After Marian and the girls left for home, Harold returned to his desk. But he didn't do any work. Instead, he sat and drummed his hands lightly on the desk as he pondered all that had happened since his wife's unexpected visit to the emporium. And it was truly unexpected. In fact, Marian had not surprised him this much since – well, since Paris. After her frosty dismissal of his foolhardy but romantic gesture the night before, the last thing Harold would have predicted was for her to show up at his office wearing her elegant Chanel suit and humbly pleading for him to return home.
And even though he couldn't help being flattered by the all the effort she had gone to obtain his forgiveness, it had been more difficult than he anticipated to welcome her overtures. Certainly, Harold knew he was going to forgive his wife at some point. But he wasn't ready to do so just then. And if truth be told, he was rather irritated that Marian had once again managed to knock him off balance. He knew she had carefully selected her ensemble and her words to demonstrate her regret and deep love for him, but her appearance and demeanor had the unintended effect of irking Harold even more. During the past few months, Marian had been reticent to relive or even recall any of their lovemaking in Paris, and her sleek loveliness seemed to present a mocking reminder of what he had once enjoyed but could no longer have. In his hurt and frustration, Harold was determined to remain aloof even as Marian's seductive charms made his heart beat faster – after months of disappointment, he wasn't about to simply surrender to her embrace.
Then Marian had revealed her pregnancy. And Harold's cold façade had crumbled as he beheld his wife – his darling, his dear little librarian, the woman he loved more than life itself – standing teary-eyed before him, trembling with uncertainty and desperate for reassurance that he still cared. Only the most heartless of men could have turned their back on such a poignant spectacle and, even in the days when he had been a charlatan and a cad, he lacked the nerve to be completely callous to a weeping woman. So Harold had capitulated and taken Marian in his arms. As he held her, he ruefully remembered how on their wedding day, he promised himself he would never swerve in his efforts to make her happy, even if their fervor dimmed. And what was he doing now that their fervor had dimmed a little? Sulking in his office like a spoiled child because Marian had insisted – and for the most part, quite rightly – on maintaining a certain decorum once they returned to River City. And as thrilled as Harold was about becoming a new father once more, Marian's condition was a compelling reminder that they couldn't go on behaving exactly the way they had in Paris – lest he leave her a widow with a large brood to care for, after all.
And if that wasn't enough – if Harold's head wasn't already swimming as he attempted to begin the arduous process of reassessing his plans for their family's continued security – Marian had clearly and unequivocally expressed her deep desire for him, saying things that previously she had only dared to confess in heated whispers as they made love. Not only that, she had boldly attempted to initiate a passionate tryst right there on the sofa – and it was all Harold could do to refrain from taking her up on that offer. Given the sudden arrival of their daughters, it was just as well that he didn't. But when Marian kissed him goodbye, right in front of Penny and Elly, Harold sorely regretted the lost opportunity – and had strongly considered asking his wife to send the girls home and linger with him a little while longer. It was several hours until bedtime and, even though their daughters' keen ears would be less of a concern then, he and Marian would still have to stifle their cries of passion in the darkness and silence of the night.
But, Harold thought with a grin as a delightful scheme took shape in his mind, that doesn't mean there won't be a few pleasant surprises in store for you this evening, my dear little librarian. Shaking himself out of his amazed stupor – a little over an hour had passed since Marian and the twins' departure – Harold brushed some extraneous paperwork into a desk drawer and set off for home. But first, he made a stop at the Candy Kitchen to request a favor from Ed Langford, the establishment's amiable and obliging proprietor and fountain clerk.
XXX
When Harold arrived home, his primary concern was downplaying the significance of the parcel he was carrying, lest Marian or the girls prematurely discover his scheme. So when no one was waiting to greet him, his immediate impulse was to be grateful for the opportunity to stow his surprise safely in the front-hall closet. It wasn't until he had completed this task that he noticed something was amiss.
It was the distinct absence of bustling activity that alerted Harold. Penny and Elly were rarely this quiet. Even when they weren't talking, they were constantly on the move; fidgeting and giggling and rustling their homework papers the way boisterous children do. And after what had happened this afternoon, Harold thought the girls would be rushing to greet their father the moment he returned home. Marian was also curiously absent – even after twelve years of marriage, she always paused in what she was doing and came to greet him with a kiss if they were alone, and a smile if Penny and Elly were present (given her actions at the emporium earlier, the latter circumstance was likely to begin meriting a kiss as well, which made it doubly strange that Marian had not immediately come into the front hall to welcome him home).
