered breathily, before Tracy pressed a warm, open-mouthed kiss to her raging pulse point; pulling a low moan from Jen's lungs.

"Is it working?" Tracy murmured; her mouth slowly dragging along the edge of Jen's jaw.

"It might … if I weren't so determined to finish this conversation," Jen grinned; drawing a dissatisfied groan from Tracy's lips.

Tracy sighed, and pulling her mouth away, she met Jen's eyes. Waiting.

Jen could sense Tracy's building frustration, and attempted to ease the tension with a smile. "Look, I'm not saying we should take a bullhorn to work, and announce our business to everyone," she said, trying to keep her voice light and airy, "but … I think it would be nice to have a few friends who know, and honestly, I think Ms. Rivera is a good place to begin."

"And what about Jake's family; are you not concerned about them trying to take the boys anymore?" Tracy asked; bringing up a very valid concern.

"Of course I am," Jen admitted, "That was my biggest fear when we got together."

"I know. That's why I'm asking the question," Tracy said. "Has something changed?" she asked, confused.

"I've changed," Jen said, shrugging her shoulders. "I want what other couples have," she said simply. "I love you, Tracy, and I don't wanna live a life where you're my lover at home, and my friend everywhere else. You're an affectionate person, and I know it's difficult for you, always guarding yourself when we're in public. That's not fair to you …"

"But …" Tracy attempted to interrupt; and Jen quickly silenced her with a gentle finger against her lips.

"Let me finish," Jen entreated.

Tracy nodded.

Taking Tracy's face in her hands, she met her gaze with deliberation. "You're the love of my life, Tracy, and the best friend I've ever known," Jen said softly. "You've been a mother to my children, and you've made so many sacrifices for us; never thinking about yourself first. You've been patient beyond reason, and you've never asked for anything more than our love in return," she acknowledged. "And yet … I won't even hold your hand in public, for fear of what some bombastic old man might do," she said, her tone admitting exactly how screwed up she believed that to be. "You deserve better than that. And so do our boys. It's not fair to them, having to pretend you're not someone of significance in their lives when we walk out that door. I mean, they call you 'Mamá' here at home, and then they have to remember that you're 'Tracy' everywhere else. That's a lot to put on them. It's a lot to put on all of you, and it wasn't fair of me to ever expect that of any of you."

"But I don't mind," Tracy was quick to say, hoping to reassure the woman she loved.

Jen smiled, "I know you don't mind, Babe," she said, "That's one of the things I love most about you … You're always willing to do what you think is best for me; regardless of the personal cost. And you're so patient. Hell, you waited three Years for me to finally give in …" she grinned.

"I can't believe it took me three years to seduce you," Tracy said, shaking her head, as a naughty grin tickled at her lips. "Shit. I didn't think I was ever gonna get into your pants," she sighed; sounding as though the pursuit had nearly exhausted her.

"Is that all you wanted … to get into my pants?" Jen asked facetiously; arching a questioning eyebrow.

A roguish grin flickered across Tracy's lips. "Mmm … you know it, Baby," she answered.

"Now who's the romantic?" Jen teased; wrapping her arms around Tracy's waist; pulling her closer. "I can't believe I managed to hold you off that long," she laughed. "Good, God, you were relentless …"

"Yeah, I was, wasn't I?" Tracy laughed at the memory of her dogged pursuit of the woman.

"I'm glad you never gave up," Jen said softly; offering her an easy smile.

"Giving up was never an option," Tracy said frankly. "I was in love with you, and I knew we belonged together," she added, her tone soft and filled with emotion.

"Just like I know it's time for us to stop hiding who we are to one another," Jen said, taking advantage of the opportunity to make her point.

"You're not gonna give this up, are you?" Tracy sighed, referring to the crux of their conversation.

Jen shook her head. "It's too important," she asserted.

Knowing further debate was futile, Tracy nodded her head. "Okay," she finally relented.

"Really?" Jen said, checking in.

"Yes, really," Tracy reiterated. "But what about Jake's family? What are we gonna do about them?"

