A Baby Changes Everything. Marie Ferrarella
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That they’d become an old married couple years before their time, taking each other for granted and just existing side by side instead of actually living each moment fully the way they had when they’d first gotten married.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Pleasure brought color to her cheeks. She could feel it spreading.
Cruz flashed her an apologetic smile as he helped himself to the burritos rancheros Savannah had carefully arranged in the serving dish. They were smothered in sour cream and guacamole sauce. He took a good portion of each.
“I’m afraid I smell a little ripe.”
She grinned. That had never bothered her about him. “I don’t mind a little perspiration,” she told him. “On you, it’s a very manly smell.”
He put the spatula back in the dish. “You’re easy to please.”
Her eyes met his. God, but she loved this man. “In some ways,” she agreed, then felt compelled to add, “in others, not so easy.”
There was chilled wine waiting on his pleasure. He took only a little, feeling bad that she couldn’t have any. The wine felt good as it slid down his throat, enhancing the mood.
“Is that a riddle?” he asked, setting his glass down.
“You can work it out later.” Her voice was low, husky, full of promise.
To his surprise, Cruz felt himself getting excited again.
He found himself hurrying through the meal, barely aware of what he was eating, only that it was tasty. His plate was cleaned within fifteen minutes of sitting down at the table, the contents washed down by a little more wine.
Cruz noticed that Savannah’s plate was clean, as well. But in her case it was because she’d taken next to nothing to begin with.
He nodded toward her plate as he pushed his own back. “Not hungry?”
She gave a little shrug, the light dancing off her bare shoulders. “I ate while I was making it.”
It was a lie, but one that she was allowed, she thought. If she made him aware of just how little she consumed during the course of a day, he’d worry. The truth was, she was afraid that if she ate more than the small portion of plain rice she’d prepared for herself, all her plans for the evening ahead would be ruined.
There was little doubt in Savannah’s mind that she would wind up spending the night in the bathroom, being ill.
As it was, ever since she’d become pregnant with her second child, waves of nausea kept assaulting her at the most inopportune times. They were at their most predictable shortly after a meal.
Shortly after this meal, she intended to be naked and entertaining her husband, as well as being entertained by him. A sudden run to the commode did not come under that heading.
Finished with his meal, Cruz began to rise with his plate.
His mother, Savannah mused, had trained this man well. But tonight that didn’t make any points.
“Leave it,” she told him, guiding the plate back to the table. “They’ll keep.”
Rising to her feet, she took his hand and began to walk toward the stairs.
He surprised her by abruptly stopping in the foyer before the staircase, just shy of the living room. When she turned around to look at him quizzically, Cruz took her into his arms.
Ever so slowly, he began to sway with her, in time to the music.
“We danced that first night, remember?” He enveloped her hand with his own, pressing it against his chest as he danced.
Against his heart, she thought, feeling the rhythm of its beat.
“On the terrace,” he continued. “Music from the party was drifting out of all the opened windows, and we danced the last time you wore this dress.”
That he remembered such a small detail thrilled her beyond measure.
“Yes,” she said softly, leaning her cheek against his chest, “I remember.”
Anticipation paired off with adrenaline, creating all sorts of delicious havoc within her body as she moved to the strains of the slow love song. She was happy enough to cry.
Damn her hormones, she thought. The smile didn’t leave her lips.
“This was a good idea.” Cruz’s breath wafted through her hair.
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