She’d turned her head and a flush of pleasure had lit up her expression. She’d bit back a smile, mouthing something about “my husband” to the crowd that turned their heads to the window.
He’d been busted and had to meet a pile of names he’d never remember. It had been worth it. Ten minutes later they had locked lips in the descending elevator and wound up doing a “snap inspection” on the family suite at one of her hotels, skipping lunch altogether.
It was all good. She’d even let him listen in to her calls to her younger brothers when she’d broken the news about looking up Nic. A few beseeching, helpless looks at Gideon while she walked through some difficult memories had kept him close, rubbing her back as she choked through the conversations, but afterward there’d been a level of peace in her that told him she was healing old wounds that had festered for years.
Tell her your secret, a voice whispered insidiously in his head.
He slipped his hand into his pocket to close his fist on the velvet box. No. It wasn’t necessary. They were doing great. Her brother was on the other side of the world, not questioning where Adara’s husband had come from. Gideon had dodged any curiosity from that quarter and there was no use rocking the boat.
Even though guilt ate him alive at the way Adara couldn’t seem to get enough of watching her niece over the webcam. But what could he say? Yes, let’s allow strangers to dig into my past so we can adopt a baby?
She hadn’t brought it up again, but she didn’t need to. It was obvious what she wanted and he couldn’t do it.
Assaulted by a fresh bout of shame and remorse, he ducked it by glancing at his watch. It wasn’t like Adara to keep him waiting.
Moving to her room where the bulk of her clothes and toiletries remained while their architect prepared renovation plans for a new master bedroom, Gideon was aware of a fleeting apprehension. He rarely checked in on her while she was getting ready. There was something about watching a woman put on makeup and dress to go out that triggered old feelings of being abandoned and helpless. He shook off the dark mood that seemed so determined to overtake him tonight, and knocked before letting himself into her room.
She was a vision of sexy dishevelment in a blue gown not yet zipped up her back. Her hair had ruffled from its valentine frame around her face, curling in soft scrolls around her bare shoulders while her flawless makeup gave her lips a sensual glow and added dramatic impact to the distempered expression in her eyes.
“Problem?” he asked, noting the splashes of color where gowns had been discarded over the chair, the bed, and even the floor. Perhaps they should rethink the room sharing. This kind of disorder could wear on him.
“I told you we were eating out too much. I look like a lumpy sausage in every one of these. This one won’t even close and my makeup doesn’t match...” She was whipping herself into quite a state.
He bit back a smile, aware that he’d be on the end of a swift set down if he revealed how cute and refreshing he thought this tantrum was.
“Maybe the zipper is just caught. Let me try.”
“It’s not caught. I’m getting fat.” She stood still as he tried to draw the back panels of the silk together and work the zipper upward. Oh, hell. This wasn’t just a snagged zip, and now he’d done it: put himself in the position of having to acknowledge to his wife that she had gained a pound or two. Might as well go up to the roof and jump right now.
“See?” she wailed when he kept trying to drag the zip upward.
“Honestly, I don’t see any weight gain,” he insisted while privately acknowledging that spending as much time as he did caressing this body, a small and gradual gain would go completely unnoticed. “You’re probably just getting your period. Don’t women feel puffy then? You must be due for one.”
Even as he said it, he was caught by the realization that she hadn’t had one since, well, it would have been before they’d become intimate in Greece. At least a month ago.
He bristled with an unwelcome thought that he dismissed before it fully formed.
While Adara stood very, very still, her color draining away in increments.
Instinctively, Gideon took hold of her arm, aware of the way she tensed under his touch, as if she wanted to reject it.
“I, um, never get back to normal right away after a miscarriage,” she summed up briskly, not looking at him while her brow furrowed. Her arm jerked to remove his touch as she shrugged into a self-hug. “You’re probably right. It’s just a particularly bad case of PMS bloating.”
Except she’d also mentioned a few days ago that her breasts were sore because her bra was too tight.