Page 53 of Sinful Deceit

It’s so strange that this man can so easily bypass my boundaries and make it so I crave his hug. No one else on this planet has done that—except Archer. One is my lover. The other, a father of sorts.

“How are you doing today, Ms. Mayet?”

“Should we discuss your name change too?” Archer interjects. His mind wanders. He thinks and plans, and still, he talks to Fletch. “Minka Malone sounds nice.”

“Uh, no.” I make a face that brings a quirky grin to Steve’s lips. “Silly man.”

“You’re not changing your name now that you’re a married woman?” Pulling back just far enough to study me, Steve keeps hold of my arms to maintain our connection. “I won’t say you must, but it’s certainly what was done when I was younger.”

“I don’t loathe the idea of a woman changing her name when she marries. But that’sotherwomen.” I glance across when Archer kills his call and stops to watch me. “I don’t intend to change mine.”

“You don’t?” With his brows pinched close together, my husband wanders forward. “You don’t want to be a Malone?”

I laugh. “Doyouwant to be a Malone?”

“Well…”

“My birth certificate says Mayet. My parents’ names were Mayet.” I move away from Steve and sidle up to Archer’s side, if only to soften the blow of my words. “My medical degree says Mayet.”

“But…” Stumped, he makes ahmphsound in the back of his throat. “I mean…”

“Didyougo to medical school?” I wrap my arm around his and steer us toward the building’s exit. “Did you graduate high school early because you were friendless and preferred study over partying?”

“No,” he grumbles. “Academia wasn’t celebrated where I come from.”

“Mm. And did you throw yourself into medical school immediately after without a single second to stop and breathe?” Grinning, I lead him through the door and outside, into the sunny morning. “Are youChiefMedical Examiner, Minka Mayet?”

“Well… no.” He escorts me along the sidewalk in a thoughtful daze. “I didn’t, and I’m not.”

“Then if you want there to be a Doctor Malone, I suggest you get started on college applications. I’ll even help you study, and walk you through as many autopsies as you need. Until then,” I stop at the door of Tim’s bar and use my key to release the locks, “my name remains as is.But,” I turn before opening the door, and glance up to meet his eyes, “that doesn’t mean I love you any less. It doesn’t mean I’m not committed to our marriage. It just means I’m not inclined to follow the rules set down by men who, once upon a time, were buying wives and putting their names on them the way a child writes their name on the bottom of a toy.”

Stepping up onto my toes, I press a kiss to Archer’s cheek. “I’m not a possession for you to own, but a person you’d like to share your life with. Besides, you don’t hear me asking you to change your name. The Malones are… well…” I wrinkle my nose to combat my smile. “Not very nice.”

Turning on the spot and pushing the door open, I’m met by the erotic scent of coffee brewing in my sexy new birthday machine. My feet bring me forward of their own accord. The scent titillates my senses. But I stop on a skid when I find a woman standing behind the bar.

Coffeepot in one hand.

Mug in another.

She wears a tight tank top and loose pyjama pants I’ve seen a certain Timothy Malone wear in the past.

In disbelief, my gaze zooms up to her face. Her pink-streaked hair tied in a messy bun. Her stunned expression, locked on mine the way a deer might stare at an oncoming truck.

“Aubree?”

“This isn’t how it looks.” She drops the pot and mug to the bar and covers her body as though she’s naked. “I swear, it’s not how it looks!”

Archer rocks back on his heels when Timothy himself skids to a stop in the doorway that leads upstairs to his apartment.

He wears no shirt, but thick blue jeans sit low on his hips and show off a delicious V that stretches down into his underwear.

“Whatttttt the fuck?” Archer giggles. Hegiggles,and pulls me closer, as though he needs a human shield. “Babe? Minka? Minka!”

“Yeah?”

“Cotton brain, or real?”

“Uh…” I look from Tim’s perfectly disheveled hair to Aubree’s sexed-up flush. “Um. Real.” I go back to study Tim’s sculpted chest—I’m married, but I’m not blind—then to the small gap of skin visible between Aubree’s top and the pants she evidently borrowed from Tim. “This is, uh… super real.”

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