Page 122 of Carnal Urges
“It’s the principle.”
He’s outraged. “Theprinciple?”
“Yes. The principle. I only have a few of them, but they’re airtight. One is that I don’t cause other people’s suffering if I can help it. Another is that I own my shit. I don’t blame anyone else but me for what goes wrong in my life. Put those two together, and you’ve got me kneeling on the kitchen floor threatening my pinkie finger with a knife.”
He kisses me again. It’s frantic. “Fucking mad,” he mutters to himself. “Bloody hell.”
“You’re the one with the multiple personalities. You walked in the door like the Terminator.”
He winds his arms around me and pulls me close. His heart beats frantically against his breastbone. His hand wrapped around my head trembles. He rocks me slightly, catching his breath.
“I just can’t leave you alone. Ever. That’s the only solution.”
My voice muffled against his chest, I say, “Don’t worry. I won’t speak to any of your men ever again. Lesson learned.”
“I doubt you’ll have a choice in the matter, considering they’ll all be laying wreaths of roses at your feet every day from now on.”
“I like the sound of that. Where did you go?”
“Give me a minute. I’m still in cardiac arrest.”
He picks me up in his arms and carries me out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom. He sets me down next to the bed and strips off all my clothing, does the same to himself, then pushes me onto the bed and crawls in next to me. He drags the sheets and blanket over us, pulls me into his side, and holds me so tightly, it’s like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear in a puff of smoke.
After a while, I say, “I’m sorry I said that thing about burying the knife in your skull. I didn’t mean it.”
“You did.”
“Okay, that’s true. But I would’ve regretted it if I did. I would’ve cried really hard at your funeral. And I shouldn’t have said it in front of your men. I apologize. But I can’t guarantee I won’t push you into traffic if you hurt one of those guys. They adore you. And it really wasn’t their fault.”
“The infamous Tinker Bell charm.”
“Exactly.”
“You should give them back the money you stole from them.”
“I didn’t steal it. I won it, fair and square.”
“Aye? So you told them you ‘slay’ at poker, the same way you told me?”
“Of course not. It’s all part of the game.”
His sigh is heavy. “You’re lethal, lass.”
“I enjoy throwing on my crown to show people who they’re dealing with. Where did you go?”
“For a walk.”
Not altogether convinced, I repeat, “A walk.”
“On the beach.”
He went for a midnight stroll on the beach in combat boots? “Was there a baby seal you needed to club?”
“I needed to clear my head. And to give you some space. You were upset about how the conversation ended.”
When I don’t say anything, he adds, “I’m putting you in my will.”
“Oh, no. Not the money thing again.”
