Page 60 of Cruel Kiss

"They're back, too."

"You bugged my kids' backpacks."

"I'd do it again in a fucking heartbeat, Calista."

"And then you had the balls to say what you said today. You—" I choke up for a second. "You meant it, didn't you? Those vows."

He sighs. "Every. Last. Word."

I rotate the knob half a turn. "If I open this door," I say, "it doesn't mean anything."

"Of course not."

"It's not us getting back together."

"I'd never dream of asking for that."

"It sure as shit isn't love."

"No, I wouldn't presume that far."

I take a breath. "It's just—my body is annoyed with me. That's all this is. Weeks of you and your glasses and your pancakes and your stupid hands, and my body is upset about it. I'm going to handle it and then I'm going to go back to bed and in the morning, we are going to pretend this never happened."

"Understood."

"You have to promise me you'll pretend this never happened."

"I promise nothing," he says. "But I'll do whatever you want."

Well, that's about all the negotiation I can stand. I open the door.

He's standing right there, exactly where I knew he'd be, in nothing but the gray sweatpants. The light is on behind him so he's edged in gold. His eyes rake over me once, the shirt, the bare legs, my one hand still white-knuckled on the doorframe.

"You're wearing my shirt," he says.

"Shut up and kiss me, asshole."

"If that's what you want, wife."

Then he slams me against the wall. It's exactly as hard as I need it to be, just a hint of pain on the edge of an overwhelming surge ofthank fucking God it's finally happening.It's grief and rage and eight weeks of him being decent when I needed him to give me a reason not to be.

His hands come up and frame my face. Then they slide down my neck, over the shirt, and he walks me backward into the room and kicks the door shut behind us with his heel. He guides me until the backs of my knees hit the guest bed and I fall down hard.

He looks down at me. "You'll have to be quiet," he murmurs. "The kids are down the hall." His mouth tips sinfully. "I'm going to make that very difficult for you, though."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet you married me anyway."

He drops to his knees.

I clap a hand over my mouth. He wasn't kidding—this is going to be a problem. He's got that look on his face that says he means business. He pushes the shirt up over my hips and hooks his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and looks up at me, one eyebrow raised, asking, because he always asks, and I nod so hard my neck cracks.

"Say it," he says.

"Yes."

"Say it right."