Clio tilted her head. “I think we should call him Devil.”
“Devil? This?” Chuckling, he rumpled the handful full of velvet wrinkles. “Why?”
“Because you’re the Devil’s Own. And it’s clear already—that pup owns you, heart and soul.”
He didn’t even try to deny it. “Envious?”
“I don’t mind sharing. You’re so wonderfully big. There’s enough of you to go around.”
He wasn’t only big in body, either—he had the largest, most loyal heart. She knew this man had enough love in him for a wife, a brother, a few sisters-in-law, friends, a puppy, too . . . and then some.
Clio squeezed his hand. “May I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“When you said you wouldn’t mind a baby so soon, were you being sincere?”
Rafe set his ale aside and rose to his feet. Then, bending down, he gathered her in his arms, lifted her straight off the floor, and carried her toward the bed. “Let me show you how sincere.”