Harold would have been worried, but for the soft strains of music emanating from the parlor. Something sultry and jazzy – and vaguely familiar – was playing on the Victrola. The seductive little tune immediately brought to mind all the evenings in Paris he and Marian had spent necking in dim, smoky corners of nightclubs and cabarets, teasing and tantalizing each other until, in a blissful and often tipsy haze, they abandoned their outing in favor of retreating to the privacy of their hotel.
With these pulse-quickening memories in mind, Harold hastened into the parlor. Even though he had a good idea of what he would find once he entered the room, his feet ground to a halt and his breath caught in his throat when his gaze fell upon the lithe form of his wife.
Marian was wearing the dress. The sleeveless sapphire tulle evening gown with deep v-neck and beaded torso that put even her fetching red dress of former years to shame – and drove Harold absolutely wild. Even in the relaxed atmosphere of Paris, Marian had been embarrassed to wear this gown in public; he could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her in it.
As if her ensemble wasn't enchanting enough on its own, Marian had lit a fire in their fireplace and was standing by the hearth. When Harold entered the room, she turned to face him, a vision of loveliness artfully backlit by the soft glow of the flames. The iridescent sequins on her gown sparkled and flashed as they caught the light, and her alabaster skin gleamed like porcelain.
Normally, Harold would have had a response ready; perhaps a teasing remark about it being a little early in the season to light the fireplace – despite the skimpiness of her gown and the slight chill of the evening air – or a flirtatious invitation for her to make use of his arms as a shawl. But he couldn't even manage a roguish grin, let alone engage in clever banter. Although Harold had always dreamed of Marian surprising him with a more sensual greeting than usual, he had never dared to hope for this level of concupiscence. It was as if every fantasy he harbored for the past three months had sprung to life right before his eyes; all he could do was stand there and goggle at his wife.
As Harold silently took in the scene before him, Marian regarded him with a kind but knowing smile. "Welcome home, darling," she said calmly, coming over to him and giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. Still too spellbound to think clearly, Harold kissed her back just as softly. But when Marian moved away, the seductive scent of her Evening in Paris perfume continued to linger and bewitch his senses, and he had to restrain himself from pulling his wife back into his arms. Even as promising as the situation appeared, the last thing Harold wanted to do was spoil the mood by being too incautious; there were a few things he had to know before he proceeded full steam ahead.
"Where are the girls?" he asked conversationally as his wife took him by the arm and guided him to the sofa.
Marian gave him that sly, sideways glance of hers. "Mama kindly offered to take Penny and Elly for the night," she replied with a deliciously low, dusky note in her voice that left no doubt as to her amorous intentions.
But even then, Harold hesitated. "And the girls went, just like that?" he marveled. "After everything that happened this afternoon, I would have thought they'd insist on personally witnessing their father's return home!"
Marian let out a throaty laugh. "They did – at first," she admitted. "But once they learned Mama was planning to work on the confections for the Events Committee's fundraiser on Saturday, they were more than eager to lend their assistance."
Harold couldn't help chuckling at his wife's charming wiles. "So much for drilling them on their multiplication tables," he teased. "Who's spoiling our daughters now, Madam Librarian?"
"I'm simply trying to even the score, Professor Hill," Marian replied archly. Straddling Harold's lap and wrapping her arms around his neck, she claimed his mouth in a kiss that was just as ardent and straightforward as the one she had given him earlier in his office. Marian's embrace rendering him as helpless as it ever did, Harold kissed her hungrily in return. Any lingering apprehensions about uninhibitedly surrendering to his desires were drowned in the upswell of sheer longing and need that coursed through him. He wanted Marian. And he wanted this. He wanted to stay on the sofa and make furious, passionate love to his wife until they collapsed, gasping and sated, in each other's arms. And then, when they had sufficiently recovered from their exhaustion, he wanted to sweep her into another embrace, carry her upstairs to their bed and spend the rest of the night engaged in tender demonstrations of just how much he adored her. Still, ever mindful of Marian's condition – he could feel the roundness of her stomach and the fullness of her breasts even through the layers of his suit-coat and dress shirt – Harold was determined to be patient, and allowed his wife to set the pace of their lovemaking.
