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“Because I’m your damn husband,” he growls. “Now, are you going to tell me, or do I need to make you talk?”
I scoff, even as my pulse quickens. “Ha, not happening.”
Sawyer pauses his exploration of my neck to look up at me, winking. His voice drops to a husky whisper.
“Oh, you’ll talk, wife. I can be very persuasive.”
I snort. “Somebody’s overconfident.”
His lips curve into a wicked smile. “Andsomebodywoke up and chose violence.”
Heaven help me, I want to give in to him. And then, like an angel, Otto swoops into the kitchen, landing squarely on Sawyer’s head, flapping his wings.
Sawyer starts flailing his arms, trying to shoo Otto away without actually touching him. “Come on, you feathered menace! Scram!”
Otto, clearly enjoying himself, makes a loud smooching sound. “Whatcha doin’?” he squawks, pleased with his new perch.
I collapse into a fit of giggles, sliding off the table and doubling over. Tears stream down my face as I gasp for air between laughs.
“Maggie! Get your damn bird off me!” Sawyer shouts.
I’m doubled over now, tears streaming down my face as I watch the ridiculous scene unfold. Sawyer’s face is getting redder by the second.
“Pretty boy! Pretty boy! Wanna ’stachio?"
“Maggie!” Sawyer grunts.
I try to speak, but all that comes out is more giggles. I wave my hand in a weak attempt at an apology, but it’s useless.
Then Otto, apparently bored with his new perch, hops off Sawyer’s head and lands on the kitchen island. He struts over to the fruit basket and starts poking at an apple with his beak.
Sawyer shakes his hair out and glares at me. “Oh, you think this is funny, do you?”
I nod, still giggling uncontrollably. “Hilarious, actually. You should see your face right now.”
His eyes narrow dangerously. “Okay, that does it.”
In one smooth motion, Sawyer lunges forward and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I let out a surprised squeak as the world suddenly turns upside down.
“Sawyer! Put me down!” I demand, still giggling.
He carries me upstairs and to my bedroom, and I yelp as he tosses me onto the bed with a bounce.
Red hot heat courses through me as his eyes rake over my body with want. My husband is a beast, ready to pounce. He takes hold of my bare leg and traces circles on my lower calf with one finger. And then, as if his finger wasn’t enough, he bends over me, pressing his lips softly on my inner ankle. One, sweet, solitary kiss.
“Goodnight, Magpie,” he says, setting my foot down and folding the bottom of the blanket over my feet. Then he turns to walk away, taking his warmth with him.
I’m about to bury my face in a pillow and scream when Sawyer’s voice catches my attention. “What have we here?”
Lifting my head, I see him holding one of my books. My stomach drops.Oh no!
“Touchdown for Love,” he reads, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “Why, Margaret, did you write this?”
I bolt upright. “Maybe,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze.
He studies the cover, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Interesting choice of cover model. Very…chesty.”
“It’s called marketing,” I retort, trying to sound nonchalant.
