“What? Oh, I’ve never done this with anyone before.”
He knew that. “That’s not what I meant.” He turned and glanced at the TV, wondering if the game was distracting her, but it was a commercial break. He wanted to hear her say that it was different with him, that she thought it was amazing as well.
Looking back, he realized she was watching him.
“I can’t say it yet. I want to, but I can’t.” She smiled sweetly. “But I will say this—I owe the Bitches Book Club a huge thank-you.”
He smiled back. It was enough for now. “You call yourselves the Bitches Book Club?”
“Yes. To distinguish ourselves from soccer moms.”
That had him laughing. “I would say that would do it. That and the post-meeting stop off at a fetish club.”
“Well, you know, if you’re going to discuss a book, you might as well really dig into it. We coordinate food around the book themes, too.”
Why did that not surprise him? “What did you eat that night? Oysters and hot sauce?”
“Cupcakes with whips and cuffs on them. The fondant work was pretty stellar.”
And this was his wife. The sweet and sexy, all mixed together. Rhett raised his beer to her. “Well played, Shawn. Well played.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SHAWN figured it was a toss-up who was more miserable—her, Rhett, or the photographer, who literally winced every time she glanced down at her screen to check the shots.
What could she say? Getting engagement shots taken for what was essentially a wedding for marketing purposes was not high on her list of fun things to do. She felt completely ridiculous, and it was clear that Rhett felt the same way because he was stiff beside her, his hand clammy as he clasped hers per the photographer’s instructions.
Sandy was watching them with a look of pure horror. “Oh, hell, no. This is not going to work.”
“What?” Rhett asked in annoyance.
“You look like you have gas!” was his mother’s opinion.
That made Shawn crack the first smile in the past thirty minutes.
“Momma,” Rhett growled, “I’m trying. But I’m getting blue balls out here. Can’t we do this in the house?”
“So people can see our shabby living room suite that your father has been promising to replace for me and never does? Absolutely not. It’s beautiful out here with the barn in the backdrop.”
“It’s February. We’re standing in mud with bare trees behind us. This is not nature at its finest.”
“Do we have a shot we can use?” Sandy asked the photographer, whose name was Erika. The poor woman probably wanted to give back the deposit and go home.
“Not really,” Erika said, scrolling through the digital shots. “I’m not getting any genuine emotion out of them.”
“The only genuine emotion I’m feeling right now is irritation,” Rhett said.
“It shows.”
Shawn snorted. She was glad he was as uncomfortable as she was. First she’d had to debate what to wear, then had settled on casual, then Erika had insisted they take their coats off, so she was freezing. A thin sweater was no match for forty degrees.
Jeannie was over with her kids for dinner—the door opened and the kids came tumbling out to play in the yard. “How’s it going?” Jeannie asked.
“It isn’t,” her mother told her. She turned to Erika. “You know what? Let’s give Shawn and Rhett a few minutes to regroup. Why don’t you snag some shots of the kids playing?”
“Thank God,” was Rhett’s opinion as he relaxed beside her. “My face hurts from forced smiling.”
Shawn turned and reached out to massage his cheeks. “Our lives are so hard, aren’t they?”
“They really are.” He grabbed her hand again, this time with a smirk on his face. “Come around the corner and make out with me.”
Laughing, Shawn let him drag her a few feet away. “You’re naughty.”
“That’s the rumor on the street.”
“Were you a bad little boy?” she asked him, smiling, curious as to what Rhett had been like as a child.
“I don’t think so. Though I was good at silent maneuvering when I did want something, or was where I wasn’t supposed to be. When you’re quiet, you can get away with murder.”
“Shoot, that’s what I did wrong.” Shawn figured he had a point. “I was always about as subtle as tie-dye. Fortunately for me, my mother didn’t believe in discipline.”
“What do you mean? How can you not believe in discipline? Is that even possible?”
“When your mom is a self-proclaimed hippie, it’s very possible. She didn’t want to stifle our moral growth with preconceived notions of right and wrong.” It sounded as cracked to her now at thirty-two as it had at ten. “I say she’s lucky we didn’t grow up to be hard-core criminals.”
“I guess you proved her theory, though. She probably takes credit, doesn’t she?” Rhett looked amused.
“She does. And it’s annoying. I’m sorry, every kid needs boundaries. There’s a big difference between enforcing a bedtime so they’re not nuts in school as compared to corporal punishment. My mom lumps them all together. But my grandparents saved us. They taught us not to burp in public and that bathing has its merits.”
“I’m very grateful for that. The bathing part, that is. You can burp all you want.” Rhett took both of her hands in his and rubbed them gently. “Damn, it’s cold out here. I bet all the other kids envied your freedom. When I think of all the hours I could have wasted watching Power Rangers if my parents hadn’t limited my TV time. I could be a superhero today.”
Shawn laughed. “What a tragedy. But while I didn’t have a curfew, TV was a no-no, and processed foods were not allowed in the house. Everyone else had a snack cake in their lunch, and I had raisins. It’s just not the same, trust me.”
The horrified look on his face confirmed this.
“So which Power Ranger did you want to be?” she asked him.
There was no hesitation whatsoever. “Red.”
Then he did something she wouldn’t have ever in a million years pictured him doing. He threw out his arms and went into a karate stance. “Go, go, Power Rangers!”
Shawn loved it. “Okay, that is the most awesome thing you’ve ever done.”
His eyebrows went up and down. “Ever?”