Page 72 of Playing with Fire

Listening to him sigh in frustration made me unreasonably happy. “Can you walk yet?”

“If it means escaping without having to be the one to clean up this war zone, I can manage.” I needed the help of the witness stand to get to my feet, but I pulled it off, huffing my triumph. Quinn hopped up without any sign the angelic smiting had affected him. He dusted his clothes off, and I spotted a shining, golden tattoo circling his wrist. I pointed at it. “What the hell is that?”

Quinn lifted his left arm, and his gaze locked onto his wrist. His eyes widened. “He didn’t.”

“He didn’t what?”

“Damn it. Grandpa either doesn’t trust us, doesn’t trust my idiot cousin, or just wanted to be a jerk and remind us our marriage is written in stone—permanently. There’s good news: I’d like to watch someone who isn’t me try to get into your pants. These things will be entertaining should that happen.”

I checked my wrist, and sure enough, I had one, too. “What are these things?” I couldn’t tell if writing or meaningless patterns circled my wrist. “It’s a tattoo. An angel smited me and slapped a tattoo onto my wrist. Oh! Is this the mystical ball and chain I keep hearing about? It’s prettier than I expected. Wait. If a woman starts pawing all over you…”

“She’ll get zapped.”

“Someone invented woman repellent.” I hugged my wrist to my chest. “And to think I thought I’d be spending the rest of my life beating off the competition.”

“And now I’m thinking Grandpa may have realized your self-esteem issues are actually coupled with jealousy-induced anxiety.”

I scowled at him. “Have you checked your reflection in the mirror? I’m pretty sure there’s a disproportionate number of men who’d sleep with you given half a chance. You’re not allowed to give those men a chance, either.”

Hanging his head, he sighed. “This is all my grandfather’s fault.”

“Which one? Because seriously, Quinn, there are three realistic options. Four if you count your great-grandfather. For a non-human, Anubis is pretty handsome. I’m also pretty sure your centaur grandmother played a significant role in your sexiness factor. She’s gorgeous.”

Quinn sighed again, louder and longer. “Anubis is packing divinity. Of course he’s handsome. Just be glad my great-grandmother showed up looking like a cat. She’s the one who taught the succubi their tricks. Let’s get out of here before it gets anymore awkward—and trust me, it will.”

“You know what? I’m not going to ask. Let’s bail before the cops show up.”

With a quiet laugh, Quinn grabbed hold of my hand. “You learn fast.”

I pointed at the brawl, snorted, and headed for the wall, dodging the writhing mass of bodies on my way out the door, pausing long enough to snag Perky and Nilman so they wouldn’t be left to face the terrors of Quinn’s family.

Chapter Seventeen

>How could a piece of technology thwart me?

I stole the keys from Perky because I could, but I drove because everyone else passed out the instant they got inside his SUV. Nilman managed to get his seatbelt buckled before he started snoring from his prized spot in the front passenger seat. The other two barely made it all the way into their seats before they decided they had no more interest in being conscious.

Stealing Quinn’s new phone out of his pocket, I scowled at the device’s locked screen. How could a piece of technology thwart me? All I wanted was a single picture for blackmail.

A flash of gold warned me of the angel’s arrival, and my new grandfather-in-law manifested behind me, reached over my shoulder, and tapped the screen. “You need a phone of your own. And yes, I agree. This blackmail opportunity is too good to pass up.”

Sylvester vanished.

Damned angels. I wrinkled my nose, decided I appreciated the chance to capture pictures of all three peaceful sleepers, and took several photos before buckling Quinn and Perky in. I covered them both with the blanket, took one final picture of them together, and hit the road.

It was a good thing Nilman had taken the front seat; had Quinn been seated there, I doubted we would have reached Washington. The urge to pull over and drag my new husband off to somewhere private to prove I could be a good wife bordered on the excessive and insane.

It took a gargantuan amount of effort and patience to drive the two hours to Washington without making a pitstop for wicked, kinky purposes. The effort involved in dragging Quinn somewhere no one would spot us discouraged my plotting. After an epic battle with morning rush hour traffic, I pulled up to the CDC headquarter’s guarded gate. My CDC card and a brief introduction of my sleeping passengers got me into the visitors’ lot, where I parked and killed the engine.

A slow smile spread over my lips, and I twisted around in my seat to watch my new husband sleep. Growing up without any real friends, I’d never had a sleepover party or been around many people napping before. He looked so defenseless and peaceful.

One little scream wouldn’t scare too many years off his life. It would, however, let me enjoy some pandemonium while the three men figured out where they were, what had happened, and who was screaming. I drew in a deep breath and pretended I had a promising career as an extra in a horror flick.

Their startled cries and attempts to get up only to be thwarted by their seatbelts amused me so much. “We’re here,” I announced in my best sing-song voice.

Quinn glared at me, and I couldn’t tell if the gleam in his eyes was the fires of hell about to incinerate me or a lot of lust. I hoped for the latter but expected the former. “You bitch.”

Oh, how I loved that growl. I beamed at him. “Good morning.”