Seven and Counting?

A/N: Well, I couldn’t resist! I’ve revised the sequel to Six and Counting. That story is climbing the charts, thanks to all of you, so I decided to upload this little tale in gracious gratitude. It’s only eight chapters, but I hope you enjoy revisiting the characters. This story pushes the envelope regarding PG-13 as well, so be advised. Also, check out the book cover on this one and its predecessor. Pretty snazzy, eh? Enjoy Seven and Counting. If you’ve come across this story before reading the first one, you’d better go back and read Six and Counting. This one will make more sense then. And please…vote, fan, and comment!

        Watching him work always provided Emily McNeal with a zing of pleasure piercing right into the vicinity of her heart. After two years she still had to convince herself that the handsome man seated out on the beach house deck was all hers. Today was no exception, although they had weighty subject matter to discuss. However, she took a moment to stand in the family room and study said husband of two years, espionage author Shane McNeal as he tapped out his next novel upon his laptop.

        It was a glorious California late winter day, which meant low clouds here in Corona del Mar and perhaps a sweatshirt to keep warm. Sighing, Emily put her packages on the granite counter, thankful all the children were still in school, and made her way out the slider to reluctantly join her husband.

        Shane glanced up quickly at Emily’s approach, shot her a distracted smile and then returned his attention to the computer screen, typing furiously. Heaving another sigh, Emily stepped to the rail and leaned on it, looking down at the empty beach below, waiting for Shane to get to a stopping place. She watched the waves roll in rhythmically, wishing her life remained that constant. But the information she was about to impart would have a tsunami effect in their lives. All their lives.

         Hearing his final, triumphant “Save” tap, Emily turned around as Shane put the laptop on the Plexiglas table next to him. Shooting her a white-toothed grin Shane patted his lap, encouraging his wife to come cuddle on the lounger he occupied.

                “C’mere, Sweetheart. It’s never too early to tell ole Santa here what you want for Christmas. Or, for anytime.”

            Shane’s lecherous leer beckoned and as always Emily succumbed, ambling over to him in a sashaying walk. Swinging a leg over his prone body, she seated herself on the rapidly rising front placket of his jeans.

             “Oof. Careful, darlin’, or Santa ain’t gonna be able to deliver.”

             Leaning his head back against the lounger cushion, dark hair falling over glasses, Shane’s narrowed gaze sharpened as Emily shifted on him. Losing that wolfish smirk, Shane gripped her jean-clad hips, running expert fingers up and under the long-sleeve blouse to touch silky skin. Even as he inched toward plump breasts, Emily replied to his comment cryptically.

              “I’ll be able to.”

             “Oh, I know you will, Sweetheart.”

                Hands expertly reaching her bra, he paused when Emily said, “Deliver, I mean. I’ll be able to deliver.”

                Momentarily derailed from his planned seduction, Shane cocked his head, eyes roving Emily’s face, hands stilling. With a wrinkled brow, Shane studied his wife’s countenance, trying to make sense of her latest comment. But it made no sense in the current context and her expression gave little away. Perhaps a bit of worry, since she’d caught her bottom lip with her top teeth and her own hands had drifted to his hoodie-covered chest, anchoring there.