His brown eyes narrow and his normally upturned lips, grimace. “A couple of your cousin’s pals and I had a little chit chat in Long Island. What the fuck, Sam? I thought you said your research was for afriendof Joeys.”
I try to recall the last time we spoke on the case and realize I fucked up. “Listen, I was going to-”
“Saaam…” He stretches my name for six, maybe seven syllables; a clear sign he’s about to give me holy southern hell.
“I love you.” Smiling, I rush to where he still stands at the door and kiss his pursed, unforgiving lips.
“Not going to work.” Stepping back, he slips out of his leather jacket, opens the fridge, and snatches a beer bottle.
“How about not-having-a-big-argument sex?” I flutter my lashes.
“Nope.” He crosses his arms, not even bothering to twist off the cap.
“How about I’m-having-your-baby-so-you-can’t-get-mad-at-me sex?” Stepping around him, I find an ice pack, wrap it in a soft cotton towel, and place it on his poor face.
His mouth tics, almost a smile, but he quickly replaces it with a scowl. “How about I take you over my knee and chain you to the bedpost for nine months. Didn’t we agree no working for Vincent?”
“First off, we don’t own a bed. Secondly, I’m not actually working for my uncle because it was my cousin who was delivering the package for Tony.”Oops. I cringe, waiting for my good-natured husband to explode and he does not disappoint.
“Holy gawd almighty and all His angels. What were you thinkin’?” The beer bottle clunks as he slams it on the table.
“I’m trying to save my cousin’s life. I think someone set him up.”
“Then let Vinny deal.”
“But I promised Joey I’d help.”
When I stick out my lower lip, he calms a little but not a lot. “Y’all are too nice. You know that, don’t you?”
I reach my arms around his waist, press my nose into his firm chest, and inhale his male essence. “I’m really sorry. At first, he lied to me, too. I had no idea those goons would come after us.”
“Us?” He steps back, mouth agape.
Oh shit. I stepped in it again.“A couple of idiots came looking for Joey at the salon.”
“Beady eyes, broken noses, olive-skin?” His furious gaze captures mine and holds it prisoner.
“You just described most of the criminals in the neighborhood.” I try to make light but my husband is not having any of it.
Cupping my cheeks, he leans in. “One had a prison tat on his bald head.”
“That’s him.” For the first time, I worry I bit off a chunk of big trouble.
“Jesus, God have mercy. And you didn’t tell me, why?”
His tone sets off my inner bitch. I’m not stupid. Didn’t I used to work for the FBI? Jutting out my chin, I jab a finger at his chest which is so hard, I yelp, defeating the whole purpose.
Time to pull the baby card. “I might’ve had something else on my mind this week.”
“What could be more important than a couple thugs threatening your family?”
“One, they did not threaten anyone and two…” I raise my brows and stare pointedly at my navel.
“Oh shit. I plum forgot. Sit down and we’ll talk about this nice-like. Let me get you a warm glass of milk.” Squatting, he finds a sauce pan and places it on the stove. “Our baby needs less stress and here I am making it worse.”
I’m fine using my condition to stay in his good graces until my good shoulder angel slaps me across the face and tells me I’m being a manipulative bitch.
She’s right. I slip my hand into his and pull him over. “Sit.”
