Page 69 of Kyle

“What?” she choked back a laugh.

“It’s not fuckin’ little,” Dec argued. “The son of bitch can get thirty-two inches long. That ain’t little, friend.”

“Told you.” I squeezed Anaya’s thigh. “He gets a little worked up when someone mentions a two-foot-long penis. Not sure if it’s size envy or if he really has herpetophobia. Either way, he freaks the fuck out if he sees a snake.”

“Listen, fucker, when you live in Brazil for as long as I did, it’s not fear, it’s survival.”

“You lived in Brazil?” Anaya asked. “I was in Uruguay once and got to travel up to Brazil. Rio Grande. I was only there one day but it was beautiful. Did you like living in the country?”

Declan’s face turned to stone. All traces of humor gone.

“Didn’t get to see much. I was working all the time.” Dec stood and said, “I’m headin’ up to catch some sleep.”

“What’d I say?” Anaya whispered when Declan disappeared around the corner.

I waited until I heard the bedroom door upstairs close before I answered.

“There are a lot of bad memories for him in Brazil.”

“Work stuff?” she pressed.

“Work and personal. He lost something there that he shouldn’t have. And to top that off, Violet was kidnapped and taken to Brazil, then Eric died. All things he wishes he could forget but can’t.”

The front door opened and in walked the rest of my team, along with Emerson and Tatiana.

There goes our alone time.

I can’t catch a goddamn break.

Chapter 21

“Do you want another glass of wine?” Emerson whispered.

I nodded and pushed my empty glass across the island as quietly as I could.

With a wink she filled it halfway and went back to stirring the from-scratch spaghetti sauce she’d made.

“You think you should drink a second glass?” Thad asked with one brow raised.

Dammit. Busted.

“How do you do that?” I asked in an effort to divert attention from my wine.

“Do what?” he chuckled. “Sense when my wife is participating in a covert operation?”

“Covert operation,” Emerson sorted. “Hardly. And be quiet.”

“You asking me to be quiet proves my point, Emmy.”

“Who’s planning an operation?” Kyle asked, coming into the kitchen, his eyes zeroing in on my glass before they came to mine and narrowed. “You won’t be able to take a pain pill tonight if you drink that.”

“I’ve been fine with Motrin all day,” I reminded him.

“You have. But if you need something stronger you won’t be able to take it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“All right.” Then he turned to Emerson. “Smells great in here.”