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Mika is sexy, but this side of him? God, it has me creaming my panties.
“Are you like this to all your patients?” I ask while I scoop a spoonful of cream mushroom soup. I’ve made the couch my temporary home.
“You’re not a regular patient, doll. You’re my wife.”
“We haven’t had sex in two weeks.”
His eyes lock onto me and narrow. His nostrils flare, and he grits his teeth. “You’re not okay yet. You need to get better.”
“And then you’ll fuck me?”
Mika presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Max, stop.”
“Are you not attracted to me right now because I look like a potato sack? Because I look like shit?”
“You’ll never look like shit to me … ever.”
Pushing the bowl from the edge of the coffee table, I snuggle closer to him and dig my chin into his arm, making him smile. “Your sense of humor is nowhere to be found.”
He wraps an arm around me and pulls me to him, planting his lips on the top of my head. “Sorry. Just a bit worried about you.”
I shake my head. “I love you, Mika. You’re the best husband in the world.”
“How many husbands have you had?”
“I mean, eight if you include?—”
I don’t finish my sentence because his fingers press lightly on my sides, and laughter bubbles from within me. I squirm and try to get away from him, but he grabs my legs and pulls me back to him. “Say that again, doll.”
“Fine. I’ll be honest. You’re the tenth!”
Between gasping and laughing, Mika manages to cradle my cheek in his palm and kiss me.
If there’s one thing I’ll always be thankful for, it’s meeting and falling for Mika. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Bar none.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
MIKA
One thing about my wife—she becomes an entirely different person when she’s in a negotiation.
I learned it the hard way when she stubbornly refused to let go of the German Shepherd we found in the grocery parking lot and ‘announced’ we were going to adopt him. She went through various reasons why he should come home with us, and I was equally impressed by how logical she sounded and how she made it seem like it was a mutual decision.
Her negotiating and debating skills are unparalleled. Almost 100% of the time, she emerges victorious.
Maybe not this time. Not when she’s facing someone with the same stubbornness, quick thinking, wit, and ruthlessness as her—our nine-year-old daughter, Mara.
“We are not buying a newLord of the Ringsbook. You haven’t even finished book one yet. I’m not even sure it’s an age-appropriate read.” Max rests her palms on her hips—the power stance she does when she’s trying to make me back down from an argument.
I have to swallow back a laugh when Mara does the same. She even stands straighter and squares her shoulders as if she doesn’t just come to her mother’s waist. “Mom, it’s a limited edition.”
“It’s the same book.”
“It has maps and illustrations.”
“Instead of the same book, why don’t we just buy you Harry Potter?”
“No. I don’t like Harry Potter.”
