Good.
“I’ll even live in a little house with a white picket fence if you want. Buy a lawn mower. And a barbecue grill. We can even get a birdhouse. Yeah, a birdhouse would be great.” Rafe gave himself a mental pat on the back. He was on a roll.
Her mouth formed a little “o” of incredulity. He wasn’t sure if she was reacting to his words or his pants sliding to the floor. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. That was a good, last-minute touch in his opinion.
Her eyes about bugged out.
Good.
He walked over to the table, nude, and opened one of the sacks. “As for the baby, well, I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, but if it’s a girl, I want to call her Angel.”
She made a choking sound.
Good.
“If it’s a boy, you’ll probably want to call him Zeb or — ”
“No son of mine is going to be named Zebediah,” she said, then bit her lip, realizing she’d inadvertently spoken to him.
Good. “Well, we could always call him our little desperado. Hmmm. I like that. Desperado Santiago.”
“Get real!”
“What’s wrong with that? If people can name their kids Storm or Rock or Ridge, why not Desperado?”
She cut him a Prissy scowl. He was making headway.
“Or…” Rafe turned serious, finding it really difficult to make this concession, ” you can call him Elliott if you want.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Rafe.”
Hey, “Oh, Rafe,” was good. Real good. Later, they would discuss visiting arrangements for Elliott, but he wasn’t feeling that magnanimous today.
“Put some clothes on,” she snapped.
“Why? Do I make you nervous?”
“No.”
“I need to have my clothes off to show you something.”
“I’ve already seen it.”
“Not this way, babe,” he laughed. Then he dipped a hand into the sack and came out with a heaping scoop of gold dust. With a dramatic gesture, he sprinkled it over himself.
“Are you crazy?”
“Crazy for you.” Scoop after scoop, he sprinkled over his body, even his hair.
“That must be worth a mint. Stop it. What’s the point?”
He threw a handful of the gold dust toward her, and it landed on her hair and shoulders. He stopped momentarily, dazzled by the beauty of her fiery hair and creamy shoulders covered with the sparkling dust.
He forced himself to speak above a croak. “The point is, sweetheart, that money, or BMWs, or fancy vacations, or bachelorhood — none of those things — mean anything without you. Someone famous once said that a life lived just to satisfy yourself never satisfies anyone. It was probably St. Augustine; he’s been the plague of my life lately.” He threw out his hands helplessly. “So, to hell with the gold.” He gazed at her with open longing, then smiled. “How about opening that blanket and letting me share the gold with you?”
Her lips twitched with a grin. “You’re impossible.”
“Do it,” he coaxed in a raspy voice.
She raised her chin, resisting.
“I love you.”
“Would you really live in a house with a white picket fence?” she asked, taking a step — a tiny step — toward him.
“Babe, I’d live in an igloo with a white picket fence and penguins for pets if that would make you happy.” He clenched his fists to keep from grabbing her. Don’t push her. Take it easy. Let her make the move.
“And the baby,” she said shakily. “You could love another man’s child?” She widened her eyes to keep the tears from overflowing and moved a step closer.
“I would love your child, Helen.”
One tear slipped out and crept slowly down her cheek. He wanted to reach out and catch it on his finger, or mouth, but he was afraid he’d scare her off.
“You would hate my body when it grew big and ugly with another man’s child.”
“Sweetheart, I would love your body, no matter what.”
“I’m already changing,” she confessed, her teary eyes trying to communicate something important to him.
He frowned, unable to get the hidden message. “Show me,” he said huskily.
She dropped the blanket, and her eyes closed with her innate modesty. Someday, he’d like to cure her of that self-consciousness, but he was too busy now trying to keep his hands off Helen’s enticing body.