Or the fact she wasn’t ten feet away from him, that hotlittle body alone in that big bed.
He did not want to talk about what he did with the extrafour hours he had that others didn’t.
In fact, Mo wasn’t a big fan of talking at all.
“I work out,” he said.
“For four hours?”she asked.
“Havin’ a job with Hawk isn’t nine to five.I also workmissions.”
“Missions?”
“Yeah.”
“You call them ‘missions,’ not ‘cases?’”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Lord save him from chatty women.
“Because we’re all former soldiers, not ex-cops,” he shared.
“All of you?”
“Yeah.”
“How many of you are there?”
Good Christ.
“Lottie, go to sleep.”
He heard her loud sigh and then, “I can’t.I’m always jazzedafter a night on.”
She should be exhausted.
She only worked at most thirty-six minutes in the four and ahalf hours she was at Smithie’s (not counting the hour and a half she needed tobe there before her first set to get ready), but when she was dancing she gaveit her all.
Not to mention, she did new full makeup and changed her hairfor each set, not just the outfit she took off.It was an all-new Lottie everytime she appeared on stage.
No one could say she didn’t work for her percentage of thecover, if she got one.But no one bought a house like this on Gaylord a blockfrom City Park who didn’t make some cake.
Mo wanted her to be exhausted.Needed her to be.Not only soshe’d shut up, but because he didn’t need to be thinking she was “jazzed” whichwould only make him consider the varied ways he’d help her work that off, howmuch he’d enjoy them and how much more he’d enjoy makingherenjoythem.
“Count sheep,” he advised.
“Does that work?”
Fuck if he knew.
“Put your body to sleep inch by inch,” he said.
That always worked for Trine, Sister #4.She was always onthe move.Constantly busy.Found it hard to shut down.Even as a kid.
When they were little, Mo would sit with her and whisper,“Start with your toes,Treenz.Point.Flex.Then put’emto sleep.”
