Maybe he could talk Jaenelle into giving him a few lessons while they were on their honeymoon. After all, he was going to offer to teach her a few things, too.

A quiet click. The bathroom door opened.

He turned to face her as she entered the bedroom. He’d seen desire mingled with the heat of lust in other women’s eyes, and had hated them for it because they saw only the body, wanted only the bedroom skills he’d had no choice in learning. But seeing those feelings in her . . .

A different kind of heat flowed through him, and all those bedroom skills finally had a purpose.

“You look beautiful,” he said as he crossed the room and held out his hand.

“So do you.” She blushed.

Watching the color wash over her cheeks made him hungry.

Drawing her into his arms, he nuzzled her temple. “What would you like to do on our honeymoon?” The look she gave him made him grin. “Besides that.”

Her blush deepened.

He eased back enough to trace a finger over the gold chain that held Twilight’s Dawn. “I was thinking we could see what skills you might have now with a different Jewel.”

A touch of wariness filled her eyes. “Craft?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of cooking.”

Her eyes widened. “Cooking? But I can’t cook.”

His fingers followed the chain back up to her neck. “You couldn’t before. But you couldn’t call in your shoes before, either.”

“I don’t know, Daemon.”

The words were doubtful, but her expression was eager.

His hands caressed her back. His lips brushed her cheek. “We could start with something simple. A roast.”

“A roast,” she repeated, as solemn as any student learning her first difficult spell.

“We start with a choice cut of meat.” His hands caressed her hips, her ribs, gave her breasts a teasing brush before circling back up to her shoulders. “Rub it gently with herbs to season it and bring out the flavor.” Since her head had tipped back, exposing her throat, he took the invitation and left a trail of delicate kisses from her throat to her ear. “Then we give it heat, but carefully, slowly, so the juices rise and tremble on the surface to be savored.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about cooking?”

He licked her ear, enjoying the little tremors going through her.

“My legs are weak,” she said, sounding breathless.

He froze, fighting against the panic that the strain of the past few days had been too much for her. But before he could think of a careful way to ask, she added, “When your voice gets that purr in it and you kiss me like that, my legs get weak.”