“Done,” I gasp, dropping my phone to the counter with a clatter.
“Bedtime,” he says, squeezing my ass possessively as he rocks me against his hard body.
I’m not going to argue with that.
But when we go upstairs, I’m hyperaware that Sinclaire and her family are just down the hall.
Jeff strips down to his boxer briefs and sprawls on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. His silver-streaked hair is slightly mussed up, and his thick core is flexed in the most pleasing ways, muscles that speak to a lifetime of athletic discipline, now padded in a decade of enjoying the heck out of cheese and beer.
“Come here,” he says, patting the space beside him.
I hesitate at the edge of the bed. “Your daughter is down the hall.”
“In a completely different wing of the house.” He grins. “With the doors firmly closed and locked. They’re probably already asleep because Silas wears them out.”
“Still.”
“Molly.” His voice softens. “Get in bed with your husband.”
“I want to wear something special.” I say it in a rush.
I unpacked earlier, emptying my overnight bag into the walk-in closet that he only uses part of anyway.
“You don’t need to wear anything at all.” But he nods. “How about we just cuddle and talk for a bit first?”
He scoots to the edge of the bed and unbuttons my shorts. I step out of them and let him tug me onto the bed, slotting naturally into the vee of his legs, sitting with my back against his front, his back to the headboard again.
He chuckles against my hair. “You’re thinking too loud.” His hands settle on my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles there. “Let me rub your back.”
His hands immediately go to work, kneading the tension from my shoulders with practiced ease.
“Where’d you learn to do this?” I mumble as he turns me into goo.
“I’ve had a lot of massages in my playing days. Picked up a few techniques.” Histhumbs dig into a particularly tight knot, and I groan. “There it is. You’re carrying all your stress right here.”
“It’s been a day.”
“It has.” He works his way down my spine, his touch firm but gentle. “Tell me something I don’t know about you yet.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. Favorite color. Childhood pet. Secret talent.” His hands pause at the small of my back. “Every day, I want to learn something about my wife. Are you a morning person or a night owl?”
“Night owl,” I murmur. “And I already know you’re a morning person. Your entire family goes to bed at dusk.”
He laughs and resumes rubbing. “There are some advantages to early to bed. But when I retire, I look forward to you teaching me the value of staying up late and sleeping in.”
I smile. “Okay, what else… My favorite color is green. Bright, fresh, vibrant green. Like fresh-cut grass.”
He makes a triumphant sound. “Then wefinallyhave something in common, because the baseball diamond first thing in the morning, when the grass is pristine and the early morning sun hits it just right… that’s my favorite color.”
“Mmm. But the early morning thing is… is that integral to that enjoyment, or…?”
He brushes my hair to one side and kisses the back of my neck. “Absolutely integral. But thevery unique shade of pink that you turn when you blush is rapidly replacing that grass green color as my fave, andthatI can enjoy late into the evening.”
Heat floods through me. “You are a very accommodating husband.” I think about what else to share. “I like the silver in your hair.”
“Yeah?” He sounds pleased.
