Intoxicated (Billionaire Bachelors Club #3.5)(21)

“You think I’m a good husband and father? Gee, thanks.” She punches me in the arm, making me laugh.

“You know what I mean.” I kiss Jackson’s forehead, then his cheeks. I can’t stop kissing my baby. Matt and Gage make fun of my ass, but I don’t care. “You’re a good wife and mother. You amaze me every day, what you do for me and for Jackson.”

“Aw.” She leans in and goes to kiss my cheek, but I turn my head at the last minute so she kisses my lips instead. “You are too sweet. And speaking of doing something for someone else . . . did you make that donation yet?”

“Yeah.” Gage and I finally conceded that Matt won the million dollar bet. Arrogant f**ker really rubbed it in our faces too. But then he came up with the brilliant idea that we donate our share to a charity of our choice. “I received the official letter of thanks from the organization in the mail a few days ago.” I contributed to a local charity that assists pregnant women in need. Gage chose a local low income housing project.

“That’s wonderful, honey.” She kisses me again on the lips, this time on purpose. “I’m so proud of you for turning your stupid bet into something for good.”

I laugh. Leave it to my wife to put it so succinctly. “Yeah well, Matt showed us both up and looks like a total hero.”

“How?”

“He made donations too. Two hundred fifty thousand to each of the charities Gage and I chose.” Smug ass**le. I think this jokingly because while he made us look like chumps and himself look like a hero, yeah, I’ve gotta give it to him.

Matt did the right thing. He has a good heart, my friend.

“Matt is so amazing.” Ivy shakes her head, a dreamy expression on her face. Not good. I want to be the only one who puts that look on her. “I just adore him.”

“As much as you adore me?” I ask like a jealous idiot.

“I adore you so much, it’s kind of ridiculous.” Another kiss, this one longer, a little sweeter, a lot hotter. “But you already know this,” she murmurs against my lips.

Jackson struggles between us, giving a single cry like he’s saying “pay attention to me” in baby language. I withdraw from Ivy reluctantly and stand, holding Jackson to my chest. “Want me to put him down? He’s due for a nap, right?”

“Right.” She stands and flashes me a sultry smile. “You should meet me in our bedroom.” Taking a step closer to me, she presses her hands against my chest, her fingers caressing lightly. Her gaze is full of intent. “I miss my husband.”

Hope lights up inside of me, but I tamp it down. “Aren’t you still recovering?”

“I feel good. Perfect, in fact.” Her fingers curl into my T-shirt and give it a little tug. “Don’t you want to rendezvous with your wife in the bedroom?”

Her choice of words makes me laugh—and sweat. “I’d love nothing more but aren’t we supposed to wait at least six weeks?”

“It’s up to you; do you trust your wife or a doctor who has no idea how she’s feeling physically?” She releases her hold on my T-shirt and backs up a little. “See you in a bit?”

Hell. “Okay,” I say lightly, feeling like a jackass.

But not so much of one that I’d miss out on the opportunity my wife is presenting me.

Ivy

I’M WAITING FOR my husband in our bed, naked. He’s taking an extraordinarily long time putting Jackson in his crib, and I’m starting to think he’s stalling.

Silly man. He’s worried I’m not recovered enough for any physical contact. The doctor informed me I could engage in sexual activity approximately four to six weeks after childbirth. I’m focused on four.

Extremely focused, considering Jackson is exactly a month old as of yesterday.

Besides, I feel like my body has bounced back from childbirth pretty quickly.

Parenting, however, was a difficult adjustment at first—always having to get up every few hours to feed the baby. After a while, I felt like a baby-feeding machine and that was it. I was tired, I was cranky, and I felt decidedly unsexy. As in, I felt like a mama. That’s it.

The last week and half though, something has changed. I’ve got a routine going on, and Jackson is doing well. I’ve slowly started exercising, and it’s reenergized me. My body’s not in perfect shape, but I think Archer will ignore any imperfections. It’s been too long since we’ve had sex. His horniness will most likely outweigh any notice of my lingering flab or stretch marks.

“There you are,” I say when Archer magically appears in the doorway of our bedroom. But suddenly it’s like he can’t even cross the threshold. “What took you so long?”

His expression is uneasy. “I . . . Babe, are you really okay to do this?”

“Do what?” I blink up at him innocently as he moves into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed.

He shoots me a skeptical glance. “I can tell you’re naked under that sheet, Ivy. You brought me in here to seduce me.”

“You’re so perceptive. Don’t tell me you’re protesting?” Because if he is I’m calling bullshit. The guy usually can’t keep his hands off me. Now he’s all Mr. Shy. He needs to get over it.

“I’m not.” He steps closer, reaching out to grab at my foot beneath the sheet. “But I don’t want to hurt you if you’re not up to this.”