Page 14 of A Whim and a Prayer

So that’s the way you want to play it, eh? Pressing in close, he nuzzled her ear while his hand reached down to slip beneath the hem of her gown, fingers caressing as they trailed up the silky skin of her thigh.

The woman popped up like a piece of corn in a red-hot frypan, turning around to slap at his hand. “What on earth are you doing?” she hissed.

He hooked her close with a patient smile. “Getting your attention, Little Girl, because as I recall after twenty-six years of marriage, lovemaking is one of the best”—he bent to suckle her earlobe, managing a quick flick of his tongue in her ear—“and most fun ways to do that.”

“Well, stop!” she screamed as she pummeled his chest, and that was when he finally realized just how important this was to her. Never in their lifetime together had Charity ever warded him off.

He tightened his hold, voice suddenly tender. “I will stop if you talk to me about what’s bothering you, Charity, because I guarantee neither of us is going to get any sleep until you do.”

“Ha! I’ve got an Amytal in me, buster, so good luck with that. I’ll be asleep in minutes.”

His tenderness diminished a hair. “Go right ahead, sweetheart.” He chuckled, the sound as hard as his hold while he stole a kiss before she jerked away. “Like I told you before, I’m happy to do all the work while you snooze away.” Anchoring her to his chest with one arm, he managed to unlatch the first three of those blasted buttons on her nightgown with the other.

“All right, all right, stop!” She was wild-eyed, her breathing accelerated along with his.

He loosened his hold, stomach clenching at the sudden glaze of tears in her eyes. “Sweetheart,” he whispered as he caressed the side of her face, “please tell me what’s wrong.”

She sniffled, and he tucked her close. “It’s … Winnie, Mitch. You side with her instead of with me, and it’s not right.”

A quiet expulsion of air wisped from his lips, ruffling her hair. He knew Charity worried about Winnie, but since the onset of menopause, she pretty much worried about everything. So Mitch had mostly ignored it, providing damage control whenever necessary. He pressed a gentle kiss to her head. “Sweetheart, I’m not trying to buck you. It’s just that she’s eighteen in less than a month—”

“But still seventeen, and a young seventeen at that.”

“In her second year of college—” he defended.

“Only because she skipped a grade since she tested so well in kindergarten, which now I totally regret. She’s already emotionally younger than most seventeen-year-olds, just like I was at that age, and now she’s more than a year younger chronologically from her classmates at Radcliffe as well, which concerns me.”

He planted another kiss to her hair. “You worry too much, Little Girl, you know that?”

She pulled back with a troubled slope of brows. “And you don’t worry enough, Mitch, because Winnie’s a ‘little girl,’ too, just like you started calling me way back then, remember? And almost the same age I was when I seduced you—”

Mitch’s mouth fell open. “For pity’s sake, Charity, what in blazes does that have to do with anything?” he said in a near growl, never comfortable rehashing the nefarious beginnings of their relationship.

She sat up with a plea in her eyes. “Mitch, I see myself in Winnie through and through—immature, reckless, and yearning for love. For pity’s sake, you remember how I used to be?”

His mouth went flat. “Unfortunately. But Winnie is not you—”

“No, she’s younger and more naïve and certainly not as developed physically as I was, thank God. But she’s just as daring and dangerous as I used to be, which is not a good combination.”

“For crying out loud, Charity, Winnie has Beck and Abby to hold her accountable—”

“And I had Emma,” she insisted, Charity’s sister-in-law and best friend who was as near to sainthood as Mitch had ever seen. She grabbed his hand, clutching it to her chest. “Oh, Mitch, call it motherly concern or intuition, or even my notorious sixth sense that you always make fun of, but please, please hear me on this. Winnie needs oversight and protection more than Julia or Hope ever did—I can feel it in my bones.”

He placed his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze. “So did Henry, sweetheart, but he turned out okay.”

“Only through the grace of God and a boatload of prayers”—her tone took a turn toward dry—“not to mention a godly woman who could make even Emma look wayward.”

Smiling, he shook his head. “I’m just worried that we’ll push her away. She’s always had a bit of a rebellious streak—”

“Yes, just like I used to have,” Charity emphasized.

His brow hiked up. “Used to?”

She gave his hand a light slap with a trace of a smile. “Stop it.”

He reeled her in as he dropped back on his pillow, resting her head on his chest. “We both know she’s struggled with insecurity over the years since she’s adopted and not blood, so I’m concerned a stricter approach will only exacerbate that.”

She pinched his chest. “You mean make you look like the bad guy, too, instead of just me.”