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“Oh, Bram…”
Everything was just as he’d arranged. White pillar candles nesting inside hurricane shades cast a shimmering light across the warm wooden paneling and luxurious carpets. “It’s beautiful…,” she said in a way that convinced him she’d forgotten all about the carriage and horses. “I love it. I love you.” Her gaze moved past him to the bed, and she burst out laughing. “Are those rose petals scattered on the sheets?”
He smiled against her skin. “Too much?”
“Way too much.” She threw her arms around him. “I love it!”
He undressed her slowly, kissing all that he uncovered: the curve of her shoulder, the swell of her breast. He went to his knees and kissed her belly, her thighs, knowing he was the luckiest man on earth. She undressed him just as slowly, and when he couldn’t endure it any longer, he drew her to the bed, and the rose petal sheets.
Which had seemed like a good idea, but…
He pulled a petal from his mouth. “These suckers are everywhere.”
“I’ll say. Even here.” She eased open her thighs. “Do something about it, will you?”
So maybe the rose petals weren’t such a bad idea after all.
The boat rocked beneath them. They made love again
and again, cocooned in their private, sensual world, vowing with their bodies everything they’d promised with their words.
The next morning, he awakened first and simply lay there, with his wife cradled in his arms, breathing in her scent, giving thanks…and thinking about Skip Scofield. You’re going to need to help me out, pal. I don’t have as much practice being a sensitive guy as you do.
You could start by losing the sarcasm, Skip replied.
Georgie wouldn’t recognize me.
At least pick your moments.
That he could do. Georgie nestled closer, and he curled his hand over her hip. I’m finally one up on you, Skipper. There you are, stuck forever with little Scooter Brown. And here I am… He kissed his wife’s soft hair. Here I am with Georgie York.
She finally stirred, but she wouldn’t let him kiss her until she’d brushed her teeth. As she stepped naked out of the bathroom, he took in a withered rose petal clinging to her nipple and held out his hand. “Come here, wife,” he said softly. “Let’s get you pregnant.”
She shocked him by waving him off. “Later.”
He eased up against the pillows and eyed her warily as she pulled her video camera from one of the suitcases delivered to the yacht. “Chaz warned me about this,” he said.
She smiled and positioned herself at the footboard of the bed so she was facing him. The morning sun sliding through the portholes buttered her dark hair. He leaned against the pillows and watched her raise the camera.
“Start at the beginning,” she said. “Tell me everything you love about your wife.”
He could see that she was teasing him, but he wasn’t playing her game. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, cradled her foot in his hand, and did exactly as she asked.
Epilogue
Iris York Shepard was as unhappy as a four-year-old could be. She stood in the middle of her backyard, with her arms crossed over her flat chest, her small foot tapping ominously in the grass, a scowl stretched across her adorable little lopsided face. Iris didn’t like it when the attention shifted too far from herself, and even her adoring grandparents had moved away to talk to Uncle Trev.
Bram spotted his daughter from the veranda and grinned. He had a fairly good idea what was coming. So did Georgie, who’d noticed Iris’s mutinous expression from the other side of the yard, where she was chasing their toddler son. “Do something,” she called out over the heads of their guests.
He thought about it. He could sweep Iris up in his arms and tickle her, or swing her upside down from her heels, which she loved, or even have a little talk with her—something he was getting surprisingly good at—but he didn’t. It was more fun to let events take their natural course.
Twenty-five of Bram and Georgie’s closest friends had been invited to their annual backyard anniversary party, this one marking five years since their beachfront wedding. So much had happened in those years. Tree House had been a modest hit with audiences and a monster hit with critics, which had led to half a dozen juicy acting roles for him. Then, with Rory’s backing, he’d produced his own screenplay. Audiences had loved it, and his career was set.
As for Georgie…She was still interpreting the world through her camera lens and doing a damned fine job of it. Each of her three documentaries was better than the last, and she was starting to pile up some major awards. But as much as they both loved their work, not even filmmaking gave them as much joy as their family.
Chaz began weaving her way through the crowd. As Bram took in her shiny dark bob, cherry red sundress, and silver sandals, he could barely remember the desperate girl he’d picked up outside that bar so many years ago. Even the angry young woman who used to rule his kitchen had mellowed. Not that Chaz had lost her sass—she and Georgie could still go at it—but they were all family now—he and Georgie and their kids; Chaz and Aaron; and, of course, Paul and Laura, who’d gotten married in this very backyard.
Their wedding had been Chaz’s first job after culinary school. Instead of working at a high-end restaurant as she’d always planned, she’d surprised them by deciding to open a catering business. “I like being in people’s homes” was how she’d explained it.