But as Marcellus Washburn might have said, it wasn't easy. As Harold contemplated the blissful evening he and Marian had in store, he became acutely aware that his clothing was now a bit too constricting in several places – an irritating but vaguely pleasant feeling – and when Marian unfastened his necktie and collar so she could nibble at his neck, and continued to unbutton her way down his shirt, he sighed with relief as well as pleasure. While she continued her ministrations, his wandering hands found the warmth of her naked back. Tracing delicate patterns with his fingers, Harold's lips curved in a satisfied smile that was soon lost in a groan as Marian shivered and pressed her body closer to his. As his mouth sought hers for another heated kiss, he trailed his hands down her sides and caressed her thighs, delighting in the feel of her soft curves against him as she moaned into his mouth and pressed even closer.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Harold groped for the hem of Marian's gown and slid his hands beneath it. In his addled state, he caressed her calves and thighs in an intent, almost desperate, search for her stockings and garters – and a few bewildering moments passed before he realized that he was touching only bare skin. Stunned, Harold broke their kiss and looked his wife in the eyes.
Marian responded to his questioning gaze with her sly, mischievous smile. In return, Harold regarded his wife with an awed grin and, eager to explore this pleasant turn of events further, moved his hands in light, languorous strokes up her thighs. But before he could get to where he was headed, Marian slid off his lap until she was kneeling on the floor in front of him.
Harold chuckled at his wife's coquettishness. "Oh, you are a tease, Madam Librarian," he admonished.
"Indeed, Professor Hill?" Marian replied in a mock-offended voice. Her eyes never leaving his, she gave him a small, challenging smile and began to unbuckle his belt.
Normally, Harold would have been more than happy to let his wife proceed, but he didn't feel entirely comfortable with this situation. As much as he was enjoying the sensation of Marian's nimble fingers brushing against his groin as she undressed him, Harold couldn't entirely ignore the prickling of his conscience. At any other time, he would have unhesitatingly welcomed his wife's bold overtures, but now her condition was first and foremost in his mind. And it felt a bit too risky for comfort to be encouraging her engagement in activities that could potentially be injurious to her health – such as kneeling overlong on thinly carpeted floors. But when Marian began to remove his trousers, Harold did not say one word in protest; on the contrary, he found himself lifting his body to make things easier for her.
However, when Marian stroked her way up his bare thighs in the same languid manner as he had caressed hers earlier, Harold placed his hands over hers. "Marian," he said, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper, "perhaps we ought to continue this in more comfortable surroundings… "
"Oh, I'm quite comfortable here, darling," Marian assured him with a twinkle in her eyes. When he didn't respond, her expression grew solemn and she gazed thoughtfully at her husband. "What's the matter, Harold?"
Clasping her hands in his, Harold rose to his feet and pulled her to stand with him. "Marian," he said seriously, "as I mentioned in my office before we were interrupted, I've been doing some thinking. As much as I want you, it's important for me to remember that we aren't in Paris anymore. Gossip is going to come down a lot harder on you than it is on me, even though I tend to be the one who initiates our public displays of affection."
Marian looked touched. "Thank you for that, Harold," she said softly. "In return, I promise to arrange more opportunities for us to be alone together – which is why I've settled things with Amaryllis that she and Winthrop will start taking Penny and Elly one night a week, and we'll take Rose for a night in return."
Once again, Harold completely lost track of what he was going to say, and could only gape at his wife. Even after Marian's sweetly earnest confession of longing, he couldn't help wondering if her intense amorousness was partly a result of her condition – she had been quite desirous of his caresses during her first pregnancy – but this unequivocally demonstrated her commitment to renewing their ardor. Ever since the birth of their daughters, Harold had always been the one to make such arrangements, and Marian was content to let him take the lead. Now, she was the one who was boldly making plans for the future – and he found this utterly bewitching.
But Harold paused for too long. After a few moments, Marian gave him that alluring smile of hers and drew nearer, clearly intent on continuing her seduction. Realizing that words alone would not be eloquent enough to convince his wife to retire upstairs, Harold leaned in to bestow a delicate kiss on her ear and said in his low, velvety voice, "Let me look at you, Marian."
With an obliging nod, Marian took a step back and slowly – almost maddeningly – slipped the straps of her gown down her shoulders, until her dress finally fell to the floor. A wave of desire washed over Harold as he saw she was indeed wearing nothing beneath her gown, but he suppressed the temptation to pull her onto the sofa with him. Placing his hands gingerly on Marian's hips, as if she was a sugar-spun pastry that might crumble beneath his touch if he wasn't careful, Harold knelt in front of his wife. Gazing reverently at the gentle swell of her stomach, he caressed the stretch marks from her first pregnancy, first with his hands and then with his lips. Trailing his mouth across her abdomen, Harold came to a rest when he reached her navel, and planted a gentle kiss upon it.
