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Italian? Son of a bitch, she was going to make him cry, as good as this was, her ankles linked over his ass, her body tilting into each of his strokes, that little nibble at the pulse in his throat, breasts moving against his pecs, and not just the whisper of her panting at his throat, but her husky murmur, fottimi under his jaw.

Sweet Lord.

Electricity raced up his spine, tingling from the base to his neck, and he could not breathe, lungs locked down, sensation exploding in his body. A dim awareness of her muffled cry at his throat, a wet pulsing around him, pushed through the fog, but he was done for, out of control and at her mercy.

Chest heaving, he managed to bear his weight on his elbow, the rest of him numb and sagging.

She was trying to kill him.

A harsh laugh burst up from his ragged lungs. He lifted his head enough to look at her, and damn it, she smirked at him, playing with his hair, giving a sinuous stretch beneath him.

“Well, Calvert . . .” She trailed a fingertip from his ear along his jaw to his dimple, and oversensitized, he shuddered in her arms. Her smile widened — holy hell, she owned him and he didn’t care. “That dog still hunts.”

He’d be damned if she had the last word. He grasped her chin and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. She twined herself around him, and he sank into kissing her, grateful and spent and determined to get his act together.

Hell if he’d jeopardize this again.

Chapter Ten

Heartbeat

His alarm buzzing, Tick drifted awake, surfacing through layers of sleep. His body ached from days sitting in meetings or a BuCar, muscles holding a more pleasurable soreness from making love to his wife. They’d showered together, coming together more slowly a third time as he pinned her against the marble tile, then returned to bed, Tick’s last memory being his nose buried in the spiced silk of her hair, his body wrapped around hers.

Eyes closed, he stretched, relieving the kinks. He was alone, his palm encountering cool cotton on her side of the bed. The rich aroma of coffee lingered in the air. Normally, they started their days together, entwined and talking, but somehow, he’d slept through Caitlin’s alarm.

Pushing the covers aside, he swung his feet to the floor. On another stretch, he ambled to the bathroom to relieve himself and rinse his face.

Coffee waited in the kitchen, and Caitlin sat at the island, one foot tucked under her, reading. A strata sat atop the stove, a small plate and fork at the ready for him. Affectionate appreciation warmed his chest. She smoothed out his life in the best of ways.

“Morning.” He set his plate and mug on the marble countertop and dipped his head to kiss the side of her neck.

“Hi.” A smile flirted with her lips. She traced a fingertip around the rim of her cup, not lifting her gaze from the page. “Sleep well?”

“Better than in weeks.” He hugged her to him, then settled on a stool. He forked up a bite of pancetta-and-cheese laden strata and muffled a satisfied groan. He’d have coffee while the girls ate later — nothing the diner served could compete with her strata. He chased the bite with coffee, grimacing. Decaf, because she was pregnant. He nudged the mug sideways. Definitely coffee at the diner later.

She darted a sideways glance at him, a hint of a smile curving her lips before her expression smoothed into solemn lines. “Giving Beech more of the travel doesn’t solve everything.”

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. This bite was less savory, probably because he was eating his past decisions with it, and he chewed, slowly. “I know.”

“You created a set of habits that pulled you away from me.” She made another slow circle of her mug rim. “One great night in bed doesn’t reset that.”

On another swallow of bitter decaf, he nodded. “No more reading reports when I’m supposed to be with you, and I’ll make sure we have time blocked out—”

“That’s surface level, Tick.” She pinned him with her steady gaze. “I know this has been difficult for you and that you don’t want to delve into the past. You stopped really talking to me.”

With a rough exhale, he rubbed a hand over his mouth. Hard to argue with what was true. Shit, he’d messed up, big time, in the most important area of his life. Gene would tell him now he’d made his bed, he couldn’t stay in it.

He shrugged, defeat heavy on his shoulders. “Don’t even realize I’m doing it most of the time.”

“Because you were making it a habit.” This time, sadness tinged her smile, and damn it, that killed him. He made her sad, and that kicked him in the chest, hard.

“I know it sounds like an excuse.” Hell, it made him sound as weak as he was.

“It sounds like a reason for a behavior that needs to change.” She cast a quick look down the hall to the girls’ rooms. “We are bringing a third child into our family. Even if we weren’t, I need you to be the husband and father you were before.”

He scuffed a hand over his nape and reached for that godawful brew, the one he had to drink because she had to. “Yeah.”

Warm fingers covered his, stroking over the back of his free hand, and he glanced up, finding affection and love glowing in her eyes. “You’re still that man, Tick. You simply became lost for a little while.”