Then he settled back down in bed and kept firm hold on me.

“Well, uh… okay, uh… do you think –?” I started but he cut me off again.

“This is not the welcome home I’d like, wife, but it’ll do and you’ll sleep here, like this, until the morning. You don’t, I’ll take the welcome home from you I’d like and I won’t delay. Do you understand me?”

I understood him. I was totally okay with sleeping like this because I had a feeling I knew what kind of welcome home he’d like.

And incidentally, I was right about drunk guys not minding lesbians.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Now shut your mouth and sleep.”

I pressed my lips together in order not to inform him that he hadn’t actually let me open my mouth to say much of anything. I didn’t think he’d appreciate that reminder at that juncture.

What I did not do was sleep.

He was out in seconds.

I still did not sleep.

Penelope clawed her way back up the rope, curled at my one free foot and purred herself to slumber and I still did not sleep.

I knew that dawn had to have touched the sky (though I couldn’t see it with the curtains closed) and then, only then, did I find sleep.

And unfortunately when that happened, in sleep, I curled deeper into the big, hard, stranger at my side, my arm snaking around him and holding tight, my thigh curving around his, my knee and calf falling between his legs, my h*ps cradled by the side of his, my cheek pillowed on his massive, hard chest.

This was something I did normally in my sleep with covers and pillows.

Something I did that night with something a lot warmer, a lot more comfortable and a lot more dangerous.

And when I slept curled tight around my dark stranger husband, I slept deep.

Chapter Six

Phew

I slept in but Penelope was still with me when I woke.

And Penelope was my only bedmate.

Phew.

I lay in the warm cocoon of covers that was pulled up to my neck and wondered if my dark stranger husband pulled them up after he left me in bed which would be a surprising indication he could be thoughtful.

Then I figured he did because I likely didn’t.

Then I didn’t know what to do with that so I set it aside and listened to the house.

Nothing.

I couldn’t even feel his presence.

Phew. Okay. Good.

Space to get my head straight.

Penelope sensed I was awake and sauntered up the curved line of my body then jumped down to curl in the warm shell of my belly, lap and thighs and there she started purring. I noted the windows were covered by the heavy curtains and the curtain was still drawn at the railing but sunlight was coming through there (not at the windows, they didn’t mess around in Lunwyn with curtains, total blackout situation, nothing got through, they even had draft protectors to set at the base of the doors). This had to mean it was late morning for Lunwyn’s days were very short, by my estimation, starting around nine or ten and ending around two or three. Then it was moonlight all the way.

I tipped my head and saw the fire was blazing, heating the small nest of space.

Definitely my dark stranger husband did that for me unless Lunwyn had heretofore unknown fire fairies.

Another surprising act of thoughtfulness.

Hmm.

I pulled just an arm out of the covers to scratch Penelope behind the ears as I considered my dilemma.

First, I was married and my husband was home.

Second, I was not a lesbian like he thought I was.

Third, my husband was a renowned Raider, known to be virile and “skilled in that area” but also it was clear he was very virile unless you were blind, deaf and lost all your senses of perception.

Fourth, I knew there was a strong possibility the rumors of his “skill” were true with the one kiss he’d given me, the light touch he’d woken me with last night and the gentle way he touched my jaw and neck.

Fifth, he liked my hair.

Sixth, he wanted to sleep with me cuddled to his side.

Seventh, he left me covered and cocooned, stoking up the fire to keep me warm.

Hmm.

On the other hand…

First, he’d married me, hauled me across country for hours upon hours through the freezing cold night and left me in a dirty house all by myself for six weeks (well, the house wasn’t dirty for six weeks, but he sure as hell left me there alone that long).

Second, when he first saw me again, he bossed me around right in front of everyone without even saying hello. Granted, he was with his buds, and maybe obviously virile, Viking-type Raiders behaved that way in front of their buds, but he could at least have said hello.

Third, for reasons unknown he’d carried me out like a sack of flour, again, right in front of everyone.

Fourth, he’d sent my horse galloping when I was not secure on her back.

Fifth, he barely spoke to me, didn’t let me talk when he was speaking and most of the stuff he said when he was speaking, I didn’t like much.

And last, he was huge, scared me most of the time and, um… he scared me most of the time (that was worth repeating).

I left Penelope to her purring, put my arm back under the covers, rolled to my back to stare at the ceiling and kept thinking.

I was an adventurer but I wasn’t a sexual adventurer.

There were two reasons for this.

First, I had a bunch of money. My father inherited a shitload from my grandfather and after the plane he was piloting with Mom in it went down over the Nile, I inherited his shitload of money.

Money made people do stupid stuff and lots of it was not so nice. And having lots of it made you a target for some not so nice folks who did stupid stuff mostly to get you to use your money on them or just to get your money. So, I’d learned early and Dad had taught me to be careful with my heart (and my money). So I was.

I had good friends but they were few. Trust was difficult when you were loaded like me.

I’d had far fewer lovers.

Second, I was just plain careful with my heart. I’d lost the two people I loved most in my life when I was fifteen. That hurt. Too much. I didn’t want that to happen again and if I was going to risk it, I was damn well going to make certain I took that risk on the right guy.

That guy, so far, had not made an appearance and, so far, no guy even came close.

So, two and two together meant that I didn’t go there. This didn’t mean I was a virgin, it was just – you share your body, you open a part of yourself and make it vulnerable. So unless I was sure I could cut ties or I had my head on straight (the latter being a rare occasion with me), I didn’t take that risk. Vulnerable was not something I liked to be.