"My dear little librarian," he murmured, "if it wasn't for your condition, I'd make love to you right here. In fact, I would gladly have made love to you in my office – "
"I was rather disappointed you didn't," Marian interjected, her voice just as breathy as his. Placing her hands on his head, she raked her fingers through his rich brown locks, which made him shudder with pleasure and tighten his grasp around her hips.
Harold quickly rose to his feet, sidestepping temptation once again. "Darling, I spent the night on that couch, and it wasn't kind to my back," he said with a chuckle. "It's certainly no place for a proper reconciliation, especially with your condition to think of. And our parlor sofa is only marginally more comfortable." He kissed Marian's cheek in a chaste, gentlemanly manner. "Your well being, and that of our child, is far more important to me than any pleasure."
Harold hoped his heartfelt words would move his wife to suggest taking things to their bedroom, but instead of looking flattered by his thoughtfulness, as she had earlier, she now seemed miffed: Marian bit her lip, and there was a flash of frustration and dismay in her eyes. Harold's first inclination was to offer her a soothing remark but then, with a start, he realized she looked exactly the way he had felt during the past few months. Even after everything his wife had said and done today, he had stubbornly and idiotically clung to the belief that her actions were primarily fueled by her condition, or regret over hurting him, or perhaps even a sense of desperation that she would lose him. But now he knew, really knew, that Marian did want this.
Once again, Harold paused for too long; Marian's shoulders slumped and she sighed. "Harold, when you told me that you wanted me to just be your wife, I took your words to heart. No matter how many children we have, I never intend to forget the importance of just being your wife." She bowed her head, and her voice was laced with blushing uncertainty as she continued, "But perhaps you're right, perhaps this isn't the best time or place for this – "
"Marian," Harold interrupted, his own voice heavy with emotion, "this is one debate I'm more than happy to lose."
Marian's head immediately snapped up and she beamed at him, her eyes shining with joy and relief as he reached out and caught her in his arms. Nothing more was said as Harold's mouth covered hers and he pressed insistently forward, losing himself in the beguiling sensation of her bare thighs against his and the passionate haste with which she removed his dress shirt and remaining underclothes. When he was finally free of these encumbrances, Harold tumbled back onto the parlor sofa and pulled Marian on top of him. Heated whispers soon gave way to low, wordless moans, which built to a wailing crescendo as soprano and baritone mingled in a stirring symphony of unabashed ecstasy. And Harold knew that in all his life, he had never heard nor would ever hear a sweeter sound.
XXX
When silence once again descended upon the parlor, Harold and Marian continued to lie on the sofa, happily entwined in one another's arms. Though Harold's back ached and his stomach was beginning to rumble with hunger, he did not move, except to languidly caress his wife's disheveled blonde curls. Letting out a deep, contented sigh, Marian nestled even closer to him and closed her eyes. With a sated smile, Harold continued to play with her hair, gazing idly at the flames crackling in the fireplace and listening to the low, steady breathing of his sleeping wife, until his own eyelids grew heavy and he began to drift off as well.
Harold wasn't sure how long he lingered in that delightful place between drowsy daydreams and genuine slumber, but when Marian stirred and shifted her position, he was immediately awakened by the highly unpleasant sensation of his wife's chin digging into his shoulder.
Gently, so as not to disturb Marian, Harold gave her a little nudge in an attempt to influence her to move into a position that was more amenable to his comfort, but this only succeeded in causing her to squirm in his embrace and dig her chin even deeper into his shoulder. Wincing and fidgeting himself, Harold couldn't repress a grunt of pain.
Marian's eyes fluttered open and she lifted her head from his shoulder. "Harold?" she asked in groggy alarm. "Are you all right?"
Though his back still ached and he was growing more famished by the minute, Harold gave her a merry grin. "I am now, darling," he assured her.
In return, Marian smiled indulgently and clucked her tongue at him. "Harold, you're clearly uncomfortable, however bravely you're pretending otherwise. And you're starving – I can feel your stomach rumbling." Gently disentangling herself from his embrace, she eased herself into a sitting position. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"I didn't want to disturb you," Harold admitted sheepishly. Stretching out his sore limbs, he sat up and regarded his wife with a fatigued but affectionate smile. "Now that we're both awake, what say we get dressed and I'll take you out for dinner?"
