Hope buttered an English muffin and set it on a dainty plate, licking her fingers as she arranged the crusty circle just so. Two steaming cups of tea, two buttered muffins and a crystal bowl filled with cantaloupe. Breakfast in bed after a night of sizzling sex in every known position.

She carried the tray to the bedroom where Brad had begun to stir. "Good morning," she said and slid the tray onto the thick down comforter.

Brad stretched awake and sat up. "Good morning."

Hope shook out a napkin and placed it on his lap. "Just a light breakfast. Are you hungry?"

He looked so sleepy and so sexy at the same time. Brad leaned over to snatch his tee shirt from the floor. Hope felt genuinely bad when she saw the fingernail marks she'd etched into his back. She reached out to touch one of the scrapes. "I'm sorry."

Brad caught her hand. "It was well worth it, honey. Besides, dyslexics have an above average tolerance for pain."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope, our brains misfire in all sorts of funky ways. But even if it did hurt a little, nothing ever hurt so nicely."

Hope hadn't blushed since she was twelve, but then Brad made a lot of things happen that hadn't happened before. He reached for a muffin and took a crunchy bite.

"Would you like jam? My grandparents' housekeeper makes delicious plum."

Brad shook his head and took another bite. "Thanks, that sounds good, but this is fine for now. Next time, okay?"

Hope instantly looked down. He wanted a next time--she did too. She wanted him in her bed, her body, her life. She wanted to share plum jam for the first time in memory and it confused her to the marrow. They were mismatched, victims of bad timing, completely wrong for each other. But no one had ever fulfilled her more.

Brad smirked and raised his cup of tea. He took a sip and swore when he apparently burned his tongue.

"Poor baby." Hope crawled closer and then sat up. "Hey, I thought dyslexics had a high pain tolerance?"

"Only sometimes." Brad pulled her to him and they toppled to the mattress. He paused to steady the wobbly tray.

Hope ran her tongue across his lips. "I'm sorry you got burned."

"Make it better." He opened his mouth and sucked in her tongue. They kissed like sixteen-year-olds in the back of a darkened theater. For minutes upon minutes they explored and stroked and savored. Brad's hand trailed down Hope's robe to massage her breast, but otherwise it was all about kissing--the ultimate intimacy. Hope relished his mouth and allowed his tongue to plunder hers and then she returned the favor.

After what seemed like another lifetime, Brad whispered, "I love you. I meant it when I said it."

Hope lowered her eyes. "No."

His fingers tightened around her small wrist. "Why are you fighting it? I'm in love with you. You need to know that because this feeling isn't going away."

Hope pushed at his chest and squirmed out from under the heaviness of his body. "Stop it, Brad."

"Why? Why should I stop it?"

She gave the belt of her robe a pull. "Because this isn't about love. It's about two adults mutually enjoying one another."

Brad grabbed his jeans and stuffed in one leg and then the other. "Tell yourself that's all you want, Hope. Go ahead. But I'm not into playing games." His eyes--so green--could appear so dark when they flared with any kind of emotion. And they were emotional now. She'd watched them glaze and become dreamy while he experienced an orgasm. She'd seen them sizzle and simmer last night in his rage. Now they were lawyer's eyes--inquisitive, questioning, determined.

He dragged his v-neck sweater over his head. "What do you call this, Hope? What exactly is what we're doing--three times now--called in your opinion?"

Hope crossed her arms. "Sex."

Brad reached for his wallet, shoving it into his back pocket. "Sex."

"Yes, that's what it is."

"It is that." Brad ran his fingers through his hair twice in quick succession.

He could make her so mad and he could make her so needy and now he was professing love. How the hell had Brad Simon snuck into her heart? Hope leaned toward him. Her robe gave way and fell open and Brad noticed. His eyes were like magnets to metal. He was angry, but he was still a man. His breathing quickened and when Hope lifted her palm to his chest, she could feel the hard thunk of his heart beneath the sweater and tee shirt he'd pulled on. Brad lowered and captured a nipple between his lips. Hope stroked his hair and allowed her head to fall back as she relished his suckling. He had this fabulous way of licking, nibbling and then all out sucking.

