Page 83 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

I was practically a fretful mother, for feck’s sake.

Footsteps sounded behind me and my spine stiffened. Time to go.

“You’re right, Ailish. I’ll check in later.”

I turned, expecting Logan and another one of his smirks. He was doing a damn good imitation of me today. Didn’t matter. I’d let him have his fun. At least I understood where he was coming from, unlike Kyle who’d watched most of the recording and brainstorming sessions with a broody expression I couldn’t decipher.

Much like the expression currently worn by my lover.

“Lindsey.”

“You sound surprised to see me.” She propped her hands on her jean-clad hips. With them, she wore sneakers and a high-necked thin sweater that hid both her rampant sunburn and the hickeys and bite marks I’d apparently left on her neck.

A pity.

“I was surprised. As I’d just left you.” I slipped my phone into my trouser pocket. “Is Lo getting restless already? Thought we were taking fifteen.”

“We are. And you’ve already used five more than that. Although now I see why. Ailish? Check in? A six-year-old? What’s that all about, huh?” She stepped forward before I could speak and slapped her hands against my chest.

I grimaced at the pain from my own sunburn. I was quite a bit darker than she was naturally, but my chest didn’t see that much sunlight in a given year, never mind a morning.

And I’d been too busy slathering her in aloe and filthy kisses to much care about tending to myself.

“I didn’t intend to hear anything. I just came to find you because—” She shook her head, her cheeks going sweetly pink. “Anyway, I was about to walk away when I heard you talking to your nanny. If you’d tell me, I wouldn’t have to spy.”

“You never asked.”

She made a sound akin to an angry cat. I knew precisely what that sounded like, since mine was often in that state.

“Are you quite finished now?” I cocked my head, inordinately pleased with her and the world in general. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been nearly this content.

Oh, yes, I could. This morning, when she’d been riding me in my guest bed. Biting her lower lip so she didn’t wake the others.

Until I threw her over on her back and made sure she did.

“Am I finished? Are you serious right now?”

I gave a shrug, mainly to piss her off. I could only tolerate so much harmony in a given day. Especially since she was so goddamned gorgeous when she was annoyed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t just pretend not to care about my lover’s personal life. But you know what? That’s my problem. You don’t owe me anything. I’m going back to the studio.” She whirled around, going still as I gripped her shoulder

.

“You overheard me talking to my pet sitter. My six-year-old is a pissy one-eyed cat named Sarge who prefers to drink out of faucets. My other one is a three-year-old Rottweiler that Sarge has pretended to resent since day one yet sleeps in his bed the minute my back is turned.”

She didn’t move for so long I began to fear for my physical safety. I’d heard her best friend was a bit of a wild one. Not that I doubted Lindz could do some serious damage of her own.

Rather than try to coax her to forgive me for her mistaken assumptions—and now for feeling foolish, I suspected—I pulled out my wallet and thumbed free a small snapshot. It was one of those where the pets were posing with Santa. Brutus was all lolling tongue excitement while Sarge’s eyes were slitted and his Christmas bow sat lopsidedly on his head.

The bow had been Santa’s idea, not mine.

The only reason I’d taken them there in the first place was because I needed pet food and I’d had a misplaced moment of holiday cheer.

Never again. Now the run up to the holidays was spent in a darkened huddle on my sofa with the telly and alcohol-free eggnog, as it was meant.

“Look.” I pressed the picture into her hand.

She took one glance and started to laugh, cupping her palm over her mouth. “Asshole.”

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