AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He comes at me with that glittering smile. We dance around the living room, me holding up the skate like a cartoon villain, Sawyer trying to look stern but failing miserably. His eyes are sparkling with amusement.
“You know,” he pants, dodging behind the couch, “most wives just yell at their husbands when they’re upset.”
“Give us a kiss,” chirps Otto.
“I’m not most wives,” I retort, vaulting over an ottoman. I skid into the kitchen, and Sawyer’s right behind me, his eyes wild and hair disheveled.
“Maggie, put down the skate before you hurt yourself.”
“Hurt myself? HA! That’s rich coming from you.” I point the pointy end of the skate toward him and manage to back him up against the kitchen island. His eyes gleam as I hold the blade to his throat.
“Damn, Maggie. Now what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I cry, completely flustered. I’m trying to look menacing despite being out of breath and probably flushed bright red. “Why did you tell your maid to throw away my art?”
I promised myself I wouldn’t bring that up. Wouldn’t let him win. But I’m past that now.
Sawyer’s brow furrows in genuine confusion. “What? Why would I do that?”
“And where were you really today? Out with some puck bunny?”
His confusion slowly morphs into a grin. “Wait a minute. Are you…jealous?” he says, sounding far too pleased with himself.
“Jealous? Me?” My voice rises embarrassingly. “Psh, no. That’s ridiculous. I’m just…curious. For, um, contractual reasons.”
Sawyer’s grin widens. “Uh-huh. You know your voice goes up an octave when you lie, right? And your eyes just darted to the left. Those are your tells, aren’t they?”
I press the skate blade closer to his throat, trying to ignore the way his Adam’s apple bobs enticingly. “I don’t have tells,” I lie, my voice still embarrassingly squeaky.
“Oh, you definitely do,” he chuckles, gently taking the skate from my hand. “It’s kind of adorable, actually. And for your information, I always keep blade guards on my skates.”
He runs a finger over the white plastic to demonstrate.
My cheeks burn. All my thinly laid revenge plans have been foiled.
Sawyer casually reaches back and sets the skate on the counter. His intense gaze locks onto mine. I gasp as his hands grip my waist like hot brands.
He backs me up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You’ve been pushing my buttons all month,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “The flowers, the bird, that text…You’re playing with fire, Maggie.”
I try to maintain my composure, but it’s hard when he’s so close, his scent enveloping me. “Maybe I like playing with fire,” I retort, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
His eyes narrow. “Now, tell me who sent the flowers. Is he Irish? Italian? Russian?”
What’s with the ethnicity obsession? Is he casting for The Godfather 4? I press my lips together and shake my head, determined not to give in.
My back hits the pantry door with a soft thud, and suddenly I’m trapped between the hard wood and Sawyer’s even harder body. My heart races, but I refuse to show how affected I am.
“Open your mouth, darling, and tell your husband the truth,” he growls, his breath hot on my face.
I shake my head again, more forcefully this time. My stubbornness is legendary, after all.
Sawyer’s eyes darken. “Open your mouth before I open it for you.”
“Not a chance, puck boy.”
“You like to cause trouble, don’t you?” He tsks, shaking his head. “Trying to slit my throat with my own ice skate…”
