Chapter 241 - Two Hundred And Forty One
Suzy’s touch was light, her finger tracing an idle path from one point of his shoulder to the next as she walked slowly behind his chair. He could feel the warmth of her presence, smell the faint, sweet fragrance of the lavender soap he’d used when he bathed her.
"Is that so?" she replied, her voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate against his ear as she leaned in slightly from behind him. "You think I’m the one who might not be alright?" She paused, her lips very close to his ear now. "Am I alright, Ryan?" she asked, echoing his earlier concerned question, but her tone was different – teasing, almost challenging.
Ryan’s mind, which moments before had been occupied with murder investigations and estate documents, became a chaotic mess.
Did something offend her again? Did I say something wrong? Was my choice of words inadequate?
Her recent mood swings, a mixture of emotions he was still learning to navigate, had him perpetually on edge, terrified of inadvertently causing her distress. This predatory air she now exuded was entirely new and deeply unsettling, though not entirely unpleasant.
She rounded his chair slowly, her silk gown whispering with each step, and came to stand before him. Her earlier assertion of independence now seemed to have transformed into a quiet, confident occupation of his space.
"Yes, my love," she answered her own question, her eyes, those deep brown pools he could so easily drown in, sparkling with a bright light. "I believe I am quite alright. But," she paused, her gaze dropping meaningfully to his lips for a fleeting second before returning to his eyes, "there is a little problem."
Hearing those words, " little problem ," immediately sent a jolt of worry through Ryan, overriding his confusion. He started to rise. "What is it? Are you hurt anywhere? Is it the baby? Should I call Dr. Abernathy back?"
Suzy merely smiled, a slow, captivating smile, and placed a gentle hand on his chest, a soft but firm pressure that urged him back into his seat. "No, no, my dear. Nothing like that." Her fingers continued their distracting movement, now tracing the lapel of his coat, then moving to the fine linen of his cravat, her touch light yet sending sparks wherever it landed. "The problem," she said, her voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper, "is that I’m starving."