“What are you doing here?” I close my eyes again and groan, batting at the snow-furredother womanArcher shamelessly spends his time with. But does she move? No. “I thought you lived with Tim and Aubree now?”
Nah, bitch. I just spent a couple of days with Capone to allow you to think I was gone. That way, when I came back, I could watch your soul die.
“Get off me.” I attempt to push her aside, only to hiss when her claws dig through the sheet and into my skin. “Ahh! Shit.” I snatch up a pillow and swing.
Someone should call the ASPCA and have her taken away. Animal abuse and all that.
I dislodge her from her throne of arrogance and send her traipsing to the end of the bed, where she turns in a circle and shows me her asshole, then she drops and curls up on Archer’s discarded jacket, claiming him even when he’s not in the room. “I hate your guts, you slut.” I toss my sheet off and look down at her claw marks scoring my chest. But she didn’t draw blood, and Archer wouldn’t believe my version of events even if I begged him to try.
Instead, I sit up on the edge of the bed and dangle my legs over the side. For a moment, I simply stare at the stark white bandage circling my knee. I exist. I allow my brain time to catch up. To process. And then, slowly, I unwind the bandage and reveal a handful of spidery sutures and a teeny, irritatingly tiny wound most normal people wouldn’t require an ER and stitches to close up.
I guess I’m just lucky.
I slide off the bed and onto my feet, which ache all the way from my toes to my heels, from my ankles to my thighs. Groaning, I cast my gaze to my target and suffer throughout my hobbling trek to the attached bathroom.
Point one for staying at the house: ensuite. Because if we were at the apartment, I’d have to get dressed before moving into the hall, only to undress again as soon as I arrived at my destination.
I move slowly on sensitive feet, and spying the mini-kitchen space on the far side of the room, I fantasize about the caffeine I could chug if only there were a machine in here already.
Point two for the house. I can exist in this room until I’m ready to face the rest of the world, and if I secure a coffee machine, I’d have to share it with no one but my husband.
Tolerable.
So, I addsteal the coffee machine from the barto my to-do list.
I reach the bathroom doorway and grab on to the frame, reducing the stress on my tired legs fractionally, then I cross the threshold, fully aware that my luck could have me walking face-first into someone else, anyone else, in the shower.
Walk in on Felix, because he lacks general boundaries and good manners?
Totally something that could happen to me.
Fortunately, Archer’s muscular back is easily distinguishable, even to my blurry eyes. Warm, sudsy water rolls over tattoos I’ve studied a million times since we met, creating streams over his butt, and down thick thighs that make it so he can carry me anyplace, anytime, with ease.
I consider staying where I am and studying every line, every dip, everyvisible vein, scar, and mark that makes up my husband’s body. But the thought of leaning on a door instead of him makes my decision easy.
There is no contest.
I peek down to make sure I am, in fact, undressed, then, wandering toward the walk-in shower, I simply wrap myself around his back and thrill in the way he startles.
“Shit. That’s embarrassing.” He loosens my arms and twists to face me front on. “Not often I let anyone sneak up on me like that.”
“Guess you knew you were safe the whole time.” Could it be this house? With the guards on the door, the four stories separating us from intruders, and the fact that four out of five Malone brothers are under the same roof for once.But what do I know?“Chloe tried to kill me, by the way. I want her re-homed immediately. Preferably inside a truck mixing wet cement.”
Chuckling, he cups my cheeks and takes my lips in a hungry kiss. “The signs of a sociopath, Doctor Mayet. Thinking such vivid, violent thoughts about an innocent animal is typically the first clue we’re dealing with a psycho.”
“Did you miss the part where she attempted to murder me? Is it sociopathy, Detective, or a desperate desire not to be smothered in my sleep?”
“You looked comfortable snuggling with her when I woke up.”
“Snuggling?” I twist my nose with disgust. “You misread her brutal intentions. She wants to keep you for herself, but she knows you’d take issue with blatant murder. She must be sly to maintain your adoration once I’m out of the picture.”
“I suppose we’ll risk it, then.” He turns us and gently tilts my head back until the warm water sluices over my hair, but not onto my face.Talented. “You need me to shampoo the salon chemicals out, Chief?”
“I was thinking of going for a swim in a little while.”
“Really?”
“It’s Sunday, right? And you said I’m not allowed to work until tomorrow. My body aches all over, so I figure a little time in the water, especially since it’s meant to be hotter than the seventh circle of hell—again—will be good for me.”
