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She stops.

I look at her. Astrid looks completely innocent.

“That’s mean.”

“What is?”

“You know what.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“That might work better if your hand wasn’t still there.”

She looks down as though she has forgotten where she put it. “Oh.”

“Oh.”

Her eyes come back to mine. Then she takes the hand away, and I make a sound.

I’m hard enough that every shift of her hips makes the wool bite, and my thighs go tight under her before I can stop them.

She laughs. Actually laughs, head tipped down, hair over one shoulder, naked on my lap and laughing at me.

I stare at her. “What?”

She shakes her head and keeps looking at me.

“I’ve just never seen this version,” I tell her.

Her expression changes enough that I almost wish I hadn’t said it. Then she puts two fingers under my chin and kisses the corner of my mouth. Then the other corner.

I turn my head to catch her and she moves before I can.

I tighten my hands on her hips. She raises an eyebrow. I loosen them.

“See. Mean.”

“You are very dramatic.”

“You married me.”

“That remains under review.”

I laugh, and she smiles properly this time.

This one stays.

She runs her thumb over my mouth, watching it, and then she leans in and kisses me again with the amusement still in it.

I put my mouth on her breast.

The laugh goes out of her as a sound that uses her whole chest, and her hand goes into my hair and closes.

“Colt.”

“Say that again.”

She does not. She says something in Swedish instead, low, into the top of my head, and whatever it means, her hips move while she says it.