The dishes had barely been stacked in the dishwasher before Matt had come into the kitchen and told Winter it was time they went to the hotel. Her mama had hustled Megan out of the room, leaving Winter alone to inform Matt they were spending the night at Gù Brath—in her room, in her childhood bed, not three doors down from her papa.

Winter had then patiently explained to Matt that her sisters didn’t stay in the hotel when they came home with their husbands. She’d explained that he was part of her family now, whether he liked it or not. And then she’d grown impatient and told him she was staying in her own bed tonight, and he could sleep in the barn for all she cared if he wasn’t up to claiming his rightful place as her husband in her papa’s eyes.

Pride was a surprisingly effective tool when dealing with stubborn men, Winter had quickly discovered. Matt hadn’t cared to discover he was married to an equally stubborn woman, but he had gone to his suite, showered and gotten a change of clothes, and returned to her bedroom after everyone else had retired for the night.

And now he was lying beside her, pretending to be asleep.

Winter reached down and slowly slid her pajama bottoms off, then used her feet to cram them down between the sheets. Then she unbuttoned her pajama top, sat up, shrugged it off, and dropped it on the floor.

“Why are you tossing about?” Matt asked, turning just his head over his shoulder toward her.

“I’m hot. You’re like a blast furnace.”

He rolled onto his back, took one look at her, and quickly looked up at the ceiling. “Put your clothes back on,” he growled. “If you’re hot, throw off the covers.”

Still sitting up, completely naked, Winter pulled her braid over her shoulder, took off the elastic, and slowly ran her fingers through her hair to unbraid it.

“Now what are ye doing?” he hissed, his brogue growing pronounced. “Winter,” he whispered tightly, “get dressed.”

She lay back on the pillow, fanning her hair toward him, and folded her hands over her bare stomach with a sigh. “If I’d known sleeping naked against flannel sheets felt this wonderful, I’d have done this years ago.” She wiggled deeper into the sheets, accidentally letting her leg brush Matt’s thigh. “I understand if you can’t…ah, if you can’t be husbandly tonight,” she said to the ceiling. “Or if you don’t really want me, now that I married you. Good night, then.”

“Dammit, ye don’t understand,” he snapped in a whisper. “I want ye, just not here.”

She reached over and patted his arm. “I understand. Mama explained how men’s…ah, plumbing works to all us girls growing up.”

Heavens, she was going to fry in Hades, she knew, stifling a laugh when she heard a warning growl beside her. Winter ran her hand down Matt’s tautly muscled forearm and tried to lace her fingers through his. But finding only a fist, she simply patted his hand. “We’ll go to sleep then. Mama also explained how sometimes stress can be…how it can be debilitating.”

He was on her before she could gasp, his hands gripping her hair to hold her face only inches from his. “That is not the problem,” he softly ground out.

“I can feel it’s not the problem,” she breathed as Matt’s anything but debilitated anatomy poked her thigh through his pants. She reached up and ran her own fingers through his hair until she freed it from its tether. “I want to make love to my husband,” she whispered. “But I don’t know how.”

He closed his eyes on a groan and dropped his forehead to hers. “You’re going to drive me mad, lass.”

“That’s my plan, just as soon as you teach me how,” she whispered, tilting her head back until her lips brushed his. “I’m guessing we should start by taking off your pants?”

“Does your door have a lock?”

“N-no,” she said on a shiver when Matt moved his lips down her chin toward her throat.

“W-why?” she breathed, digging her fingers into his shoulders.

He leaned away to look at her, and Winter could just make out the slash of his grin. “Do you really want your papa running in here when I make you scream?”

“I won’t scream. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

“Just like last time?”

Winter frowned up at him. “I did not scream.”

“Aye, ye did,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing her nose. “Loud enough to wake the entire forest.”

Winter felt herself blush. “I—I screamed?”

He kissed her mortified cheeks. “With abandoned pleasure, wife.” He kissed her chin. “Several times. ’Twas a wonderful sound.”

“Screaming is good, then?” she asked on an indrawn breath when his lips found the pulse on her throat and lingered and suckled gently, causing every nerve in her body to tighten with desire.

She was just sliding her toes up his legs when he was suddenly gone, leaving only the cool air of the room to rush over her heated skin. She scowled, hearing what sounded like Matt hopping from one foot to the other as he moved away. Her bathroom light snapped on, and Winter pulled the blankets to her chin as she watched her husband—utterly, beautifully naked now—walk over to the hall door and shove a chair under the knob. He walked back to her, his form in silhouette but lit just enough for her to see there wasn’t one debilitated inch of skin anywhere on his body. Saints and curses, she needed to be careful what she asked for.

“You forgot to turn out the light,” she whispered as she stared at the beckoning hand he held out to her.

“I didn’t forget.” He wiggled his fingers. “Have you changed your mind, then?”

“No,” she whispered.

Apparently tired of waiting for her to take his hand, he wrestled the blanket from her fists, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her out of bed.

“Where are we going?” she squeaked, scrambling to catch up.

“You said you wanted to learn how to drive me mad, and I’ve promised to teach you anything you want to know,” he said, dragging her into the bright bathroom even as she tried to dig in her heels.

He pulled her up in front of him, standing them both facing the wall-to-wall mirror over the sink.

Winter stared into her own wide eyes, her gaze moving to Matt’s broad, tanned shoulders behind her, then up to the taut planes of his face broken only by his tight smile. She sucked in her breath and looked down when his hands slid around her waist and slowly rose to cup her breasts.

“All ye have to do, wife, is whisper that ye want me,” he said gutturally, his own gaze watching his thumbs trace circles around her aroused nipples. “A woman’s desire is a man’s greatest weakness.

All she has to do is say she wants him, and he’ll move mountains to please her.”

Winter couldn’t speak, couldn’t respond other than to stare in wonder as his hands continued to caress her, lifting the weight of her breasts, covering them with his sensuous heat, rolling her puckered nipples until Winter thought she’d melt with pleasure.

She tore her eyes away and looked up, going weak in the knees when she saw the raw fire of passion burning his own cheeks as he watched not what his hands were doing, but her face. Then, with his eyes locked on hers, he wrapped an arm under her breasts and turned her to face him, lifting her up until she was sitting on the counter.

“Touch me,” he whispered, settling his hips between her thighs. He took hold of her hands and lifted them to his chest, then reached down and took hold of her hips. “Just touch me.”

Winter was amazed, and rather intrigued, to feel his muscles quivering beneath her hands. But even more amazing was the discovery that watching her fingers run over his downy-furred chest made her own body tremble with an energy that seemed to gather deep in the pit of her stomach.

“Aye,” he whispered, his hands on her hips tightening. “Never underestimate the power of sight, lass, when coupled with touch. Ye want to bring a man to his knees, just let him see the desire in yer eyes.”