Page 107 of Ricochet

Stubborn but not fine. “Baby.”

Her posture loosened. “You’re not allowed to sound cute when I’m worried.”

“Relax with me.”He nuzzled against her silky hair. “Listen. We’re okay.”

She straightened again. “Youalmostweren’t.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Almost. I’ve almost a thousand times in my life, but almost doesn’t stop me.”

“It should.”

“Nah,” he disagreed in her ear. “It makes me stronger.”

Her head dropped with a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “God, me too, and it isn’t safe or sane.”

“Ease up on yourself.”

She rolled her forehead against him. “You don’t believe in fate, do you?”

He leaned back, humming. Did he believe in fate? That there was an unavoidable future he couldn’t back away from. No. He believed in logic and free will. Strategy and choices. “No.”

“If our wedding puzzle pieces didn’t fit together, then life might never have pushed us together again?” She shook her head. “I cannot believeshe did it again.”

Colin played over Adelia’s words twice, and that wasn’t the anesthesia talking. “What?”

She laughed. “Seven’s always says that she saves my butt, and somehow she’s going to take credit for me not getting shot.”

Colin laughed but still flinched again in pain. “Oh, don’t be funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to!”

She rolled to face him, and Colin lost himself in a daze of half-wakefulnessas her hair teased his skin and her brown sugar eyes melted in amusement.

“What?” Her fingertips explored his cheek.

The coarse hairs along his jaw stood. His skin cooled where her touch had been, and awareness roll down his neck.

“What’s the look?” she asked.

“Nothing.” Easier to say that than explain how he was suddenly lust-drunk.

Adelia angled back, scrutinizing. “You just had surgery.”

“I didn’t say anything. What do you think I’m going to do? Rip your clothes off?”

“Too bad.” Her fingers trailed his arm. “Just kidding, but soon enough.”

His gaze followed the ripple of goosebumps she made. “When you act like that, maybe a little pain doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, tough guy.”

“Careful, babe,” he teased. “Stroking my ego will do nothing but cause my stitches to tear.”

“You don’thave stitches,” she corrected him, her hands slowing to a stop. “You have glue.”

“Damn you make me happy.”

“Even when you’ve been shot.” The twinkle in her eyes made him feel light in bed. Or, horny, which was impossible not to be while in bed with her, even if he wasn’t coming out of a stupor. But beside the ever-present ability she had to arouse him, he liked how her sass when it wasn’t camouflagedto cover her armor—which was noticeably absent.

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