"We're gonna cross that bridge when we come to it," Jen smiled; parroting Tracy's words of years past, when she attempted to convince a skeptical Jen that a relationship was possible, despite her wealthy former in-laws and their conservative values. "Everything's gonna be alright," she assured. "I can feel it."

Tracy pulled Jen closer against her body. "You've come a long way in just three short years," she grinned. "Imagine what you'll be ready for by the time we hit the big one-oh."

Jen smiled at her. "By then, I think I'll be ready to marry you," she announced.

"I was hoping you would say that," Tracy cooed, drawing Jen into a slow, lingering kiss. "And then maybe we could talk about a baby …" she murmured, smiling into their kiss.

"Don't push it," Jen grinned against Tracy's mouth, before succumbing to her kisses once again. If the progress of their relationship thus far were any indication, she was quite certain the woman could manage to talk her into anything.

Olivia kissed her slowly, leisurely, and Natalia fell into that mouth willingly; unable to tell whether the dizziness in her head was a result of the woman or the wine. Not that she really cared. Olivia Spencer was kissing her, and nothing in the world had ever felt so good.

The moment was interrupted by the arrival of their server; a tall, well-built young man named Damian Andreas, who had worked at the Beacon since his graduation from high school nearly four years prior. Completely unfazed by the exchange he was witnessing, he quietly cleared his throat to announce his presence, "Your salads and bread, Ms. Spencer," he announced politely, his voice peppered with just the slightest hint of a Greek accent, as he set the first course of their meal before them.

With a slight flush coloring their cheeks, Olivia looked up at him, while Natalia avoided his eyes for a moment. "Thank you, Damian," they said in concert, as he took on step backward, clasping his hands behind his back.

He smiled at them; a smile that reflected in the piercing blue eyes that seemed to literally reach out from beneath his olive complexion to grab whomever gazed into them. "You're welcome," he replied; a lock of his thick, black hair falling across those eyes as he nodded his head courteously. "Is there anything else I can get for you at the moment?"

Olivia glanced up again, her eyes casually surveying him. He was a handsome young man, with a muscular physique, an angular jaw and chiseled features that enhanced his innate masculinity; but she couldn't help but smile at the boyish appearance caused by that wayward lock of hair.

He flushed slightly, nervous under her probing gaze, and shuffling his feet, he self-consciously reached up, swiping the hair away with his index finger.

Noting his obviously flustered state, Natalia sought to rescue him. Smiling warmly, she said, "I think we're okay for now, Damian. Thank you," answering in Olivia's place.

Olivia glanced at Natalia, then back toward Damian, nodding her concurrence. "Give us about thirty minutes, and then bring out our entrées," she instructed, adding a polite, "If you would, please," for good measure.

"Yes, Ma'am," Damian replied respectfully, acknowledging the hotelier's instructions. And with that, he breathed an audible sigh of relief, turned on his heel, and took his leave.

"Huh, I wonder what has his knickers in a wad," Olivia mused, shrugging her shoulders. Sliding the linen napkin from beneath her cutlery, she shook it out, draping it across her lap.

Natalia chuckled, shaking her head, as her own napkin followed suit. "You really have no idea, do you?" she said, more statement than question.

Picking up her salad fork, Olivia began fishing around on her plate. "About what?" she asked, casually mixing the dressing into her salad.

"The effect you have on your employees," Natalia answered.

The fork stopped its expedition, and Olivia turned her full attention to Natalia. "What do you mean? I was being nice to him …" she defended, "I even remembered his name!"

"And clearly, he didn't know what to do with that …" Natalia mocked; grinning at the hotelier.

Olivia's mouth dropped open, and an indignant grunt escaped.

Natalia just laughed; and taking Olivia's face into her hands, she pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. "You're a powerful woman, Olivia Spencer, and drop-dead gorgeous, too," she said, stating the obvious, as she released the hotelier's face, taking hold of her hand instead. "Most of your male employees, regardless of gender or orientation, get nervous just looking at you, because you're so damned beautiful. It's intimidating," she expounded. God, I am so gonna regret this, she thought; realizing she was giving Olivia's ego a solid feeding. "And beyond that, you command the very best from them. It's a precedent you've set with all of us, and we strive to please you, whether you're demanding it in the moment or not. So … even when you're being nice, they're still scrambling to meet your expectations," she explained, attempting to remain tactful.

