He had a raging headache. Not surprising, since he no doubt suffered from a lethal case of deadly testosterone build-up months in the making.
Zach dropped his flight bag on his motorcycle seat and considered heading out for a long ride. Only around forty degrees and cloudless, it would make the perfect night for speeding under the stars. He could if he wanted, without worrying about the squadron since the last plane had landed.
He backed from the bike. Forget the ride, he would just lose himself in the kids as he'd done a hundred times the past two months to avoid looking at Julia. Talk about holiday mania.
The kids had enjoyed a blow-out Christmas.
He had a mind-blowing headache.
Zach eyed the kitchen door. With any luck, Shelby would have pierced her nose, or something equally as aggravating to keep his mind off Julia.
Marrying her was the smartest—and the most dumbass thing he'd ever done. Sure, the children were happy, but he was slowly losing his freaking mind.
Images bombarded him, so many accidental glimpses of Julia that turned him inside out.
Julia in his bed. Julia leaning over the bathroom sink wearing nothing but a sheer slip so short it displayed miles of legs.
Other images no less torturous kicked over him. Julia singing to Patrick. Sawdust glinting in her blond curls as she taught Ivy to hammer nails. Julia wrangling a smile out of Shelby at Christmas by doing nothing more than starting kitchen wars with cans of whipped cream.
Home-life intimacy was killing him and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. If only he hadn't just flown. At least they would have their very own rugrat chaperones in residence.
Zach yanked the kitchen door open. He flung his helmet bag on the counter and turned toward the refrigerator.
Julia sat on the floor. Knees drawn to her chest, her back against the wall. Her pale face glowed in the darkened kitchen. What the hell was wrong? Something with the kids?
"Julia? Is everything okay?"
"Hi," her husky voice whispered, strangely hollow in the silence. "You're home early."
He flipped on the lights. "The winds were too strong once we returned to base, so we cancelled the touch-and-go landings."
"Good."
Confused and more than a little worried, he crouched in front of her. Was this some kind of delayed post-partum depression thing? "Tough day with the kids?"
"Not at all. Shelby's at band camp, remember? Ivy's at a sleepover, and Patrick's down for the night." She reached to touch his jacket, tracing his nametag. "I was just... thinking."
Beneath her fingers, his muscles twitched. He cleared his throat. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Talk was good. Something to take his mind off those elegant fingers gliding along his nametag.
"Not really." She tugged the jacket zipper down, link by link, the rasp taunting him almost as much as her shower-fresh scent and low-riding pajama bottoms.
Zach shot to his feet. "All right, then. I'll just go change. Is there any supper left?'
Damn, but he was hungry.
"I'll warm something up before you get back."
If things got any hotter, the kitchen would combust.
Zach shucked his jacket and slung it over the coat tree on his way back down the hall. In the computer room, he yanked on a black T-shirt and jeans. Tying gym shoes, he tried not to think about how he did not want to spend another night in that single bed. His feet hung off the edge and it was cold.
His bed was right across the hall and belonged to a gorgeous woman— his wife—who spent her nights tangled in his sheets.
His wife. Who was upset about something. Time to shut down his libido—yeah, right—
and take care of Julia.