Page 56 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
“I knew you could keep yourself safe, but I didn’t want you to have to. Finn failed to mention that you had a bodyguard driver.” I scratch my ear. “Or rather I hung up on him before getting that detail. I just—”
A noisy exhale leaves my mouth. “You kind of make me lose my mind.”
Geneva watches me, her breathing deceptively even. I’m not sure if she’s going to scream at me, hit me, or hobble away—disgusted with me. Maybe all three? Or a one-two combo like the strike patterns she calls out in class.
“Did you read the report on the coffee table?”
My brows quirk, but I’ll take whatever Geneva will give me, even if it’s off-topic conversation.
“I did. Looks like we’ll have to find an evening for Stacy to clean instead of her usual Tuesday midday.”
Her nod is clipped. “I thought the same thing.”
I can’t help the slow smile lifting my lips. “So we’re doing this thing?”
“I’mdoing this thing.” Geneva rolls her eyes at me but with a fraction of her usual sass. “You and your revocable medical license will be nowhere in sight.”
“At least let me run coms.”
“No.”
Since her refusal lacks bite, I give her waist a little squeeze. “Gear, then. I’ll outfit you with a grappling hook, night-vision goggles, and a utility belt. I guess you won’t need heist clothes because everything you own is already black.”
The hurt way Geneva’s eyes dart away from mine before she chews on her lip punches the air from my lungs. My hand finds her jaw, my thumb soothing over her cheek.
“I’m sor—”
“I bought a dress today.”
Geneva meets my gaze, insecure and challenging at the same time. How does she manage to be incredibly strong and breathtakingly vulnerable all at once?
“Did you?” I keep my tone open, like I’m verbally holding her hand, urging her along.
She presses her lips together, nodding.
“It’s…” Geneva stops and swallows. “It’s burgundy.”
“Darlin’.” Her nickname has never sounded more reverent, more earnest. “Really?”
Those expressive eyes find mine again. “And it’s a sundress,” she whispers.
I can’t help my appreciative groan as I tug her closer. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a man with functioning eyeballs, so I love these snug dresses, but the idea of Geneva in something with a flirty, flowy skirt is nearly enough to make my knees buckle.
“You’re showing me when we get home.” I barely keep from nipping her earlobe with my teeth.
She shakes her head, lifting her palms to press against my stomach—lightly pushing me away. “Not after that machismo showdown.”
“I thought women liked displays like that. When men beat their chests and growl words likemine.”
Though Geneva’s eyes flash at my last word, she continues her slow head shake.
My eyebrows raise as a smirk settles over my mouth. “You didn’t like being called ‘my wife’?”
Her fingers twitch before she can stop herself, and my abs tighten in response.
I tilt my head to the side, my smile darkening. “You di—”
My sentence breaks off in a laugh when Geneva pushes and turns to stomp away—right before we both remember that her right heel is broken.
