Page 105 of His Deadly Lies

But I fucking hate when he calls himself the old man.

He’s sixty-two, and age is just a number. Want to talk about the definition of silver fox?

My man.

He’s gone white all over the place, and there are more wrinkles, more scars, on his body than when we first met. I’m damn proud of every extra line on his face, every extra silver hair on his body…all of it. Not like I’m a spring chicken anymore, either.

I’m the same age, practically, as he was when we first met. That hits hard more often than not.

“Is my mob boss wife calling it a day? Or are you going to stay up for another hour and chance waking the devil?” Carter asks from behind me.

The devil, in this case, is our eight-year-old son, who has nightmares and likes to sleepwalk. One small sound, and it sets him off.

I smile when Carter’s arms wind around my midsection.

“If he wakes up, then it will be my fault, I know,” I murmur, dragging my hand along his so that our fingers fit together. “And no. I’m coming to bed.”

“Please. The old man—” he starts.

I turn on him in a second, slapping my fingers against his mouth to stop him. “Call yourself that one more time, and I’m going to prove just how wrong you are.”

His eyes light with an inner fire. “Ever think I might do it on purpose? To see how far I can push you?”

He maneuvers me away from the office and toward our bedroom, only a few doors down. It’s a small separation of business and pleasure, and everyone in the household, staff and children alike, knows you don’t mess with the inner sanctum. The bedroom is for Mom and Dad only.

“I’ve been on to you for years,” I correct him.

He takes my hand and keeps eye contact for a split second more before he leads me toward the bedroom, and we shut the door behind us. Flip the lock to make sure we stay undisturbed.

“Have you, now?” he asks.

“Absolutely. I know you like to push me in order to get what you want. It’s called tact.”

“Ah, you’re always a step ahead of me.” He pushes me back to the bed until the back of my knees hit the mattress, and I go down. “Kill anyone today, Mrs. Vittorio?”

“Using it as an aphrodisiac, Mr. Vittorio?”

“You really are on to me.”

My smile widens. “Not yet. But I’m about to be.”

There have been years where we went light on the sex. Circumstances, childbirth, deaths in the family. All kinds of things that life throws at couples that cause hiccups with their physical intimacy. It’s not like things are always perfect.

But we try.

We make the effort to come back to each other no matter how we feel or what we’re going through. He’s the rock, the anchor. I’ve been the same for him, I think as he pushes my legs wide and steps between them, twirling his hand through my hair to force me to look at him.

Carter rubs his thumbs along my temples, and the speckling of silver hair starting to grow, threading through my natural brown color. “Stop it.”

I glance up at him. “What?”

“You think I don’t know when you’re getting too deep in your head?” His knees crack when he bends down in front of me, but hell, mine do too. He’s actually in better shape than I am, or so it seems most days. He’s the one who makes it to the gym multiple times a week.

I barely remember to eat breakfast most days.

“I’d rather you be too deep in something,” I toss back.

“Careful with that mouth of yours. It has a tendency to get us into trouble. Remember what happened last week? Meeting with the Gromackis?” he asks.

---