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“Intense is one way to put it.” He chuckled, squeezing her shoulder. A moment later, he stiffened, throwing a hand toward the television as the two female leads plunged through the undergrowth. “No, what the hell? They’re drawing it right to them . . . oh, my Lord.”

She nudged his side. “It’s a movie, Lamar—”

The words died in her throat, cut off by a muffled yelp as the hidden creature slammed into one of the leads. Next to her, Tick jumped, then laughed, shoulders shaking.

“What was that, precious?” Hugging her to him, he lowered his head, the whiskey burn of his laugh near her ear. “It’s just a movie.”

Her heart thudding, she pushed at his shoulder. “You jumped, too.”

“You screamed.” He tightened his arm about her.

“I did not scream.” She lifted her chin. On a deep breath, she tried to steady herself, eying the screen. The jump-scare had been completely unexpected.

“I beg to differ.” Humor lacing his voice, he glanced down as she turned her face up to frown at him. Their gazes clung, his hand warm on her hip, arm across her thighs. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she pulled in a breath, inhaling him, so many memories of other nights on this couch cascading through her mind, nights of kisses, caresses, and sighs filled with wanting.

She wanted his mouth on hers, wanted to be surrounded by that sharp, clean warmth, pressed along lean muscles, the steady strength of him.

He wanted that, too, but he wasn’t going to make the first move — she knew that, as careful as he’d been with her the past week. She’d have to let him know he was wanted.

Leaning in, she lifted her mouth closer to his, and his exhale whispered over her cheek before he dipped his head. His lips, warm and dry, bearing a hint of popcorn salt, pressed to hers, caught her lower lip in the gentlest of nips.

Weeks — months — of tension evaporated with that kiss, and she melted into him, swallowing his pleased groan. She buried a hand in the crisp hair at his nape, arching closer as familiar wanting unfurled in her belly. His hand flexed on her hip, a firm grip, and she opened her mouth beneath his, stroking her other hand under the edge of his shirt, finding the slope of his oblique.

Tangling his hand in her hair, he shifted closer, and she sighed into the kiss. He brushed his nose against hers. “I’ve missed this.”

“Me, too.”

“I mean more than the physical.” His low murmur trailed over her skin.

“I know.” She linked her arms about his neck, nuzzling under his jaw. The man always smelled absolutely delicious. “These simple date nights might be your best idea of late.”

“Ooh, that is sexy.” He lifted his head, brows dipping, mouth pursed. “Say that again, precious.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She lifted her gaze heavenward. One little compliment, and the arrogance was out in full force. “And so lame.”

His arm tightened, and he hauled her into his lap. With her knees hugging his hips, the tender flesh between her thighs settled on his groin. He cradled her hips, gaze soft and hot. “You like it.”

“I do.” Her voice emerged breathy. Pressed intimately to him, she could feel the rigid line of his zipper, the curve of him half-hard beneath, sparking those memories, how well they fit together, the satisfying sensation of him sliding inside her, hard and thick, filling her completely. She ached, a heavy sensation blooming low in her belly.

“I’m not rushing this.” Sprawling into the cushion, he rubbed a hand over her hip, knowing gaze on her face. “We have plenty of time.”

She could change his mind — but he was right about this, too. They would be okay, and they had plenty of time.

“Sweet dreams, gioia.” Caitlin tucked Lee back into his crib, his drowsy lids drifting shut. Middle-of-the-night feedings had grown rare, but he didn’t quite sleep through the night each night. Assured he had settled once more, she slipped out of the room, stepping over Zeb and Fisher in the hallway.

She sighed. One of the two — namely, the one who destroyed things — was supposed to be in the crate in the laundry room.

Moonlight spilled in through the French doors in their room. Tick slept on his stomach, both arms folded above his head, sheet about his waist. One foot was cocked outside the duvet. She slipped into bed, her gaze trailing over the sloping muscles in his back.

The man was a work of art in his sleep, too.

Staring at the ceiling, she pulled up the sheet and duvet. Gone were the nights when Lee woke every two hours, when she fell into an exhausted sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Now if she got up to nurse during the night, returning to slumber took long minutes.

Her foot brushed his calf, and he shifted, muttering in his sleep, and slung an arm over her waist. The heavy warmth pressed into her belly. She closed her eyes, his even breathing filling her ears. She could smell him, clean, sharp and subtle.

She wanted more than his arm over her waist.

She wanted him.