“You’re standing in your bedroom, in my arms, wearin’ your cute nightie and robe, tellin’ me you’re never gonna kiss me again.”
“Yes!” I bit out.
“You’re cracked.”
“I am not!” My voice was rising.
“That’s okay, sweetheart, it’s cute.”
“I’m not cracked!”
Suddenly, his face was all I could see and that face was serious as a heart attack.
“It’s gonna happen again, Mara,” he promised me. “I’m gonna kiss you and you’re gonna kiss me. I’m gonna do other things to you and you’re gonna do other things to me. No way in hell even you can share a kiss with a man like the ones we shared last night and not explore where that could go.”
“Mitch –”
“Tell yourself all you want it’s not gonna happen but I’m tellin’ you, baby, it is.”
“I think –”
“That subject’s closed,” he announced. “Now we’re talkin’ about the Trailer Trash Twins.”
“We need to go back to the, um…”
He stared at me. When I stopped speaking and couldn’t start up again, he noted, “Jesus, you really can’t say it.”
Crap! I couldn’t!
“Whatever,” I muttered.
His arms gave me a squeeze. “Yeah, definitely cute.”
I glared at him. “You know, Detective Mitch Lawson, most normal, sane men would run a mile from women who suddenly find themselves the guardian of two children whose father has the Russian mob after them, has trailer trash for relatives and who you think are cracked, clueless and have their heads up their asses.”
“Yeah, lucky for you I think all that’s definitely cute.”
“Trailer trash relatives aren’t cute!” I snapped the God’s honest truth.
“No, those two weren’t cute. You bangin’ your head against the wall after they left and talkin’ to me about my mother wearin’ scarves was not only cute, it was f**kin’ adorable.”
“There it is, you aren’t sane,” I declared.
Mitch just grinned at me.
Moving on!
“All right,” I stated then warned, “They’ll be back.”
“Yeah, I was guessin’ that.”
“I don’t want the kids to see them.”
“Yeah, I was guessin’ that too.”
“So we need a plan,” I told him.
“You got any ideas?”