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“Of course, you might complain about the rash,” Oliver called over the sound of the water.
“Huh?” I yelled back, confused.
“You might complain about the rash,” he repeated.
I backed up and wiped my soaked hair off my face, peeking out of the shower. “What rash?”
“The one on the inside of your thighs,” he explained with a smirk, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
I blushed, a mix of irritation and amusement bubbling up inside me. My core tightened in a series of clenches and even though I was sore, I wanted him. Bastard.
When I came out, Oliver was lounging on the bed in a pair of khaki shorts and a dark blue polo shirt. He watched me as I walked into the closet to dress. I wasn’t aware he was behind me until he cupped my breasts, making me jump.
“I don’t have energy for you this morning,” I said, my voice half-joking, half-serious.
“I didn’t say anything about sex. I just wanted to touch you. You’re a grump this morning. Is this what I have to look forward to now that you have my ring on your finger?” he teased, his hands warm against my skin.
“No! Let me dress. Can you make me some strong coffee?” I asked, hoping caffeine would help.
“Yes. I hope it will take some of the vinegar out of you,” he said, backing away. I threw my towel at him as he went through the closet door. Oliver swiped it from the floor and walked out of the bedroom.
I took my time getting dressed, consistently yawning. I would definitely be sleeping on the plane. Oliver was drinking coffee when I came out to the kitchen, scrolling through his emails. He looked up as I entered, a smile playing on his lips.
I yawned. “Where’s all the candles and rose petals?”
“I cleaned them up before I woke you.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “You cleaned them up?”
“Yes.”
The evening before, Oliver had gotten up to get me some water before we went to sleep. I assumed he blew all the candles out then.
“Don’t we have employees for that?” I asked.
Oliver laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “One day as Mrs. Fox and you’re already putting on airs?”
I smacked his arm playfully. “Shut up, I am not. I just can’t see you cleaning up a bunch of candles and rose petals.”
“Well, I did,” he said, feigning indignation. “I put the candles in a box we had in the pantry. They might come in handy one of these days.”
I moved closer to him, taking a long sip of coffee from his large black mug. The bitter taste made me wrinkle my nose. “Ugh, at least put some sugar in it.”
“Did I invite you to drink my coffee?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, but you didn’t make me a cup either,” I replied, pouting slightly.
“Aww, my poor wife,” he teased, his voice full of affection.
I shivered when the words rolled off his tongue. I was his wife, and he was my husband. “Say it again.”
He cocked his head, pretending not to understand. “My poor wife?”
“Not the poor part, the wife part,” I clarified, my heart fluttering.
He grinned, leaning closer. “Wife, wife, wife. My wife.”
The words rolled off Oliver’s tongue, velvety and smooth. I stared at him and if it was possible, I fell even deeper in love with him.