Marian's expression turned mischievous once more. "I've already made arrangements for that, darling." Rising from the sofa, she retrieved a pale pink satin-and-lace peignoir and a navy blue flannel bathrobe from the arm of his favorite wingback chair. As she donned her peignoir and handed him his robe, Harold once again marveled at his wife's careful attention to detail – and how he had failed to notice the presence of these garments before, he couldn't figure. Once they were both suitably clad, Marian disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve their dinner.
To Harold's delight, Marian had indeed made chicken croquettes, and they came out marvelously. As the two of them lolled about on the sofa eating the excellent meal she had prepared, Harold recalled all the wonderfully decadent mornings they shared together in Paris, when they had breakfast delivered to their room and did not get out of bed until early afternoon.
When they had finished with dinner, Marian gathered up their dishes and went back into the kitchen. Now was the perfect time to put his own secret scheme into action; with a grin, Harold went into the front hall and retrieved the parcel he had brought home.
He had been hoping to have everything ready for Marian before she finished cleaning up in the kitchen, but to his surprise, he found his wife waiting for him in the parlor. "You're done with the dishes already?" he marveled.
She gave him a sunny smile. "I simply soaked the dishes. I thought it a fair compromise." Her expression turned curious. "What do you have there, Harold?"
"A little gift for you, my dear," he said affectionately. Unwrapping the parcel, Harold pulled out a bottle of red liquid and two glasses. Marian's eyes widened, but he quickly explained, "It's not wine, Marian – it's strawberry phosphate. Ed kindly agreed to bottle some for me, and he even included two glasses." He chuckled. "I thought we might as well get a head start on satisfying your cravings."
Marian still said nothing, but continued to stare at him with an inscrutable expression.
Harold started to grow uneasy. "Rest assured, darling, I disposed of the wine," he averred. What he didn't tell Marian was that he had given the Pinot Noir to Ed in exchange for the strawberry phosphate, as the man had never been averse to enjoying a fine wine before Prohibition outlawed such pleasures; he figured it wasn't something she strictly needed to know. "Expensive as it was, it wasn't worth ruining our marriage over." He gave his wife a fond smile. "Shall I pour you a glass of strawberry phosphate, darling?"
Marian burst into tears. Alarmed, Harold put the bottle down on an end table next to the sofa and took his wife in his arms. "What is it, Marian?" he asked tenderly, smoothing a few curls from her cheek.
Marian started to speak, but she was sobbing too much for him to understand what she was saying. It wasn't until she began to calm down a bit that Harold could discern her words: " – and I can't believe how awful I was to you! I should never have scolded you like that."
"It was a rather foolish risk I took in smuggling the wine across the borders," Harold conceded. "I should have at least consulted you about it."
But Marian refused to be comforted. "How could I have been so thoughtless?" she cried, clinging to him and burying her face in his shoulder. "Dismissing the romance of your gesture and calling you a bootleg smuggler!"
"Lowlife bootleg smuggler," he reminded her, a teasing smile playing around the edges of his lips.
"I have been terribly cold to you these past few months," Marian said with a sniffle. Recovering her composure, she straightened into a more upright sitting position and brushed the remaining tears from the corners her eyes. "I apologize for my outburst, Harold. But seeing that bottle of strawberry phosphate – it reminded me how close I came to losing you." She let out a long sigh. "And all because of my darn Iowa stubbornness! I shudder to think what would have become of us, if it wasn't for my condition."
Harold's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, and his heart flip flopped in his chest. After all these years, was it really possible that she still felt that twinge of uncertainty, that unspoken fear that he was going to leave her? Placing two fingers under Marian's chin, he lifted her head until she was facing him. "Marian," he said in a low, incredulous voice, "I hope you don't think I only came home because of your condition."
"Of course not," she immediately responded – though she averted her eyes from his questioning gaze. "But if I hadn't had that news to share, would you have forgiven me?" Marian paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice had grown extremely quiet; Harold had to strain to hear her. "I saw how angry you were, Harold."
"Marian," he began, feeling his throat tighten, "do you know how terribly worried I was about you today? When I heard you had closed the library, I started sending my students on errands all over town, to discover your whereabouts. I even sent Penny and Elly home once or twice. But no one knew where you were. Do you know how much self-restraint it took to prevent me from tearing out of the emporium and rushing around town myself, looking for you? And then suddenly you showed up unannounced, wearing a dress I haven't seen you in since Paris. I honestly didn't know what to make of things."
