“If not, they’ll make a run into town. It will be careful and quick, and no one will know.”
That assurance lowers her shoulders half an inch.
“Tell me something nobody knows about you.”
She thinks. “I like pigeons.”
“Pigeons?”
“I know people hate them, call them rats with wings, but I like them. Their feathers shine like oil slicks, and I like the way they coo, and I like their pathetic nests and that their babies survive despite those pathetic nests. They’re survivors.”
No wonder she likes them. She can relate.
“I like ironing shirts.”
She laughs again, freer this time. “Do you actually do it or do you have Sergei do it and you supervise?”
“I do it myself. When I cannot sleep, it soothes me. It’s a good return on investment—just a few minutes of work, and you look like a million bucks.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“You married me.”
She takes another small drink. “Tell me who taught you to kiss like that.” She looks at the table like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“That is my line. You’re a hell of a kisser.”
She laughs musically. “Tell me.”
I sit back and consider the question. “My grandmother told me to pay attention to a woman. To everything. That’s the answer.”
“That’s cheating. I meant, what woman taught you to kiss like your life depends on it?”
“I merely pay attention to what gets the biggest reaction from the woman I’m kissing, so…” I shrug. “It was my grandmother’s advice that showed me the way. What do you like? Intimately, I mean.”
“Not rushing,” she says, very matter-of-fact. “Taking the time to feel everything out.”
“Good. I can do all of that.”
“You already did.” She leans into my shoulder. She fits there like I planned it. My hand closes around her knee through the fabric of the dress. I do not move it higher. I don’t need to. The heat from her skin is enough for now.
“Twenty questions,” I say. “Fast. No thinking. Ready?”
She nods.
“Beach or city.”
“City,” she says.
“Cook or order.”
“Cook. I hate waiting for someone else to feed me.”
“Dogs or cats.”
“Neither,” she says. “We have babies. Could you imagine taking care of a pet on top of them too?” She reaches up and touches my jaw. Her thumb slides over the place I should have shaved this morning. But my hands weren’t as steady as I need for a good shave, so I skipped it. Her eyes go darker at the feel of it. My mouth heats. I don’t move. I let her do it again. She does. “What do you think when you look at me?”
“That you look like trouble. It’s how you looked the night we met, and how you look now. The thing is, I like trouble. Always have.”
