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I press my lips together, suddenly giddy.
He really is mine, in every way.
And as heat rises up the back of my neck, thinking about the way he growled and demanded three orgasms this morning before he let me out of bed, his attention shifts. He lifts his head and looks my way.
“Excuse me,” I can see him say.
He doesn’t wait for them to reply before he strides in my direction.
“I can hear your thoughts across the garden,” he murmurs as he captures me in his arms. “And they are filthy.”
“It’s the pregnancy,” I protest.
He kisses me deeply, not caring that anyone is around.
But it’s not just the pregnancy. It’s me. It’s how much I crave him, and his beastly ways.
It’s my joy at completing another project, together.
And there’s only one way I want to mark the formal closure of the Wife Project—alone, naked, and more than a little messy.
“Have you had enough of the party?” Rufus asks, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“The dress is a bit tight,” I confess.
He nods. “Of course. We should get that off you immediately.”
And then he scoops me up in his arms and strides out of our wedding reception.
Excellent timing, too, because that seam gives away as he hits the stairs up to the inn’s honeymoon suite.
* * *
