Page 55 of It Happened In Paris

“I think it’s time you change from yesterday’s ‘wealthy hermit’ look,” I said, coming up to his side with a kiss on his cheek, and took him in. Shirt halfway unbuttoned, revealing the soft hairs of his chest, sweatpants—his new best friend—skin that could use some sunshine… and still gorgeous. The butterflies fluttered inside of me seeing him.

“I’m healing. It’s a whole vibe I have going on here.”

“I think the vibe could use a wash and dry.” I tugged him toward the hallway.

“Yes, ma’am.” With a huge grin, he promptly shut off his tablet and neatly stacked his papers. “I’d never refuse one of your sponge baths. Since I’m cleared for duty, I expect a little extra care today.”

“Now, Mr. Buchanan, you know the doctor saidlightduty. You must be careful.”

“No promises. Where’s our girl?” he inquired.

“With her tutor. They just began, so we have at least an hour or two.”

“Plenty of time.”

I chuckled. “Been giving this moment a lot of thought?”

“Four weeks without you felt like forever, my cupcake. I need you.” He lowered his voice, sending a thrill through me as he locked and closed his bedroom door behind us.

“Let’s get you undressed first.” I reached for him, and his hands landed on my hips. “You look…” I trailed off, my fingers threading through his hair.

“Devilishly handsome?” he offered, grinning.

“More like charmingly miserable. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Depends what you have in mind, cupcake.”

I knelt before him, sliding my hands up his thighs to his waistband. “Does that give you a clue?”

He chuckled and immediately grimaced, one hand holding the side of his abdomen.

“Does it hurt?” I jumped to my feet, concern threading through my voice.

“Only every second of the day if I move, but it’s getting better.”

“Give it time.” I considered him carefully. “I think we should wait another week.”

“Vivian—I can handle it. Trust me, my discomfort pales compared to the ache in my balls.”

I laughed and unbuttoned his shirt, working it open slowly, and kissing him. I was careful not to brush too close to the raw spot I knew waited underneath.

As the shirt fell open, my breath caught. There it was, low and to the left of his ribs. The surrounding skin faintly bruised, the outline of the surgical tape clean but delicate.

“Sexy, right? Come on. You can tell me.”

I laughed softly. “Worth it for our daughter.” I reached for the edge of the bandage, and peeled it back with slow, practiced hands until it revealed the permanent mark of his ultimate love. I leaned down and kissed the skin just above the scar, grateful for his sacrifice.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He reached out and cupped my face. “You owe me nothing,” he murmured.

“I’m not saying it because I owe you. I’m saying it because I love you.”

He brought my hand to his heart and held it there. “I love you, too.” Then he slowly moved my hand along his torso to the bulge in his sweats. “Where were we?”

I traced my fingertips along his waistband, careful not to tickle his skin or he’d flinch and wince, and I smiled coyly. “Sit or stand? Which will hurt less?”

“They’re about equal. But I’ll take sitting.”

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