Try as I might, I hadn’t been able to undo the knot just yet, the desire coiling like a freaking Anaconda. I let my chin rest on my forearm, watching him from under the brim of my hat. He was scrolling again, his jaw flexing a little.
Maybe he was making a list of chores he’d expect me to perform as his wife. I could sure think of a fewwifely dutiesI wouldn’t mind taking on right about now. My cheeks burst into flame again at the thought. The stupid, reckless, body-before-brain thought. But here was the thing. Trent and I were married now. Actually married. With rings and paperwork that was being filed underlegally binding marriages.
So what does that mean for us?
My face got even hotter and I ducked my head a little deeper into the water like I could drown the thought before it grew legs, but it was too late. For the first time since all this insanity had started and Trent had thrown me over his shoulder, declaring that we were getting married, I wondered about what our marriage would actually look like.
Mostly, I wondered if Trent had thought about it yet. If he had some kind of plan for… physical needs.
My wildly inconvenient thoughts were cut off when he leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees as he finally answered one of the ridiculous questions I’d been pestering him with all morning, mostly to distract myself, partially to get under his skin. I’d asked this one so long ago I’d completely forgotten about it.
“Charlotte,” he said, his voice rough with leftover sleep and sun. “No, I do not think we adopted a turtle last night.”
I barely heard him, because leaning forward like he was right now, every muscle in his arms and shoulders flexed in a way that made my stomach tighten and my brain short-circuit.
Good Lord.
He was just so big. Broad. Solid.He’s big everywhere. I’m sure of it.
I sank under the water like a submarine taking evasive action, holding my breath until my lungs screamed, hoping the chlorine could smother whatever hormonal wildfire had taken over my bloodstream. I needed to stop thinking about him like this.
He wasn’t thinking about me that way. Obviously. He’d been nothing but respectful, borderline grumpy, and focused on logistics. Real, life-saving logistics that had kept me from being on a flight to England right about now.
I popped up out of the water, shaking my head. Trent was still leaning forward like that, his eyes suddenly locked right on mine. “Are you okay? You went down for a bit too long that time.”
Oh, I want to go down, alright.I almost groaned out loud, but I managed to flash him a bright smile instead. “Breathing exercises. They help keep me calm.”
He nodded slowly, but when my gaze dropped to the curve of his bicep for just a moment before I wrenched it away, the barest hint of a smirk took up residence on his lips. “Does it work?”
I blinked hard. “Does what work?”
“The breathing exercises,” he said, his tongue sliding across his lips before he continued. “Have they calmed you down?”
“Uh, well, I’m not actively freaking out right now, so yeah. I’d say they work.”
He held my gaze, heat flickering in his. “Maybe I should try it, too.”
“You need to calm down?”
“Yep.” He leaned back in his chair instead of getting up though, which meant my stupidly pounding heart was going crazy for no reason.
My reason for having to calm down and his were clearly two very different things. Eventually, he did come to join me in the pool, but only after a few long minutes of just sitting there, not even really looking at me.
By the time we’d packed up and headed downstairs to check out, I was convinced that the pool chemicals had poisoned my brain. My body was on complete high alert today and it was ridiculous.
You need to stop wanting your husband like this, Char. It’s not going to happen. You’ll just end up giving yourself blue ovaries for the rest of your life.
Halfway to the airport, Trent suddenly slowed the truck, breaking me out of my thoughts about my ovaries and the methods he might use to go about putting children in me one day. He signaled and turned toward a parking lot, and I frowned.
“Uh, what are we doing?” I asked. “I thought we were leaving, not shopping.”
He nodded toward the storefront. When I tracked his gaze, I realized we were at a jewelry store. A high-end one, no less, complete with gleaming displays in the windows, velvet linings, and classy lighting.
“We need real wedding bands,” he said simply, pulling into a parking space. “Not whatever these things are.”
He lifted his hand and wiggled the fake gold monstrosity, the one turning his finger a light shade of swamp green. I snorted. “You say that like that isn’t couture.”
He shot me a deadpan look. “It’s cutting off my circulation.”
