Page 63 of The Redemption of Remy St. Claire

Are you?

He gave her one last appraising gaze before rising. “Okay. Why don’t you go get changed, get into bed, and I’ll join you?”

She nodded, tamping down her nervousness. Rising, she grabbed her glass, but he took it from her hand. Their fingers touched, and her gaze shot to him. Bright brown eyes met hers, and his penetrating gaze seemed to look right through her bravado and into her soul. Wordlessly, she relinquished the glass and fled. She grabbed the outfit she always slept in and slipped into the bathroom, but aside from brushing her hair and her teeth, she had no good excuse to procrastinate.

She re-entered the bedroom and her shoulders relaxed. Empty. Part of her was glad she opted for her regular night wear, plain and unattractive—an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of mismatched pajama bottoms that’d seen better days. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, but part of her balked at looking so…ratty. She didn’t want him to think…

Overthinking.She was overthinking the whole thing. He’d seen these pajamas dozens of times, so he wouldn’t comment. She slid into bed on her side and breathed through her anxiety, trying to loosen up even as each muscle tightened.

She wasn’t waiting long before there was a knock on the door. “Come in.”

Her husband entered, wearing his pajamas.

Whew.She’d seen him in them once or twice—when the girls dragged him out of bed, and he hadn’t had a chance to get dressed.

Was he nervous?

No, of course not.

She was nervous—therefore projecting the emotion onto him.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good.” And she was. She was also surprised there was truth to the word because she wasn’t as neurotic as she’d anticipated. “Are you going to join me?” She pulled back all the blankets in invitation.

“Are you sure?” His brow knit.

Be strong.“It seems both silly and uncomfortable for you to sleep on the blankets.”

He eased under the covers and pulled them up. They lay, side by side, on their backs, looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m going to turn off the light, if that’s okay.”

She sighed.

“Or I can leave it on…”

Now she giggled. “You don’t have to ask. If my light is off, then I no longer require light. If mine is on, and I’m sitting here surrounded by papers, then chances are I still need it. If, however, my light is bothering you, I can put away the papers and go to bed.”

“You work in bed?” He turned off the light.

Oops.“How about I promise to try not to do that anymore?”

“You don’t have to change on my account. I thought you weren’t working as hard. I mean, you come home and spend time with me and the girls. I assumed you were relaxing after you went to bed.” He chuckled.” I should’ve known better.”

Rolling her eyes, she appreciated the dark. If he only knew…her brain never turned off. A notepad was at the ready in case she woke up, dogged by a brilliant legal strategy or nagging idea. Her life was her work—or it had been until her parents’ death. When she began taking care of Calleigh, her focus had been divided. Now her focus was to be divided again. Now she had a husband and another little girl to worry about.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Maybe I’d gone to sleep.” She was being churlish but couldn’t help herself. Sometimes he riled her up.

“You snore when you sleep.”

“I most certainly do not.”

A sardonic chuckle came out of the darkness. “You don’t. I was trying to get a rise from you.”

“Why?”

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