Page 213

“Apparently, they’re going to discuss how nice your house is. Which is hilarious because Zee didn’t change much in her own bedroom, never mind style the rest of the property, and she had nothing to do with its construction.”
“None of us did,” he drawls. “Hell, it was built at least four generations ago.”
I tap a finger to my chin. “Mrs. Abelman’s going crazy cleaning, and Zee’s trying to memorize this bullshit Callan concocted about the style of the house. So if I were you, I’d stay out until at least five.”
“Probably won’t be done until then, anyway.”
I hum. “Want to meet at the lake?”
“Can do. Maybe we could catch the sunset?”
“I’d like that.” I let my hand sit on top of his heart. “Text me if you think you’re going to be late. I get that some days will be busier than others. After the architect people have left, I need to work, so it’s not a problem if you can’t make it today.”
He drops a kiss to my lips. “Thank you for being so understanding. Oh… here.”
I frown when he taps his screen then shows me a picture.
(This man!! I WANT TO DEVOUR HIM. Then be devoured. Is that physically possible?)
My eyes widen at the gorgeous shot of an owl taking flight. “Is that a great horned owl?”
His lips kick up. “Yeah. He was sitting on one of the fences. Figured you’d like it.”
(I shouldn’t squeal. [Fuck it.])
I squeal. “I love it so much. Thank you for thinking of me.”
His cheeks are burnished with color. “You wanted to see more pictures from me.”
(Excuse me while I swoon.)
“I did.”
“I didn’t forget about eating with Nonna either… Sometime this week?”
“I said at some point. She’s not allowed to die so you’re good for at least a decade. Until this situation’s over at least.”
He snickers but snatches the kiss I blow at him before I slip out of the office first with a flicker of my fingers in farewell.
By the time I’m outside, I’m sucking in a deeper breath, one that I couldn’t really take when I was in anyone’s presence. Not even his.
When I scuttle behind the wheel, I manage to hold it until I reach the road that leads to the Seven Cs.
Spying zero traffic, I pull onto the shoulder and break down.
Covering my eyes with my hands, I sob into the steering wheel.
The blood on his throat—so close.
God,so close.
Shuddering, I let it all out because this does no one any good, but at least I have confirmation that I’d have been a terrible Air Force wife. The question is, of course, can I deal with being a marshal’s fake un-girlfriend?
* Diagnostic and Statistical Manual
Cody
It’s fucked up that the President of an MC who’s been suspected in twenty-three other shootings, a known drug dealer as well as an ex-con who served eight years in Milhaven Institute’s J Unit for aggravated assault,is a better father than Clyde.