Professor Harcourt cleared his throat, and Mike realized he’d zoned out. The professor gave him a patient smile. “You’d better go get those books, Mike. We have a lot of reading to do.”
He had a point.
As Mike headed for the door that led to the staircase, he caught Jonathon’s chuckle. “I wonder if Abi would like a few more shifts this week.”
Chapter Fourteen
HIS SKIN still beaded with water, Mike pushed open the door to Jonathon’s bedroom and entered. To his amusement, Jonathon was sitting in exactly the same position as he had been before Mike’s shower: on the bed, pillows stuffed behind him, legs bent, and peering at a book.
“Do you know whodunit yet?”
Jonathon did a good impression of leaping out of his skin. “I had no clue you’d come into the room.” He picked up a bookmark and placed it between the pages.
“Must be an engrossing read.” Mike sat on the edge of the bed and bent over to remove the silicone prosthesis from what remained of his foot. A thought occurred to him. “This has never bothered you, has it?”
Jonathon shifted across the bed until he was kneeling up behind Mike. He put his arms around Mike’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “Not once.”
Maybe that was part and parcel of why Jonathon had been unlike any man Mike had met since he’d left the police force. The few guys Mike had hooked up with had clearly found his disfigurement unpleasant. Jonathon hadn’t batted an eyelid. He hadn’t ignored it either. The first time during lovemaking when he’d gently raised Mike’s leg to tenderly kiss him there, Mike had teared up.
“Love you,” he said quietly.
Jonathon’s warm breath tickled his ear. “That’s why you’re marrying me, silly.” Then he shifted once more, and Mike found himself on his back, Jonathon astride him, leaning over to kiss him again and again.
Jonathon chuckled. “Your beard is tickling me.”
“I’ll shave it off,” Mike said emphatically. “Tomorrow.”
Jonathon reared upright, his eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare. That would be cause for divorce before we’re even married.” He stroked Mike’s beard. “I like it. Especially when you rub it over my—”
Mike covered Jonathon’s mouth with his hand. “Before you get carried away, how about you share whatever it is you wanted to run by me?” He removed his hand.
Jonathon climbed off and lay down on the bed beside him, his hand making slow circles on Mike’s belly, not venturing down as far as the towel that still covered him. “You remember we talked about having children?”
“Sure.” Then he put two and two together. “Does this have anything to do with inviting Ruth and Clare to stay?”
Jonathon beamed. “I hope our kids inherit your brains. Yes, sweetheart.” He paused, his gaze locked on Mike’s. “How would you feel if we asked Ruth to be our surrogate?”
It took a moment for the implications to fully sink in. “Your father suggests you marry Ruth, because she’s of good breeding stock, to put it plainly. So how could he complain if she’s our surrogate? Jonathon, you are a genius.”
“Hang on a minute,” Jonathon said, laughing. “She hasn’t agreed yet.”
“Do you think she will?” Mike didn’t want to consider rejection.
“She might—if we return the favor.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jonathon smiled. “She and Clare want children too. So here’s my plan. I donate sperm so she can carry our baby—then at a later date, you donate sperm so Clare can have their baby.” His eyes shone. “That way, everyone is happy. Including my father.”
Excitement bubbled up from deep inside him. “Call them. Now. Ask them to come here for the weekend.”
Jonathon laughed, a joyous sound that filled the room. “You really like this idea, don’t you?”
“Like it? I love it. I only hope they do too.”
“I’ll call them in the morning. I don’t think they’ll mind a visit. They love coming here. But we won’t mention the reason for the invitation until they get here. Besides….” Jonathon grinned. “I have more pressing things on my mind right now.”
“Such as?”
Jonathon slid his hand down Mike’s belly. “Discovering what you’re hiding under this towel.”
“Then maybe you should take a look.” Mike caught his breath as Jonathon slowly unfastened the towel.
“Aw, for me? You shouldn’t have.”
JONATHON YAWNED, his hand covering his mouth. After two days of skimming through seven murder mysteries, he’d reached breakpoint. “I don’t care if I never read another one of these as long as I live.” He rubbed his eyes. “Who knew reading could make you so tired?”
“Have you noted the plot?” Mike asked from the other end of the couch. Jonathon had insisted on putting some space between them, especially after the first morning’s reading, when Mike had gotten ideas about what comprised a break—and what activities could occupy said break.
Two hours later….
JONATHON NODDED, stifling another yawn. “I hope some of these strike a chord with Melinda. I’d hate to think we’d spent all this time reading these books without anything to show for it.” He glanced across at Mike. “It was probably easier for you. After all, you’ve already read them at least once.” He grinned and pointed to the heap of novels on the coffee table. “How many times have you read these?”
“I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that I might incriminate myself.” Mike put down the book he’d been reading. “Okay. That was my last one.”
“Mine too.” Jonathon looked at the clock over the fireplace. “It’s not that late. I’ll call Professor Harcourt and see how he’s doing.” They’d heard nothing from him for the last couple of days, so Jonathon assumed he was as engrossed in his task as they had been.
He picked up his phone and found the professor’s contact details. Professor Harcourt answered on the third ring. “Good evening. Your timing is uncanny. I was about to call you. I’ve just finished the last book.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll call Melinda to organize a meeting.” He smiled to himself. “When was the last time you had an old-fashioned afternoon tea?”
“Tea and talk? How delightful. Yes, that sounds splendid. Let me know the time.” Jonathon caught the professor’s yawn. “Oh dear. I think I might have an early night. All this reading has worn me out.” He bade Jonathon good night and they finished the call.
Jonathon put aside his phone. “This was a really good idea of Professor Harcourt’s. I only hope it pays off.”
“Well, if it does, it will mean one of our neighbors got away with murder. That’s a not-so-pleasant thought.”
Jonathon stared at him. “And here’s another for you. We assumed all the villagers kept their distance in the pub that night because they remembered what Teresa was like. What if some of them stayed as far away as possible because they didn’t want Teresa to say something that might incriminate them?”