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Leander looked up with a frown when I walked into the room. He spooned hollandaise sauce over the top of a poached egg, his brow creased. “You should be in bed, mon coeur.”
“So should you. Are you ok? I mean, do you feel ok? You’re not hurt?” Even though we took our time last night, there was always a chance something could go wrong. And despite our deadly natures, neither of us appreciated actual pain in the bedroom.
He lifted a dark brow at me, spooning out more sauce. “I can’t believe I am the one saying this, but please stop worrying.”
I sniffed, conceding his point. “Another nightmare, then?”
Ignoring me, he expertly sprinkled bits of chives over the eggs Benedict and added a dash of paprika.
It wasn’t worth the argument, so I strolled to his side of the island. Wrapping my arms around him from behind, I kissed the side of his neck, relishing the smell of his skin. “What are you doing?”
He leaned back against me, resting his head on my shoulder. “Trying to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”
“Before sunrise?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Mhmm.” My hands slid down his sides, slipping beneath his pajama pants to graze his hips. “I can think of a better surprise.”
“I’m sure you could.” He glanced at me with a smirk — a smirk I quickly wiped off his face by stroking him with one hand. The other slid up his flat stomach, keeping him pinned to my body.
He let his head fall back with a soft groan.
My free hand drifted northward until my fingers encircled his throat. He didn’t need much persuasion to turn his mouth toward me. I pulled back when he tried to kiss me, enjoying his annoyed whimper. Dragging my tongue over his lips slowly, I finally kissed him back, softly and then with a growing intensity.
He broke away first with a scowl. “It’s going to get cold.”
“Your point?”
“Go sit down so I can bring this to you properly.”
I sighed dramatically and peppered his cheek with kisses. He made a face and shrunk into his shoulder, like a turtle hiding in its shell, trying to limit my access.
“Go!” he said again, pushing me away.
Laughing, I finally did as I was told.
He appeared with a tray, complete with a lily from the conservatory and both newspapers, theSentineland one from Chicago. Ever since we returned, Leander had been obsessively tracking developments in the Marchese trial. Wordlessly, he leaned down and brushed a kiss to the side of my head.
I unfolded the Chicago paper and actually gasped at the headline.
ALLEGED MOB BOSS MURDERED WHILE IN FEDERAL CUSTODY
There was a side-by-side of Giovanni Marchese’s booking photo and one from the incident. FBI agents and prison officials swarmed the scene, a black body bag barely visible between all the legs.
“Did you see this?” I glanced over my shoulder, but Leander was gone.
“See what?” he called from the kitchen.
“Marchese is dead.” How the fuck did Inotknow about this? Historically, I didn’t get my criminal news from the paper — I got it in a phone call from one of many sources. So, why didn’t I get a phone call?
“Oh?” He returned from the kitchen with another tray and sat across from me.
“It says he was shanked in the mess hall. Five times. Jesus.” Who the hell got the drop on Giovanni to get infivehits? The article said his attacker was a murderer named Don Marsh. Kudos to whoever the hell that guy was.
“You stabbed a man thirty times,” Leander pointed out, raising his brows at me as he draped his napkin across his lap.
“Twenty-seven,” I corrected. “And it was well deserved.”
