Page 16 of Marrying the Gardener
Crimson’s eyes find me as she pulls her fingers through her hair, tidying it. “Yes. His name’s General.”
Why does that not surprise me?
“He hates men, so don’t expect him to warm up to you.”
Like mistress, like pet, I suppose. “I won’t.” Animals don’t much care for me. I’ve spent years trying to get our house cat, Ender, to let me pet him to no avail. Only my koi fish have ever tolerated me, and it took less than a day for them to prefer Crisis feeding them.
I’ve concluded that I traded all my animal potential in for plant and people skills, and that’s just fine with me.
Clenching her fist, Crimson stands to face me as though she’s a general herself. Posture militant, she says, “I’d like to familiarize myself with the physical expectations going forward. I can’t expect that we’ll always have the luxury of a crash course from now on. Since we’ll be stuck in here for at least a few…”
“Hours,” I say, tugging on my collar, which is suddenly choking.
“Hours,” she confirms. “Since we’ll be stuck in here for at least a few hours, we might as well make good use of our time.”
The very idea that I may be able to seduce my wife in the next few hours sends a tingle down my spine. I subdue it. Flexing my fingers in the red-tinted light that shines through the curtains behind me, I approach my wife and spread my arms. “I’m yours, Ms. Nightingale, to do with as you please. Direct me on how I might best be of use to you.”
She scans me, wary. “You’re sure you never toyed with the illegal side ofescorting?”
“Positive.”
“Aren’t you a little too good at this, then?”
I lift a shoulder.
She follows the motion with her eyes, then she hardens. “Don’t call me Ms. Nightingale anymore. I’m worried you’ll slip up when it matters. Crimson is fine. And I actually need to get used tobaby, too, because I hate it.”
“As you wish.”
Her eyes trace my arms, then she reaches for me, setting herfingers against mine. While she studies the touch as though I’m an agent in a test tube, I marvel at how small and slender her fingers look against mine.
They’re just…
Perfect.
Speckled.
I want to leave them with a thousand kisses and beg for the time to keep them through a thousand more.
Audibly, breath fills her, then she’s dragging my hand toward her—
I cuss and rip my wrist from her grasp. “What are you doing?”
Confusion, irritation, and disgust muddle her features. “What do you meanwhat am I doing?”
My lips part. I comb my fingers through my hair, keeping themfirmlyaway from her. “I do believe my question was fairly self-explicit.”
“We’re practicing revolting thingsnowso I don’t hit youlater. That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”
Heat floods up my neck. “I’m not going to, at any point ever, cop a feel like that in public, Crimson.”
She blinks, lips pinched. “That’s fairly standard, isn’t it?”
“No, and I thought you told me that public displays of assault were off the table?”
Her gaze lowers in a way that makes my stomach knot, and I don’t want to think about the kind of men she’s been around if she thinks that grabbing someone in public like that is normal. She crosses her arms. “Well? What do I need to prepare myself for?”
A whole lot less than what I’m just beginning to understand I’ll need to preparemyselffor. Blowing out a breath, I attempt to manage my expectations. “Have you ever been kissed?”
