Page 134 of Craving Danger

My cellphone vibrates, and opening the screen I burst out laughing when I read the message.

Franco: I’m spanking your ass tonight for hanging up on me. Are you finished with the letter?

Samantha: I look forward to it, and yes, give me five minutes, and I’ll bring it to you so you can sign it.

Standing in Franco’s state-of-the-art kitchen, I grate cheese because whoever does the shopping apparently doesn’t know you buy shredded cheese.

Franco’s stirring a tomato-based sauce for the pasta we’re having for dinner.

“Who does the grocery shopping?” I ask.

“Milo,” Franco murmurs as if he’s deep in thought.

I glance over my shoulder. “And the cleaning?”

“I have a cleaning service come in twice a week.”

Franco’s stirring the sauce slowly, a far away look in his eyes.

I place the cheese on the counter, and going to stand next to him, I ask, “Is everything okay?”

He glances at me. “Yes. Why?”

“You seem preoccupied.”

He shakes his head. “It just hit me how good it is to have you here.” He lets out a deep breath. “Doing something as simple as preparing dinner with you.”

I lift my hand and rub it up and down his back. “I’m enjoying it too.”

“I’d like to make a habit of it. Us cooking dinner while talking.”

Smiling at him, I murmur, “I’d like that very much.”

He leans down to steal a kiss before he checks the sauce and moves the pan from the stove.

We’re quiet while we dish up, and when we’re sitting at the island with a glass of wine, I mention, “Did I tell you I have a house in Houston?”

He nods and swallows a bite of pasta.

“I want to go back there so I can pack all my belongings and hire a moving company to bring everything here.”

“I can send some men to Houston to take care of it for you,” he offers.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. I’ll have them bring your belongings to my house.” He reaches across the marble top and gives my hand a squeeze, then he asks, “What are you going to do with the house?”

“As soon as it’s cleared out, I’m selling it.”

Feeling like a weight is being lifted off my shoulders, I admit, “I actually dreaded going back to Houston.”

“It’s understandable, baby. If you want, I’ll take care of selling the house.”

I give him a grateful smile. “I’d appreciate it. I just want it all over with so I can put that chapter of my life behind me.”

“Do you have the title deed?” he asks.

I shake my head. “It’s at the house. I didn’t take anything but a bag of clothes when I ran.” Wanting to change the subject, I ask, “You don’t mention the mafia much. How are things on that front?”

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