Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

Trey was smiling long before he reached the door to the master suite. Pushing it open, he walked in, then stopped short when he saw the jumble of boxes stacked about the sitting room, some ripped open, their contents partially disgorged, while others remained taped shut.

Out of habit, Trey swept off his hat and looked for a place to put it. In the end he set it on top of an unopened box. After his initial scan of the room failed to locate Sloan, he started to pick his way through the cardboard maze, finally spotting her half-hidden behind some boxes. She sat cross-legged on the floor with her back to him, studying something with rapt interest. His eyes took in the blue tank top and white shorts she wore before shifting to all the tanned flesh the summery attire exposed.

She seemed completely oblivious to his presence. Trey was briefly curious about the item that held her attention to the exclusion of all else. Then he caught a glimpse of a photo’s glossy surface and realized, with a flash of annoyance, that he should have guessed the cause.

“What have you got there? I thought you looked at all your pictures before we packed them.”

Sloan jerked her head around when she heard his voice, her blue eyes wide with dismay at the sight of him. “Trey. What are you doing here?” She scrambled to her feet. “It can’t be that late, can it?”

Now that he was, at last, the subject of her undivided attention, he smiled. “That isn’t how a wife is supposed to greet her husband,” he teased. “The right way is to throw your arms around his neck and tell him how glad you are to see him.”

She grinned back at him. “You just keep dreaming, sweetheart.” She slipped sideways between two boxes that separated them to stand before him. “Maybe someday it will come true.”

Even as his hands reached out to settle onto the soft points of her hips, she was sliding her hands behind his neck and linking her fingers together. She rose on tiptoes, meeting his kiss halfway. The heat and the need were instant, on both sides. The impulse was there to take it to the next level, but the fresh, clean scent of her skin reminded Trey of the sweat and grime on his own, and he pulled back.

“Aloha, my paniolo,” Sloan murmured, a warm hunger in her adoring look.

Trey dragged in a deep breath to resist the temptation of her upturned lips, still moist from his kiss. “Aloha, yourself. Unfortunately, your cowboy is a little rank from sweating all day in the hay field.”

“Is that where you picked up all these yellow flecks?” She brushed some off his shirtfront.

“It’s hay chaff. And I’ve gotten it all over you, too.”

“It’s okay. It brushes right off.” She stepped back to demonstrate.

But Trey didn’t want to be distracted by the movement of her hand across her breasts. Instead he shifted his attention to the jumble of boxes.

“I see all your stuff arrived. I thought it would take longer to ship things from Hawaii,” he remarked idly.

“It would have if I hadn’t sent it by air.” A sudden sparkle of excitement came into her eyes. “Guess what else came today?”

“What?” To his knowledge, nothing else was expected.

“Our wedding pictures. I was just looking at them when you came. She took his hand, eager to show them to him.

“So that’s what you were so engrossed in when I arrived,” he said, secretly pleased by this bit of news, and attempted to follow when she slipped between the two boxes.

But the space wasn’t quite wide enough for him to pass through. He paused to shove the pair farther apart, then joined Sloan on the other side of them. She was once again crouched on the floor, busily spreading out the photos for his review.

“There isn’t a bad one in the bunch,” Sloan declared. “I swear Wyley has an absolutely uncanny knack for capturing the essence of someone. Just look at this one of your grandfather. Old, and a little worse for the wear, he might be, but you can tell he still has the heart and soul of a lion.”

But the picture that spoke to Trey was one of the two of them, facing each other. All he could see was the look on his face, full of raw hunger and a kind of reverential love. It bothered him that he had bared his feelings like that, especially ones as private and intimate as these, considering that he had been taught his whole life to conceal them.

“That’s a favorite of mine, too,” Sloan remarked when she identified which photograph held his interest. “It just shines with love, doesn’t it?”

“That’s an understatement,” he murmured.

“Does that bother you?” There was a twining of curiosity and surprise in the questioning look she gave him.

“Why should it?” he countered, this time guarding his true feelings behind a teasing smile. “Isn’t that the way newlyweds are supposed to look at each other? A little sappy and love-struck?”

She slapped his shoulder in playful reproval. “‘Sappy and love-struck,’ that sounds like something Tank or Johnny would say,” she declared and instantly dismissed it from her mind as she placed another photograph in front of him. “I love this one of you with Quint and Laura. It’s like a reunion shot of the three musketeers.”

“We were nearly inseparable growing up,” Trey acknowledged.

“You know, Laura is nothing at all like you, is she? And I don’t mean just in looks. Or your mother, either, for that matter, although she does favor her.”

“Laura has always danced to her own music. Mom used to think it was Tara’s influence, but it’s just the way she is.” His attention shifted to a grouping of photographs taken at the reception. A grin split his face when he saw one that showed Tank with a floral lei around his neck. “These are good.”