Page 121 of Filthy Savage

“It may have been.” Her teasing smile makes every cell in my body pulse with awareness.

“I’ve gotta drop by the office in a bit, but I won’t be long.”

“Okay.” She nods.

I continue playing with Fia until it’s time for me to go.

“Daddy will see you later, princess.” I lift her in my arms, kissing her temple.

“Love you.”

Shit. Hearing her say that is never gonna get old.

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

When I place her down, she returns to her tea party while I approach my wife, tugging her chin in a tight grasp.

“I’ll see you later, baby.” My lips fall to hers, kissing her softly.

And she kisses me back, her fingers dipping into my biceps, like she never wants to let me go. I want to believe that no matter what I do, she’ll always kiss me this way, because our connection? It’s unbreakable.

“Please be careful,” she says softly as I back away.

And I realize right now, in these seconds of her staring at me with concern, that I’m falling for her. Falling hard and fast. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Are you sure about this?” Tynan asks. “Because you’ve never made a damn thing in your life.”

“Come on, babe.” Elara shakes her head. “Give the man a chance.”

“Yeah, what she said.” I grin.

Brody laughs beside her.

“What’s so funny? Think your uncle can’t hack it?”

“Not at all.”

I scoff. “Wow. I’ll prove you fuckers wrong.”

“Language.” Elara pops a brow.

“Yes, ma’am.” I hit her with a salute.

I don’t know how she puts up with us, especially a grumpy ass like my brother.

“Baklava is not for beginners. So if you mess it up, it’s on you.” Tynan grabs some flour, butter, and a bunch of other crap.

But I need to do this. I want to be the one to make it. As soon as I heard her say there was something she wanted, I knew I’d be the one to give it to her, and I want her to love it.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Stop talking and tell me what to do.”

He folds his arms across his chest, and then he’s giving me the first steps of the recipe.

Before I know it, I’m making the dough with Brody’s help. Or trying to, anyway.

“You have to keep mixing it,” he tells me, shaking his head. “It can’t be that clumpy.”

Yeah, the kid knows more than me.

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