Chapter 58 Mallory Plantation—Tavis #2
“Be glad you’ve still got both of them,” Rick countered, a dry chuckle rumbling in his chest.
Tavis swaddled Avery close, pinning her legs with the blanket to prevent a repeat performance. “I’ve been thinking about Remy’s situation. Losing a testicle might upset his psyche the least, strangely enough.”
“Why?” Rick asked.
“He’s Cajun. Joie de vivre. Joy of life,” Tavis explained. “That could be a positive factor in helping him refocus on his life, despite the physical changes. Look at Bastien. It’s worked for him, hasn’t it?”
Rick’s glance flickered, shuttering briefly as if he was gathering vital information, weighing the complex dynamics between the people they were discussing. Then he asked, his voice low, “Has it, though?”
“You don’t believe his rock climbing, running, owning a billion-dollar business, or falling in love during a stressful time in his life is an example of that fierce joie de vivre?”
“I’m not saying it is or isn’t,” Rick responded. “But you’re proposing that two Cajuns who lose a body part are inherently better off, more resilient than us stoic non-Cajuns, purely because they believe in that damned joie de vivre.”
“I suppose I am,” he conceded softly.
“Did you find any joy living in the twelfth century?” Rick asked.
“I found joy in Joseph.”
“While every fiber of your being wanted to get the hell out of there.”
“Are you playing Devil’s advocate, Rick? Are you suggesting that if I were a Cajun who believed in joie de vivre, I would’ve lived every day in the twelfth century, blissfully content because my son was with me?”
“I’m not. You are.”
“I always enjoy our esoteric discussions, O’Grady, but this one seems more pointed than usual.”
“Do you mean, unlike our deep, abstract talks, this one feels direct and uncomfortably obvious?”
“Fuck you,” Tavis said.
“And you’re an asshole.” Rick shifted, the tiny weight of the sleeping baby secure on his broad shoulder.
“Circling back to whether or not the Mallory effect will apply here, I’ll just say that Alistair was already out of the picture when Remy went back for Marcelle and Bastien, and we won’t screw anything up for them. ”
“Remy won’t see it that way,” Tavis countered.
“Once the dust settles, once he has a minute to breathe and think, he’ll understand,” Rick assured him as he stood, adjusting Addison on his shoulder.
“Perhaps.” Tavis lifted Avery, settling the warm, sleeping bundle onto his own shoulder. “Are you taking Addison up to her bed now? I’d like to linger here just a little longer, enjoying the fire.”
“Savor the moment.” Rick stepped away, but stopped, drawing his gaze back to Tavis. “Let’s leave in an hour. I don’t want this cloud lingering over us. We have everything we need. Will you give Elliott a heads-up?”
“Sure.” Tavis sent Elliott and Clay a text, his thumbs moving swiftly as he relayed the command: ETA: 1 hour.
Aislinn drifted into the entertainment center just as Rick was walking out. She stopped to peek at the baby, her cascading, wavy blonde hair framing her elegant profile. “Looks like you left one behind. Is she ours to keep?” She studied the baby’s perfect, slumbering face—“Addison, right?”
Rick smiled. “You’re good. You’ll do just fine with your twins.”
She glanced at Tavis, then back at Rick, with a mischievous spark in her eyes. “You two have been having one of your esoteric discussions. It kills me when that happens because I’m never around to join in the fun. What was it about this time?”
Rick grinned. “Cajuns.”
She matched his grin, her laughter a low, melodic hum. “I’m not even going there.”
Tavis watched her. Her presence was captivating in a white cashmere sweater and black jeans. His heart swelled with love for her, a powerful warmth spreading through him. She had no baby bump yet, but a subtle change in her curves hinted at the life growing within them.
She cocked her head, her gaze soft and curious as it settled on him. “How are you and Avery getting along?”
“How do you know this is Avery?”
“As an archaeologist, I’m used to studying the minute details of ancient symbols carved into forgotten rocks. Telling twins apart is easy compared to that. And besides, she smells like baby powder and vanilla, unlike her brother’s hint of musky earth.”
Tavis laughed, a rich, chest-deep sound. “God, woman. I love you.” He gently patted the swell of her belly. “And I love these guys, too.”
“Was your upcoming trip part of the deep discussion you and Rick just had?”
“Not really.” Tavis’s phone pinged with the demanding chime of a work alert, and he checked the message. “Looks like we’re a go to leave in an hour.”
