Hopelessly, incandescently in love, Thomas finds a whole host of things equally marvelous - the strength of his wife's knee under his hand through layers of fine fabric, the confidence in the corner of her smile and the tangle of her fingers, the things James's eyebrows do when he's fielding whatever nonsense Thomas has thrown him-- verbal sparring and debates volleyed back and forth just as good as wicked smiles and undoing belt clasps, love in every dimension, every texture and temperature.

As soon as that look graces James's face Thomas is laughing, a bright peal of it that continues as Miranda smoothly cuts the corner of his baiting. He leaves his hands where they are as wife and lover connect, fingers stroking along the other man's nape, encouraging.

It does indeed halt him. They are an absolute vision.