Page 99 of Making Over Maris

Chapter Sixteen

Thank God the next day was Saturday. They could sleep in.

Sara loved sleeping in. Loved it more wrapped in Jack’s arms with Ding curled around their heads, nibbling on their hair.

Ding was a bit odd. But she loved him.

Jack’s phone rang a couple times and Sara’s cell chimed off and on. They ignored them both. When they finally got up, he made breakfast—scrambled eggs and French toast and bacon—and then they hopped in his car, put down the top and took a drive up the coast. They had lunch on the Santa Barbara Pier—delicious clam chowder in yeasty bread bowls—and walked along the beach for hours with their fingers entwined. They liked it so much they stayed the night.

On Sunday they drove home and visited a quirky boutique in North Hollywood that Sara loved. It was filled with BDSM clothing and jewelry—all stuff that could be worn in polite society but cleverly crafted so the uninitiated would never know. Way in the back, behind a curtain, they found a special selection of toys and…equipment. They explored the treasure trove, laughing and joking and holding up item after item. When Sara threateningly waggled an enormous strap-on dildo at him, he blanched but she wasn’t altogether sure that was fear in his eyes.

Jack spent a fortune.

He couldn’t wait to get home and try the stuff out, which made something warm glow in the region of her heart. She loved this. Loved even more that he loved this. They headed back to his house with the late-afternoon sun warming their faces and the freeway breeze teasing their hair.

Jack stopped at his favorite Chinese takeout place on the way home. Together he and Sara carried the bags of food into the house and arranged everything on the table, laughing over the fact that the restaurant had gotten the order completely wrong but somehow it didn’t matter. Everything was good.

After dinner they sat on the couch in the living room.

“I have something for you,” he said.

Sara nibbled her lip. “Is it something you bought at Trisk?”

He laughed. “That’s for later. Wait here.” He sprinted to his office and found the envelope that had been sitting there for almost two months. When he handed it to her, she tipped her head to the side. He loved when she did that.

“What is it?”

“Open it.”

She did, and froze. “Jack.”

“Your tickets. To Paris.”

“I’d completely forgotten.”

“Really?” That was difficult to believe. She’d been adamant. Then again she usually was. “You leave on Tuesday. I’ll take you to the airport that night. I booked you a room in a hotel on the Seine with a view of the Eiffel Tower.”

She sucked in a breath and studied the itinerary. “Oh. This is… This is… I can’t accept this, Jack.”

His belly dropped. He gaped at her. “What do you mean, you can’t accept it? You have to. We had an agreement. You leave next Tuesday.”

“But that wasn’t fair of me. I shouldn’t have—”

He set his teeth. “They’re non-refundable.”

“They are?”

“Yes. And I want you to go.”

“You do?”

He kissed her. And kissed her again. “I do.” He did. As difficult as it would be with her gone, as hard as it was to put her on a plane, she wanted this. Had dreamed of this. And by God he was giving it to her. “You should have a wonderful thirtieth birthday. You deserve it.”

Why tears sprang to her eyes, he didn’t know. But then there was so much about women he simply didn’t understand.

Like why her lip trembled as she looked up at him. Why she asked in a wobbly voice, “Won’t you come with me?”

The egg foo young curled in his belly. “To Paris?” What was that, an eleven-hour flight?