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"We going to play poker or are you going to make love to inanimate objects all night?"
He shot a look at Josh. "Inanimate, my ass. Honeys like this have more personality and sex appeal than half the women you dated."
"Shows that you haven't met the women I've dated."
"I dated some of them myself." Michael strolled toward the front door, glancing over his shoulder at the cars, then at Josh. "Including your wife."
Josh's grin faltered and so did his feet. "You never dated Margo."
"Didn't I?" Enjoying himself, Michael climbed the short flight of wooden steps. "I seem to recall a couple of interesting evenings in France."
"You're just trying to psych me out."
And it was working. "Ask her," Michael said mildly.
Damned if he wouldn't. His head reeling with visions he didn't want, Josh reached around and opened the door. Two big yellow dogs raced forward and flung themselves at the newcomers.
"Nip, Tuck, sit." Byron called out the order as he stepped into the wide living area. The dogs sat, butt to butt, and continued to vibrate. "You can put the beer in the kitchen. Thanks." He motioned the driver toward the kitchen. "Think you brought enough?"
"We run out," Josh said, "we send for more. Got food?"
"I whipped up a few things."
Unable to resist two lolling tongues and two pairs of adoring eyes, Michael crouched and made friends with the dogs. "You cook?"
"How do you think he got me to marry him?" Kate stepped out, smiled thinly.
"You still here?" Josh moved over to tug her hair. "Go play with your own kind."
She elbowed him away. "I was just leaving. But I want to say that the concept of the all-male poker game is a Neanderthal practice that I find insulting, particularly when it's taking place in my own house."
Being a wise man, Byron limited himself to rolling his eyes behind her back. But Michael didn't have to live with her. He straightened, grinned.
"Yeah, yeah, tell it to Gloria Steinem and get lost."
"I have no desire to stay and listen to a bunch of fools belch, snort, and tell lies about the women they've had." Chin lifted, she snatched her purse from a chair.
"And I was going to tell Byron all about that night I picked you up on Fisherman's Wharf and we—"
"Shut up, Mick." Her brows drew together, her color rose. "I'm leaving."
"Wait a minute." Her husband made a grab, missed. "What night?"
"It was nothing." She seared Michael with a look. "It was nothing."
"Aw, sugar," Michael murmured. "Now you've hurt my feelings."
"Men are pigs," she tossed back as she slammed the door behind her.
"Well, that got rid of her," Michael decided. "Where are the cards?"
"Margo and Kate?" Josh eyed him narrowly.
"Can't fault my taste, can you?" Michael tucked his hands in his pockets. "Like I said, where are the cards?"
"Men deserve their little rituals." Susan stretched out on the long arm of the conversation pit in the family room. "Just as we deserve ours."
"I don't mind." Snuggled back against a mountain of pillows, Margo nibbled from a bowl of popcorn. "Kate gets huffy."