"So basically what you're saying is … even when I'm not being a bitch, I still unnerve them …" Olivia astutely translated.

Natalia winced. "That's not … exactly what I said," she countered.

"Perhaps not, but … it's exactly what you meant," Olivia grinned, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "I'm good with that," she declared forthrightly, shrugging her shoulders, "after all … I do have a reputation to uphold …"

Natalia rolled her eyes and smiled. "Oh, God forbid, your reputation as a barracuda be sullied!" she laughed; thankful that Olivia had sidestepped the whole "drop-dead gorgeous" thing.

Olivia ignored the inherent sarcasm, instead choosing to take the statement at face-value; a choice she knew would drive Natalia crazy. "My point exactly," she stated firmly, but she couldn't stop the grin that played on her lips. "Now, eat your salad before your dinner arrives," she insisted, effectively ending their playful debate.

"Yes, Ms. Spencer," Natalia said facetiously; grinning at the hotelier, as she picked up her fork, and began to eat.

"So … ya think I'm drop-dead gorgeous, do ya?" Olivia teased, a roguish grin on her lips, as she offered Natalia a sideways glance.

Natalia nearly choked on her salad. Damn.

By the time the boys were clean and dressed for bed, dinner was ready, and they sat down to eat together, as they always did. They talked about their day, asking the boys about school and their swim with Emma. Both boys were excited to learn that they had been given permission to swim at the Beacon whenever they wanted, and quickly made plans for more afternoons at the pool, while they waited for their moms to finish work.

"Only if Emma and Jane are at the pool, and you have to ask permission first," Tracy quickly cautioned. "You can't be in the water without us knowing, and never without an adult. Okay?"

Two heads of dark wavy hair nodded enthusiastically, as they devoured their dinner; raving about how good it tasted. They were always good about thanking Tracy for cooking and telling her how much they enjoyed it. That was something Jen would have insisted upon, had they not done it completely on their own from the very beginning. She suspected the origins of their good behavior lay in the fact that she couldn't boil water without burning it, let alone cook a decent meal; and that her rather intuitive little boys were well aware that without Tracy's culinary skills, they would have long since starved to death.

"Are you and Emma in the same class, Dylan?" Jen asked; taking a bite of the tilapia. "Mmm … Perfect as always, Babe," she said to Tracy with a smile.

Tracy blushed under Jen's appreciative gaze. Even after all this time, the slightest attention from this woman made her tingle. "I'm glad you like it," she smiled; as Mozart, Jen's beloved Norwegian Forest Cat, snuck stealthily into the room, hopping up into Tracy's lap. He was a large cat, topping out at just over twenty pounds; which was average for his breed, and his fur was long and solid white, save his coal black tail. The uniqueness of his markings had drawn Jen to him, and he had proven to be the perfect choice, with his laid-back demeanor and sociable personality. She greeted him warmly, rubbing his ears, and he perched himself in her lap facing the table, waiting …

"No," Dylan was answering, as Tracy broke off a small sliver of tilapia, allowing Mozart to nibble it from her fingers. "She's in Mrs. Jennings' class. But we play together at recess sometimes."

"Don't feed him that," Jen scolded; giving Tracy that look. "Mozart, get down," she ordered; snapping her fingers.

Mozart regarded Jen with an air of superiority, almost as of he were mocking her, and Tracy laughed. They had this predominantly wordless discussion every night when he made his appearance at the table. She made a face at Jen, and said in a clandestine whisper just loud enough for Jen to hear, "We should set you your own place at the table, shouldn't we Mozy," to Mozart, as she slipped him another sliver of the fish; earning a scowl from her partner.

"Yeah, and he sits with her on the bus, too," Jacob chimed in; his tone edging somewhere between pouting and tattling.

