Joe's Wife by Cheryl St.john Page A

weren't "close" to.
    It took a long time for his reply. "You're right," he said finally. "That is something serious. At least it should be."
    Suddenly, inexplicably, she hated the idea of him with those other women. "You don't go there anymore?"
    "No!"
    "I don't think it would be good if you went to see one of those women."
    "I'm not going to see anyone. I told you, Lottie was a long time ago."
    "Well, husbands shouldn't do that. They should … be with their wives."
    "I agree."
    "And you're a husband now. If you want to do that, you shouldn't go to town."
    "You mean I should come to you. My wife."
    Heat flared in her entire upper body, and she knew he could see her embarrassment even in the light from the lantern. Was that what she'd been getting at? No. She simply didn't want him humiliating her in an unnecessary manner. "Yes."
    "And what if you should want to … do that?" he asked, and she imagined she heard a smile in his voice.
    Why, she'd never initiated such a thing with her own husband! Surely he didn't think she'd be the one to ask him! "I am not having this conversation with you, I am simply saying you mustn't shame me by going to town for that. I already have to deal with what people think of us getting married, and now I'll have to deal with this child. I won't cope with that, too."
    "I won't go."
    "All right."
    "But I think you should be the one to tell me when you want to. I'm a man, I can be ready anytime. You're the one who needs to adjust to the whole thing. You know, get comfortable and choose when the time is right. You were married, you know what I'm talking about."
    What on earth was he talking about? She turned to view his face.
    He was studying her with a hot look that started butterflies fluttering in her stomach. And he was serious. The situation struck her full force. He was lying in her bed, the bed she'd shared with Joe, but he seemed to take up so much more room. She'd touched him, no matter how innocently, and she'd had unseemly thoughts of his body. Images of him wife those other women had disturbed her. She'd shocked herself. "I'd better go wash my hands."
    She gathered her supplies and left the room, only to wash her hands, splash cool water on her face, then stand in the kitchen with her heart beating crazily in her throat. Finally, she gathered her wits, blew out the lantern in the other room, checked the fire and returned to the dim bedroom.
    He'd finished undressing and lay against the pillow, one arm over his head, exposing a thatch of dark hair beneath. His chest, above the sheet, was covered with thick black curls, just as she'd wondered. He lay with his eyes closed, so she studied him, her knees weak, her heart racing as though she were preparing to jump off a cliff.
    This new husband was so much older than Joe had been—so much more of a man. But then Joe would be older, too, if he were still alive. That had been years ago. Intimacy with Joe had been … comfortable. Thinking of Tye in that way was anything but comfortable.
    He opened his eyes and caught her staring. "I won't look while you undress," he said.
    Meg turned away and fumbled in a drawer for her nightgown. Locating it, she blew out the lantern before removing her dress and underclothing.
    "You didn't have your corset on under that dress, did you?" he said, his voice a husky suggestion in the darkness.
    "How did you know that?"
    "Just did."
    "You were thinking about my undergarments?"
    "Yeah."
    She'd never known anyone so embarrassingly frank.
    "Don't tell me you didn't think about me. Especially when you got me out of my pants and into your bed. Something crossed your mind."
    Meg gasped and pulled her nightgown on quickly, buttoning it up to her throat.
    "Get in."
    She stood there trembling, though the room was warm and her body temperature even warmer.
    "Told you we were just going to sleep together," he said. "Nothing else."
    She calmed herself with a deep breath and eased onto the mattress, careful not to inch too