Hope glanced down to see a hard column forming beneath his jeans. Bingo. "My grandfather's birthday is tomorrow. I know you're not working, would you like to join me for dinner at his house?" His sweater felt prickly beneath her palm.

Brad pulled away with the sound of hard suction and looked up. Hope turned her gentle circular strokes into a deep massaging pattern that moved from his blades to his neck. "Come with me to my grandparents' house."

One of Brad's fascinating brows hitched as they were so inclined to do. "You want me to come to your grandparents' house for dinner?"

Hope kissed his neck. She couldn't help it. He smelled so tantalizing--even now after hours of sweaty sex and restless sleep. He smelled like the woods, fresh air and home. "Yes, I'd love for you to join me and my family."

Brad stood up. "Who will you tell them I am?"

Why did he have to make everything so complicated? Hope sighed and tucked her legs beneath her. "I'll tell them you're an employee with no family in the area and that I invited you to join mine."

Brad just looked for a long, painful moment before he reached for his leather jacket that he'd thrown near the bed. "I don't think so."

Hope tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Why not?"

He shrugged into the coat. "I have a lot of studying to do. I'm falling behind."

Hope rose from the bed and pulled at the covers. "I could help you later."

Brad searched for his keys. "I don't think so."

She pushed her breasts back beneath the fabric of her robe and tied it just to give her jittery fingers something to do. "Why don't you want to come?"

Brad shook his head. "Because you're not listening to me. I love you and I have no intention of sitting down to dinner with your family if they aren't going to be let in on that little secret."

"Do you want me to tell them that we're screwing like rabbits every chance we get?"

Brad's look was so captivating, so alluring. Hope truly wanted to wish him away--wanted him not to matter. She wanted to be nice to an employee and then be on her way. A birthday dinner at her grandparents' with Brad as a guest could prove that. He was nothing more than a casual--albeit pleasant--fling. A tiny voice in her head whispered, 'Wisconsin', and that was all Hope needed to remember.

"I want you to want them to know, Hope. Not the sex part--that's nobody's damned business--but the feeling part." His hand ran the length of her arm and she shuddered at her readiness as she glanced down to see the backs of his strong fingers caress her skin.

Hope closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment just to feel. He was massaging now, loosening, limbering, readying. "All right," she heard herself say. "I'll say we're dating." She opened her eyes to see a cocky smirk on his face.

"Dating is good."

Hope stiffened. She was his boss! She couldn't--absolutely could not--lose sight of that for a moment. "That's the most I'm offering, Brad."

His mouth found her neck, applying just enough pressure to make her come unglued, but not enough to brand her with his mark. "What time is dinner?" he asked, never removing his lips from her skin.

Hope pulled into her grandparents' circular driveway and shut off the engine of the SUV. She glanced over at Brad taking in the sight of the large, ivy-covered house through the window. He shifted toward her and his Marvin the Martian tie made her smile. He was able to pull it off somehow--'the-confident-law-student-cum-employee-with-midwestern-charm'. But she knew he was nervous and probably a bit lonely for a dinner at home with a table of relatives somewhere in the mid-west.

"Some place," he said as he unfastened his seat belt.

Hope unsnapped hers and slid the keys into her purse. "It is lovely. My great-grandfather bought it in the thirties when the store began to turn a profit."

Brad tilted his head and reached out to touch a strand of Hope's hair. "So you're actually filthy rich."

Hope lifted her shoulder toward the door. She didn't want him to feel small--she didn't want that at all. "Come on," she said and popped the handle.

Brad got out slowly as if he were weighing his very fate. The brick-red front door opened immediately. Hope spotted her grandmother dressed in a blue velvet dress--her grandfather's favorite.

Elizabeth extended a perfectly manicured hand to Brad. "Hello, so nice to have you join us, Brad."

Brad shook it and managed a smile. "Thank you, it's nice to be here."

Hope followed him inside and emitted a breath when she spotted Georgia Finn, the four-year-old hellion belonging to her first cousin, Melody, and her perfect husband, Jake. Georgia stood sheepishly in the foyer, hovering near the circular stairway. Hope recognized her act--pretending to be coy but knowing full well what she was doing as she swung her shoulders and peeked up at Brad.

