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“You don’t get angry?”
I smile up at him and shake my head. “No, I don’t. I let that sad, sinking feeling settle, just long enough to appreciate that I still love him enough to allow him to hurt me, and then I carry on. Just with a heavier handful.”
“You’re not wired up right, Lowell. A little anger is good—necessary.”
“Maybe I’m just lucky. Maybe I’ve never truly experiencedthis.” I gesture toward him as if he’s a big angry hulk of a man. “I’ve happily flown under the radar in my little bubble.”
“You think you’re flying under the radar.” He sniggers. “Everyone took notice when you walked in here tonight. They’re taking notice now, too.”
I shrug, my cheeks flaming a little beneath my makeup. “Is that why you came and danced with me, wanted to be seen with theitgirlof the party?”
“It girl?” He laughs freely, throwing his head back, and I inhale it, focusing on him intently in the hope I’ll remember the moment.
“You’re a terrible wingman. Everyone’s staring now because you’re making a scene.”
His laughing smile eases but remains full, as if he can’t control it. “Nah, I told you.” He flexes his fingers against the dip in my back, and I suck in a breath that he without doubt catches. “They were already staring.”
I try to hide my grin and look at his chest. “What happened between ‘I’ve got to get out of here’ andthis,anyway? What brought you back in here?”
“Why is ‘this’ getting deeper and deeper every time you say it?” He smirks down at me, and I loosen my hold on his shoulders.
“Are you going to answer all my questions with one of your own?”
“Will you answer my question?”
I think about it. “I don’t know why.” I shrug. “I like it deep.”
My eyes shoot wide, and I freeze. “Oh, fucknuts, I didn’t mean deep, like fully penetrated depth. I meant deep, like getting a feel of those inside inner bits that people don’t tend to share with strangers.”
My brows pull in, and I shake my head as I backtrack. “But not sexually. Like sharing emotions and shit.”
“Emotions and shit?”
“Yeah.” Goddammit.
“All right. I think I understand.”
I need a drink.
The strongest shot they have.
“Scarlet?” he whispers, his lips ghosting my ear, the smooth pouty skin stretching as he smiles. “I like it deep, too. Really fucking deep.”
I nod, completely rattled. “Deep is good—important.”
“Agreed. I’m glad I found a wife who isn’t afraid to demand a little more….”
“Depth?”
“I was going to say emotion.”
Crap.
“I’m curious, how much depth my wife can take, though?”Did he just?“Is she going to stop me when I make her cry? Will she take more when it’s been a long hard day and I need to off-load?”
He spins us and pulls me back against him. I swear I feel something harden.
I will myself to regain some of the composure I lost down the metaphoric rabbit hole and go for my own strike while he’s least expecting it. “If she does start to cry, she’d probably like it if you covered her mouth and went a little harder. She’d want you to off-load everything you have.”
