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He stood in the entrance, watching her stroll around the room and study the furniture. She peeked into the closet and was surprised to see all his clothes pushed to one side, leaving the other half completely bare. The skin on the back of her neck prickled as she wondered if this was where Amy had hung her dresses.
“I cleaned out a few drawers for you too,” Grady said, bringing her attention back around in time to catch him opening a dresser drawer to show her it was empty.
She blinked in surprise. He’d cleaned the space out for her? That meant. . .leaving the closet half-bare hadn’t been some tribute to his departed wife. It was done in order to welcome B.J. Feeling ashamed of her thoughts, she looked at the room in a new light and realized this probably wasn’t even the master bedroom. There wasn’t a bath connected, nor did it contain some of the amenities a homeowner would put in his private chambers.
He’d probably moved into this room after Amy died. That suspicion was confirmed when she moved back into the hall and motioned toward the half a dozen closed doors lining the walls.
“What’re they?”
Grady shrugged, unable to meet her eyes. “Other rooms,” he said on a mumble and started back down the stairs.
Though she was tempted to go peek, she decided not to mess with opening any closed doors just yet. She turned to follow him back down to the ground floor. But once she entered the living room, an open photo album caught her attention. Wandering closer, she jerked to a stop when she saw a picture of Grady feeding Amy a piece of wedding cake.
Unable to stop her curiosity, she stepped cautiously closer. Then she sank into the chair and pulled the album onto her lap. Grady turned, noticing her preoccupation, and immediately zipped his gaze guiltily to hers. He opened his mouth as if to apologize for its presence, but what came out was, “I didn’t mean to leave that out.”
B.J. shook her head, letting him know it didn’t matter. In a way, it really didn’t matter. It’d been so long since she’d seen Amy.
Smiling at the picture, she said, “She sure was happy.”
Grady closed his mouth and slowly eased down next to her. “Yes, she was.”
B.J. turned the page and snorted when she caught sight of a huddle of women falling over themselves to catch Amy’s bouquet.
“You know, you’re the only person I can stand to hear talk about her,” Grady said.
Jerking her head up, B.J. gaped as he gave her a half smile.
“Everyone else is always so sympathetic when they mention Amy. It. . .makes me sick. I mean, almost physically ill. I can’t handle pity. It just. . .it makes me feel worse. But you. . .you actually talk about her like she existed. And you remember when she was happy and healthy and alive.”
B.J. looked down at another photo but didn’t see it this time. “I remember you used to be pretty happy yourself.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. Then he cleared his throat and pushed to his feet.
Quietly closing the album, she pushed to her feet as well. And they stood there in silence, both making sure they had their gaze set firmly on different parts of the room.
Unable to take it any longer, B.J. blurted out the first thing that came to her head. “You know, I heard only eighty percent of Americans actually have sex on their wedding night.”
Grady lifted his face. She could see his mind spinning, and it suddenly dawned on her how suggestive her comment sounded.
“What are you trying to say?” he asked, his voice cautious.
“I. . .I’m not trying to say anything,” she answered, defensive. “I mean, I said what I wanted to say. I just thought it was weird so many people didn’t. . .” Damn, she was only burying herself deeper.
“I think it’s weird too,” he returned quietly.
She nearly sighed in relief. Licking her lips, she darted a glance toward the doorway. “So. . .do you want to—”
“Hell, yes,” he cut in, already reaching for her.
When his mouth slanted across hers and his arms crushed her to his chest, she finally did let her sigh loose. Thank God, thank God, she thought. Something finally felt right. She’d been tense and unsure of everything ever since saying I do. But every single insecurity inside her melted away in Grady’s arms.
If only they could have sex all the time, then life would be perfect.
He had her tee and bra off by the time they made it to his—er, their—room. She’d stripped him of his tie and shirt, and they were each working on the other’s pants. As he backed her toward his bed, he skimmed her jeans down over her hips and paused when he realized she hadn’t been wearing underwear. He glanced up and treated her to a questioning look.
She smiled, hoping he’d appreciate his wedding gift. On a wink, she explained, “And you say only single people go commando.”
He chuckled. Then he pressed his mouth to hers, and his kiss tasted like laughter, sunlight, and heaven. B.J. groaned and clutched his hair. After backing her onto the bed, he set a hand on her knee, moved her thighs apart, and knelt between her open legs. As he touched her with his tongue, she gasped and arched. For a novice at this particular art, the man was already a pro.
