else going on, you somehow forgot. Or wondered. And even though we both realize it's not enough, I just wanted you to know that we did share something mutual."
A smile dented a dimple in his face, so incongruous, and therefore all the more enticing. "Thanks, babe."
Her eyes fell to his mouth, lingered on the sensual fullness of his lower lip. She waited, wanted, even as pride wouldn't let her make the move forward. But if he leaned? She definitely wouldn't move away.
* * *
J.T. struggled to control the heat surging through him over something as simple as holding his wife. Damn it, he was not going to kiss her, no matter how good her soft hands and softer body felt against him.
He steeled his resolve. Steel? More like tinfoil, which meant he'd better haul ass inside. Pronto.
He twisted the doorknob. Disappointment flickered through her Godiva-rich eyes. Resolve shredded into foil confetti.
The door jerked open beneath his hand, snapping the mood. Thank you, Lord.
Chris lounged in the open portal with a bag of Cheetos clutched in his hand, fingertips deep orange from munching. "What took you so long? I'm starving and folks brought food that I can't eat until you get here."
J.T. looked away, up. "In a minute, son. How about unload your mother's things from the truck first."
"Sure," he answered through a fresh mouthful of cheese curls.
J.T. angled sideways, guiding Rena's trim legs over the threshold first. Over the threshold. Just as he'd done when they were young, nervous, full of plans.
Ready to break in the new mattress in their efficiency apartment.
Her fingers twisted in his cotton shirt, her touch as hot now as it had been then. Except today, she could hardly stand to look at him. She focused on the hanging ivy that, damn it all, he'd forgotten to water.
He stopped in the middle of their overflowing living room. Bo shared the piano bench with Nikki, playing the right hand from the open score sheet while Nikki plucked out the left. Well, if Nikki's plunkings could be called playing, his tomboy daughter always preferring running track to running scales.
And if Bo didn't move his ass a little farther down that bench—
"Mom!" Nikki bolted up with an athletic grace gained from hours on the university soccer field. Thank God for soccer scholarships, even partials. "Ohmigod, are you okay? Dad didn't call me until this morning or I would have come sooner. Probably why he didn't call me. Geez, like I couldn't drive after dark."
"I'm fine, hon," Rena rushed to interrupt. "The crutches are just awkward right now."
"Okay, good, that's what Bo said when he filled me in on the latest, but I thought maybe he was soft-soaping things so I wouldn't worry."
J.T.'s scowl deepened. Bo? She'd been talking with Bo?
So what if Nikki was already older than Rena had been when they married? He wanted his daughter to have a chance to be young. And while he liked Bo in the workplace, no way was Nikki getting near that squadron player renowned for wooing women with his guitar and singing. And apparently the piano now, too.
"J.T., you can put me down now. J.T.?" Rena tapped his chest lightly.
"Where?" he asked.
"Chair."
"Ottoman?"
"Yes, please."
As he lowered her carefully into the overstuffed floral chair, he couldn't help but notice how easily they'd fallen back into marital shorthand conversation.
Footsteps sounded from the kitchen, down the hall, soft padding steps, seconds before Julia Dawson strode into the living room, carrying a blond-haired toddler on her hip. "Hey there, sweetie. I've plugged in a Crock-Pot full of chili. There's also a platter of buffalo wings."
While the two women exchanged greetings and food-reheating instructions, he tried like hell to ignore the warmth of Rena's calf as he arranged a pillow under her foot.
"Don't thank me," Julia insisted. "Thank my multi-talented husband. Zach made it all before he headed in to work for a couple of hours. I'm only the delivery person. A good thing, huh?" said
A smile dented a dimple in his face, so incongruous, and therefore all the more enticing. "Thanks, babe."
Her eyes fell to his mouth, lingered on the sensual fullness of his lower lip. She waited, wanted, even as pride wouldn't let her make the move forward. But if he leaned? She definitely wouldn't move away.
* * *
J.T. struggled to control the heat surging through him over something as simple as holding his wife. Damn it, he was not going to kiss her, no matter how good her soft hands and softer body felt against him.
He steeled his resolve. Steel? More like tinfoil, which meant he'd better haul ass inside. Pronto.
He twisted the doorknob. Disappointment flickered through her Godiva-rich eyes. Resolve shredded into foil confetti.
The door jerked open beneath his hand, snapping the mood. Thank you, Lord.
Chris lounged in the open portal with a bag of Cheetos clutched in his hand, fingertips deep orange from munching. "What took you so long? I'm starving and folks brought food that I can't eat until you get here."
J.T. looked away, up. "In a minute, son. How about unload your mother's things from the truck first."
"Sure," he answered through a fresh mouthful of cheese curls.
J.T. angled sideways, guiding Rena's trim legs over the threshold first. Over the threshold. Just as he'd done when they were young, nervous, full of plans.
Ready to break in the new mattress in their efficiency apartment.
Her fingers twisted in his cotton shirt, her touch as hot now as it had been then. Except today, she could hardly stand to look at him. She focused on the hanging ivy that, damn it all, he'd forgotten to water.
He stopped in the middle of their overflowing living room. Bo shared the piano bench with Nikki, playing the right hand from the open score sheet while Nikki plucked out the left. Well, if Nikki's plunkings could be called playing, his tomboy daughter always preferring running track to running scales.
And if Bo didn't move his ass a little farther down that bench—
"Mom!" Nikki bolted up with an athletic grace gained from hours on the university soccer field. Thank God for soccer scholarships, even partials. "Ohmigod, are you okay? Dad didn't call me until this morning or I would have come sooner. Probably why he didn't call me. Geez, like I couldn't drive after dark."
"I'm fine, hon," Rena rushed to interrupt. "The crutches are just awkward right now."
"Okay, good, that's what Bo said when he filled me in on the latest, but I thought maybe he was soft-soaping things so I wouldn't worry."
J.T.'s scowl deepened. Bo? She'd been talking with Bo?
So what if Nikki was already older than Rena had been when they married? He wanted his daughter to have a chance to be young. And while he liked Bo in the workplace, no way was Nikki getting near that squadron player renowned for wooing women with his guitar and singing. And apparently the piano now, too.
"J.T., you can put me down now. J.T.?" Rena tapped his chest lightly.
"Where?" he asked.
"Chair."
"Ottoman?"
"Yes, please."
As he lowered her carefully into the overstuffed floral chair, he couldn't help but notice how easily they'd fallen back into marital shorthand conversation.
Footsteps sounded from the kitchen, down the hall, soft padding steps, seconds before Julia Dawson strode into the living room, carrying a blond-haired toddler on her hip. "Hey there, sweetie. I've plugged in a Crock-Pot full of chili. There's also a platter of buffalo wings."
While the two women exchanged greetings and food-reheating instructions, he tried like hell to ignore the warmth of Rena's calf as he arranged a pillow under her foot.
"Don't thank me," Julia insisted. "Thank my multi-talented husband. Zach made it all before he headed in to work for a couple of hours. I'm only the delivery person. A good thing, huh?" said
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