His lips curve at the edges. He finds my panic funny? “Ava, you’ll have to bury me six feet under before I have it any other way. You can do it because you have me.” He wraps me in his arms and pulls me off the counter so I’m left little choice but to cling onto him with my legs around his naked hips and my arms around his naked shoulders. “We’re going to be okay.”
“I know,” I admit. I’m feeling needy, like I’m seeking constant reassurance. He’ll always give it to me, but he must be slightly concerned by my anxiousness. I’m hardly showing any motherly tendencies. Shouldn’t it be the woman reading the books and buying folic acid?
“Let’s not fight. It makes my heart split in pain, and I don’t want you stressing out. We have to watch your blood pressure.” He paces back to the bedroom.
I link my fingers at the nape of his neck and lean back so I can see him. “I’m confiscating that book.”
He grins at me. “That’s my book, and I’m keeping it.”
“We need to make friends.” I straighten my back, pulling my body into his so my nipple is at his mouth. “Did you read the part of the book that says a husband should service his wife as she demands?”
He bites down gently and swirls his tongue in a deliciously slow rotation, spiking a moan from me and a chuckle from him. “I did, but our plane is scheduled for takeoff in two hours. I need more time, so I’ll service you when we get home. Deal?”
“No deal,” I retort, thrusting my chest to his mouth again. “I want to stay in Paradise.”
“You’re incorrigible, and I love it.” I’m lowered to the bed on a disgusted snort. “But we need to catch that flight.”
“I need you.” I grasp his cock loosely, teasingly, and he jumps away.
“Ava, when I have you, I like to take my time.” He plants a chaste kiss on my lips. “Pack.”
I flop back on the bed in complete pregnancy-fuelled exasperation. My time in Paradise is up.
Chapter Twenty-seven
It’s the morning after we arrived home and I’m not a happy bunny. He’s woken, gone for a run, showered, and dressed, all without me, but he left my ginger biscuit and folic acid by the bed with some water. I’m standing in front of the floor-length mirror in my lace, drying my hair, when I see him in the reflection, strolling into the bedroom. He’s not shaved and he has on my favorite gray suit, black shirt, and a tie, but it doesn’t improve my mood, even if he does look edible.
“Morning,” he chirps, all happy and awake.
I flip him a scowl and chuck my hairdryer on the floor before stalking into the wardrobe to find something to wear—something I know he won’t approve of. I exit the wardrobe and slip my feet into my black suede heels, and then head straight for the bathroom. I’m aware of his large frame to the side of me, following my every move, and I snatch a quick look as I pass, seeing his hands resting lightly in his trouser pockets and an amused expression on his face. I don’t humor him with my time or silver tongue, instead finding my way to the bathroom mirror and making fast work of my makeup.
He walks in and comes to stand behind me, his fresh-water loveliness smacking me right in the nose. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, still displaying amusement on his face.
I pause, midmascara application, and pull back from the mirror. “I’m putting my makeup on,” I answer, knowing this is not what he means.
“Let me rephrase that. What do you think you’re wearing?”
“A dress.”
His eyebrows hit his hairline. “Let’s not start the day on a bad note, lady.” He holds my black pencil dress up. “Put the dress on.”
I take a deep breath of calm and turn to take the dress before exiting the bathroom without a word. I’ll put the dress on, but only because I’m worked up enough. Not only have I been snatched from Paradise, but, as predicted, I’ve also been tossed off Central Jesse Cloud Nine. London does our relationship absolutely no favors. No, let me rephrase that. Jesse in London does our relationship no favors.
I go out of my way to make the biggest deal of demonstrating the inconvenience he’s causing, not that he’s bothered. He stands patiently and observes as I remove my unauthorized dress and replace it with the one he’s sanctioned. Reaching behind my back, I grasp the zipper and pull it up my back, but I only get halfway before I lose my grip of the little piece of metal. I quickly locate it again, but the same thing happens.
I close my eyes, hating having to ask the smug arse for assistance. “Will you zip me up, please?”