“I never saw you as a manual labor kind of guy, Aidan.” She tapped a manicured fingernail against her bottom lip. “I like it.”
A laugh escaped me as I hit the button for the parking garage. “Of course you do, little one.”
“Hey! I mean it!”
“I bet.” I snagged her hand and used it to drag her out of the elevator once the doors opened. “Come on. The lot agreed to stay open past five for us.”
“What?! We’re going now? Wait, is this my gift?”
“No. Later.” I dipped my chin at Lucas and Cade when they approached me in the foyer. “All set?”
“Yes.”
Savannah’s eyes widened, but she greeted, “Hi, boys!”
Lucas smiled. “Hey, Savannah.”
Cade waved.
Well aware the rest of my crew had spread out for this five-minute walk around the block, I took my wife to the lot and watched as she waded through the trees.
Because this was Savannah, of course she had opinions and a knowledge base to back it up.
After I endured a speech about why the Fraser was superior to the balsam, I pointed at the twelve-footer. “Which is this one?”
“Fraser.”
“Fine, that one, then.”
Savannah tutted. “We should inspect it first.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just bustled off, and I watched her fluff and prod and do only God knew what to the poor tree.
Twenty minutes later, we were back in our building and heading up to our apartment with a promise the tree would be with us later that evening.
“This is for you.”
When I retrieved the leather-bound journal from my pocket, her eyes narrowed then practically zoomed in on the “1984” embossed in gold onto the front cover.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Da apparently kept a journal. Most of them, he tossed out, but this one, he didn’t. Ma found it when she was hunting for decorations in her storage container. She gave it to me and, well, I figured you’d like it.”
I didn’t mention that I’d dragged Ma to said storage container after my conversation with Brennan and Camille while my crew worked on encouraging the seasonal lot that sold Christmas trees to remain open for us alone.
She snatched the journal from me, gaped at it, at me, at it, at me, then she squealed. She squealed so fucking loud, I was pretty sure she hadn’tcomethat loud. Ever. Then she was dotting kisses onto my face and she carried on squealing, “I havethe best fucking husband in the world! Oh, my god, this is the best gift you’ve ever given me!”
What could I say?
My mob-obsessed wife was fucking weird.
Not long after that declaration, her mouth collided with mine.
As her tongue thrust between my lips, I wasn’t altogether surprised that she moaned at my hiss. Brennan’s ring had snagged my bottom lip when he’d jabbed me, but her tongue swathed over it, even prodded the tear because she was a kinky little shit.
Then, when I thrust my tongue back against hers, she yanked on my sweater, tugging on it and pulling at it as she struggled to drag it over my chest, ignoring the fact I still wore my coat. Her fingers finally found my abdomen and she groaned as she hit paydirt—my belt buckle.
Evading it, she dipped lower and unfastened my zipper. Before I knew it, she was sliding to her knees.
“Savannah,” I rumbled.