Jen chuckled at her eldest son. "Would you rather she sits with you?" she teased; taking a sip of her wine.

"No way!" Jacob exclaimed; shaking his head with all the vehement protest a nine-year-old could muster. "I don't want girl cooties!" he cringed. "Yuck!"

"Emma doesn't have girl cooties," Dylan protested; frowning at his older brother.

"She doesn't?" Tracy asked in mock surprise.

Dylan shook his head back and forth. "Nope," he quickly rectified, "She's not like the other girls. She's fun!"

"No, she's not," Jacob argued. "She's just another dumb old girl."

"Jacob Aaron!" Jen exclaimed. "You know better than to disrespect another person that way," she reprimanded; her tone losing its sharpness, but not its intent.

"Sorry, Mom," Jacob said remorsefully.

Taking advantage of Jen's current level of distraction, Tracy grinned, and slipped Mozart another bite. He nibbled lightly at the fish, licking her fingers clean; then hopped down from her lap, his tail whipping about arrogantly, as he sauntered off to find his napping place. Tracy wiped her fingers on the burgundy napkin that had been draped across her right thigh, and turned her attention back to her family.

Jen was offering Jacob an appreciative smile, gently touching his cheek. "Just remember not to call people names, okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Jacob agreed; taking another bite of his tilapia.

Tracy focused on Dylan, hoping to alleviate the lingering tension for Jacob. "What makes Emma different from the other girls, Dylan?"

Jacob chewed slowly, as he watched the conversation unfold.

Two perfectly formed dimples appeared on olive cheeks in response, as Dylan offered her a partially-toothless grin. "She's not afraid of worms or bugs, and she likes to play in the dirt," he answered animatedly; drawing laughter from his mothers. "Oh, and she likes frogs, too," he added as an afterthought.

"Well, I can certainly see why you find her so much fun," Tracy said enthusiastically. "Who wouldn't love a girl who likes frogs?" she grinned.

"I know, right?" Dylan said excitedly. He took another bite of his rice, and as he chewed, he mulled over a new idea. "Can Emma come over to our house to play this weekend?" he posed; finally swallowing the rice.

"I don't see why not," Jen answered, with a shrug of her shoulders, as she peered across the table at Tracy; her eyes asking the question of her partner, as well.

Tracy nodded her agreement. "I'll ask her Mommy tomorrow," she said to Dylan.

"Thank you, Mamá," Dylan said cheerfully; taking a drink of his milk.

Reaching over, Tracy tousled the mop of thick curls on his head. "You're welcome, Cariño," she smiled; addressing him with the term of endearment she had designated for him when he was still in diapers. Then, her fingers brushing against Jacob's cheek, she suggested, "Why don't we see if one of your friends can come over this weekend, too, Querido?"

Jacob sighed, and sank down into his seat. Dylan was his best buddy in the world, and he didn't like the idea of sharing him. Not with anyone; and especially not some dumb old girl. As he sat there sulking, he was glad his mother didn't possess the power to read his thoughts. Thankfully, mind-reading was just for superheroes, not moms, and he was free to think whatever he wanted, as long as those thoughts didn't accidentally come tumbling out of his mouth.

Jen laughed at Jacob's response; and reaching out, she tipped his chin. "Someday you're gonna think girls are the best thing God ever invented, son," she informed.

The expression on his face screamed of his infinite concern for his Mother's sanity. Still, he said nothing, as he stuffed another forkful of green beans into his mouth, and began to chew.

Olivia and Natalia chatted jovially about everything and nothing in particular, as they enjoyed their bread and salads, and upon finishing, they pushed their plates back, lounging casually; their effortless concoction of conversation and kisses continuing along with the casual consumption of that bottle of wine. And by the time Damian returned with their entrees, they were laughing together about something cute Emma had said over the weekend.

Standing slightly back from the table, he smiled at them as he held their entrees, waiting politely, so as not to interrupt their repartee.

Olivia glanced up, offering him a warm smile. "Dinner is served?" she said, by way of suggestion; a light spattering of laughter still coloring her tone.