"Hi," Brad said when he noticed the little towhead girl with bouncy hair and a Polly Flinders dress. He lowered his hand to her.

Georgia's eyes lifted. She smacked Brad's palm and scurried off toward the kitchen.

"Delightful," Hope said and kissed her grandmother's cheek before stepping though. "That's Georgia. She's my cousin's daughter." Brad reached for Hope's coat when she removed it. She couldn't think about what that meant, about what kind of charm and manners he could ooze. She turned to her grandmother. "Are Melody and Jake here?"

Elizabeth extended her hand toward the study door. "No. They're off to the symphony in Syracuse--apparently Melody forgot about Grandfather's birthday. But Georgia has been here all afternoon."

Hope smiled a knowing smile. Her grandmother shared in her opinion of Georgia. Hope turned to see her grandfather entering from the dining room with a martini in his hand. Hope stepped to him and kissed his cheek. "Happy Birthday! Twenty-nine is it?"

Oren Milton swirled the clear drink in his glass. "Ah, always my favorite of ladies."

Hope pulled off her gloves with a smile. "Grandfather, this is Brad. He works part-time in our shoe department while he attends law school."

"Brad, good to meet you." He gave Brad's hand a firm shake. "Did Hope mention that I took the bar myself? 1939 graduating class of Usher Law."

Though Hope had always known--always heard the story of her grandfather's one attempt at rebellion from the family business to attend law school instead--she'd completely forgotten about it until now.

Brad shook his head. "No, she didn't mention that."

Oren leaned near. "She wouldn't have." He gave Brad's back a hearty smack. "Nice to see sturdy young blood enter the legal ranks."

Hope watched her grandmother sweep ever so delicately toward the study door. They all just knew to follow her. She spoke over her shoulder. "Hope tells us that you hail from Wisconsin."

"That's right." Brad's eyes took in the cream-colored fabric paper covering the foyer walls as they passed.

Hope's grandfather threw the study door open. "I spent some time in Milwaukee in my younger years. I dated a gal whose dad owned a brewery," he whispered with a wink.

Brad smirked and slid onto the leather sofa. "I'm from a small town near Appleton."

"Excellent. A law student and Wisconsin native." Oren reached for his glass from the bar. "Glad to have you here on my birthday, Brad. I'm generally surrounded by women, you understand."

Brad reached for the martini Oren poured and Hope felt her grandmother's hand on her shoulder. She nudged her head toward the kitchen. Hope rose as she heard her grandfather promise Brad a peek at vintage turn-of-the-century law books.

"Handsome young man, Hope," Elizabeth said when they made it to the hallway.

Hope crossed her arms. Her grandmother wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know obviously, but she didn't want to be reminded. "We're really just friends."

"I see."

Carmella, the families' long-time housekeeper, stood stirring a pot on the stove. Hope spotted a decadent looking cake with white peaks of frosting resting on the sideboard. The kitchen looked like a spread from 'Classic Living' magazine--birthday edition.

Hope snatched a tiny carrot stick from a relish tray. "Hi, Carmella. Everything smells wonderful."

Carmella extended her weathered cheek for a kiss. "Si, and your grandmama tells me a special muchacho joins us for the birthday holiday."

Hope shot Elizabeth an icy glaze. "I told you we're friends, Grandmother."

Carmella snickered and added cornstarch to the beef gravy she stirred.

Elizabeth waved her hand in the air. "Carmella, it's simply 'birthday'. You don't have to say, 'birthday holiday'."

"Si, si," Carmella said, though Hope was quite certain that she already knew. She followed her grandmother to the dining room beyond.

"I don't want everyone blowing this out of proportion. Grandfather's showing him law books, Carmella's snickering."

Elizabeth opened the glittering hutch cabinet in the dining room and removed a cut glass bowl. "What would you have us do, Hope? Be rude and unfriendly?"

Hope sighed and pushed the cabinet door shut. "We really are just friends. I like him--"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Do you find him attractive?"

