Sam rode Gwenyth’s body lovingly, each stroke and rotation of his hips designed to make her wild. He succeeded admirably. When she arched her back and screamed her exultation to the rafters of their new home, Sam followed quickly on her heels; he threw his head back and depleted himself into her body.
With a satisfied growl, Sam heaved his heavy body from off of his wife’s and flopped onto the sleeping bag beside her. Pulling her toward him, he burrowed Gwenyth into the cradle of his arm and sighed happily.
Sam smiled up at the ceiling. This love business was pretty damn cool.
Chapter 21
Nothing on earth could have made Gwenyth happier than hearing Sam say I love you. She constantly reminded herself of that fact over the next few weeks as his style of loving made him more fiercely protective than normal. Normal, she thought grimly, was pretty bad unto itself. More than normal, therefore, was downright suffocating the life out of her.
Added into the equation was the fact that she was pregnant. To hear Sam tell it, or to see the way he treated her, one would mistakenly believe that Gwenyth Jones Tremont was the first woman in history to carry a baby. Every time she turned around the man was shoving vitamins down her throat or taking her temperature—she had no idea why he did that—or making her lie down so he could read books about ancient Egypt to her womb. She could only hope the baby wasn’t as bored as she was.
It was bad enough when Sam acted up at home, but when he started in with his antics while they were on location for Jones & Jones, specifically during the cataloguing of the “Touch Me” line in Aix-en-Provence, Gwenyth was livid. How could she expect anyone to take her role as a professional photographer seriously if her coddling husband was always trailing behind her, treating her like a china doll? “Take your vitamins, Cupcake,” he would nag at her in front of others. Or, “don’t forget to guzzle down that water. Clean urine is happy urine, I always say.”
And then there was the time that Sam had shown copies of her ultrasound pictures to everybody on the set. Gwenyth still shuddered at the memory. Her husband had actually discussed her placenta and amniotic fluid with virtual strangers.
Worse yet, Sam had pointed out a tiny little protrusion on the baby’s photographic image that he had insisted was a sign his son would be as well-endowed as his father. Red-faced, Gwenyth had reminded him that Dr. DuBois wouldn’t be able to determine the baby’s gender for another couple of weeks. Sam had waved away her comment insisting that a father knows more than a mere doctor. Luckily, a few men on the set had agreed with him, including Gwenyth’s employer, an arrogant French entrepreneur who was known in the world of fashion as Martel. Whether that was his first name or last, no one was certain.
Verlene had found the situation with Sam genuinely amusing, to which Gwenyth had gritted her teeth. She had done so much teeth grinding as of late that she once swore to Grandmama that her incisors would soon be dwindled down to nubs. Verlene had simply patted her on the back and assured her that all expectant fathers who cared for their wives behaved as Sam did.
Expectant mother or not, Gwenyth was overcome with relief when the “Touch Me” shoot was over and they were free to go back home. She couldn’t recall another moment in recent history when she had experienced such a feeling of gratitude as when the plane finally landed and they were safely ensconced back on American soil—where her overbearing husband could only humiliate her to a certain degree. Even the fact that Sam had insisted the flight attendants listen to the baby’s heartbeat with the stethoscope he carried around everywhere they went dimmed in its magnitude at the joy of being back in Florida.
Gwenyth could deal with Sam on her own turf. Besides, the citizens of Hyde Park were already quite used to her husband’s shenanigans. None of her neighbors so much as batted an eyelash when he preached about happy urine or discussed amniotic fluid with them. Talk about being jaded.
The following day, Gwenyth perused the non-perishable food items on the shelves as she pushed the shopping cart down the grocery store aisle. Sam was accompanying her—as usual—and he was at it again, wearing on her already raw nerves—as usual. She rolled her eyes mentally. And to think she actually had another five months of this to look forward to.
Gwenyth was counting the days until spring training began so Sam would ease up on her a bit. Not having anything to do with the daylight hours besides tag along behind her was turning her husband into a damned nuisance.
“Look at this honey,” Sam enthused as he raced to catch up with her, “these jars of baby food are on sale, eight for four dollars.”
Gwenyth quirked an eyebrow. She was only four months pregnant. What in the world did they need jars of baby food for? She was about to tell Sam as much when she paid closer attention to his expression and realized how excited he truly was. It would only be cruel of her to say anything that would rain on his daddy-to-be parade. “Good work, sweetheart. I’m sure the baby will love it.” Gwenyth smiled at the look of delight on Sam’s face. Inwardly, she sighed. It was simply impossible to stay angry with the man.
“So,” Gwenyth asked in what she hoped was a mildly curious tone, “when does spring training begin?”
“What, honey?” Sam threw a rubber ducky into the cart. “Oh spring trainin’?” He shrugged. “A couple of weeks.”
Gwenyth’s muscles relaxed. There was an end in sight.
“I sure am gonna miss bein’ with you all day long, Gwenyth Marie.” Sam bent down and kissed his wife on the lips. “I love you so much, Cupcake.”
Guilty feelings immediately ensued. Here her husband was telling her how much he was going to miss her and she was mentally checking off the days until he’d leave her in peace.
“Tomorrow, I want us to go enroll Junior into that fancy-shmanzy preschool that teaches kids how to speak Japanese before they’re three. It’s never too soon to think about our baby’s education, Gwen.”
On the other hand, what was there to feel guilty about? Grinding her teeth, Gwenyth regarded her husband. “Sam, don’t you think it’s a bit early to start worrying over things like that?”
“Nope.”
“Well, perhaps I don’t want our child to speak Japanese!”
“What’s wrong with speakin’ Japanese?”
Gwenyth’s face colored when an old acquaintance pushed his shopping cart by during the peak of their argument. Terry Yokomoto raised his brows but said nothing. Gwenyth inclined her head. “Hi Terry.”
“Hi Gwen.”
Furious, Gwenyth swung around and turned on Sam faster than a rabid dog. “Can you please keep your voice down!” she whispered vehemently, making certain Terry was well out of hearing range. “I am so embarrassed! I’ll never be able to face Terry again! He probably thinks I’m prejudiced!”
Sam crossed his arms over his chest and eyed his wife. “Perhaps you are.”
