Marius laughed and pushed the covers away. He'd worn a simple pair of black dressing pants to bed the night before, and they hung low on his hips when he stood and stretched. Marisol glanced at him, running her eyes over the familiar sight of his well muscled chest and arms and the tight waist that tapered off into slender hips, all covered with sleek golden skin. At one time, the sight likely would have spiked desire, but now she felt nothing of the sort, and she could tell that when he looked at her in her nightgown, he felt the same way.
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" he said softly, approaching and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He peered out the window with her. "That she's old enough, I mean. I still remember the day that she was born. I held her in my arms for the first time and thought that surely this day would never come."
"I still have trouble reconciling her with the little brat who used to drive me crazy," she admitted, savoring his warmth. She leaned back slightly, knowing that he would be there to stop her from falling.
"She was exactly like her mother."
"Was that an insult?"
"Perish the thought." He smirked and tugged lightly on one of her messy braids, which were nearly falling out after a night in bed. Annoyed, she jerked her head away.