Page 6 of My Orc Contract Husband
No, the idea was preposterous.
Wasn’t it?
I blinked, realized I’d been distracted. Sami had drifted away and was staring down the street, a worried frown on her face, her arms wrapped around her middle.
“What’s wrong?” I drifted to her side.
“That black car just drove past again, really slowly. It was like…they were looking for someone.”
As we watched, the car pulled a U-turn down the street and headed back toward us. Unconsciously, I moved in front of Sami, putting my body between hers and the car.
And it was a good thing I did, because that car stopped in front of the house and a man climbed out of the backseat, a black leather folder clutched in his hand.
“Sami Shayson?” he called, ignoring me as he strolled toward us. “My client has been looking for you. I was able to narrow your home down to this neighborhood, but we couldn’t find your exact house.”
Thank the gods below he hadn’t found her at her actual home.
“What do you want?” I growled, and again he ignored me, thrusting the folder out.
“Consider yourself served, Ms. Shayson.”
Chapter Two
Sami
I heardthe front door open as I was bent over at the waist, pulling my towel turban off my head. “Wine’s on the counter!” I called, although I knew my voice was muffled from the vigorous rubbing I was giving my head.
Heh. Sounds a bit naughty, doesn’t it?
But I probably only thought that because I’d been thinking of Tarkhan all evening. His forearms, in that T-shirt, his gorgeous smile, that hair that looked like something out of an Herbal Essences commercial from the nineties…
Plus, he was easier to think about than the smug courier in an expensive suit.
My brain skittered away from that encounter, even as I felt my heart begin to pound anxiously.Think of Tarkhan instead.
Yeah. Tarkhan. He was much nicer to think about…
When I came out of my room, Aunt Sharon was already pouring two glasses of red wine. “I found the opener, dear, don’t worry. You found my favorite brand!”
My smile was a little tight when I took the glass from her. “Of course I did. Lasagna demands a rich chianti, that’s what Mom always said.”
“And she was a very wise woman, I’m glad you listened to her.” My aunt’s soft smile spoke of grief mitigated by the years and memories. “Our mother preferred beer, did you know that?”
“Nana drank beer?” I pulled out the barstool at the counter, inviting her to sit, before I crossed to the oven to check on the lasagna. “I don’t remember her drinking anything more than tea.”
“Oh, she only drank at dinner. Like us!” Aunt Sharon chuckled, saluting me with the wine glass as she maneuvered herself onto the stool. “And she’d mostly stopped as she grew older. But one of her last meals was a sausage sandwich with a frothy beer.” My aunt chuckled. “She knew how to live. Not like…”
Not like your mother.
I heard the words, and when Aunt Sharon winced, I shrugged and toasted her—and my mom’s memory—in acknowledgement. Propping my butt against the oven door handle, I crossed my other arm over my chest.
“Mom’s idea oflivingwas different from…ours, I guess.” I sipped the wine, whichwasgood—there’s a reason I bought Sharon’s favorite brand. “She wanted money, and she got it.”
“And she knew what to do with it,” my aunt chuckled. “Do you remember that purse she had? With the diamonds?”
“Oh my God,yes!” Delighted by the memory, I pushed myself upright. “She used to let me use it!”
“What? With the diamonds? I remember when she showed it to me, and she said your father only let her go out with it when they were together and the bodyguards were with them!”
