“You’ll survive lunch with two pregnant women,” he says.
I blink and look back at him. “They’re notthatpregnant.”
“Tell that to Adriana when she decides she wants something specific and no one understands her fast enough.”
A snort slips out of me before I can stop it. “You’ve been talking to Angelo.”
“Da.”
His mouth twitches again, victorious now that he’s dragged me out of my sulk.
“I still want to go with you,” I mutter.
He leans down, presses a kiss to my shoulder, then another just below it. “No.”
I sigh into the pillow like the world is ending. He smacks my ass again, lighter this time.
“Get your ass ready,” he says. “Before you know it, Vasilisa and Adriana will be here, and then I’ll have to hear about how you made them wait.”
I rub the spot and glare at him over my shoulder. “You’re horrible.”
“Da.”
“Arrogant.”
“Da.”
“Annoying.”
This time he kisses the center of my back, mouth lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle.
“Da.”
My heart does something stupid.
I roll onto my side to look at him properly.
He’s already standing now, reaching for his jeans, all hard lines and tattoos and the kind of masculine certainty that makes a room feel smaller around him. There’s still a mark on his throat from me. My heart flutters.
I watch him dress in silence for a second, memorizing without meaning to.
The cut of his shoulders. The flex of muscle under skin. The way he tucks his gun on like it belongs there as naturally as a watch or a wallet.
Something uneasy moves through me.
Small. Cold. Sharp enough to catch.
Maybe he sees it on my face, because he looks over and his expression shifts. He comes back to the bed without a word, hooks a hand behind my neck, and kisses me once.
Then again, slower this time.
When he pulls away, his forehead brushes mine for half a second.
“I’ll be back,” he says.
I swallow.
“Okay.”
