“I thought I knew you, when we married,” Garon remarked with a chuckle. “I didn’t have a clue what you were really like.”
“I told you I wasn’t domestic,” she pointed out.
“That’s why we have Miss Turner, baby,” he said softly, smiling down at her. “You just go right ahead and make dolls.”
“I only make the prototypes,” she reminded him. “They have a whole department of workers making the dolls. It’s getting harder, too, because they really are selling out everywhere.”
“Which reminds me. Carlson would love it if you’d make a white mouse for his daughter’s birthday. A special one, with big blue eyes.”
She grinned. “He can certainly have one. You’ll have to take care of Tory while I’m working on it.”
He grinned back. “That isn’t a chore.”
“You’ve turned into a very good father,” she pointed out.
“I’m not, yet. But I’m working on it.”
“I have something for you, by the way, after I put Tory to sleep for the night.”
“For me?” he asked, puzzled.
“Don’t bother guessing. I’m not saying. Not yet, anyway.”
“Does it have anything to do with roses?”
She pursed her lips. “Not quite. Help me up, would you?”
He eased her up from the sofa, with Tory in her arms. Her chest incision had healed, but it was still just a little sore. It had been impossible for her to breast feed the baby, which was a disappointment. But it also meant that Garon got to give the baby his bottle, and he loved it. She was over six weeks past her surgery and improving daily.
“I’ll be back soon,” she told Garon.
ACTUALLY SHE WASN’T. He got involved in a movie while Miss Turner closed up the kitchen and went to a gospel singing with Barbara. The house was quiet.
Just as grenades started blowing things up on screen, a shadow fell over the television. He looked to one side and his eyes bulged. There was Grace, her long blond hair almost to her waist now, her slender body encased in a pink satin gown that was held up by tiny spaghetti straps. She looked young and very sexy.
“What are you up to, Mrs. Grier?” he asked. She was raising his blood pressure, and the doctor hadn’t said anything about letting her resume intimate activities.
She grinned. “You said you thought my scars were sexy, didn’t you?”
He nodded. His heart was racing at the sight of her, because those straps let the gown sink almost to her nipples in front. She had beautiful breasts…
“If you really think the scars are sexy,” she said in a husky tone, “why don’t you come to bed with me, and prove it?”
HE HADN’T REALIZED he was capable of carrying a woman down the hall and putting her in bed in such a short space of seconds.
“You’re sure it’s all right?’ he asked, but he was already stripping off the pretty gown, to reveal a body that made every muscle in him go taut.
“It’s all right,” she assured him.
He was out of his own clothing in a flash, and beside her on the clean white sheets. He threw the comforter off the side without even looking at where it landed. “Your chest must still be sore.”
“It is,” she agreed, loving the feel of his mouth on her own, on her shoulders and then, on the soft rise of her breasts. She moaned. “Be inventive,” she whispered.
He eased her onto her side. His mouth found hers. His hands slid up and down the soft skin of her hips and thighs while his lips played havoc with her senses.
It was like the first time. He didn’t hurry, despite the need that made him shiver every time his skin brushed against hers. He seduced her, in the most tender way he knew, and brought her slowly to such a pitch of desire that she pushed against him with anguish.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered as he moved her up just enough to accommodate the slow, vibrant thrust of his body. “Yes. That’s it.”
They were lying side by side. She moaned, wishing that she could feel his weight.
“I want that, too, Grace,” he whispered into her mouth, “but it’s too soon. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It isn’t hurting,” she whispered back. Her eyes closed as he pulled her hips roughly against his and began to fill her in a slow, deep rhythm that echoed their rapid heartbeats.
She pushed closer into her husband’s arms and pleaded with him to ravish her.
She thought she heard a husky chuckle, but the spiral was already beginning. It took them both higher and higher, into a vivid red heat that stopped breath, sight, hearing, everything except the feverish union of their bodies. Seconds later, she cried out in delight and arched against him with her last bit of strength. She felt him shudder, heard him whisper her name over and over again as he, too, found completion.
A long time later, he propped himself on an elbow and looked down at Grace, who was sprawled on her back. She gave him a breathless grin.
“Now tell me you only married me because I got pregnant,” she dared him, chuckling.
“Okay, you win, I married you for great sex,” he agreed.
“And?” she prompted.
“And your apple cake,” he added. “And to learn how you grow roses twice as big as mine. So why did you marry me?”
She tweaked his hair and smiled up into his dark, dark eyes. “I married you because I loved you,” she said softly, “because you were the only man I was ever able to want.”
“Thank God for that,” he whispered. He kissed the tip of her nose. “I gave you a difficult time.”
She put her finger over his lips. “We’re happily married with a new baby,” she reminded him. “All that other stuff is gone.”
He sighed. “At least you won’t ever have to worry about Sheldon again.”
She nodded. There was a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, just at hearing his name. “That therapist I’m seeing is really good. She’s helping me cope with the memories.”
He smiled. “If today is an example, she’s really helping you a lot.”
Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “It wasn’t that.”
His eyebrows arched. “Then what was it?”
“You had your shirt off while you were watching TV,” she replied, her eyes on his broad chest. “You shameless man. I really can’t resist you when you’re half naked.”
