“I have been wondering, is there anything you cannot do?”

I lifted my eyes from my book and smiled at my husband, “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Trembley. A woman who could not bring herself to offer a civil hello to the new Pastor for three years invites you to join her for Sunday Tea after only six months,” he settled in to his chair by the fireplace and stretched his hands towards the flames, “it’s a miracle.”

“Oh, not at all. It’s simple self interest and nothing more,” and with that I returned to my reading, but I was laughing when he swept out of his chair and caught me up, then pressed me to my back on the floor, his hands pinning my shoulders back.

“I’m afraid I require a little more detail in your answer!” He was grinning down at me as I struggled in his grip.

“Oh, very well, if you must know. Mrs. Tremblay’s oldest son is in the business of importing lumber from overseas, amongst other things. It seems he had an arrangement to procure a fairly large shipment of mahogany for a certain individual. Said individual turned out to be somewhat of a braggart and hasn’t the means to make payment. Now, I?m certain that given some time another buyer would present himself, but there seems to be a problem of capital. The young man in question was faced with having to go to his creditors and ask for an extension of terms.”

Jeremy sat back, releasing my shoulders, laughing. “Why do I begin to suspect we are going to have many, many mahogany treatments in our new house?”

“Because you are a man of astounding perspicacity. And we are getting a reasonable bargain as well. All because I was able to approach Mrs. Tremblay in all innocence and enquire as to where she had obtained the beautiful pews she donated to the church.”

“I can imagine,” he reached for the top button of my nightdress and playfully worked it open, “and are you certain that there were no… overt application of feminine charms involved?”

And so it progressed, until an hour or so had passed and we were both spent, curled together on the bed. His right hand traced a lazy loop about my left breast, then down to my hip… and paused.

“Your scar is gone,” he noted, his voice a mix of tired happiness and curiosity, “I’d have wagered a healthy sum you would have been marked for life.”

“Are you complaining?” I asked, my voice light and amused.

“Hmmm, you laugh, but you’re blushing,” He laid his hand firmly over my left breast, “and your heart is racing.”

“My heart always races when you touch me,” I whispered, emphasizing the point by stretching, my body out against his, rolling on top of him again. I dropped my lips softly on to his, feeling him rise delightfully to the occasion.

“Be mysterious if it suits you,” he sighed, “Besides, I prefer you flawless.”

“Prove it,” I invited him. And he did so, splendidly.

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