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Collapsing against her, he held her tight, afraid that if he let go, he’d lose her. Rationally he knew that she was here, with him, and had pledged her life to him, but for so many years she’d been lost to him so that he clung to her as if to life itself. “I love you,” he murmured into the sweat-darkened strands of her hair.
Propping up on one elbow, she gazed down on him with eyes that shifted from green to blue. “I thought the doctor said to take things easy,” she teased.
“With you, nothing’s easy.”
Tilting her head back, she laughed, and the sound drifted to the rafters, high overhead. “I promise not to try to be impossible.”
He slid her a knowing glance. “Don’t make any rash statements.”
“You’re asking for it, Flannery.”
His eyes sparked. “You bet I am.” And with that, he grabbed her again, ignoring his doctor’s instructions completely.
* * *
On Sunday morning Kaylie dragged herself out of bed, showered and dressed in clean jeans and a rose-colored sweater.
“What’re you doing?” Zane asked, opening one sleepy eye and groaning as he watched her gather her hair into a ponytail and run a tube of lipstick over her lips.
“Duty calls,” she replied, tilting her head to loop a gold earring through her earlobe. “I’m still a working woman, you know. I’ve got a million and one things to do before the show tomorrow.”
He grunted, and Kaylie sensed the first argument of their short marriage. “You can call in and explain to Jim—”
“No.”
“But wouldn’t you love to prolong the honeymoon?”
“Absolutely. But I can’t. I’ve already missed more than my share of work lately.” She caught his reflection in the oval mirror above an antique dresser. Draped across the sheets, wearing only his bandage and a day’s growth of beard, he grinned that sexy grin that caused her heart to trip.
Still, she couldn’t let him push her around and try to dominate her life. They had to start off on the right foot.
“You don’t have to work, you know. I can take care of us.”
“It’s my job, Zane. A job I happen to love. I’m not going to give it up.”
“Not ever?”
Turning, she said, “Ever’s a long time. But certainly not in the foreseeable future.”
“So how long do you plan to be hostess of West Coast Morning?”
“How about for as long as I want to? Or as long as the station wants me? You know, this job won’t be indefinite. Whether the producer admits it or not, there is some age prejudice involved.” She expected him to object, to give her reason upon reason why she shouldn’t continue with her career, but he only lifted a shoulder.
“Whatever you want,” he muttered.
She could have been knocked over with a feather. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Whatever I want?”
“Umm. Long as you take care of yourself.”
“And you trust me?”
“I’m trying,” he said, his smile fading. “It’s not easy.”
Surprised at his turnabout, she snagged a pair of his jeans from the floor of the cabin and tossed them at him. “Come on, get dressed.”
“I could use a little help,” he suggested, one brow lifting craftily.
“Could you?” She couldn’t help but play along with his game.
