“Excuse me?” he said, lifting his eyebrows. It was almost as funny as his reaction to getting knocked down to coach.
“You were mad at me.” I felt nearly drunk from lack of sleep and not at all my usual self.
His breath caught and he lifted his wrist to fiddle with the tennis bracelet. It sparkled in the light, and I thought about how I’d wanted to buy him more jewelry and mentally put that on my to-do list. He was so damned pretty and the diamonds against his soft skin had my cock tingling. I let out a long breath. “Little mice who don’t answer their husbands get punishments they regret.”
“I thought you were sick of me already,” he said in a rush. “You’ve been gone a lot.” He stared intently at the bracelet and spun it around his wrist.
My stomach sank. “What gave you that idea? Other than me working a million hours.”
“After making all the implied—” He hesitated and flicked a glance in my direction. “—promises... telling me things you wanted to do with me, you were gone. At work all the time. It fit in my mind that you were bored.”
“I brought you into my office at home to keep me company a couple days a week.”
The emotions that rippled across his face had me mesmerized. After a few seconds he blushed a rosy pink. “It wasn’t the same. It was like you were possessed with whatever was on your computer,” he whispered miserably. “Those other times weren’t as fun as the first time you had me in there. I felt like I was in the way.”
“No, I didn’t mean to give you that idea.” Sighing, I ran my hand over my face and scratched the stubble I hadn’t had time to shave. “It won’t be as bad now, I promise. I’ll spell it out—I love fuckin’ you.” Snagging his chin, I brought him in for a kiss, and he sagged against my side, opening his mouth to me. Moaning, I spent a long while swirling my tongue around his. Somewhere nearby I heard a giggle and sat back, not bothering to scope out whatever audience we’d gathered. “Okay, cuddle mouse. You wake me on up when it’s time to get on the plane.” I slouched in my seat and leaned my head back.
“Okay,” he murmured and curled his hand over mine on my thigh. I laced our fingers together.
At some point later I zombie-walked onto the plane with Noah leading the way. About ten minutes outside of Austin I finally snapped awake for real and had to laugh. Noah had plopped me into the seat beside the window and raised the seat divider so I was snuggled in his arms with my head laying on his chest. Somehow we’d managed to get directed into first class rather than coach, and I was glad I hadn’t unloaded my frustrations on the woman at the counter. He glanced down at me with a smile, and I was so comfortable I didn’t want to move.
“Hey.” He rested his forehead against mine.
“Hey yourself, darlin’.” Sitting up, I grinned and got my bearings. I couldn’t help but notice whatever sadness had hung over Noah last night and this morning had vanished, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Had he been pining after me while I was lost in work? I’d sure as hell missed him. Nervousness rocked in my gut like a ship at sea as I sat back and took his hand in mine.
He grinned and stared at the floor, and my stomach soared higher than the damned plane.
It didn’t take us long to disembark in Austin. About twenty minutes after landing we figured out everything, except our carry-on luggage, was missing. I was determined not to let that get me down, though, and laughed as I left the information counter after filing a report.
Noah sighed. “So, this is Texas?” He glared around at the concourse as if the entire state was responsible for his missing things. People passed us by in talking groups or rushed purposefully off toward restaurants and stores.
“I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe while we’re here if you want.”
He sighed and smiled at me. “I doubt that will be necessary.”
“And no, this is not Texas. This is an airport.” I snagged his hand, and he groaned but followed after me, a docile, sweet husband who let me lead him around to the car rental kiosk so I could pick up the keys to the truck Antoine had reserved. If I was going to be in Texas, I had to have a truck. It was the law of the land, or at least, I didn’t want my daddy to laugh at some “city car” when we arrived.
The nearly three-hour drive to the farm and citrus nursery where I’d grown up flew by, and while I was still tired, the excitement of being home powered me along. Our winter coats had been ditched in the back seat, and we had the windows down. The balmy air blew around our hair. Unlike in New Gothenburg, the trees were lush and green, and the bugs were out in droves as we traveled closer to the Gulf coast. I let Noah drive for a while after we stopped at a rest area to piss and grab coffees, and at first I was apprehensive, but he had a quiet confidence behind the wheel I enjoyed.
I was starting to think there wasn’t much about the man I didn’t like.
“Alton, the GPS says we’re close,” he said a while later, and I startled upright from where I’d been napping again. My cheek felt weird from where it had been mushed against the window. “I didn’t expect this. Why are there so many trees?” He drove down a dirt road that also served as the drive to my parents’ house. The even rows of orange trees were perfect and made my chest swell with happiness.
“It’s an orange farm.”
“Why do some of the trees have oranges and some of the trees have flowers?” He slowed the truck to a crawl to stare out, and my heart squeezed.
“It just happens sometimes. The ones that still have oranges won’t bear much fruit this year.” I wanted to take him to walk under the stars between the trees, the way I’d done as a kid. I inhaled the fresh, clean scent of the blooms. “My daddy keeps a few animals, horses and such, and some livestock for the family to use—”
“You mean kill to eat?” he asked, his voice rising and sending me into fits of laughter.
I nodded. “How do you think those steaks get on your plate? They don’t grow out of the ground all sliced up that way.”
He pouted at me, and I laughed harder. He was quiet until we reached the end of the drive and the house came into view. It was a sturdy two-story farmhouse that Mama had painted a cheerful orange to match the trees about fifteen years ago. The wooden siding was faded but homey and I loved it. Someone had slapped green paint on the trim around the windows recently because the hue was vibrant and new; the tin roof matched and had also been done since the last time I visited. Every year at Christmastime Mama secured pine boughs below each window with large red ribbons in the middle, and this one was no different.
“Oh, it’s cute,” Noah said, shooting me a grin.
