Page 3 of A Burning Rage

I listen as their voices grow distant.

“It’s not fair, Daddy,” Luke says. “We were having fun.”

“I promise we’ll have more fun tomorrow. Right now, it’s time to brush your teeth.”

When their voices fade, I stand with Ava in my arms. “All right, young lady. It’s your bedtime, too.”

Worn out from playing, Ava lays her head on my shoulder and pops her thumb into her mouth. She grasps a loose strand of my hair with her other hand and twirls it around her index finger.

After depositing my empty tea cup in the sink, I carry my daughter to her bedroom, where I’ll nurse her before she goes down for the night.

Ava’s just over a year old now, and she is weaned for the most part. I nurse her twice a day, first thing in the morning and right before she goes to bed. Other than that, she’s eating homemade baby food.

After I change her diaper, we get comfy in the padded rocking chair, and I quietly sing to her while she nurses.

I gaze down at her sweet, round face, captivated by her sleepy, bright blue eyes staring up at me and her light brown hair which is getting curlier by the day. She gets her hair and eye color from her father, whereas Luke is a pale blond like me.

Before long, Ava is sound asleep in my arms, her mouth slowly falling off my nipple. I remain right where I am because I don’t want to put her in her crib just yet. I cherish these quiet moments with her because one day she’ll be too big to sleep in my arms.

Half an hour later, Shane slips quietly into the nursery. He takes a seat in the spare armchair and watches me rocking our daughter. “She’s asleep?” he whispers.

I nod. “Luke’s asleep?” I whisper back.

Shane nods. Three stories, he mouths to me, holding up three fingers.

I smile. Shane’s gotten very good at reading bedtime stories. The kids like how he makes up voices for each of the characters. He’s become quite the narrator.

Shane gingerly takes our daughter from me, kisses her forehead, and lays her in her crib. “Goodnight, sweet pea.”

Then he offers me his hand so he can pull me onto my feet and wrap his arms around me.

Now that the kids are asleep in their beds, it’s our time. We’ll spend the next hour or two cuddling on the sofa in the family room, just talking or making out like teenagers. Sometimes we watch a movie. Tonight we have the common area—the kitchen and family room—all to ourselves as our housemates, Sam and Cooper, are out on a date.

* * *

Shane’s already in bed by the time I finish washing up and join him. He’s leaning against the headboard, shirtless, with the blankets covering his lap. At the moment, his attention is glued to the hardcover book in his hands.

He sleeps commando, so I know full well what’s underneath that bedding. “That must be Jamie’s new book,” I say as I come to stand at my side of our bed and pull back the covers.

Absently, he nods. “It’s really good. It’s only a matter of time before Hollywood comes knocking at his door. His books would make fantastic military action movies.”

When Shane finally lifts his gaze from the book and gets a glimpse at what I’m wearing, his eyes widen. He slips his bookmark between the pages and snaps the book closed before laying it on his nightstand. Now I’ve got his full attention. His electric blue eyes are glued to me.

I’m wearing a sheer nightgown, one so short it doesn’t even cover my bare butt cheeks. This kind of nightgown isn’t designed for sleeping.

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “It seems like a waste of effort to put that on when you know I’m going to take it off you in ten seconds flat.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

He chuckles as he leans across the bed, grabs one of my wrists, and hauls me onto the mattress. “I’ve had to share you all day with the kids, the bookstore, and Sam and Cooper. But now you’re all mine.”

Shane pulls me onto his lap so that I’m straddling his thighs. Even through the bedding, I can feel his growing arousal swelling beneath me. But he doesn’t undress me or reach for my breasts, not yet anyway. Instead, he cups my face and gazes into my eyes for the longest time, staring at me like he’s cataloging every fleck of color, the length of every eyelash.

He’s not just staring. He’s memorizing.

The moment feels suddenly very heavy.

“What are you doing?” I ask.