This was the second time in just a week that her grandmother had brought up the topic of her love life. Of course Hope knew that her grandmother must've assumed that she wasn't a virgin at twenty-seven, but they'd never discussed such things before. Once when Hope was sixteen, she'd found a pack of condoms on her dresser. She knew Elizabeth had put them there and that was the end of it. That wasn't half as awkward as this.

"I have eyes, Grandmother, of course I find him attractive. I'm just not in the market."

Elizabeth reached in for a tray. "What about Donald, was it?"

"I'm really not in that market."

Elizabeth smiled and hoisted the bowl.

"All right," Hope finally conceded. It wouldn't do any good to argue. "He would like more, but I don't."

Elizabeth placed the dish onto the tray Hope had grabbed. "More than what?"

Hope sighed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Sex."

Her grandmother looked surprised for a fleeting instant then regrouped. "And you've provided him with that?"

Hope felt color dot her cheeks. Time to be an adult. "Yes."

Her grandmother lifted the tray and kept her voice cool as if they were discussing the weather. "Was he enjoyable?"

Okay, so there were limits to this adult stuff. "Grandmother--."

Elizabeth grinned. "Obviously his mere presence here is my answer. Just be smart, Hope."

Hope held the swinging door as her grandmother passed. "I am smart, Grandmother. Always."

Her grandfather said that he loved the wallet and leather bound edition of a Stephen King classic that Hope had given him. Now, as Hope sat next to Brad on the soft leather sofa in her grandfather's study and sipped an after dinner brandy, she felt the uncomfortable stir of the oddest of things--contentment. Though she generally found the law dull, she loved hearing Brad talk about it with conviction and inflection in his deep voice. He and Oren discussed, and re-discussed precedents and mandates and why they should or shouldn't be. Hope had never seen her grandfather so captivated in a conversation. He must've really loved the law once. Giving it up all those years ago must've been a sacrifice.

The story was family lore--Hope's grandfather coaxed his only son to take the helm of the flagship store. So Oren Milton, a dutiful son, manned Milton's until his granddaughter took over close to sixty years later. Of course he'd met his beautiful wife, raised Hope's father and Melody's mother, but apparently the dream of another life had never died.

Her grandfather rose to pour another drink and Hope whispered in Brad's ear. "You're very smart."

Brad had loosened his tie. His cheeks were flushed from the brandy and the warmth of the fire. Had her grandfather not been a foot away, Hope knew she would've pulled Brad to her and slid her hands beneath the waistband of his pants. The way he was looking at her, she knew that he knew it too. And she couldn't have that.

She stood up and smoothed her skirt. "We should think about leaving. We both have to work early tomorrow remember?"

Her grandfather handed Brad a re-filled glass. "Go easy on the boy, Hope. It's a special night!"

Hope set her glass down. "Today is special. Tomorrow is the beginning of inventory."

Oren settled into a deep chair. "How is this lady to work for, Brad? Is she preparing you for the barracudas you'll face in the court room?"

Brad lifted the glass to sip. "Definitely."

Carmella insisted that Hope and Brad both take home heaping plates of roast beef, mashed potatoes, asparagus with hollandaise sauce and three different kinds of homemade breads. On a smaller plate, she placed two thick slices of birthday cake. It was as though even Carmella was aware that they would nibble dessert together after a round of mind-blowing sex.

Hope carried the bag containing their sustenance to the foyer and paused when she heard Brad's voice. She peeked around the corner and spied him seated on the circular staircase with Georgia at his side. A book was spread across Brad's lap and Georgia leaned with one arm on his thigh.

Brad read about Eric Carle's 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar' who ate though numerous goodies only to find a tummy-ache waiting at the end of his feast. After a remedy of a nice green leaf, he felt instantly better and went on to become a beautiful butterfly.

Georgia listened intently, though she always wiggled and squirmed whenever Hope attempted to read to her. Hope felt a tear puddle in her eye when Brad struggled with the word, 'sausage'. He'd obviously relied on the illustration, which looked a great deal like a hotdog, but Georgia corrected him.

"He ate through a sausage, not a hotdog," she said in her matter-of-fact four-year-old voice.

"Yeah, I guess he did," Brad said and kept going, struggling, solving, reading.

