You’re hungry? Here, I’ll feed you.
Or,You’re looking a little cold all by yourself on that sofa, wife. How about we share this blanket so we both get warm?
Innocent, teasing touches that sent guilty pleasure through me. If she were alive to see it, Mrs. Overstreet would have turned up her nose at such sordid affection. And if she knew the way my core pulsed in return, she would havebeen utterly aghast and ready to heap everlasting damnation upon me.
But with every gentle brush of Warren’s hand, every deep note of his low hum, I shoved both her and the scathing words I knew she would hurl at me back into the grave. She doesn’t belong in this new life of mine.
No one in my past does.
Shirt completely undone now, he tosses it aside before stooping to kiss Emmaline. “Sweet dreams, Little Bit,” he murmurs. “Momma and Papa love you so much.”
He’s so caring with my baby. When he wasn’t touching me, he was holding her, talking nonsense and laughing adoringly at her hiccups and how angry they made her.
I can’t forget how caring he is with me, too. From the moment his hand reached out to me in that wagon, it’s always been out of kindness and never cruelty.
Do I love him? Is that what makes my heart rattle against my rib cage every time he aims a charming grin towards me or pulls me close at night?
Maybe it is.
But if it isn’t, I don’t know how on earth I’m to keep my guard up against a man who took on the role of papa to my daughter and so very clearly adores her. Every time he kisses her forehead and calls her his sweet little Emmaline, all my insides go soft towards him. Towards this strong, handsome man so protective over her.
And over me.
That’s how I found myself married to him in the first place.
But now the sun has set, our daughter slumbers in her cradle, and my reprieve is over. I come back to the present as the mattress dips with Warren’s weight. I swear, this bed wasn’t this small last night. Scooting back while he settleshimself, I clutch the covers closer to my chin and pretend my shiver is from the winter winds outside instead of what might happen in this bed tonight.
He takes one look at my bundled form and grins. “How am I supposed to hear you talking if you’re about to fall off onto the floor? Get on over here, wife.”
“I’m about to fall off because you’re taking up too much room,” I grumble as I tentatively inch closer. “You should be the one to move.” The words are harder than I intended, especially since he’s right. One wrong breath could have had me meeting the floor. It’s not his fault I’m so out of sorts.
Well, it actually is.
He turns onto his side, not bothering with drawing the covers up past his waist. “I’m in the same spot I’ve always been. Right here waiting for you.” Lines further deepen his furrowed brow when I don’t move any closer. “What are you still doing way over there? C’mere.” Determined arms pull me into him until our legs tangle and his body heat chases away the chill. “There we go. Much better.”
“Now the covers are all bunched,” I complain even as my hands automatically search for his heartbeat along the hard lines of his smooth chest. I don’t know why my nerves are on edge like this. This is how we’ve been sleeping every night lately, and considering my past, I shouldn’t be acting like a blushing virgin who’s never been with a man before.
I’ve just never been with a man like Warren.
He kicks at the blankets a few times. “And now they’re not. That better?”
“Yes,” I concede begrudgingly.
“Good. Because now it’s time to finish our conversation from earlier.” The clear intent in his tone as he props up on an elbow beside me in our dimly lit room makes my heart run away like a stampeding herd of stallions. How muchtalking does he mean to do? Because the heat in his eyes isn’t just the reflection of the flames.
“I’m…I’m tired.”
His confused frown as my hands carefully drop from his chest would be comical if not for how flustered it makes me.
“It’s late,” I stammer, leaning back to put more distance between us, “and we might disturb Emmaline if we’re too loud.”
“Oh, I can be quiet, wife.” One big hand lands on the pillow next to my cheek, halting any retreat. “Can you?”
I swallow hard and try to avoid his knowing eyes. “Neither of us will need to be quiet if we’re sleeping.”
“Mara, oh Mara, sweet wife of mine.” His low laugh brushes over my lips. “What makes you think sleep is going to happen in this bed any time soon? You owe me a conversation, and I intend to have it before the sun comes up. Even if it takes all night.”
“I don’t know what there is to talk about.” A dreadful excitement curls my fingers as I stall for time and nervously tug on the bedsheet. Even though he’s beside me instead of on top of me, the hand on my pillow cages me, and I’m not quite sure how to feel about it.
