Page 82 of Desperate Actions

Because, seriously?

I lean back, crossing my arms, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Sammy, are you really this good?”

He frowns, genuinely confused.

“What?”

“I mean, my dad punches you in the face, accuses you of coercing me into marrying you, and you’re sitting here apologizing?”

I shake my head, huffing a humorless laugh.

“Seriously. I’m not worth all this trouble.”

The second the words leave my mouth, Sammy goes still.

Not just physically still, but predatory still.

Like I’ve said something I shouldn’t have, like I’ve crossed some invisible line I didn’t even know existed.

His hand moves quickly, firm and decisive, fingers tilting my chin up, forcing me to face him.

His hazel eyes burn into me, dark and wild and full of something so intense it makes my breath catch.

“What did I tell you about talking bad about my wife?” he growls.

His voice is low, rough, full of unshakable conviction.

And fuck me if that doesn’t do something dangerous to my insides.

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering as he leans in, close enough that I feel the heat of his breath against my lips.

His fingers tighten just slightly, his grip possessive, claiming, absolute.

“For the record, I’d let your father punch me in the face every day for the rest of my life, if it means I get to keep you.”

Holy. Fuck.

Did he just say that?

Does he mean it?

God, I hope so.

Because whatever stupid crush I had on him before we got married?

It’s nothing compared to what I feel right now.

He doesn’t give me time to respond, to process, to do anything but want him more because the next second, he’s kissing me.

And oh my.

It’s one of those panty-melting, spine-tingling, ruin-me-completely kisses that leaves me breathless.

Then he slows it down, shifting the rhythm, deepening it, dragging me under so completely I don’t think I’ll ever surface again.

But Sammy has more control than I do. He pulls back just enough to press his forehead to mine, his breath still uneven, his voice rough with need.

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