Page 41 of More than Words Can Say

So he tried again.

“I like your hands too.”

She held her palms out in front of her and flipped them over, as if trying to see what he could possibly appreciate. He brought his own hands up and traced the lines of her fingers, the pads of her palm. “They’re strong hands. Not afraid of hard work. Yet delicate and gentle too.”

She watched his hands move over hers, her fingers quivering at his touch.

He searched for another compliment to give, gaining a bit of confidence at her response. But the next several parts of her anatomy that jumped to mind as being exceptionally admirable were not exactly appropriate to mention.

Slowly, her focus lifted from their hands back to his face, and he saw the craving there. The hunger to believe she could be wanted for herself.

Come on, man. Think of something.

“Your clothes.”

Her nose scrunched, and she cast a quick glance down at her plain, dark blue frock. “My clothes?”

“Not your clothes, exactly,” he hedged, trying to find the words for what he meant. “More the fact that you don’t really care about how they look.”

She frowned.

He knew he would screw this up if he kept opening his mouth. “That didn’t come out right.” He let go of her hands and paced. “What I meant was that you don’t waste time gussying yourself up.”

“And you like having a plain wife?”

“You’re not plain!” Zach groaned. Could he dig this hole any deeper? “I’m no good at this, Abby.” He blew out a breath and gazed at the ceiling. “I’m trying to compliment you on being practical and concerned about things that actually matter instead of superficial fripperies, all right? Cut me some slack.”

A strangled sound erupted from his wife. He slanted a glance at her. Abby’s hand covered her mouth as her eyes twinkled with mirth. He scowled, which only made her eyes brighter. Ornery woman.

“So what you’re saying,” she said, dropping her hand from her mouth and stepping closer to him, “is that you like that I’m a businesswoman, even if that means I don’t have time to gussy myself up for you.”

He harrumphed. “You don’t need any gussying. You’re plenty pretty without all the rigmarole females call fashion.”

Her fingers fiddled with the shirt button in the middle of his chest. His pulse kicked up.

“And you don’t think I’m a neglectful wife because I go to bed early and leave you to your own devices instead of doting on you hand and foot?”

“Shows you’re sensible,” he said as her fingers worked their way up to the next button. “A well-rested woman makes better company than one who’s short-tempered ’cause she didn’t sleep enough. Besides—” He paused to clear his throat. She had walked her fingers up to the button just beneath the opening at his neck, and concentration was becoming scarcer by the moment. “My, uh, hands and feet work just fine. Don’t need you waiting on me.” Her finger slipped inside his collar, and her cool skin brushed against his heated neck before dodging away to lay against the fabric of his shirt. “Though I’d, uh, not be opposed to a little doting every now and then.”

“Zach?”

“Hmm?”

Her head tilted up. “I’m ready for that good-night kiss now.”

Thank heaven. He could finally do something with his mouth that didn’t require words.

Zach clutched his wife to him and claimed her lips with such intensity, such heat, that their connection would surely be seared into her memory, cauterizing all doubt.

And just in case a few worrisome breaches remained, he kissed her again.

CHAPTER

21

The following morning, Abigail hummed as she pulled her second batch of sticky buns from the oven. Memories of the kiss she’d shared with her husband last night zinged through her mind and energized her work.

Zach had been kissing her good night for a month, but as much as she’d enjoyed every one of those kisses, none of them had left her as staggeringly altered as the ones they’d shared last night. Perhaps it was because they’d shared more than a physical connection. They had laid their hearts bare to each other, exposing the raw and ugly places. Anger, jealousy, and self-derision had swirled within her, yet Zach hadn’t shrunk back. Even when the muck inside her spilled out onto him. Instead, he stepped into the fray, fought for her—for them. With the most backward, inelegant, completely wonderful compliments she’d ever received. No poet could stir her heart as completely as her husband grousing at her to cut him some slack because he couldn’t get the words out right.