"Per your request, Ma'am," he replied respectfully, setting their plates down in front of them.

"Thank you, Damian," Olivia said amiably.

"You're welcome, Ms. Spencer," he nodded, as he gathered their salad plates and forks.

"Have you heard anything back on your applications to law school, Damian?" Natalia casually inquired; recalling that he would be finishing his bachelors' degree in political science in just a few months.

He offered her a bright smile, and answered, "Yes, Ma'am, I have … I've received a few acceptance letters, actually – one of them from Stanford Law," he proudly reported.

"That was your top pick, wasn't it?" Natalia said, more recollection than question, as she reached for her glass of wine, taking a sip.

Damian gasped softly, his smile widening, as he shuffled their empty plates in his hands. "Yes," he replied enthusiastically, "Yes, Ma'am, it … it was," he added, both pleased and surprised that she had remembered.

"Well, congratulations! I think that's wonderful, Damian," Natalia said sincerely, as Olivia looked on in sheer awe.

It never ceased to amaze her how Natalia always managed to remember personal information about their employees. More than that, she admired Natalia's ability to interact with them with such effortlessness, and how she could draw so much from them with only a few simple words.

Olivia glanced up at him again; meeting his eyes with a smile. "Yes, congratulations, Damian," she said warmly. "I assume you've confirmed your intent to attend, given that Stanford was your first choice," she said, by way of confirmation.

"Thank you, Ms. Spencer," Damian answered graciously, his cheeks coloring ever so slightly under her steady gaze. "Yes, I have …"

"Good," Olivia declared, with a firm nod of her head. "And when does your first term begin?" she inquired, attempting to connect with the young man the way Natalia had. But the question only served to make him nervous, rather than encouraging him to open up to her.

Thanks to his meticulous performance on the job, it was Damian, rather than Jackie, the lead server, who had been given the responsibility of training new hires; and it concerned him greatly that the hotelier might be displeased by an abrupt departure. As such, he had planned to give four months notice; turning in his resignation right after his scheduled visit to the Stanford campus during spring break.

However, even armed with the knowledge of his intent, the question caught him off guard, and made him nervous in the presence of the hotelier. He shifted on his feet; the empty plates clinking together in his hands, as he answered, "L-late August, Ma'am," he said hesitantly, "But I-I was planning to give my notice right after spring break, so I'll have plenty of time to train my replacement," he quickly added, attempting to reassure the hotelier that he would never leave her or the Beacon in the lurch.

Natalia noticed Olivia grappling with the change in Damian, but remained silent; watching them both carefully.

Noting the sudden edgy pitch to his demeanor, Olivia regarded him kindly. "Thank you for your conscientiousness, Damian," she said warmly. "It's much appreciated, and doesn't go unnoticed," she added, attempting to put him at ease.

"Certainly, Ms. Spencer," Damian nodded amiably. Then, noting their bread plate was empty, he sought his escape by way of offering to bring them a freshly baked loaf.

They both answered affirmatively, and he excused himself to retrieve the proffered bread.

The air was thick between them, as Olivia silently searched for an easy digression from the questions that loomed. Suddenly, she found herself utterly exhausted; having endured far more than she thought manageable for one day, and she simply couldn't tolerate any further exploration of her inner self.

Natalia understood this about her: Sometimes it's important to push for answers. And other times, it's best to allow time to bring those answers to light. This was one of those times to wait. And with this understanding in mind, she sought to alleviate Olivia's internal distress.

She playfully bumped her shoulder against Olivia's, and grinned. "And what is this?" she asked of the unfamiliar dish that had been placed in front of her. "It's not anything I've ever seen on our menu …" she observed.

Olivia breathed a soft sigh of relief, and offered her a thankful smile. "Brochettes de Poulet Grilles," she proudly informed.

Natalia's face wore a confused expression, prompting a soft chuckle from Olivia. "It's a Moroccan dish – chicken breast, marinated in a blend of olive oil, a sweet, fragrant garlic, and fresh herbs that are both distinctive to Moroccan cuisine, and then it's grilled with bell peppers, onion, and grape tomatoes, and served on a bed of Couscous, which is … sort of like pasta," she explained.

