“Ellie, don’t argue with me.You’ll lose.At least on this.Got it?”
She rolled over to face me.“Why are you such agoodbad guy?”
“Excuse me?”
Her face scrunched.“You.All sexy and fun, and…” her fingers traced my chest, “…built.And you brought food.But you probably know at least a hundred ways to do?—”
The quick glance she sent me was part fear.
“My job?”
Her hand flicked away.“Yeah, that.”
“Try about five hundred ways.Or maybe just six.”
“Only six?”She asked.
“That covers the main categories.”I began to count them off as I whispered in her ear.“Firearms, bladed objects, strangulation, blunt force trauma, drowning…” I trailed off, distracted by the soft fuzz on her cheek.
“That’s five.”
I smiled.“Flame thrower.”
“You’re making that one up.”
I was, but she didn’t need to know that.
Our eyes met across her pillow.
“You think I’m sexy?”
She rolled her eyes.“Fourlanguages?”she asked through narrowed eyes.
I nodded.“I went to boarding school in Switzerland.They had French, Italian, and German as required courses.”
“That’s three.”
“What language are we talking in now?”
She shook her head.“Doesn’t count.”
“Oh, I think it does.Ol’ Johnny Pornstach can’t even spell his native words correctly.”
“He knows Italian.”
“It’s not that hard to learn.”
She pushed at me.“I’ve been trying to learn for six months.”
Ah, that was her problem.“You don’t try.You do.”
“Okay, Yoda.”
“Sei incantevole, I tuoi occhi sono come due stelle.Ti adoro.Per te farei di tutto.”My words trailed off because they were too honest, too close to the edge of insanity for me to trap them if more spilled free.
“How does that sound in German?”
I snorted.“Like two hammers trying to fuck.”
