Gabriel’s head rose just enough so that his golden-brown eyes could assess her honesty. “A kiss of my choosing, then.” Mischievousness twinkled in the depths of his gaze, and as always, Celia was utterly captivated.

Her breath catching in her throat, she nodded. “Anything you wish, Gabriel. You know that I am yours.”

His features softened, eyes smoldering as he ran a thumb over her lips. He encouraged her to open and suck him inside her mouth. “I know. But I love hearing you say the words, anyway.”

“I am yours, Gabriel. And I love you,” Celia whispered, her tongue caressing him between the words. She was rewarded when his eyes turned darker than the night sky, and a tortured groan escaped his throat as he watched her mouth.

“And I love you, sugarplum. Sometimes, it is more than my soul can contain. It leaves me breathless. Steals my words from me. Lights up the night like a thousand suns. You are everything to me.”

Her hand cupped his cheek, loving how its stubbled warmth nestled into her palm and the way his eyes closed with pleasure.

They remained like that for a long moment, then Gabriel said in a husky voice, “I want my kiss in the bathtub, little wife. Will you share it with me?”

Celia nodded eagerly as Gabriel rose from the bed, pulling her up as well and spinning her about so he could begin unbuttoning her gown.

“So many damned buttons,” he muttered against the nape of her neck.

With a soft laugh, she ducked her head. “I could say the same of your own garments, Lord Rosenthorne.”

“Then we shall engage in a mutual cursing of one another’s clothing as we undress,” he chuckled. “And then I shall have that kiss.”

The next few minutes were filled with breathy sighs and moans of appreciation as they undressed. While Celia removed her shoes and stockings, Gabriel stepped into the bathing room. He filled the tiled rectangular structure with steaming hot water from a spiderweb of pipes on one wall.

“Our bath is ready,” he called out from the adjoining room.

Her husband was already in the sunken tub when Celia entered the room. He lay sprawled within it—a dark king waiting for his queen.

Gabriel’s whiskey-hued gaze flicked over the thin chemise Celia wore for modesty’s sake. A smile lifted the corners of his plush, firm lips. “Remove that. You will present yourself to me, Celia, so I may look my fill.”

Celia chewed her bottom lip, tugging it between her teeth and worrying the flesh. She still became nervous when he used that growly voice, but she trusted Gabriel completely. And as always, his roughness, his absolute hunger for her was exciting to the point of madness.

“Perhaps you prefer removing it yourself, my lord,” she taunted, shifting her legs so that the chemise fluttered along the tops of her thighs.

Gabriel grinned, teeth flashing white, and crooked a finger in her direction. “Come here, my prickly sugarplum.”