Page 7 of A Whim and a Prayer

He grinned again, lifting the covers aside to gently lay her down. “That’s the second ‘I do’ you’ve given me today, Mrs. Dennehy. Shall we go for three?” Easing in beside her, he took her in his arms and nuzzled her neck, giving a gentle tug of her earlobe with his teeth. His voice was a husky tease of the nickname he’d given her when they first met. “Please tell me, Princess, that you want me to make mad, passionate love to you.”

Her giggle was as soft as her skin to his touch. “Oh, I do, Hotshot, so show me what you’ve got.”

Those words were a flame licking its way to a fuse as his mouth trailed her neck and shoulders, slowly descending from her collarbone down to the lacy neckline of her sheer negligee. The catch of her breath taunted him all the more, and with an answering groan, he rose to devour her mouth with his own while he slowly nudged the strap of her gown off of her shoulder. “God help me, Amy, you are so beautiful, I can hardly believe you’re mine.”

“Henry!” Two palms suddenly slapped to his chest as her blue eyes went wide, giving him a mortified look before she pushed him away. “I’m so sorry, b-but I think I’m g-going to be—” She bolted up from the bed, landing him flat on his back as she literally lunged for the bathroom door, slamming it behind.

Henry blinked before he bounded from the bed to put his ear to the door, wincing at what sounded like a gag. “Amy, are you okay?” he asked, sagging against the wood with head bent and heart aching. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, I’m fi—” Her words were severed by a retching sound so awful, Henry wasted no time barging into the bathroom, chest cramping at the sight of Amy bent over the commode.

“Oh, baby …” He stooped beside her to hold her hair away from her face while she dry-heaved with several convulsions that rocked his body along with hers.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she slowly rose to her feet, taking the washcloth Henry had grabbed from the towel rack. She wiped her mouth and peeked up with a repentant smile. “I’m so sorry …”

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart, so no apology necessary.” He lowered the commode lid and sat her down before grabbing a second washcloth and quickly dousing and wringing it out in the sink.

Squatting beside her, he gently washed her face, wondering for the millionth time how lucky he was to have her. “You can’t help being sick, babe. Do you think it’s the flu? That’s been going around, you know.”

“No, not the flu …” She chewed on the edge of those pink, full lips, and so help him, he craved to do the same. Auburn lashes as thick as the beautiful hair trailing her shoulders lifted to reveal a shy remorse in her eyes. “I think it’s nerves.”

“Nerves?” He squinted in confusion. Never once in all his encounters with females had he experienced a woman who was nervous to be with him—at least, not like this. He expelled a slow and steady breath. But then, this wasn’t just any woman. It was Amy Leigh MacArthur, the shy and untouchable goddess that every guy on the base had dreamt about. And the woman so devoted to God, she’d planned to forsake marriage for missionary life.

“Yes, I think so. I was the same way with Dan after both of our engagements,” she whispered as she absently buffed her arms, teeth scraping her lip again. “The closer we got to the wedding, the more stomach issues I seemed to have.”

Henry shifted to gently stroke his fingers against her cheek, confusion still buckling his brow. “But you never showed any signs of that with me these last six months of our engagement.”

Her lips squirmed into a dry smile. “I know, but we had some pretty rigid restrictions as you recall, which I think helped to quell any nerves that I may have had.”

His mouth took a slant. “Don’t remind me. Might as well have been dating a nun.”

The smile faded from her face. “So I thought I’d be okay with the sudden intimacy, Henry, but I guess my nerves didn’t agree.”

Tempering his disappointment with a deep draw of air, he extended his hand to help her up. “Babe, we can just hold each other and go to sleep if you want—after all, we have the rest of our lives to make love.”

She slipped her arms around his waist as she peered up. “Do you really mean that?”

He battled a gulp. No.

“Yes, of course,” he lied, his honeymoon night not turning out like he had hoped. Against his will, his gaze dropped to her sheer negligee, and heat flashed through his body so hard, he wondered if it was possible to even sleep next to his nearly naked wife. He cleared his throat. “But if you don’t mind, Princess, you might want to change into something a wee bit more on the safe side.

Uh, like a chastity belt?

“No.” Her chin jutted up. “This is ridiculous, Henry, and I refuse to let anxiety get the best of me or the best of you. The Bible says not to be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, we are to present our requests to God, so let’s do that.”

Laying her head against his chest, she began to pray, and as always when Amy brought God into the equation, Henry could feel that peace slowly seeping into his soul.

“I feel better,” she whispered with a quick pat of his chest before proceeding to the sink to brush her teeth. When she was finished, she turned and offered a shy smile. “Ready?”

He arched a stiff brow.

She giggled. “Okay, okay, I know you’re ready, and I will be, too, if we take it really slow and snuggle a bit first.” Smiling sheepishly, she tugged on that luscious lip once again. “Can we do that?”

“Are you kidding?” He ambled to where she stood and scooped her up in his arms, his tone more than a little droll. “Since I met you, Princess …” He worked hard to ignore the glorious swell of those beautiful breasts as he carried her to the bed, laying her down with a wink. “‘Slow’ is my middle name.”

Chapter Six

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