“I’ll have it ready within the week, sir.” With a bow, Cornish departed.
“Underperforming assets?” Gabriella asked.
“Cornish and I spent the morning reviewing my portfolio.” Adam ushered her into the study. “As impressive as it was, I noticed that several businesses—banks, mostly—have been reporting losses on a consistent basis. According to Cornish, when he brought up the idea of selling them in the past, I refused. He’s going to look into whether I knew something about these businesses that doesn’t show up on the profit ledger.”
“Should you be working?” she asked worriedly. “Dr. Abernathy was quite specific that you should wait at least another week. The strain—”
“The strain of knowing that I’m losing money and not doing anything about it is more likely to cause a relapse than a few hours with Cornish.” Adam led her to the seating area by the hearth. “Shall I ring for tea?”
“No.” She bit her lip, torn between her wifely duty to remind him to rest and the need to address what had brought her here in the first place. “I won’t bother you for long.”
“As I’ve said, pet, you could never be a bother. Come, sit.”
As her bottom made contact with the studded leather sofa, she flashed to another time she’d been here, her cheek pressed against this same cushion as Adam had put his mouth on her and taken her from behind. Heat swirled from her core, spreading through her limbs, burgeoning under her skin.
“You look warm.” Adam took the seat beside her. “Is the fire too high?”
“It’s fine.” Clearing her throat, she told herself to get it over with. “I’m afraid that I, um, had too much champagne last night. The evening was rather a blur.”
His brows lifted. “How much do you remember?”
“Um…nothing after the truffle soufflé.”
“At least you remember the soufflé.” His lips twitched. “I understand that the chef went to great lengths to prepare that dish.”
Unable to bear the suspense any longer, she blurted, “Did something happen last night?”
“A number of things, I should say.”
“After supper, I mean. Did we…”
“Yes, my dear?”
She let her fears out in a rush. “How did I end up in my bed without any clothes on?”
“Well, I helped you up the stairs and removed said clothes.”
“After that, did we…um…you know…” She wetted her lips.
His gaze on her mouth, he said, “You’re referring to conjugal activities?”
“Yes,” she nearly shouted.
“Then no, we didn’t.”
Before she could enjoy the relief, he said, “Should I be offended that you thought you might not recall that I made love to you?” He cocked a brow. “Was my lovemaking forgettable in the past?”
Her cheeks flamed. “No…no, of course not.”
“Did you enjoy being in my bed?”
Her heart was beating so fast she feared it might burst from her chest altogether. She couldn’t look away from the heat in his eyes, the smoldering question that demanded an answer.
“Yes.” The admission whispered from her lips.
He cupped her jaw, his thumb tracing the smooth edge to the point of her chin. Then it skated lower, over the quivering arch of her throat. His touch rested upon her pulse, just above her lace-trimmed chemisette, as if measuring its wild beat. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, the harsh yet sensual curve filling her with yearning.
She missed Adam’s kisses. A month’s worth of kisses that, since their marriage, she’d never gone without. His cologne, that subtle alchemy of man and spice, fed her hunger, and she could almost feel the firm pressure of his mouth on hers, the taste of him upon her tongue...