She reached for the bundle in his arms. “I’ll take Avery back and meet you in the costume room to help you get dressed.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “We should do that in our bedroom.”
She snuggled the baby to her chest, a soft smile lingering. “Oh! Okay. Then we should take Avery to Meredith, so Rick and Penny can have some time alone. Meredith is in the sitting room watching Elliott and Cullen play chess. She’ll appreciate the distraction.”
Tavis pushed to his feet, groaning like an old man, a theatrical rumble from his chest. He needed to carry an oil can to loosen his joints when he groaned like this. “Meredith’s planning a wedding. She doesn’t want any distractions.”
“She’s always happy to take a break to entertain a baby. And Avery is her favorite.”
“Meredith doesn’t have favorites. She just says that about whichever baby she’s currently holding.”
“Then let’s make sure she holds one of ours all the time. And if you want to get lucky, stop groaning.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Is that all it takes?”
“All you have to do is give me that look, and I’m ready.”
“What look?”
“That look you’re giving me right now—that slow, heated sweep, that triangular gaze—don’t pretend you don’t know the power it holds.”
“Never heard of it,” he denied, though his eyes lingered on the curve of her smile.
“It’s that slow burn, Tavis. That prolonged eye contact that melts between my eyes and lips like warm honey. Then comes the slow, possessive scan of my body before you drag your gaze back to my face. Add in those dilated pupils, that quick eyebrow flash, and the wicked lip-lick… that’s the look.”
He feigned exasperation. “Eyes, lips, body scan, eyebrow flash, and lip-licking? Good Lord, woman, I’ll never remember all that choreography. How about I just… wag my tongue instead?”
Her grin was slow, sultry, and full of knowing confidence. “Tavis Stuart,” she purred, the sound a low vibration in the air, “all you have to do is wiggle your little finger.”
Moments later, with the solid click of the lock sealing them in their bedroom suite, Tavis’s hands moved with practiced, urgent heat, stripping clothes from his bride and himself.
The air crackled with a familiar tension that, no matter how many times they made love, felt electric and new, like the very first time.
He swept her into his arms, her body a familiar warmth against his chest, and carried her across the room to their waiting unmade bed.
“I wish I could go with you,” she breathed, a soft ache threading through her voice.
“If you weren’t pregnant, I’d take you in a heartbeat.” He placed a lean, strong knee on the mattress, shifting his weight to draw her down beneath him as he stretched out across the bed, his presence enveloping hers.
She kissed him lightly, her lips tender. “It wouldn’t be the same without the people who went on the trip to rescue me. The magic of that journey was finding you all over again.”
He dug his fingers into her hair, grounding himself in the silk of it as his thumbs brushed gently across the curve of her cheeks. The light kiss deepened, turning intense and consuming, and she responded with a fiery passion that matched his own.
“Dad! Dad!” Joseph’s shouts splintered the moment, followed by a relentless pounding on the bedroom door. “Are you going on a time trip with Clay and Uncle Rick? I want to go, Dad!” He hammered on the door again, the noise jarring. “Can you hear me? Why’s the door locked? Are you and Mom kiss…ing?”
“Now? Really?” Tavis groaned, the romantic tension evaporating. “I swear, that boy has radar that tells him exactly when we want to be alone.”
Her eyes brightened, her full lips pouting with promise—a silent invitation for later. “Go talk to Joseph. He’ll keep knocking until you do, and I don’t think I can handle any more graphic questions.”
Tavis rolled off the bed with a sigh, the mattress dipping in his wake, and reached for a pair of sweats.
He pulled them on, the motion both fluid and familiar, then cracked open the door.
“Yes, I am going. Your Mom and I are talking right now, alone time that you just interrupted. We’ll meet you downstairs in about thirty minutes, so go wait. ”
“Okay, Dad. You smell funny. Better take a bath before you go on a time trip.” Joseph ran off but then turned around and came back. “Dad, do you know what has four wheels and flies?”
“I don’t know, Joseph. Tell me.”
“A garbage truck. And do you know why the math book looked so mad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because it has so many problems.” Joseph laughed and took off down the hall again. “Rory, Rory. It’s true. They’re going on a time trip, and Dad laughed at the jokes Aunt Kenzie told me.”
Tavis locked the door and returned to bed, laughing as he stepped out of his sweatpants. “Now, where were we?”