She whacked at his hand. “Oh, my God, stop that! You’re insatiable. We’re on your parents’ front porch.” Then she glanced at him and saw that while he was grinning, his eyes were vulnerable, raw. This had to be hard for him, too, and here she was snapping at him. “That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy making love to you, because I did. And having me kneel while holding the headboard seemed to work quite well.”

His nostrils flared. He was really so damn sexy. Mandy felt herself growing warmer in the summer heat, and forgetting to worry about first impressions.

Damien stared at his wife—his wife. It felt so goddamn good to say that. Mandy was gorgeous, loving, and hopeless with money.

And she was all his.

“My mother will love you, just like I do.”

“I hope so.” She took his hand. “I do love you, Damien.”

He gave her a searing kiss, running his thumb over the platinum wedding band he had placed on her finger standing on the beach in Punta Cana.

And then he opened the front door and led her inside a cool, hushed living room. The house was quiet, empty. He had expected to feel that pang of sorrow, that longing that had characterized his thoughts about his family, his childhood home, over the last few years. He had always been conscious that he could never go back, could never be that child again with all his innocence, who knew his place in the world and was loved.

But now, it didn’t feel that way. It felt good, exciting, like coming home with all the hope for the future, all the happiness of the now pushing him forward. He wanted to see his family, he wanted to smile and laugh and be a part of it again, instead of always standing outside looking in.

Damien headed down the hall, squeezing Mandy’s hand, ready to show her off, to let everyone know that he had managed to snare an amazing woman, and they were having a baby. “They’re all in the backyard, I’m sure.”

Even better. Mandy had to descend off a back porch while thirty people gawked at her. And the yellow flowers on her breasts.

But first they passed through the cozy feminine kitchen—and it wasn’t empty. A woman was bent over in the refrigerator.

“Mom.”

The woman straightened up so quickly she almost dropped a glass bowl. “Damien!”

His mother turned toward them, and all of Mandy’s fears evaporated. His mother was taller than she was, with short, black hair peppered with gray. Her eyes weren’t blue like Damien’s but a deep rich brown, almost black. Those eyes were raw, naked with worry, hope shimmering out of them.

“Hi, Mom.” Damien leaned forward and kissed her cheek, taking the bowl from her hand and setting it on the counter. “Mom, this is my wife, Mandy.”