“Really, Cupcake.”
Sam pulled his wife closer to his side as he accepted the toast Harry was making for them with a jubilant expression arresting his features. Gwenyth offered him a tentative smile in return, wishing she could feel as wonderful about this as her husband obviously was. Sam Tremont might not find anything amiss about bringing a baby into the world when he wasn’t capable of verbally expressing his love for another human being, but Gwenyth Jones Tremont certainly did.
* * * * *
Sam just couldn’t stop grinning. He realized he was no doubt smiling like a simpleton, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He was going to be a father, a real live, honest to goodness daddy. He couldn’t remember ever being happier.
Sam strolled into the living room with two logs under his arms, whistling an animated Harry Connick Jr. tune. The living room was the only area of their new house that didn’t still have boxes piled up all over the place, so he and Gwenyth had opted to spend the night together in a sleeping bag before the fireplace. Sam smiled in anticipation of what was going to transpire in that very sleeping bag once he got the fire blazing.
“It’s a cold Florida night tonight, Cupcake. The thermometer out back reads 42 degrees.” Sam threw the logs onto the fire and watched the flames of the already kindled wood begin to lick at the new ones. Satisfied, he turned around to regard his wife. “Cupcake?” His muscled thighs squatted down to where Gwenyth sat, staring into the flames. “What’s wrong, baby?”
Gwenyth blinked a few times in rapid succession, as if she hadn’t been aware of the fact that Sam was in the room talking to her. Not ready to discuss her thoughts, she smiled up at him instead. “Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing at all.”
Sam didn’t buy her smooth dismissal for a New York minute. Grunting, he reached out for her small hands and warmed them with his two large ones. “Don’t give me that, Gwenyth Marie. Now tell me what’s botherin’ you.” Suddenly worried that she didn’t want to carry their baby, his throat went dry. “You do want to have our little one, don’t you, Gwen?”
Gwenyth snapped out of her dismal thoughts and scowled at her husband. “Of course I do!”
Sam released an audible breath. He was glad to hear his wife’s heated denial, but he also wanted to get to the bottom of whatever it was that was bugging her. “Baby, you’ve been quiet ever since you announced the fact that you’re pregnant. What’s wrong? And don’t insult my intelligence by tellin’ me nothing because I know that’s a lie.” He squeezed her hands reassuringly, then added, “so tell me.”
Gwenyth mentally counted to ten. She absolutely did not want to have this conversation. She did not want to tell her husband that she was worried about their baby’s emotional health before he or she was even born. On the other hand, Sam looked truly worried, and she didn’t want that either. She did love her husband, even if the stubborn man refused to acknowledge that he felt the same way about her. “Are you going to tell our child that you love it, or will you just expect it to know?” she asked quietly.
Sam’s eyes widened considerably. Suddenly, he felt nervous. “Come again?”
Gwenyth’s hands balled into fists as she thrust them to her sides. She’d already taken the cat out of the bag, so to speak, so there was little use in backing away from the conversation now. “A baby needs to hear that they are loved, Sam. Will you tell our son or daughter how much they mean to you, or will you refuse to share those feelings with them, the same as you refuse to share them with me?”
Sam flinched at Gwenyth’s accusatory tone. She had the right of it, he knew, for they’d been married almost two months and he’d yet to say the binding words to her. Why that was, he had no idea. Oh, he’d been cautious in the beginning, not wanting to verbally relinquish all claims to his heart until he knew for certain that Gwenyth felt the same way about him as he felt about her, but he’d figured out that she did weeks ago.
A fact that never failed to amaze Sam. He had flown the coop and stayed out of Gwenyth’s life for eleven years, then sauntered back in as bold as he pleased. He had coerced and manipulated his wife into speaking her vows at the altar, yet he was as sure of her love now as he was certain that the sun would rise tomorrow morning.
Sam released Gwenyth’s hands in favor of scratching his chin. He took in his wife’s expression—a curious mixture of resignation and sorrow—and felt his stomach flip over. What a coward he had been! And now when he wanted to shout it to the heavens that he was in love with his wife, he was afraid Gwenyth would think he was saying it only because of the baby they’d made together and not because he genuinely felt it. “Cupcake, we need to talk.”
Gwenyth unballed her hands, then folded her arms under her breasts and nodded. “Okay, so talk.”
“It’s not easy for me to admit when I’m wrong, Gwen, but I’m admittin’ it here and now. I was wrong.” Sam took a deep breath, expelled it, and plowed on. “If you even get it in your mind that I’m sayin’ what I’m ‘bout to say because of our child, then I’m goin’ to turn you over my knee and spank you because that’s not the case.”
Sam unfolded Gwenyth’s arms from her chest and picked each hand up for a quick, but meaningful kiss. “I love you, Gwenyth Marie Tremont. I’ve loved you since I was a boy, I never stopped lovin’ you all those eleven years while we were apart, and I’ll go on lovin’ you for the rest of my life.” Sam squeezed her hands as if afraid to let go. His eyes begged her, pleaded with her to understand. “Please tell me you believe me, Gwen. I love you so much, baby. I’ve been a fool and I know it, but I’m a fool who loves you.”
Gwenyth’s breath caught in her throat. She searched her husband’s eyes and found nothing but earnestness there. How could she not believe him? She’d been certain of Sam’s feelings for her since the day they’d spoken their vows in Las Vegas. Maybe even before that. Her self-confidence might have wavered a time or two, but deep down she’d always known that Sam cared about her. And if her husband was now able to admit to love, then she must be doing something right as his wife. Apparently he had finally figured out that her love was unconditional.
Gwenyth clutched Sam’s chin in between both hands and smiled tremulously at him. “I believe you. And I love you too, Sam Tremont. From the age of five until the day I die, I love you.”
“Oh, sweetheart…”
“Yes, Sam?” Gwenyth gazed into his eyes. She sensed that Sam had more to say and found herself unwilling to wait to hear it. She wanted to know everything he felt, to relish hearing the words, to—
“I’ve got a bigtime hard-on,” he rasped.
Gwenyth blinked, her smile faltering somewhat. “Y-You what?”
Sam pressed his wife’s hands against his erection and groaned. “All this love talk is makin’ me hot, Cupcake.”
Gwenyth’s jaw went slack. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, she opted for the former. Throwing her head back, Gwenyth laughed harder and more merrily than she’d laughed in a long time.
“What the hell is so funny?!”
“Nothing.” Gwenyth shook her head and giggled as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Nothing at all.” She kissed her husband on the jaw, a gigantic smooching sound left in its wake. “Come down here on the sleeping bag, Sam. All this love talk is getting me hot too.”
Sam didn’t need to be asked twice when it came to making love with his wife—one of his finer points as a husband, he was always telling Gwen. Within a minute, he had them both naked and panting. Seconds later, he thrust forward, seating himself fully into his wife’s heat with one velvet plunge. “Mmm baby, I love this pussy—mypussy.”
