LettingMaddie have two pieces of cake had been a terrible idea. Not that Holt had given her permission, nor had he actually seen it happen, but given the fact that it was a solid two hours past her bedtime and she was still doing the little girl version of zoomies around the house, he was pretty sure it was a reasonable assumption.
“Surely, she’ll crash soon,” he murmured.
Cayla’s gaze followed her daughter’s flight. “This is one of those moments when I consider the acceptability of sedating her with Benadryl.”
“No jury of your peers would convict you.” Especially not as they’d both been desperate to get through the party to follow up on all the wants generated by that kiss.
“Probably not. But we’re going to try a few other things first. How are you with wrestling?”
Holt shot her a look. “I’m guessing you’re not talking about the naked variety?”
Her brown eyes met his, full of heat. “Not yet.”
There is a God.
“See if you can work off some of her energy while I draw a bath. She’s going to smell like a lavender farm when she’s out.”
Rolling his shoulders, he fixed his eyes on his pint-sized target. “On it.”
Holt scooped Maddie up and took her down to the floor in a smooth roll, letting her crawl all over him before tickling her ribs until she shrieked with laughter.
“Surrender, tiny human!”
“Never!” Her little fingers found their way to his own ticklish spots, digging in until he was wriggling and laughing himself.
“Bath time, children.”
At the sound of her mother’s voice, Maddie looked up and Holt took advantage, flipping her over to blow a raspberry on her belly. She flailed, narrowly missing his kidney as she giggled with hysterics.
“Say Uncle!”
“But I don’t have an uncle.”
Holt paused. “That’s a fair point.”
Cayla held out her hand. “C’mon, Munchkin.”
Maddie scrambled up and followed Cayla into the bathroom. Bath time took another twenty minutes, then the little lavender-scented schemer bartered for two more chapters of Mr. Popper’s Penguins. But apparently that was enough because her eyes drooped closed before they got halfway through the second. Cayla eyed her carefully as she read another couple of paragraphs, but Maddie didn’t move. They both eased off the bed, making their silent escape.
By tacit agreement, they began picking up the disaster left by Hurricane Maddie. In the quiet, Holt heard the patter of rain against the front windows. “Glad that held off until the party was over.”
“Yeah, moving things indoors would’ve been a pain. But I think the reception went really well.”
He finished tossing the last of Maddie’s stuffed animals into the basket and turned to watch Cayla finish tidying up the couch cushions, the shape of her backside a tantalizing curve in that pretty dress.
“Seems like it definitely did what it was supposed to do. I’ve lived here long enough to recognize that everyone in town will know we’re married by Monday morning.”
He was a whole lot more concerned with feeling very married after tonight. But he wouldn’t push her here. She was calling the shots.
Straightening, Cayla strode over to him, sliding her arms up his chest to link behind his neck. “It did a few other things, too.”
And just like that, his body was ready to go. Zero to Reporting-For-Duty-Sir in less than ten syllables. Judging by the darkening of Cayla’s eyes, his wife was very aware of it, too. With one of those secret, female smiles, she took his hand and pulled him into their bedroom. Because somehow, in the past few days, it had become theirs, not just hers.
Very deliberately, she locked the door behind them. And this wasn’t at all like that first night. There was no hesitation. No avoidance of eye contact. Her intent was clear, but he needed to hear her say it.
“Are you sure?”
Her hands stroked up his pecs. “Absolutely.”
“Thank God.” He reached for her, his hands curving around her hips, circling her into another dance.
She laughed. “What would you have done if I’d said no?”
“Backed off. And probably cried.”
She was grinning as she brought her mouth back to brush his. “No crying tonight.”
“Only the good kind,” he promised. Because he needed to hear more of those little sighs she’d let out earlier.
Cayla shuddered and moaned a little, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt as they circled toward the bed. Holt loved the feel of her hands on him as she tugged the shirt free and pushed it off his shoulders. He pulled off his undershirt himself and enjoyed the hell out of the appreciative gaze she raked over his chest. Her fingers followed, tracing each ridge of muscle. Damn, that felt good.
Because he needed more, he reached for the row of tiny buttons that ran down the front of her dress. He fumbled on the first half dozen, his fingers feeling about as adept as sausages.
“Did you pick this dress to torture me?”
Her low laugh was throaty. “No, that’s just a side benefit.”
Holt had no doubt that she could undo them faster than he could. But she didn’t offer, instead standing patiently, seeming to enjoy the anticipation as he slowly exposed each new inch of her, until the dress gaped open down to her waist, showing a flash of pink lace. On an inhale, he nudged the dress off her shoulders, watching as it slithered down to the floor, leaving her in only a matching set of bra and panties.
He let out a reverent curse. “You’re beautiful.”
She stepped into him again, her hands going to his belt. “And yours.”
A roll of thunder seemed to underscore the point.
Hell, yes.
Taking her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss, he wrapped around her, his fingers working at the clasp of her bra.
The bedroom door flew open, banging back against the wall. He didn’t think, just spun, automatically putting himself between Cayla and the threat, his hands raised.
Maddie rocketed across the room, taking a flying leap onto the bed as another, bigger crash of thunder sounded. She whimpered and dove under the covers.
Cayla sucked in a shuddering breath and dropped her brow to his shoulder. “She’s afraid of thunderstorms.”
“Ah.” It was all he could manage with all the blood drained out of his head.
He was still staring at the open door—the one they’d locked—when she stepped away to snag her sleep shirt off the chair. She slipped it on, doing some kind of female contortion to take the bra off from underneath.
With a look of apology, she climbed into bed to check on the shivering lump under the covers, and Holt understood that their delayed wedding night had just been put on the back burner. Again.
* * *