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“It’s a good idea to protect us both,” he says. “Your dad’s just looking out for you and the family vineyard, but I swear, I won’t touch it. Unless you want me to, of course. Once it’s yours, it’s yours.”
“I feel the same way about your assets, but you’re right. It’s a good idea.”
He sighs. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll go get in the shower now.”
I twist my lips and nod as I wish I had something to say to break the sudden tension between us, but I’ve got nothing.
I’m tempted to peek in on him, but I don’t.
We’ve shared a few kisses now, but I can’t tell if they’re the hot kind that’ll take us to the next level or if they’ve leaned more on the friendly side. My gut tells me it’s the friendly side, but my heart is starting to hope it’s more than that.
He emerges from the shower and walks out in a towel, padding across the room to grab his garment bag with the tux. I’m carefully perched on the bed so as not to wrinkle anything.
I got ready way too quickly, I think, but that’s par for the course for me.
He shaves and gets dressed, and when he emerges, my jaw drops as a sharp ache throbs squarely between my legs.
Good Lord, he’s hot in a tux.
He’s tall and lean, strong and athletic.
And somehow…he’s my husband.
Chapter 27: Spencer Nash
Gray’s Day
Four Days After the Wedding
It’s only been four days, but I’m starting to think I married right despite the circumstances in which they happened.
Maybe I wasn’t at my most coherent at the time, and it wasn’t logic or responsibility speaking for me in the moment, but in hindsight, it might’ve been the right thing anyway.
I’m not sure yet, but the more time we spend as husband and wife, the more I want to see where it can go.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“You clean up nice,” she says as she swings her legs over the side of the bed and lifts to a stand. She stops short of me, and I find myself wanting to reach out for her hand.
I don’t.
“I just need two seconds in the bathroom,” she says.
I nod, and I wander over toward the window to wait for her.
I haven’t slipped off my ring.
Neither has she.
I’m not sure what that means.
As she emerges from the bathroom with shiny gloss on her lips, I can’t help but stare at them as the overwhelming feeling to kiss her washes over me.
I’ve kissed her a couple times now, and each time it’s been because a rush of emotions crashed over one or the other of us. And maybe we kissed the night we got married—something neither of us can remember, but somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I can imagine a kiss that was molten lava between the two of us.
I want to take her there again.
I want to explore these feelings that keep plowing into me.
