“No buttons?” he whispered.

She shook her head. She wasn’t stupid. Even the best laid plans could find their way awry. One always had to dress for the occasion. There was still a slight chill in the air, and she felt her nipples tighten into insulted little buds.

Kate shivered, then tried to hide it with a breathy pant, as if she were desperately aroused.

Which she might have been, had she not been single-mindedly focused on trying not to focus on the mallet in her husband’s hand.

Not to mention the chill.

“Lovely,” Anthony murmured, reaching out and stroking the side of her breast.

Kate made a mewling sound. He could never resist that.

Anthony smiled slowly, then moved his hand forward, until he could roll her nipple between his fingers.

Kate let out a gasp, and her eyes flew to his. He looked-not calculating exactly, but still, very much in control. And it occurred to her-he knew precisely what she could never resist.

“Ah, wife,” he murmured, cupping her breast from the bottom, and lifting it higher until it sat plump in his hand.

He smiled.

Kate stopped breathing.

He bent forward and took the bud in his mouth.

“Oh!” She wasn’t faking anything now.

He repeated his torture on the other side.

Then he stepped back.

Back.

Kate stood still, panting.

“Ah, to have a painting of this,” he said. “I would hang it in my office.”

Kate’s mouth fell open.

He held up the mallet in triumph. “Goodbye, dear wife.” He exited the shed, then poked his head back ’round the corner. “Try not to catch a chill. You’d hate to miss the rematch, wouldn’t you?”

He was lucky, Kate later reflected, that she hadn’t thought to grab one of the Pall Mall balls when she’d been rummaging for the set. Although on second thought, his head was probably far too hard for her to have made a dent.

The following day