Rachel laughed, allowing some of the bubbling joy to surge right out of her soul. She caught Rusty’s grin from across the room and shared a secret smile with the other girl.
She let Ethan lead her toward the kitchen as she dreamed of the perfect way to tell him he was going to be a father.
Chapter 4
It was late when the truck was unloaded at the new house and everything was set up. Oddly, Rachel had insisted that their bed be moved first so they could stay the night here instead of at their old home.
It felt strange to say old home. Ethan still hadn’t adjusted to the idea of a new house. Oh, he agreed with the idea that they should live behind the walls of the compound. He was on board with anything that assured him of his wife’s safety. Or at least gave her an added measure of protection.
But Rachel seemed…eager to move. She showed no outward signs of regret over leaving their old life.
He flopped down on the bed waiting for her to finish in the shower and join him. The thought shouldn’t nag him, but there was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He wondered if everything was all right with Rachel and if she really was taking the move as well as she seemed to be.
He worried endlessly over causing her any upset. His brothers cautioned him not to go so overboard and to lighten up. Not to smother her. He knew they were right, but they’d never lived with the knowledge that the woman they loved beyond all measure had died. That they’d pushed her away. That they’d rejected her. Taken her love and thrown it in her face.
Ethan had done all of that. He’d lived it. He’d had the very heart of him taken away the day he was informed that Rachel had died in that plane crash.
To this day, he still woke in a cold sweat, reaching frantically beside him to reassure himself that she was here. Alive. Next to him.
So if he was a little overbearing, surely it was understandable. Not many people had lost and then miraculously regained a loved one. He damn well was going to make sure he didn’t ever lose her again.
The bathroom door opened, and Rachel stepped out, her skin rosy and glowing from the heat of the shower. Her hair was wet, and she was toweling it dry as she walked toward the bed.
She was wearing a teeny, tiny silk camisole set that drove him insane. The shorts—if you could call them that—barely covered her ass, and the cami top plunged between her br**sts, damn near baring her belly button.
She may as well not wear anything at all, which would be more than fine with him, but then she did love to tease him mercilessly and then pretend innocence when he tore the little scraps of material from her body.
She’d filled out a lot since the day they’d brought her home from South America. She’d bordered on gaunt. Hell, she had been gaunt. A ghost of her former self. Thin. Deep shadows under and in her eyes. Her hair had been lopped off without care, and she’d looked intensely frail. As if the slightest thing would knock her off balance.
How deceptive her appearance had been, because to survive as she had, she would have to have been forged in steel and possessed the will of a warrior.
Now her curves had returned, though she’d always been more willowy. But she’d lost the look of fragility. Her hips were more rounded. Even her br**sts were plumper, and she’d gained much-needed pounds.
Her hair had grown long again, and it was thick and glossy and healthy-looking. Her eyes glowed with contentment. He never tired of that look on her. He’d seen her with despair that was bone deep, and if he never had to see such a thing again, it would be too soon. Whatever he had to do to prevent her from ever feeling that kind of hopelessness, he’d do.
“Hand me a comb and I’ll brush out your hair,” he offered.
She sent him a smile that curled his toes. He knew she loved to have her hair brushed, and it was a simple thing that brought him every bit as much pleasure as it did her. It was an excuse to hold her. To touch her. To simply spend time with her and just…be.
He’d taken those things for granted before. He’d never make that mistake again.
She retrieved a comb from the bathroom and then crawled onto the bed and settled between his legs after he’d positioned himself against the headboard.
He started at the bottom, gently working the comb through her tangles. She tilted her head back, and he could see that her eyes were closed, her expression one of deep contentment.
It was automatic for him to smile. His chest tightened and then eased as the knot of emotion formed and then loosened, spreading warmth all the way to his soul.
God, but he loved this woman. He never wanted to be without her.
As he finished detangling her hair, he leaned forward and kissed the side of her neck, inciting a shiver that he felt go down her entire body.
“I have an idea,” he murmured suggestively. “I was thinking that we do away with the silky bits you call sleepwear and then we practice making that baby. Practice makes perfect or so they say.”
She went completely still, and then she twisted around, positioning herself so that she was on her knees between his legs facing him.
“Speaking of that…” she began.
He studied her intently, wondering if perhaps the idea of pregnancy had been occupying her thoughts of late. Perhaps it was why he couldn’t quite put his finger on her mood.
“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked. “Because it’s absolutely okay if you are, baby. I certainly don’t mind waiting as long as it takes for you to feel comfortable with it. I want you to be sure you’re ready.”