Page 37 of Madly Deeply

He assumed the position on the kitchen chair. His skin was a little wetter that morning than she would have liked, and she suggested he take fewer showers.

"Give it time to dry out a little. If you're drinking enough, it will still get what it needs. But infection likes a wet environment, remember."

When she was finished, she got around to apologizing for being so abrupt with him the day before. "I was mean, and I'm sorry."

He accepted it with a nod.

"And I'm afraid I didnae thank ye properly last evenin'."

Her gaze flew straight to his lips, remembering that kiss he'd almost landed. But he only smiled, obviously reading her mind.

"I should have asked ye to dinner. That is, I mean to ask ye." He growled at himself. "Alexandra, I'm askin' ye to dinner. I promise to wear my shirt through the entire meal. But I am hell bent on thankin’ ye properly."

She couldn't say no, especially with Spreag standing by the stove, nodding enthusiastically.

"That sounds lovely."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"The green one," Spreag said decisively as Alexandra held up two dresses. "It brings out yer eyes."

She laughed. "Since when are you a fashion expert?"

"Since I spent a year watchin' ye get dressed." He winked with gusto. "Though I preferred ye undressed."

"Behave." She slipped the emerald wrap dress over her head, grateful that her morning sickness had passed early that day. "It's not a date. It's just dinner."

"Aye, and the roses he sent this afternoon were just neighborly."

She smoothed the fabric over her barely round stomach. "There it is. Now you sound properly jealous."

"I vow to be downright territorial when ye return." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Ye won't mind if I dinnae tag along. No need to give the man more reason to think ye need professional help."

"Good point." Honestly, she was relieved she hadn't had to bring up the subject herself.

She stepped into black heels and reached for her pearls—Spreag's wedding gift to her. Nothing else in her jewelry box would look good with the green.

The doorbell rang at six o'clock sharp and her stomach fluttered. She spun in a circle to make sure her skirt wasn't caught on anything, and asked her mirror. "How do I look?"

"Like the bonniest lass in the world." Spreag's soft answer made her stop and second guess, until he added, "Go. Have fun."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He made a shooing motion. "Besides, ye deserve a proper meal out. And proper company."

When she opened the door, Callum stood on her porch in a well-fitted gray suit. His red curls were tamed and tied back. He'd brought more flowers—from Tenbury's garden.

"These reminded me of ye," he said. "Wild and lovely."

"Did you forget you already sent roses?"

"Nay, but a lass can never have too many flowers about."

She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you. Let me put them in water."

He followed her to the kitchen. "Ye look stunnin', by the bye." He got a good look at the orange rose bouquet that had been delivered that afternoon and his chest puffed up like a rooster's. "These almost do ye justice."

"You clean up pretty well yourself. And the roses are amazing. Thank you." She dropped the wildflowers in a short vase of water, then rinsed and dried her hands. "Ready?"

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