Slowly drawing in the vibrant aroma of this new cuisine, Natalia smiled at her. "It smells delicious," she said; her mouth literally watering in anticipation.

"Try it," Olivia encouraged, lifting a forkful of couscous with a bite of the marinated chicken to Natalia's mouth, "I really think you'll like it."

Natalia grinned at her, and accepted the proffered bite; wrapping her lips firmly around the fork. "Mmmm …" she moaned softly, as Olivia slowly extricated the fork from Natalia's mouth, leaving the food to be savored.

A low moan escaped Olivia's mouth right along with Natalia's, as she pulled the fork free of its entrapment. And as she watched, she seriously didn't think anything had ever been so arousing as the sight before her at that very moment: Natalia, her head tipped back slightly, eyes closed, her long, dark lashes falling across tanned cheeks, slow, deep breaths causing her breasts to torturously rise and fall, another low, breathy moan escaping her lungs, as she ever so slowly rolled the morsels of food around in her mouth; savoring the unique blend of aromas and flavors.

Olivia's pulse quickened, beads of perspiration beginning to form on her brow, as she continued to watch, mesmerized. She alternately cursed and prayed under her breath; paradoxically hoping for the sweet torture to end, while at the same time, praying that it never would; but no matter the level of torment, she could not tear her eyes away from this intoxicating woman.

And finally, when Natalia swallowed the bite of food, Olivia released a breath of air she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Natalia opened her eyes, finding Olivia's. "That was incredible, Olivia," she declared, "I've never tasted anything like it …"

"I know …" Olivia nearly gasped, attempting to get her breathing under control. "Incredible … doesn't do it justice," she whimpered, her mind and body still reacting to the sensual image of Natalia savoring that mouthful of food.

A soft chuckle escaped Natalia's lips. "But you haven't even tasted it yet," she aptly pointed out; offering Olivia a confused expression.

Olivia's cheeks flushed deep with color, and she self-consciously cleared her throat, averting Natalia's eyes, as she reached for her wine glass; nearly knocking it over in her attempt to grasp it. "I was … Umm … living vicariously through you …" she said, by way of excuse, as she took a hearty drink of the wine.

Natalia eyed her inquisitively; attempting to hold back the satisfied grin that teased at the corners of her mouth. "Are you alright?" she asked; silently musing that there was nothing sexier than a flustered Olivia Spencer – And flustered, was exactly what Olivia was at the moment.

"What? Yes. I'm fine," Olivia sputtered; setting the wine glass back on the table.

She breathed a deep sigh of relief when Damian returned to let them know there was fresh bread baking in the oven and he would bring it to them shortly; the interruption effectively distracting both herself and Natalia for the moment, by way of another brief exchange of pleasantries with him.

And finally, when he left their table again, Olivia was in better control of herself, and they settled in to share a quiet dinner together.

They talked more about the unique blend of herbs and garlic used in the creation of the dish they were enjoying; Olivia patiently explaining the difference between the sweeter, more aromatic garlic used in Moroccan dishes, and that which was customarily used in preparing American, Italian, and other cuisines, and how the foremost characteristic of Moroccan cuisine, as well as its most notable contribution to the culinary arts, existed in its ability to masterfully combine opposing flavors and diverse ingredients, creating a rich and memorable experience for the palate.

Natalia, of course, wanted to know how Olivia had come into possession of such knowledge, given her apparent dearth of culinary skills. But Olivia had very specific plans for how and when that particular secret would be revealed, and thus, she simply laughed, telling her that some things needed to remain a mystery – At least for the time being.

When Natalia attempted to protest, Olivia effectively silenced her with a kiss. And within moments, both the meal and the discussion were effectively forgotten, as Natalia's arms found their way around Olivia's neck, and they lost themselves in one another for the better part of half-an-hour; not even noticing when Damian returned with their fresh loaf of bread.

He said nothing to them, or to anyone else, especially those crass enough to ask, about what he had witnessed; simply placing the bread on the table, and quietly stepping away.