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“I’d say that messy and emotional just about sums up our relationship, doesn’t it?”
She let out a watery laugh. “Very true. But I’ve never been responsible for someone else’s life before. It’s rather terrifying.”
“Now you’re responsible for two lives, mine and Tira’s. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.”
“You were both doing perfectly well without me. All I’ve done is complicate things.”
He uncurled her fingers and rested her palm against his chest. “Any complication is a small price to pay for having you in our lives, I assure you.”
She blushed. “I can scarcely believe that, but thank you.”
When her warm fingers curled into the thin fabric of his nightshirt, his heart skipped a few beats. It took every ounce of willpower not to lean forward and tease a kiss from her luscious lips—her red nose notwithstanding. In fact, he was tempted to kiss that too, since it was so adorably vulnerable.
Kissing his wife was the last thing he should do, considering how emotional she was. He prayed that her gaze wouldn’t drop down to his lap. If it did, she couldn’t fail to see the erection that had pushed up the covers.
Bloody hell, man. Get control of yourself.
But his body refused to obey, and her gazedidwander down to his lap—and stuck there.
“Sorry about that,” he said with a sigh.
She lifted an ironic eyebrow, even though her cheeks had turned a shade that matched her nose. “You must be feeling better.”
“No, it’s you. I could be three-quarters dead and I would probably still react the same way.”
Their gazes locked and they both froze, as if trapped in amber. Her breath caught nervously in her throat, but he swore her violet gaze shimmered with longing. It was the most awkward and intensely arousing moment of Royal’s life.
“You’d better go,” he forced himself to say.
She jerked, as if coming out of a trance, and then glanced at the bedside table. “But I promised Brody I’d massage some liniment into your leg.”
The image of Ainsley’s slim hands rubbing his thigh almost undid him. If she didn’t leave the room at once, he expected he’d explode. Andthatwould be the final, humiliating end to an already trying day.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said.
She eyed him with a degree of uncertainty. “Brody seemed to think it was necessary.”
“Brody is an old woman. I’ll just have another whisky, and everything will be fine.”
“You’ll have no more whisky.”
She scrambled sideways as he reached for the glass on the side table. Royal grabbed it, twisting to keep it out of her reach. His thigh muscles immediately went into spasm.
“Dammit,” he gasped, almost dropping the glass.
“Now look what you’ve done.” Ainsley snatched the crystal tumbler from his hand.
He was too busy trying not to pass out from the pain to answer. Ainsley placed the glass out of his reach and pressed him back into the pillows.
“Lie back and catch your breath before you expire from your own stupidity,” she said.
Despite her tart words, her hands were gentle as she brushed the damp hair off his forehead. She murmured soothing, nonsensical words under her breath—the same as she did for Tira when she thought no one was listening—while blotting the sweat from his face and neck with one of the small towels from the night table. When she started massaging his temples, his nausea began to fade.
After a minute or two, his eyes drifted closed. He sank into a velvety dark, lulled by the heat and gentle crackle of the fire. Her hands were better than whisky and better than any laudanum he’d ever forced himself to drink. If she kept it up, he just might be able to sleep.
“Better?” she whispered after a few minutes.
He pushed his head into her hand and murmured his approval.
