The Flame Game (Magical Romantic Comedies #12) - R.J. Blain Page 0,95
so much better. You hover while I make it. And the things you’ll do for a greasy burger and fries.”
I licked my lips and indulged in another shrimp. “I’ve been told shrimp can be grilled, but shrimp were always too expensive for me to get.”
“I see I will be bringing sea bugs into our home and questing to learn how to grill them for you. What other strange things are you going to make me learn how to cook?”
“I can tell you what not to cook. Restrain me if I ask for pickles on ice cream at any time. Pickles by themselves? That’s okay. I can work with that. Ice cream by itself? I can definitely get behind that. But do not ever let me mix those two together. I don’t care if I cry. Don’t let me do it. Distract me somehow.”
My husband grinned at me. “I’m not getting between a woman and her pregnancy cravings, Bailey. If you ask me for pickles on ice cream, I’m going to shudder from horror, but I’m going to provide it for you. That was the first piece of advice my father gave me upon learning you’re pregnant. A wise man does not come between his wife and the pregnancy cravings, no matter how strange those cravings may be.”
Crap. “That’s terrifying. If you make it, I’ll have to eat it, and that sounds wrong.”
“It really does.”
“Do you think we can beg Sariel for an aversion to make sure I never walk down that dark road?”
“That will be the first thing I do when we get home. I’m going to ask a rather odd question, so please don’t think too badly of me.”
“What?”
“How are we going to deal with Morrison if your father sends him our way?”
“Isn’t it premeditated murder if we discuss how we’re going to deal with him in advance?”
“He’ll force us to kill him, thus making it a self-defense verdict, especially as part of his bail condition is to stay away from you.”
“There’s a restraining order?”
“Yep.” Quinn shrugged and ate more of his salad, and I smirked when he eyed the shrimp on the edge of his bowl with interest. “I initially didn’t want to tell you because it would worry you. If there’s a restraining order, then obviously somebody believes he needs to be restrained. That somebody is my grandfather, because he was quite upset over what he found in your memories. He won’t tell me, because he would rather I not be charged with premeditated murder.”
“Which leads you to believe his actions were closer to the rape scale of things than not.”
“I don’t think you were raped, but there is a huge spectrum of things he could have done to you that all count as violations. If my grandfather believes it is best to bury it, then it’s probably best to bury it. That said, you were most certainly a virgin when I got my hands on you. There is a reason people say virgins are extra special treats for incubi and succubi.”
“You are so bad, Samuel Leviticus Quinn.”
“I am. So, how would you like to bury him?”
“Big fire leaves little smear,” I muttered.
My husband frowned. “We probably need to report he was dispatched if he attempts anything.”
“Probably. But big fire leaves little smear, which in turn, is very little to clean up. I view it as reducing burial fees should anyone actually want that bastard’s body.”
“And considering how hot you’re rolling, you won’t have to work hard to make a big fire.”
“But a big fire would be so much better with napalm.”
“I should have known you would try to work a napalm bender into this somehow.”
“I bet Perkette would give you the recipe for her special blend, and I could easily con the CDC into giving me the good neutralizer.” I fluttered my lashes at him. “Pretty please?”
“You are so going to owe me for this, Bailey Ember Quinn.”
Fifteen
I can’t win this one, can I?
Upon learning about Annie, Archambault Quinn did the equivalent of locking down Fort Knox, opting to take precautions to prevent his hive—or other hives—from further falling victim to the demented former police chief still on the loose. My husband rolled his eyes at the development, which involved his grandfather immediately doing a head count of his wives, his bride, his children, his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren.
He hung up on us before we had a chance to ask our whelps what they were learning and check in with them.