Page 57 of Married to the Enemy

Mia’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. She spun in a happy little circle, nearly knocking into Raffe in the process. “That’s a great idea!” She turned to him where he stood stiff as stone, glowering down at her. “Can we? Stay in a hotel? Maybe one with a big tub so we can take a bubble bath?”

Raffe’s brain stuttered. Bubble bath. Mia. Naked. His muscles locked tight, his jaw tightening harder than steel.

From the table, Freddy perked up. “Do hotels still have those little bottles of shampoo? Can you steal some for me?”

Evangeline smirked into her cereal. “Forget the shampoo. Ask for room service. Order champagne and strawberries. Much more romantic.”

“Nonna!” Mia gasped, blushing furiously.

Raffe glanced at the older woman, scandalized, before swinging back to Mia. He cleared his throat, scowling hard enough to crack stone. “No!”

An hour later, Raffe was still grumbling as he drove, glaring daggers at Mia every time she fiddled with the radio dial. She couldn’t seem to settle on a single station. Worse, she started dancing in the passenger seat, belting out “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” as if she were auditioning for karaoke night at a dive bar.

Apparently, Cyndi Lauper needed to be performed at full volume.

If he weren’t so angry at her blatant insubordination, he might have been amused. Might have.

Three rest stops, two “I just need more snacks!” detours, and seven hours later, he finally pulled up in front of the hotel Mia had insisted on.

This wasn’t the no-frills, discreet kind of hotel he would have chosen for an undercover agent to blend in. Nope. Evangeline and Freddy, those traitors, had apparently gone online and made reservations at The Waldorf Astoria.

The valet took one look at his battered truck and sniffed, as if personally insulted. Mia’s giggle made Raffe’s teeth grind.

Resigned, he climbed out. He was an FBI agent, battle-hardened, disciplined. But this woman…she was going to get him killed with a smile on her lips.

Another staff member was already pulling their bags out of the back. Mia rushed over to lace her fingers through his. “What time is your meeting?” she asked, leading him toward the doors held open by a uniformed doorman.

“Whenever I get there,” he muttered, scanning the lobby with the instincts of a man who never truly stopped working. Crystal chandeliers, polished marble, the scent of fresh flowers. It was all too…clean. Too public.

“Stop being so grumpy,” Mia teased, sliding her hand over his chest in a gesture that blanked his thoughts about the marble floors entirely.

At the reception counter, she beamed at the clerk. “I’m Mia Calvino. My grandmother, Evangaline Santini, made a reservation for us?”

Instant transformation. The clerk’s bland expression smoothed into one of polite deference. “Of course, Ms. Calvino! Your grandmother reserved the presidential suite for you and your husband.” Her eyes flicked up at Raffe, and she smiled far too warmly.

He frowned back. He wasn’t in the mood for female attention, unless it came from the infuriating woman beside him.

Card keys exchanged, a bellhop tipped, and five minutes later, the door to the suite slammed shut behind him. Raffe turned, ready to deliver a stern lecture, one that she couldn’t ignore. She was going to be educated about authority. About understanding danger. And about how she couldn’t just tag along when he told her something was dangerous.

But the words never left his lips.

Because his beautiful, disobedient, obnoxiously adorable, sexy wife pulled her T-shirt over her head.

He froze.

Without hesitation, she shimmied out of her jeans. His mouth went dry. His body hardened instantly, betraying his noble intention to lecture her.

“You’re not playing fair,” he growled, already moving toward her, his authority collapsing like a house of cards.

Her panties hit the floor.

She turned, glancing back at him over her shoulder. And then her perfect, incredible ass swayed away from him, straight into the bedroom.

Yeah, she was cheating.

But he didn’t give a damn.

Chapter 42