“You mean you bribed them with the promise of presents.” She wrinkled her nose in that way of hers that he found adorable. “You do spoil them, Adam.”
“It’s my intention to spoil their mama as well.”
Tell-tale roses bloomed in her cheeks. She was thinking about what lay ahead in the next five days for them. Particularly, he guessed, in the intimate realm.
“Nervous?” he asked gently.
“No. Well, yes. Maybe a little?” Twin furrows worked between her curving auburn brows. “I don’t know why I’m all aflutter. It seems ever so silly.”
“If it helps at all, I have a touch of nerves myself.”
“You do?” She tipped her head to the side. “But you’re never discomfited by anything. At least, you weren’t before the accident.”
“Every man is bothered by something.”For instance, the thought of eating your pussy while you scream my name gets me into a lather.“Perhaps I just didn’t show it.”
“Perhaps.” She gave him a doubtful look. “Why do you have nerves now?”
He decided to be direct. “Because I feel like a bridegroom on his wedding night.”
Her cheeks turned even pinker. “We’ve been married for eight years.”
“None of which I remember. This is all new to me, and I want to do everything right. To be a good husband and father.”
“You’ve been wonderful with the children,” she said instantly. “They adore you, perhaps now more than ever. You’ve helped to build Max’s confidence ever so much. And Fiona’s too, in a way. I think that the more time she spends with you, the less she feels she needs to gain your attention through her accomplishments.”
He felt he’d made inroads with the imps, and he was glad his wife agreed. Yet he didn’t want her to dodge the issue of how he’d fared withher.
“And you, Gabriella? Have I been a good husband to you?” he said intently.
She bit her lip. “Well, yes. Of course.”
“But I haven’t been a true husband to you since the accident, have I?”
She squirmed against the plush green squabs, her voluminous skirts rustling. Her gaze dropped to the vicinity of his waistcoat. “You’ve been ill.”
“Look at me, Gabby.”
His groin heated when she immediately raised her eyes to his. His gut told him that she liked having him be in control, liked relinquishing her worries and inhibitions under his command. As his was a dominant nature, he found her sweet capitulation more than a little arousing.
“I’m not ill now,” he said. “And I find myself quite eager to resume my husbandly duties.”
Her lashes swept higher. “Here? Right…now?”
“Here and now.” He patted his lap. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Her gaze darted to the window, the view of the rolling farmlands. “But anyone could see…”
He didn’t give a damn what cows and clodhoppers thought of his marital activities. For her modesty’s sake, however, he reached over and twitched the curtains closed.
He patted his lap again. “Come here.”
To his everlasting satisfaction, she crossed over to him. The motion of the carriage made her sway, and he caught her by the waist, guiding her down onto his thighs in a flurry of taffeta and petticoats. Her pretty toque fell unheeded to the floor.
Her hands on his shoulders, she protested, “I don’t want to hurt you. I…I’m too heavy. Your injury—”
“I’m recovered. And I don’t want to hear another word about you being anything but what you are: perfection itself. You will trust me in this and all things.”
He infused his tone with sternness, to allay her worries and assuage a need in him to assert his will. For the past month, he’d played the part of an invalid, one that had had its benefits—mainly the sweetness of having his wife fuss over him—but it wasn’t his preferred or natural role. Perhaps that was why he’d had trouble connecting with her on a sensual level: he’d been too tentative, too lenient when she’d avoided intimacy.
