“Romeo. What are you doing here?” She slipped off her gloves, pulling each finger out until she hit one that wouldn’t budge. I stepped forward, catching her hand in mine. It trembled as I stroked the soft skin of her wrist. I could see the dull blue of her veins through the paper-thin skin. The gloves resisted as I tugged, unhurried. It gripped her digit, molded by sweat and heat. Her lips parted in a desperate, almost invisible pant. But I was close enough to steal it, gluttonous for every micro expression. I lifted the stubborn glove to my mouth and tugged it off with my teeth. The glove fell limp into my grip, and I laid it to the side, distracted by the boxes and jars that took up almost every space. There was no glass in this section. The dark scent of soil and plants filled the room.
“What are you doing, wife?” I motioned to the surrounding space. Shelves packed with boxes, jars, and other instruments I didn’t recognize. Some were worn down, looking as if they were decades old. Anita stepped back, busying herself by tying off the bag she’d been filling.
“What did you think I did all day? Sat around with my hands in my lap until you deigned to come home?” She shook her head.
“I didn’t know you enjoyed gardening. I would have had a greenhouse built for you before we were married if that was the case,” I insisted. I wanted to see her smile again, the unguarded one. Not laced with bitterness. But her expression was blank, except for the faint irritation that marred her brow.
“You don’t know anything about me, Romeo,” she scoffed, fussing with the bags. She rolled the sleeves of her sage green top. She wore brown corduroy overalls over the top, and I’d never seen her dressed so casually. Was she nervous at my closeness? A warmth spread through my chest. Any response was better than indifference. I moved into her bubble, pressing her ass against the wooden bench.
“I am going to change that,” I whispered, undoing her messy ponytail and letting her dark hair fall about her shoulders. She made a noise and wriggled against me. As if that would deter me.
“Stop,” I ordered and was rewarded by a look of pure venom. A haze descended on my mind. My dear wife wasn’t sweet as I’d thought. I’d been too focused on other pressing thoughts to realize it was a careful facade. She was salted caramel. Decadent with a bite that surprised. She froze as I leaned closer, needing a taste of those lips. I angled her head so I could get my fill of her. My lips slid across hers, feeling the tremble rack through her torso. It reminded me of our wedding night. She’d shivered like a rabbit, her untried taste almost making me lose control. If I’d let her that night, she would have relaxed against me, given me the warm welcome of her mouth.
But not now. She remained stiff against me, and when I pulled back, her dark eyes were pits of fury.
“What did I say about trying to seduce me into compliance?” She gave me a low warning.
“Am I interrupting?” A throat cleared from the doorway, and Anita shoved me away. Paolo was leaning against the doorframe with a huge smile.
“Yes,” I said, honestly. His smile only widened, especially as Anita clicked her tongue and muttered under her breath. Paolo sauntered over to peer into the box full of bags.
“I thought you should know that your mom is back in town,” Paolo whispered to Anita, and I cocked my head at her reaction. Her mom hadn’t attended our wedding. She was a wanderer, driven by her constant jaunts around the world. She was always seeking somewhere new and exciting. But from the stiffness in her shoulders, I could see there was more to it. I wondered how her mom afforded her near-constant traveling; had expected to finance it when Anita and I married. Perhaps she had returned for an injection of cash.
“We should host her here, of course. You can show her the grounds, your lovely greenhouse. She’ll see her daughter is well cared for,” I offered, wanting Anita to know how good it could be if she let herself forgive me. I hadn’t heard from Merissa again, but her specter still pressed between my wife and I. Anita picked up the box and shoved it into Paolo’s chest. He rocked back on his heels with a huff of laughter.
“If you invite my mom to your house, I will kill you, slow and painful,” Anita warned, and Paolo smothered a strangled noise, ducking his head. Her attempted threat made my lips quirk. “Take those, will you? Tell Carla I should have more within a month, so don’t blow through it this time.”
“Our house,” I corrected her, plucking a bag from the box, much to Anita’s vocal dismay. I could see the red-tinged leaves, packages of loose-leaf tea. There was no label affixed to the front of the sandy calico bag. Its scent herbal, sharp and pungent.
“What’s this?” I cocked my head.
“Nothing,” Anita said, trying to snatch it back from me. I held it out of reach, her soft growl shooting to my cock. Even her anger aroused me.
“Fertility tea,” Paolo interjected, watching us with amusement.
Anita smacked her cousin on the shoulder.
“Go, troublemaker,” she teased with the easy banter of someone she knew and trusted. I held the bag up, tingling with an idea. Paolo dipped his head toward me and made a quick exit. The greenhouse shrunk to the bubble of Anita and me once more. I debated following Paolo, to harass him about The Gardener. But I couldn’t shake the thought of Anita growing with my child.
“Fertility tea, huh?” I drawled, waving the little bag. “My wife is an herbalist, is she?”
“It’s a hobby.” She crossed her arms, her proud button nose hiking up toward the ceiling again.
Adorable.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, I hauled her against me, loving the feel of her. I’d denied myself far too long. Each moment in Anita’s presence stoked a roaring need. I sought every crack in her façade, wanting to see what more surprises she offered me. Her soft, warm weight felt perfect in my arms.
“Let go of me, Romeo,” she complained, pushing me away. I tightened my hold instead.
“No, I said I owed you another wedding night, and tonight is the night. And sweet wife, I want you to take a cup of this tea before we begin. I want you fertile.” Anita, round with our child. My stomach cramped, concave with a hunger I’d never experienced before. A ravenous obsession nipped at my heels, urging me to claim Anita in every way possible. Anita softened in my hold, her gaze narrowing on the bag in my hand.
“We can do that,” her voice coy with promise and she pressed up against me of her own volition. Her body was warm velvet, scrambling my thoughts. “But it’s actually tea for the man.”
“I’ll do it,” I blurted out, almost crushing the bag in my excitement. “Tonight. I need you, and I won’t wait a moment longer.”
Anita stepped away, and my fingers itched to pull her back. To see if I could coax her sweetness into lust, but then her lips spread, her cheeks rounded.
A genuine smile. My heart stuttered at the sight.
