Intoxicated (Billionaire Bachelors Club #3.5)

“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.”

“Oh, my God.” I reach out and snag his hand, pulling him until he’s practically collapsing on top of me. With a strength I didn’t even know I had, I push him onto his back and straddle him, completely naked. “Stop being such a weenie and just do me.”

He stares up at me with a frown, looking startled. “You just had a baby. You’re exhausted. You might have postpartum or whatever.”

I rest my hands on my hips. “Do I act like a woman who has postpartum?”

“No.” His gaze falls to my chest and heats to a sexy smolder. “Your boobs are huge.”

Rolling my eyes, I shove at his shoulder. “So romantic. Glad to see you haven’t lost your touch.”

“Damn woman, you’re full of it,” he mutters, his hands settling on my waist, his fingers light as they skim my skin. A shiver moves through me, and I’m seriously glad my husband hasn’t lost his touch.

“It’s called sexual frustration,” I murmur as I bend over him, my lips right in front of his. “As in, I want my husband. And I’m going to be really sad if he rejects me.”

“Sad?” One of his hands goes to the back of my head and brings me closer, our mouths brushing against each other as we speak. “I can’t have you sad, Ivy.”

“I know. So why don’t you have me screaming your name in, say, ten minutes?”