“Congress!” He crossed his arms and the muscles in his chest popped. “Those bastards in Washington are anything but loving.”
She might kill him before the night is out. “I mean, making the beast with two backs. Having bread and butter. Basket making. Blanket hornpipe.”
He suppressed a snort as he approached her, pressing his forehead to hers and taking hold of her hips. “Blanket hornpipe? How do you know these, and why do they all start with B?”
“I’m a collector of words, Garrett, and I love alliterations. Would you expect any less of me?”
“Not at all.” She was fortunate she was sitting down, as the kiss he pressed to her lips made her knees shake. “I already know you as a fount of knowledge.”
She grinned against his lips. “Are you calling me clever?”
“Clever is far too weak a word for you. How about… brilliant.” Another kiss. “Beguiling.” A deeper kiss, in which his tongue slid into her mouth and tangled with hers. “Breathtaking…”
Far be it for him to use that descriptor for her, as she was the one panting for air. “I’m impressed. Perhaps you can help me with the typesetting next time.”
“Is that why you enjoy alliterations?”
“Fewer boxes to take off the shelf.”
He caught a lock of her hair, long since escaped from her plait, and slipped it through his fingers. “I would like to take you back to bed, Sadie.”
Fortunate timing, as he had successfully kissed away all of her alliterative powers. “I would be amenable to that.”
He nipped the tip of her nose, and she giggled. “Given how cold it is and my desire to keep you in bed for as long as humanly possible…” Now he was the one to blush.
Could her darling not-a-lumberjack be any more adorable? “What are you wondering?”
“Protection,” he said. “We should be responsible—”
“I already thought that through,” she interrupted. “Check beneath the sink in the kitchen.”
She shrieked as he reached under her legs and swept her into his arms, practically running through the firehouse. The oppressive Comstock Laws still prevented New Yorkers from openly distributing contraceptives, but, being a suffrage organization, they never failed to amass a supply to protect the autonomy of the women of Brooklyn.
He reached the sink and paused, shifting her until her legs straddled his waist, then crouched. “Can you reach the condoms?”
“Almost, turn right a bit.” She strained, nearly tumbling from his arms. “You could put me down.”
“Not going to happen,” he gritted out. “The floor is cold and I won’t tolerate your toes freezing.”
She snagged a tin as a wave of warmth, unrelated to what they were about to do, swept over her, tossing her head over heels. The sweetness of this man, the unending kindness and affection, the love—
No. No no no.Those were dangerous thoughts, the kinds of thoughts that stripped a woman of her independence and made her vulnerable to rejection, to pain. The kind of thoughts that left her mindless and wanting for him.
Although she was already mindless as he lifted the tin of rubbers like he was King Arthur freeing Excalibur from the stone. He kissed her, again and again, his lips splitting into a grin as though he were so pleased, so blissful to be kissing her, about to take her to bed and engage in…
Blanket hornpipe, apparently.
When they reached their room—their room!—he slowed, laying her out on the bed as though she were precious, as though she could break at the slightest hint of mistreatment. He shucked his boots, socks, and trousers with speed that would have been impressive were she not so impatient, until she was faced with the reality of her situation.
Good grief, now she was giggling.
“It’s never a good sign when a woman laughs the moment I take my trousers off.”
She pressed her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I can’t—” She choked on another laugh as he cupped his hand over his appendage. “I’ve always thought you resembled a lumberjack, and—and when I first saw you in your long johns, I thought you were carrying around a…”
“An ax?”
She shook her head, and a snort of laughter escaped.
