Why do you ask?
“Because you’re pregnant,” Mace remarked conversationally, eyebrows climbing as he audibly slurped his coffee. “And I hear that isn’t a leisurely stroll through the park. Even for such a dauntless woman as yourself…”
It was apparently the wrong thing to say.
“Ana…” he murmured gently, setting his cup on the bedside table. The only thing more painful than seeing her hurt, was seeing her try to hide her hurt from him. Did she really think, after all this time, he wouldn’t be able to read the subtle shifts in her voice? The flicker of darkness in her eyes? The way her expression closed off when she was thinking, when she was worrying, or angry or afraid? More than that, how could she think he would ignore it?
He could not ignore it.
His eyes searched her face thoughtfully as her fingers trailed over his skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek, sweeping his thumb over her cheekbone. Gods, she was beautiful – even when she was upset, or angry with him, or lost in thought. He leaned forward to kiss her slowly. His hand slid back to cradle her head.
“You are a lovely, sunny day. Even if you are trying to distract me,” he breathed against her mouth, then peppered a trail of kisses down her neck, over her collar bone. “And, while it is working….” He parted her robe with a featherlight touch. Planted a kiss on top of one breast, then the other. “I would be a terrible husband, if I let you pretend that nothing’s wrong.”
His gaze flicked up, holding hers, even as fingers and lips danced over her skin. Then he stopped, tilting up his chin.
Mace had never been a husband. He wasn’t sure how to be a good one – was far from sure how to be a good father – but he knew from his experience as a son that there were several things to avoid. Indifference was certainly one of them. Taking for granted that your family was fine, was another. He remembered the way his mother cooled as soon as his father entered a room, the way he never asked if his wife and child were okay. Mace wondered, now, if he hadn’t cared, or if he’d been afraid.
“Talk to me, my love. You don’t have to be fine. You don’t have to pretend.” He turned his body so they were touching from ribcage to toes, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Not with me. Not ever with me.”
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