"Forgive me, Harold, for making you worry," Marian said contritely. "After I recovered from my nausea this morning, I visited Dr. Pyne, and then spent a few hours at my mother's. When I came home to freshen up before going to the emporium to tell you the news, Mrs. Shinn and her ladies dropped by for an unannounced visit. I couldn't get rid of them until over an hour had passed."
But Harold wasn't finished. "Even if all that hadn't happened, I was planning on coming home for dinner after all, to see if we couldn't work things out. I know I implied I was only going to send the girls home in the note I left you, but I didn't really mean it." He paused and took her hands in his. "When I saw you this morning, curled up fast asleep and holding my pillow close, it took all my willpower not to climb into bed with you."
Marian's eyes glistened in the light. "Why didn't you, Harold?" she asked softly.
"I wasn't sure you would welcome me," he said bluntly. "And I was angry with you, angrier than I wanted to admit." His throat tightened even more, and he swallowed. "You and Penny and Elly are my life, Marian. Even if you weren't pregnant, I would have come home to you. I can't imagine living without you, nor would I ever want to." By now, Harold was stammering, but he went on anyway. "Marian – you are not going to lose me," he said brokenly. "I was afraid I was losing you – "
Marian immediately pulled him close. "You will never lose me, Harold," she avowed. "And I never meant to imply your devotion was waning, or lacking. I only meant that any man would have difficulty putting up with such treatment from his wife. I said it wrong because I'm out of sorts – last night and all today was so terribly lonely without you. Nothing's right without you, Harold." She clung tightly to him, her damp cheek against his. "Oh, Harold – I hate it when we fight."
Though her soothing words and caresses had assuaged his dismay, Harold still didn't trust himself to speak without his voice shaking. Finding Marian's mouth with his, he pressed heated kisses against her lips, silently but eloquently demonstrating just how much he concurred with that sentiment. As she passionately responded to his embrace, Harold was tempted to make love to her on the sofa again, but the twinge in his back warned him against it. So he simply held his wife close until, breathless, they ended their kiss and gazed adoringly into each other's eyes.
By now, Harold had completely recovered his composure. "So Madam Librarian," he said with a mischievous grin, "are you planning to display that backless evening gown of yours at the Events Committee's Parisian fashion show?"
Marian let out a scandalized laugh. "Harold, of course not! Could you just imagine the heart attacks Mrs. Shinn and the others would have if they ever saw it?" She laughed again, and shook her head. "I'm not planning to show that particular gown to anyone but you."
Harold chuckled and moved his hands across Marian's back in a gentle caress. The creamy satin of her peignoir felt delightfully cool and smooth against his fingers. "You also have several lovely pieces of French lingerie, as I recall," he said with just a hint of suggestiveness. "Lingerie that has been sitting in trunks, sadly neglected."
"Is that a request for a personal fashion show, Professor Hill?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Not at all, Madam Librarian," he said nonchalantly – though his eyes twinkled with shameless desire. Letting his arms fall back to his sides, Harold gestured toward the end table. "Well, what say we drink the strawberry phosphate before it goes flat?"
Marian regarded him with an enigmatic smile. "Strawberry phosphates aren't what I'm craving right now, darling," she said coyly.
Harold grinned. "Well then, what are you craving, my dear little librarian?" he asked, playing naïve.
"I need a second opinion," she replied, sounding just as innocent as he. "As you so helpfully pointed out, I do have a lot of Paris ensembles, and not all of them will be appropriate for the Events Committee fashion show."
Harold nodded. "It will take hours to go through everything," he said meaningfully. "It might even take all night."
Marian gave him that alluring sideways glance of hers. "Bring the strawberry phosphate for later," she whispered into his ear just before she rose from the sofa. As she walked toward the stairwell, Harold got up to grab the bottle and glasses. He turned just in time to see his wife going up the stairs in a sauntering gait, her hips swaying in a way that made him want to grab her by the waist and press her against the wall – bedroom be damned. But there would be time enough for that after next February; years and years of time in which they could fully explore their renewed passion for each other.
As Harold watched Marian toss an inviting glance at him over her shoulder just before she disappeared down the hall to their bedroom, he grinned. This is Paris, he thought, and hastened upstairs to join his charming wife.
