Page 62 of New Storm Rising
A moment later, I felt his thumb stroking over my blushing cheek. Heck! He noticed!
Leaning forward, he touched his forehead to mine.
“Do you love me?”
This time, there was no prevarication. No hesitation. Wasn’t as if I could lie about this even if I tried.
“Yes.”
His eyes suddenly looked fiercely determined. “Then let’s head home, shall we? We have business to take care of!”
And, before I could get another word out, he snatched me up in his arms and carried me over the threshold. Sure, it was the threshold of a dusty old mine, but so what? I didn’t even mind the off-duty miners gaping at the two of us as he strode by, clutching me tightly against his chest. It was incredible. How could being in the arms of such a cold, ruthless man make me feel this warm inside?
Well, probably the very same way he got you to marry him.
“We’re here.” By this time, we had passed through the forest and the clearing. In three more steps, he was up the porch stairs and in front of the cabin’s door. Pushing it open, he stepped inside. “We’re home.”
Home.
That was more than a mere word. I’d never had a home before. And now I was here, in the arms of this man, in this lovely little house that just made me want to cuddle into a comfy corner and never ever leave.
Sneaky bastard! All part of his secret plot to turn me into a housewife, no doubt.
And you could tell how angry I was about this by the way I was staring at him with rampant desire.
“Bed?” he enquired.
Brevity is such a wonderful virtue in a husband.
“Bed,” I agreed.
Without bothering to set me down, he raced off towards the bedroom. And he wasn’t the only thing that was racing. My heart was pounding against my ribs like this was an international drum festival. Far faster than his bloody feet! Why the heck was this taking so long?
Wham!
Finally, the door to the bedroom slammed open. Someone wonderful, who probably wasn’t getting paid enough for their job, had lit the fireplace, spreading warmth throughout the chamber. Gently, Mr Ambrose placed me down on the bed. In the flickering firelight, I watched as he removed first his tailcoat, then his shirt, then his under—
Who was I kidding? Why would Mr Rikkard Ambrose waste money on an undershirt?
I knew there was a reason I loved him.
“Now,” my husband told me, his ripped topless body gleaming in the light of the flames as he climbed onto the bed above me. “Let’s resume our honeymoon, shall we?”
Honey, Take me to the Moon!
I’ve heard people say a couple’s romance grows stale after marriage.
People are idiots.
It was a fairly easy conclusion to come to. Especially if you’re lying on your bed, with a shirtless Rikkard Ambrose looming above you.
“Mrs Ambrose.” Reaching out, he captured my face between his fingers. “Do you know how worried I was when I found you alone and unprotected in that den of iniquity?”
I considered this for a moment. “Adequately worried?”
To judge by the way his grip on me tightened, that was not the right answer. Or maybe it was. I guess it just depended on whether I wanted him to hold me more tightly, didn’t it?
“You know,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over my neck, down towards more interesting areas. My back arched, my breathing speeding up. “I’ve been trying to make you stay safe at home again and again. I’ve tried any number of methods. Threats. Bribery. Trickery. Nothing has ever worked with you.” His lips reached my collarbone, eliciting a moan from me. “So I suppose that only leaves one way open to me.”
