Page 77 of Carnal Wagers

“Bien sûr.” Right.

“They better not be blocking the street,” Maeve groused.

“Professionals, mon ange. See but not seen, they prefer that.”

“You saw them.”

He gently tapped her nose. “I see everything.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for the box of throwing knives on the built-in shelf beneath the tabletop.

“Anyone up for a game?”

“Not me.” Maeve lifted her hands in surrender. “I got my dose of embarrassment last time, thank you very much. I’m more of a jab kind of girl, anyhow. But I’ve got five bucks that my pookie bear will kick your ass.”

Erel’s dark glare should have made a sane woman shake in their slippers. Maeve smiled and cooed another few, even more ridiculous, nicknames. Love nugget. Sugar booger. Mudbug. My candy man. I spit out some coffee at the last one.

“Never change,” he whispered and kissed the top of her head.

Damn their cuteness.

I picked up the first knife and, out of habit, balanced it on my fingertip to test its weight distribution. With one beautiful throw, it thunked into the center of the wooden target set up at the other end of the garden.

Erel didn’t pull punches. He tossed his five knives, one after another, in rapid succession, each with perfect release, rotation, and speed. All five whammed into the center circle, each within millimeters of the others. Big surprise.

Erel circled his arms around Maeve from above.

“Franc cleared all video of you last night,” he told me, “but he cannot keep this up. Not if you keep going out this often.”

“Is my new ID firmly in place?”

“Depends how much digging O’Leary’s team does. It is only a matter of time before he figures out who you are.”

I pictured Cillian’s chest on the second throw, right where his heart would be. The knife landed a little wide. I pinched my lips shut. That throw shouldn’t have missed.

“You are usually better than this,” Erel commented unhelpfully. “Does this mean you want him to know?”

“What? No…Maybe…Probably. Fine. Yes, I do.” I picked up a third knife. “I want him to realize who I am. On his own, not from a file.”

Maeve hissed. “Yikes. Don’t hold your breath there, babe.”

“I just find it hard to believe he never once, in the last seven years, checked up on who he married.”

“Emotional constipation. It’s a thing.”

“Far from the eye, far from the heart,” Erel voiced in French. The idiom had never hit truer.

Knife number three gouged through the center of the board, exactly where I wanted it.

“Him assigning a tail is a good thing,” I said in an effort to convince myself. “A little protectiveness never hurt if it means I’ve melted his stone heart even a smidge.”

“If there were any truth behind that, my guess would be because the Urabá cartel worries him.” Erel squeezed Maeve’s hand. “Pardon, mon ange, but it is easier to say this in French.”

“Work stuff. I get it. Go at it. Just make sure to bring that sexy voice in the bedroom later.”

“Promis, juré.” I swear. He kissed her upside down on the forehead.

I tossed the fourth knife to give them a little privacy.