“I feel exactly the same way about you,” he agreed, and kissed her again.
She glanced at the baby monitor. Its light was on, but she only heard soft breathing. “I’m glad we got that,” she pointed to it. “Otherwise, I’d never sleep.”
“Neither would I.” He brushed back her hair. “Are you happy?”
She smiled. “I could die of it.”
He kissed her eyelids tenderly, remembering how he’d done that just before they wheeled her into surgery. “When Tory is old enough to go to school, I want you to come to work for me.”
“Doing what?”
“As a translator,” he said. “You might not realize it, but Arabic is one language not a lot of agents can speak. You’d be an asset.”
She pursed her lips and grinned at him. “I might do that.”
He rolled over onto his back and yawned. “I have to go to court tomorrow and testify against those bank robbers we caught. I’ll probably be home late.”
She kissed his shoulder. “I’ll make a late supper.”
He smiled, sliding his arm around her. “You’re the nicest wife on earth. It’s no wonder I love you.”
Her heart skipped. It was the first time he’d said the words. “Do you, really?”
His dark eyes emphasized the feeling in the words. “With all my heart. For all my life. And I hope we have a very long time together.”
She curled up against him, enveloped in happiness. All the lonely, painful years had led her down a path that ended in love and passion and a child born of that love. We earn our happiness, her grandfather had once told her, with pain and tears. She smiled drowsily, ignori
ng the faint twinge of her incision, and pressed a soft kiss against her husband’s strong, warm shoulder.
“We’re going to have years and years,” she promised. “And I’ll love you more with every one that passes.”
He drew her closer, careful not to hurt her chest. “I’ll love you the same way.”
“And we can both talk to the rose bushes,” she mused.
“As long as nobody hears us,” he agreed. “I work for the FBI,” he reminded her. “I can’t be overheard talking to plants.”
She kissed his shoulder again, still wrapped in the warm aftermath of belonging. “And they say that federal agents have no sense of humor,” she scoffed.
He gave her a squinty look. “Listen, this businesslike expression is the reason I just got promoted to ASAC in San Antonio. Now I can give orders and go to luncheons with famous politicians. I’ll even take you with me, if you promise not to wear that blue dress.”
The dress was a standing joke. She’d hung it in her closet. She brought it out when she wanted to irritate him. That wasn’t often, since her surgery. He’d been the most wonderful caretaker she’d ever imagined a man could be.
“I’ll promise,” she agreed.
“Did Barbara tell you that Jaqui left town?” he murmured.
“She did? How wonderful!”
“Stop that,” he said drowsily. “She was never any competition for you. She’ll go to some big city and become a tycoon.”
“Like me?” she teased.
He glanced at her. “You can only be a tycoon if you don’t have to travel ten months out of the year promoting your project. I don’t even like having you away for a day. I have insecurities. You have to reassure me that I’m valued.”
“I do?” She moved up a little and nibbled his mouth again. “How’s this?”
He grinned. “Nice. Don’t stop.”
She kissed him again, with more fervor. “Better?”
His arms reached out for her. “Addictive,” he whispered. “I want years and years of this.”
She smiled against his hard mouth, tangling her fingers in his thick hair. “Me, too.”
There was a sudden wail from the monitor.
THEY BOTH GOT UP at the same time, moving hastily into the next room, where their son was screaming. His tiny face was red as fire.
Garon took a whiff and swallowed hard.
Grace pursed her lips. She recognized that smell, too.
“We could draw straws,” Garon suggested.
She punched him in the ribs. “Somebody who can lift him has to do this, and I can’t yet.”
He still hesitated.
“Listen, tough guy, you were a hostage rescuer. You were even on the SWAT team….”
“It’s in the rule book that FBI agents do not have to change diapers,” he informed her haughtily. “Paragraph 211, section three, page 221.”
“There’s no such rule,” she scoffed.
“Yes, there is. I’ll go right now and look it up, while you change him. You don’t have to lift him,” he added hopefully. “It’s a very high bed.”
He sounded very desperate. She had to force herself not to burst out laughing. He’d never told her himself, but she knew from Miss Turner that when he was faced with his first really dirty diaper, during her recuperation, he threw up before he could change it.
He handed her the wipes and a new disposable diaper, and his eyes spoke volumes.
She gave him a wry look.
He shrugged. “You wipe, I’ll tape?”
She did laugh then. Shaking her head, she did her half of the dirty work and left him to put the fresh diaper in place.
He lifted the tiny boy to his bare chest and held him there, kissing the top of his small, soft little head.
She watched him, her eyes brimming with quick tears, at the picture it made.
He glanced down and saw the look. “What?” he asked.
She leaned against him, her fingers tracing the baby’s soft cheek. “I was just counting my blessings,” she said huskily. “It’s impossible. I have too many.”
He bent and kissed her forehead with breathless tenderness. “As many as grains of sand in the ocean,” he said huskily, with profound feeling, his dark eyes glittery with it. “I’ll cherish you all my life. All the way down into the dark. And the last picture I have in my mind will be your face, smiling at me.”
Tears rained down her cheeks. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he whispered tenderly, kissing away her tears as the baby went to sleep in his arms. “I’ll never stop!”
And he never did.
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