The river house sat quiet beneath the pale gold light of Sunday morning. Sunlight filtered through tall windows overlooking the water while a gentle breeze stirred the curtains in the living room. Somewhere outside, birds argued noisily in the trees lining the riverbank. The scent of coffee still lingered from breakfast.
Cael stood near the front door with one hand on the knob and the other in his pocket.
"Wife," he called toward the hallway. "Let's go. You wanted to smell the flowers in the park before nine, remember?"
A moment later, Galathea emerged from the bedroom.
The short flowy skirt moved around her knees as she walked. Her fitted long-sleeved shirt hugged her figure closely enough that it might as well have been painted onto her.
Cael stopped speaking.
His gaze traveled slowly from her shoes to her face.
Then back down again.
A dangerous look settled into his eyes.
"Or," he said carefully, "we could stay home."
Galathea immediately recognized the look.
