Last Kiss Goodnight - By Gena Showalter Page 0,117

on his lips before she relinquished control of the camera.

“And what is it you’re going to want?” he asked, not the least bit concerned.

“We’ll start with three more wishes.”

Won’t grin. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m not a genie in a bottle.”

She ignored him, saying, “I’ll make a list and let you know everything you’ll be doing for me.”

Really won’t grin. “I’ll look forward to reading it.”

“Expect to be riveted.”

Okay. He grinned.

“Let’s take a look at these photos before I toss you on that bed.” He pressed the buttons on the disposable and discovered pictures of little Vika, no more than five years old. In each of the photos she was grinning so widely she was all teeth. Her hair was brushed to a glossy shine and hanging in pigtails at her ears. In one, she was in the middle of a twirl. In another, she was holding a large sequined bra up to her tiny chest. In yet another, she was pressed up against an older version of herself, and the two were blowing kisses to the camera with chocolate smeared all over their faces.

“You have an addiction to chocolate, I think,” he said, a pang in his chest.

“Only a small one. I can go through an entire five-minute span without thinking about or craving a piece.”

He would buy her a chocolate factory, then. She could swim in the stuff, if she so desired.

“And who is the other woman?” he asked, already suspecting the answer.

“My mother,” she said wistfully. “She was flighty and emotional, but I loved her.”

“I’m sorry you lost her.”

“Me too.”

The loss of someone you loved could leave a big gaping hole in your chest. One you feared would never be filled. That was how he’d felt about his parents, and yet this woman had filled him in such a way that he doubted he could ever be hollowed again. He would carry the memory of her forever.

He couldn’t let her be hurt.

He set the camera aside. “How about we do a little practice fighting?” If he left her here—and with every second that passed he was more and more certain he would have to—he wanted her as prepared as possible.

“All right,” she said, and if she was confused by the change of subject, she didn’t show it.

“Give me a few minutes to get everything ready.” He stood with Vika in his arms, placed her in the chair, and stalked to the living room to move the couch and coffee table.

When he finished, he returned to the bedroom. She was in the same place he’d left her.

“Ready?” she asked.

He frowned. He’d heard her voice, soft and sensual, but his ears hadn’t rung. Not this time.

She frowned too. “Solo,” she said, standing.

He’d heard her that time, too. “Can you hear me?”

A shake of her head, as she said, “No. Can you?”

“Yes.” So they’d switched back again.

And they would probably switch yet again.

She displayed the same relief as before. “I like sharing with you, I do, but I’m glad you can hear. The guilt was going to fry me like battered chicken.”

He . . . had no idea which adage she’d butchered that time. “I told you not to feel guilty.”

“You did. And do you not recall me telling you to bite someone?”

So gorgeous when she’s feisty. “No. But just for the record, you’re supposed to tell me to bite you.”

“Why would I want you to bite me?”

“Because I’ll make sure you like it. Now, come into the living room and force me to bite someone.”

“I will, and you’ll be sorry.” Radiating eagerness, she followed after him.

They stopped on the rug he’d cleared and faced each other.

“What’s first on the agenda?” she asked, fisting her hands at her sides and bracing her legs apart.

“You’re going to practice what I’ve already taught you and learn a few more tricks.”

“What if I want to teach you something?” Without any more warning than that, she kicked out and knocked his ankles together, sending him to his knees. She was on him a second later, pushing him back and straddling his waist, a blade poised at his neck. “Like that.”

So gorgeous when she’s fierce. “Where’d you get the knife?”

“Snagged it from the counter when I left the kitchen. I was going to carry it in the bag since you were so against me carrying the gun.”

And he’d missed the action. Either he’d lost his edge or he had no defenses against this woman. “Good girl.” Swiftly he rolled her over,