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Anthony nearly had a heart attack when he saw her.
His wife—gorgeous, intelligent, infuriatingly stubborn—was stretched on tiptoes, balanced precariously atop a small stool, reaching for a book that was very clearly beyond her grasp.
“Kate,” he warned, already knowing she would answer his concern with a look of challenge or a quick retort. He did not care.
He might not have objected to her boldness under other circumstances—had she not been with child, had her body not already been occupied with far more important work—but the gentle round of her abdomen stripped him of any pretense of calm.
She did not look over her shoulder. “Anthony, I am fine.”
“Wait,” he said sharply. “Let me help.”
“I am perfectly capable—”
“Of putting me in an early grave,” Anthony finished as he crossed the room in four large strides.
“Anthony, I—”
But before she could finish, he was behind her. One arm wrapped protectively around her waist, the other reaching over her with an infuriating ease to retrieve the desired book from the shelf.
“Am with child,” he finished. “And shouldn’t be exerting yourself or unnecessarily putting yourself in danger.”
Kate huffed, her back flush against his strong chest. “That was not even the book I was attempting to reach.”
His arm stretched once more. “Which would you like?” he asked, grabbing books one by one. “Or should I just remove them all for you?”
“You are vexing.”
He couldn’t help chuckling softly against her ear as he lowered every book from the shelf in question. “I will hide the stool if I must.”
“Anthony, it is barely off the ground, I assure you—”
“I will tell Mother.”
That threat landed. She turned in his arms, pivoting carefully on the stool to face him, her hands braced briefly against his chest as she did. He took the opportunity to lift her from her perch and set her gently on the floor—but instead of stepping back, he kept his hands at her waist, drawing her closer until there was scarcely any space between them.
“You would tattle like a boy in a schoolyard?” she asked, chin raised.
He raised a challenging brow. “You doubt me?”
He held her gaze for a moment longer, the challenge still in his expression—until it wasn’t. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he might smile, then thought better of it. His hands tightened almost imperceptibly at her waist.
“You are infuriating,” she said quietly, but her hands slid up his arms, resting there instead of pushing him away. The shift was subtle, but Anthony felt it all the same.
“And you are far too stubborn for your own good,” he replied, drawing her even closer.
She let out a quiet laugh, her breath tickling at his neck.
“I am not trying to vex you,” he said gently as he bowed his head until his forehead rested against hers. “I just need you to be careful.”
Kate huffed. “Then trust me to tell you when you are needed.”
Anthony’s eyes shot to the shelf behind her and then back again.
“Fine,” she sighed. “I was not going to reach that book on my own, despite what I thought. I—” She rolled her eyes. “Needed your help.”
His mouth curved, slow and tender. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “And?”
“And in the future I will ask for it,” her expression softened, “instead of climbing the furniture.”
“A generous concession,” he murmured.
A smile tugged at her mouth. “Do not grow accustomed to it.”
“Now,” she said lightly, nodding toward the books remaining on the shelf, “if you’d be so kind.”
He let a quiet laugh escape, brushing his lips briefly against hers in a soft, fleeting kiss. For a heartbeat, the room was just the two of them, warm and steady.