“A signed note from your CFO.”

That made him belly-laugh—and realize that I’d been pulling his leg, hopefully. I’d never be serious about him getting a signed note from Jordan.

I busied myself about the kitchen, and we chatted about other stuff while he finished eating. I insisted, like an overprotective nanny, that he clean his plate.

Then we moved into the living room, where I checked his throat and ears with my otoscope. I also touched his neck glands to monitor tenderness and swelling.

“Noticeable improvement. You’re being a good boy and getting your rest.”

“I may be getting my rest, but I’m not a good boy,” he said. To reinforce his point, he reached out, hooked an arm around my waist, and pulled me into his lap where he sat on the couch. “I’m having dirty, not-nice thoughts about my sexy doctor.”

“Now, now…better not go there. We don’t know what that spleen looks like.”

He heaved a deep sigh. Likely, he’d been hoping that smaller neck glands meant he could return to certain activities he very much enjoyed before getting sick.

“You’ve gone for longer without sex before, and you weren’t even sick.”

“Well, it doesn’t help that I have to see you and all your sexiness walking around the house, every damn minute of the day.”

I quirked my mouth at him. “I wasn’t trying to be sexy in my shabby yoga pants and big t-shirts and my hospital greens. I’m sorry, but how can you find hospital greens sexy?”

“You’re wearing them.” His hand slipped down to the small of my back, holding me against him. “That makes them sexy.”

I kissed his cheek then gave his beard a good-natured tug. “Enjoying this? Because you’re losing it before the wedding, you know.”

“I am? What if I want to be the beardgroom?”

I groaned. The pun didn’t merit acknowledgement of its awfulness. As I tried to get up out of his lap, however, he held me fast to him. I turned, and he was watching me with serious, even concerned, eyes.

“So are you really okay about the prenup stuff?”

I hesitated. How much should I tell him, really?

The truth. Put it all out there and trust that he’ll know enough about himself and me that he won’t have to go nuclear…

“Okay, so if I tell you the truth, I don’t want you to freak out and go into overprotective mode. We’ve had problems with that.”

He blinked. “Okay, now I’m concerned.”

I shook my head. “If you want me to spill all, then you have to promise not to go into beast mode.”

He sighed, glancing away.

“Promise!” I repeated.

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I promise. Now tell me the truth.”

“Well, it’s freaked me out a little, but not why you think.”

“How do you know what I think?” His forehead wrinkled—frown almost concealed by the thick beard.

“We’ve known each other a while.” I idly combed my fingertips through the coarse hair on his jaw. This thing on his face was oddly fascinating. “I’m suspecting you think I’m getting all emotional about the business details and the implications that you don’t trust me.”

“And that’s not what has you upset?”

I traced the line of his cheek. “Upset is too strong a word. I’m not upset. Just…uncomfortable?”

“About?”

“About the coldness of a contract.”

Despite his mouth being mostly shrouded in darkness, I could tell that was a cocky smirk hovering on his lips. “You can say that without even a little a sense of irony?”

I shook my head smiling. “Oh, I get the irony. Our whole relationship started with a contract…or did it? Our relationship started long before all the paperwork came along.”

His gaze flicked off to the side and then back to me. “True.”

“It’s…hard to imagine, I guess.” I tilted my head slightly, our temples touching. “I know how I feel now. I know how I hope I’ll feel in ten years, and looking at that agreement…” I shook my head to mask the hesitation. “It’s hard to imagine a time when you and I will part ways and become strangers again—or distant acquaintances at best.”

“That’s because it’s not going to happen.” His arms around me tightened almost imperceptibly.

“But it could.”

“Any marriage could, Emilia. That’s the risk you take. But ours isn’t any more likely than anyone else’s. In fact, less so. Studies show that couples who were friends before they became lovers have a better chance of making marriage work. And we were friends—good friends. For over a year.”

I grinned at him.

He narrowed his eyes, and I grinned wider.

“What’s the smile for?”

“You’ve been reading studies. About marriage. You’re such a nerd.”

“If you’re only realizing that now, I don’t hold out much hope for you.”

“You’re a nerd’s nerd, Adam Drake. A goddamn sexy nerd.” I shifted in his lap to hug him around his ribcage. He rested his head on my shoulder.

“So that means I can keep the beard for the wedding?”

“Hell no.”

“How about some…panky?”

I shook my head. “Consider this good practice. Abstinence can help us for when we’re old.”

His hands were on my butt again. “You think old age is going to stop me?” he asked, his thick brows rising as I smoothed my fingers over his pale forehead, noting the dark circles still under his eyes. He might be feeling a lot better, but he wasn’t looking it. Not yet, anyway.

“Oh really?” I kissed his nose. “So you’re already planning on being a dirty old man?”

That cocky grin that usually made my panties start to smoke… It really should be illegal for a man to be this sexy. “With you, my thoughts never really leave the gutter. I won’t lie.”

I smiled. “So in my retirement, I’ll need to take up knitting so I can fight you off with my knitting needles.”

“Even that won’t stop me. Come here.” He pulled me flush against him. “When we are old, I will take every opportunity to jump you. I won’t need Viagra.”