Page 102 of King of War

Something startles me from my sleep, even though I have no idea what. Maybe a dream? Maybe my mind racing even while I’m sleeping. It’s nothing in this room that’s woken me, I know that. Enzo sleeps soundly beside me, my back to his chest while he has one protective arm draped over me. Of all the things I missed most about him, this has to be chief among them. As corny as it sounds, there’s nowhere I feel safer than here in his arms.

There was a time when I thought I could never get past the hurt he caused me, but now I know he was hurt too. We were both manipulated, both young and made mistakes. But the thing about growing up is figuring out how to learn from those mistakes so we don’t make them over and over again. And I truly do believe we’ve learned. Grown. At first apart and now together again. I rest a hand on my belly, feel our boy moving too, and it makes me smile. Maybe it was him who woke me up with his wriggling. I love it though, that feeling of knowing he’s there. Safe and precious and all mine. And his daddy’s, of course.

So much for my baby steps plan. That lasted all of two weeks. And while it was a shock, especially as I was taking the pill, it’s been the happiest surprise of my life. I could not be happier. I’m about to be a mom to an amazing little boy—because I already know he’s amazing, as all children are. I’m Enzo’s wife, and we have this beautiful new house where I can tend the gardens and practice my photography, and I have some guy called Jax on speed dial because I still can’t figure out all the tech that’s in here. But I will, and I adore it here—the kind of house we always planned to fill with children. Enzo’s brothers visit for dinner every Sunday, and we’re making new family traditions while still holding on to some of Mama Medici’s. My life is pretty damn perfect.

Perfect except for this low-level anxiety bubbling in my stomach. My mind wanders to the opening tomorrow. What if nobody comes? Worse, what if lots of people show up and they hate my pictures? Did I give Tonya the right copies? What if I accidentally gave her a proof or a flawed image instead of the right one? I glance at the clock and see it’s only three a.m. As much as I’d like to call her to double check, I’m not sure she’d appreciate a middle-of-the-night call. I should get up and go check my files at least, make sure there’s no potential horrors I could have handed over.

I shuffle a little, trying to wriggle out of Enzo’s embrace and not disturb him, but as usual, I don’t succeed. I swear he has me fitted with some kind of motion detector.

“Where are you going, baby?” he murmurs, adorably sleepy.

“Nowhere,” I say, rolling onto my back and deciding it’s ridiculous to go looking through my files in the middle of the night. Tonya and I checked those photos a hundred times. They’re the correct ones. They’re beautiful, even if I am biased. “Just getting comfy.”

He slides his arm beneath my bump. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Damn, this man knows me so well. “I was thinking about the opening tomorrow.”

He kisses my forehead. “Tickets are sold out. People are going to love your work, and you are going to sell every photograph you display,” he says with confidence.

Yeah, he knows me far too well. “You do know that you buying all of them doesn’t count, right?”

He laughs softly, his warm breath dusting over my skin. “I’m only buying one.”

“Oh? And which one would that be?”

He nuzzles my neck and my body predictably starts humming in response, well one particular part of my body. “The bee on the sunflower.”

“Really? That’s my favorite too.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the only reason I’m buying it, cuore mio. I’m buying it because it’s the last photograph of a bee you’ll ever take.” The possessive edge to his tone tells me he wants no further argument and also does nothing to help with the humming thing.

“Bees are harmless,” I remind him.

“Not to you, cuore mio, and therefore not to me, or our son, because how could we live without you?”

“But I use a super long lens.”

He nips my shoulder blade, making me squeak. “No more bees.”

“Fine,” I sigh dramatically.

He’s quiet for a moment. “You want to talk about it?”

“No,” I say honestly. I want to fall back asleep in a blissful state of post orgasm.

“You want me to help you get back to sleep?” he asks, his voice dripping with wicked intent now.

God, this man really does know me too well. It’s like he can read my mind. “Yes, please.”

His hand slips between my thighs. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

Yes, sir!

He groans, the sound muffled by the pillow. “Fuck, Rayne. So wet already. What were you dreaming about?”

“I can’t remember. Must have been you.”

“It better be me,” he growls, turning my insides to Jell-O. Then his fingers start skillfully massaging my clit, bringing me to the edge so quickly it has my head spinning. But it’s not enough, I want all of him.