Page 18

I felt myself scowling at him again. “I'm not laying down beside you,” I said, and tried to pull my arm away.
“Yeah, you are.” He grinned his smexy little smile at me. And for some reason, that really ticked me off.
“No, I'm not. I don't want to lay down beside you,” I snapped. He still wouldn't let go of my arm.
“Yeah, you fuckin' do.”
Oh, my gosh. This man made me so angry sometimes.
“Trust me, Stefan.” I glared straight at him. “I don't.”
He chuckled and pulled harder on my arm. “Give me one minute. I'll tell you who that woman was. But only if you lay down.”
Jerk.
I wanted to know who she was. Stupid curiosity.
I looked at him and pointed. “One minute. That's it.”
He smiled and moved over a bit more. I carefully laid down beside him. He rolled onto his side. It took him some time to get situated. That was a difficult feat with his chest wound.
Finally, he settled—his arm under my head.
“That woman was Giselle. She’s my sister-in-law. She's married to my brother, Carlo. They've got three kids.”
I raised my eyebrows but didn't say a word.
“What?” he asked, his hand starting to run up and down my arm. “Something's bothering you. What is it?” he said in a low voice.
It didn't matter what tone he used with me. I was still mad.
“You kissed her. On the lips. Is that something you do with all your sisters-in-law?” My tone more than accusatory. Because really, who the heck kisses their sister-in-law on the lips?
He chuckled and exhaled a long, slow breath. “I do. The guy who was here with my brother? That's Nick. He's been like a brother to me for years. He's married to a woman named Eve. And I kiss her on the lips, too.”
That angry ball I'd had in my stomach doubled.
Stefan laughed softly. “You're jealous.”
That angry knot in my belly quadrupled.
“I am not,” I said stubbornly. “Kissing other men's wives is weird. But go ahead. It's a free country.”
He laughed as his fingers trailed up my arm, over my neck, and up to cradle the side of my head. “I don’t kiss other men's wives. I kiss Giselle and Eve. That's it,” he said so matter of fact—as if that should suddenly make it okay.
“Good for you. I bet their husbands think that's great.” The sarcasm in my voice was obvious.
“You don't know the half of it,” he said mysteriously. But it didn't matter. I didn't care. Stefan could kiss whoever he wanted.
“Fuck, your jealousy is makin' me hard, Chesca.” His hand tightened on my head.
“I'm not sure that's good for someone with a gunshot wound to the chest,” I remarked, feeling a mixture of things at the moment. First, for some reason, I was ticked right off with him telling me how many women he regularly kissed on the lips. And secondly, I was feeling—hot. And frustrated.
Sexually frustrated.
This man had just informed me that he was hard.
No.