But she pulled her head away from his lips and set her brush down hard, ripping her bare body from his mind-altering caress.
Suppressing his irritation, he stalked after her. “Alright. I give. What’s the truth?”
She whipped around and glared. “Who’s the Red Fisher?”
An immediate scowl hardened his eyes. “Where’d you get that from?”
“Your phone.”
He blinked. How? He’d erased all the messages and certainly none of them said anything about Cervenka. “I’m not following.”
“Hmm. Your grandma said you were a terrible liar.” She smiled flatly and snatched up her dress, steaming past him.
He pulled on his pants, angry, and marched after her. “You’re acting like a child, and where the hell are you going?”
“To the kitchen!” she turned long enough to retort. She slipped her dress over her head but left it unzipped.
“I thought you were happy,” he growled.
“Not with you!” she bit off as she pulled out the eggplant parmesan.
“Great. How long has that been on your chest?”
“You wanted directness, remember?” She yanked open a drawer and clattered the silverware in search of a fork.
He fisted the drawer shut and pressed a palm upon the counter, staring at her profile. She stabbed the fork into the dish and stuffed a bite into her mouth. His expression altered. “What happened to I feel like I’m dying?”
She didn’t answer and kept eating, her whole personality shifting again like Doppler radar.
His ire diffused, and noticing the still open back of her dress, he swept aside her tresses, and zipped up her frock, thinking as he did so.
His baby was having a baby.
Softening, he slid his arms around her slender waist, pressing his hands against her still-flat, very warm stomach. He rested his chin on her head. “I hope it’s a girl,” he said, breaking the silence. He felt the silent hitch in her breath. “Because I want her to be just like you.”
She turned her head a little. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. She leaned back against his solid chest and closed her eyes, suddenly drained. The fork slid to the bottom of the glass baking dish. They lingered in amiable silence. “You were my first, Zach.”
He frowned, not sure he understood.
“Not Jared. Not Carter. You.”
She faced him and gazed up into his skeptical face with earnest brown eyes. “Why do you think Jared cheated on me? Why do you think Carter was so willing to stay loose?” She fingered his jawline. “Whoever the Red Fisher is, he told you congratulations. And he wished us eternal love and happiness.”
Zach covered his reaction well, working hard to fight apprehension.
“I hope his wish comes true,” she said, soft hands encircling his neck.
But Zach barely heeded her words. With dark thoughts revving in his mind, marring the singular moment, he held on to his wife and unborn child, anticipating rough rapids ahead. But her satin kiss doused the kindling blue fire, distracting him yet again. For now.
Crime & Counterpoint Page 43