Hope felt her grandmother's hand on her shoulder. She turned and placed her finger over her lips. "He's severely dyslexic. He'll be embarrassed if he knows we're listening."

Elizabeth squeezed her shoulder and they stood silently--each watching someone they loved.

They said their goodbyes and walked into the chilly night. Hope handed Brad the keys. He glanced down and tossed the set in his hand. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. I'm feeling a little light-headed."

Brad pressed a button on the key chain and the door unlocked. He walked around to open hers. "I had more brandy than you did."

Hope felt him all around her. The strength of his frame, the sweet smell of brandy, the sound of his breathing, the photo in her mind of him sweetly reading--his ultimate challenge--to Georgia on the stairs. The images worked together--swirling, dancing, captivating--until Hope felt equally defenseless and turned on. It was all she could do to climb inside of the car without pawing at him in the dim light of her grandparents' driveway.

Brad trotted around and climbed into the driver's seat. "Will they care if they see me at the wheel?" he asked as he started the car.

"How did you know they bought it for me?"

Brad smirked. "I guessed."

Hope shook her head and Brad pulled out of the drive, tooting the horn once as he left. Hope lunged the second that he'd driven around the corner. Her mouth found his neck, the warm skin of his chest that she'd peeled back his jacket and shirt to reveal.

"Whoa, I don't want to wreck this nice car that a girl let me borrow."

"Screw the car," Hope muttered and reached for his zipper.

"Hope," Brad said without much conviction. "Let me at least pull over."

"There's a park just ahead. Pull in there," she growled as she yanked his belt open.

"What's up with you?" Brad managed to maneuver the car into the gated entrance. He found a secluded spot near a bench and slid it into park. Hope had his slacks peeled away and was working to free his cock.

It still amazed her how much she adored it. How would she ever be able to take a circumcised man into her body again? This cock was too perfect. Why couldn't Brad want the things that she wanted? Why couldn't he want a law firm in Usher and a casual, sexual relationship with her? Why did he need the house, bleak Wisconsin, the kids? She wouldn't demand monogamy and she wouldn't promise it either, though she knew in her heart there could never be a man she desired more.

Brad had set to work on the buttons of her dress, but Hope couldn't wait. She was fervent to taste him as he pulsed huge and hard in her hand. She stroked with the twisting motion she'd learned he so enjoyed. Then she lowered her mouth and devoured.

His hips bucked, his breath hissed. She stayed with him throughout the wild, pumping ride. Brad cried out and she felt his cock stiffen under her ministrations, but she wasn't ready for surrender yet. She pulled away and teased with her tongue on the very spot where his foreskin attached to the shaft.

"Damn," he muttered, over and over. Hope dragged her teeth over the bulging, purple head. He actually whimpered.

"Feel good," she whispered, taking care to ensure that her breath danced over his throbbing cock.

"Utopia. It has to be Utopia."

Hope pulled away. The look in his eye wasn't one of a restrained lover. It was the look of a Viking, a plunderer in the icy cold Nordic sea. "Are there blow jobs in Utopia?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"There have to be." Brad stuffed his cock back into her mouth and she gobbled. Hope had always felt that oral sex was a mandatory part of foreplay--you weren't actually supposed to enjoy giving it. But she adored blowing him. She loved the sounds that her sucking made, loved the glistening wetness that her mouth produced. She loved the taste of his cum--warm and spurting from deep inside.

As if on cue he exploded. He moaned in ecstasy and laced his fingers through her hair. Hope eased her mouth away as he continued to spew. She repositioned so her nipples were in the spray, showered by his glistening milky wetness.

Then she offered them to him like a sacrifice in the dim glow of a lone street lamp that lit the lane. Brad lapped at one and then the other as if he hadn't eaten in days, weeks, years and his juice served on her breasts was the nourishment to save him.

Though still fully clothed aside from her exposed chest, Hope came as he sucked hungrily. Stars twinkled, clouds gave way and she buried her face in his hair and held him close. "Thank you for coming to dinner and for coming after dinner," Hope whispered against him.

"My pleasure," Brad muttered. "My fucking pleasure."