“Me, too.” He pressed his wet lips to her crown. “And when the time is right, I’m sure we’ll have one.”
* * *
Weeks later, Rico crowded her to scan the strips of negatives with her.
“I want the one I took of you in front of the waterfall,” he said.
Poppy never minded the touch of his body against hers, but, “You’re here to tell me how your father will behave. Act like him and pick something he might like.”
His parents were coming for an early dinner, their first visit to the finished house. Sorcha and Cesar had plans elsewhere so it would be only the four of them. They would show them the beehives and the wine cellar and, at the explicit request of the duque, Poppy would demonstrate her darkroom.
“The waterfall is a good shot,” Rico said, not backing off one hairbreadth. “The ripples in your hair mirrored the path of the water. I’ve wanted to see it since I took it.”
It was poorly framed and crooked, but she could fix that.
Actually, it was a decent shot, she decided, once the negative was in the enlarger. It was perfectly focused and the light was quite pretty, dappling through the jungle leaves. It was taken from behind her. She sat up to her waist in the water, looking toward the waterfall. She had been wearing her bikini and the strings were hidden by the fall of her hair so she looked like a naked nymph spied in her natural habitat.
“I am not showing this one to your father.”
She had already run test strips from this batch so she set her timer and switched the overhead light to red. Then she set the paper for exposure.
“How long do we have?” His hands settled on her waist.
“Not long enough.” The timer went off and she chuckled at the noise of disappointment that escaped him.
She moved the paper into the developer bath and gently rocked until the second timer pinged. She moved the paper to the fixing bath, explaining as she went.
“This last one is water, to wash off the chemicals.” She left the image in the final bath.
“See? It’s great,” he said.
“It is,” she agreed, washing her hands and drying them. “Now ask me how much time we have.”
“Enough?”
“It shouldn’t stay in there more than thirty minutes.” She closed one eye and wrinkled her nose. “But we shouldn’t stay in here more than thirty minutes or we won’t have time to get ready for our guests.”
“I can work with that.”
“I know you can,” she purred throatily and held up her arms.
He ambled close, crowded her against the counter beside the sink then lifted her to sit upon it. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
Every day. She cradled his hard jaw in soft hands, grazing her lips against the stubble coming in because he hadn’t yet shaved. “Have I told you lately that you make all of my dreams come true?”
Maybe not all. They were still “seeing,” not “trying,” but their love was tender and new. They were protecting it with gentle words and putting no pressure on it with expectations they couldn’t control.
“I want to,” he said, hands slowing as he ran them over her back and up to pull the thick elastic from her hair. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am. So happy I don’t know how to contain it all.” She skimmed her fingers down to his shirt buttons, good at this now. She smiled as she spread the white shirt. It glowed pink in the red light. She slid light fingers across the pattern of hair flat against thick muscle and drew a circle around his dark nipples.
“Me, too,” he said, skimming the strap of her sundress down her shoulder and setting kisses along the tendon at the base of her neck. “I didn’t know happiness like this was possible. That it was as simple as opening my heart, loving and allowing myself to be loved. You humble me, being brave enough to teach me that.”
This was supposed to be a playful quickie, but his words and the tenderness in his touch were turning it into something far more profound.
“This is what I wanted the day we made love the first time. I wanted to know the man you didn’t show to anyone else. Thank you for trusting yourself to me.” She held his head in her hands, gazed on the handsome face that she read so easily these days. She pressed her mouth to his.
He took over, gently ravaging in a way that was hungry and passionate and reverent. She responded the way she always did, helplessly and without reserve. She trusted herself to him, too, and it was worth that risk. Their intimacy went beyond the right to open his belt or slide a hand beneath her skirt. His touch was possessive and greedy, but caring and knowing. Hers wasn’t hesitant or daring, but confident and welcomed with a growl of appreciation.