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“Blah ... blah ... blah ... ” I picked up his hands and dropped them on my breasts. “I’m a woman, Lucifer.”
He leaned down and nipped at my lower lip. “I’m well aware, Willa.”
“I have needs.”
“Naturally.”
I rolled my eyes. “You really think my lungs can’t handle a little sex?”
Something shifted in Lucifer’s gaze. The lightness of our banter evaporated.
He wasn’t thinking about my past. My husband was struggling with his fear of losing me.
Between slaying the demons of my nightmares and hunting the predators in my life, he spent his free time snapping a pulse oximeter onto my index finger. I’d lost track of how many times I’d awoken to find him counting my breaths.
His palms glided along my heated skin until his strong hands were burrowed in my hair.
I had never been loved so hard.
I swallowed my tears, then brushed back the wet locks that had fallen onto his forehead. “I love you ... with my whole bloody heart.”
Lucifer lowered his head and placed a soft kiss in the center of my sternum. “I love you,” he prayed against my flesh. “I need you.”
Those simple words were branded on my soul like the wedding vows we’d never spoken.
He’d whispered them to me at a time when I couldn’t speak. This time, I could.
“I need you too.”
After he’d bathed me with a tenderness that I knew would always amaze me, we toweled each other off and returned to the master bedroom. Lucifer had a meeting with Amelia Rossi at the FBI’s Boston headquarters in an hour. She said it wasn’t an interrogation, but Lucifer had insisted that Silas Benowitz be there anyhow. Soon, I’d have to meet with the FBI myself; Lucifer couldn’t hold them off much longer.
I didn’t remember much about my brief interaction with Amelia except that she wasn’t a prostitute and Pier 19 wasn’t on my list of places to visit.
Tariq Zoto’s mutilated corpse still haunted me at night.
We dressed in silence. The weight of the unknown had sucked up all the oxygen in the room. Lucifer’s movements were stiff as we navigated the stairs and moved toward the kitchen.
He couldn’t care less about what the FBI wanted. My husband’s internal resources were failing him at the thought of leaving me.
“Give me a minute. I need to speak with Liam.” He squeezed my hand before disappearing into the living room off to the left.
I had wondered which of my fellow felons had drawn the short straw today.
So, Liam t’was.
I rested my hip against the kitchen counter. The Boston Herald lay open. I flipped the pages, skimming for something interesting. I landed on the sports page. Opening Day at Fenway Park was tomorrow. I cringed.
“What’s with the face?”
I glanced up as Lucifer crossed over the threshold of the kitchen doorway. A puzzled expression looked back at me.
It made my heart happy to see him smiling. Liam must have worked some of his Irish magic during their brief chat.
I shrugged. “I’m just realizing that I slept through St. Patrick’s Day. I sorta feel like I’ve committed a crime.”
Another crime.
Lucifer chuckled.
