good-night and enlisting her to sneak down and take care of the damage, but I ruled that one out immediately. Killing demons and mutilating their slave labor together might be one for the memory book. Sending her out to dispose of the remains by herself though? That just didn’t seem right.
“We should have brought a bottle of wine up with us,” Stuart said, bringing me back to a much more pleasant reality.
“It’s almost morning,” I protested as I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed next to him. If Eddie hadn’t taken the hint, there was nothing I could do except sneak downstairs as soon as Stuart fell asleep again. “I could maybe handle a mimosa, but I’m thinking that wine isn’t really my thing right now.”
He pulled me close and started stroking my hair. “No? What is your thing?”
Ten seconds earlier, I probably could have come up with a response to that. Right then, though, my brain was turning to mush, the result of my husband’s concentrated attention and my severe lack of sleep. “Um,” I managed.
“My thoughts exactly,” he said. He kissed me then, and I curled against him, feeling warm and safe and a million miles from the battle in the backyard only minutes before.
“Don’t you have to get up at the crack of dawn?” I asked, which wasn’t really a protest because to be honest I was starting to get with the program.
“I didn’t even set the alarm clock,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, jarred out of my haze enough to sit up and twist around to look at him.
“Can’t a man simply want to spend Saturday morning with his family?”
“ A man can,” I agreed. “Sure. But you’re Stuart Connor, Candidate for Change, remember? And it’s been months since you’ve gone to sleep without setting the alarm. Doesn’t Clark need you at the office in the morning? The primary is practically nipping at your heels.”
“True enough,” Stuart said, then pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I told him I needed a few hours in the morning with my family.”
“You did?” I felt warm and tingly all over, at least for the fifteen seconds before that feeling dissolved into cold, hard paranoia. “Why?”
It was a serious question, but my husband only laughed and drew me closer. “Kate,” he murmured. And, suddenly, the idea of Stuart snuggled close without an alarm clock sounded perfectly appealing. I mean, honestly. Why question a good thing?
I didn’t have an answer for that one, and so I let it ride, letting all of my worrisome thoughts drift away on a river of my husband’s kisses.
In case you Were wondering, it is remarkably hard to stay awake after sex. Especially the really nice kind of sex that leaves you all warm and languid and determined to cook your husband the best breakfast ever, despite your lack of culinary skills and your desire to never, ever leave your bed again.
I managed, though. The staying awake, that is. As Stuart rolled over, his arms clutching the pillow in that little-boy way he has, I forced my liquid limbs to push me upright. I sat there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest in the dim glow of the single candle he’d lit on the bedside table. I blew it out, then slid out of bed and pulled on the clothes that had ended up in a heap on the floor.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Stuart was still down for the count, and based on past experience I figured it was a safe bet that he wouldn’t be waking up again for a while. And that was true even if a demon leaped out of the closet and attacked me right then.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to put that theory to test, and I made it downstairs without waking my husband or tripping on a stray toy.
I went first to my purse and grabbed my cell phone to call David. Two rings, then straight to voice mail. “Hey,” I said. “It’s me. Our friend turned up last night after all, and he brought along a buddy. Everything’s fine now, but they
“We should have brought a bottle of wine up with us,” Stuart said, bringing me back to a much more pleasant reality.
“It’s almost morning,” I protested as I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed next to him. If Eddie hadn’t taken the hint, there was nothing I could do except sneak downstairs as soon as Stuart fell asleep again. “I could maybe handle a mimosa, but I’m thinking that wine isn’t really my thing right now.”
He pulled me close and started stroking my hair. “No? What is your thing?”
Ten seconds earlier, I probably could have come up with a response to that. Right then, though, my brain was turning to mush, the result of my husband’s concentrated attention and my severe lack of sleep. “Um,” I managed.
“My thoughts exactly,” he said. He kissed me then, and I curled against him, feeling warm and safe and a million miles from the battle in the backyard only minutes before.
“Don’t you have to get up at the crack of dawn?” I asked, which wasn’t really a protest because to be honest I was starting to get with the program.
“I didn’t even set the alarm clock,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, jarred out of my haze enough to sit up and twist around to look at him.
“Can’t a man simply want to spend Saturday morning with his family?”
“ A man can,” I agreed. “Sure. But you’re Stuart Connor, Candidate for Change, remember? And it’s been months since you’ve gone to sleep without setting the alarm. Doesn’t Clark need you at the office in the morning? The primary is practically nipping at your heels.”
“True enough,” Stuart said, then pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I told him I needed a few hours in the morning with my family.”
“You did?” I felt warm and tingly all over, at least for the fifteen seconds before that feeling dissolved into cold, hard paranoia. “Why?”
It was a serious question, but my husband only laughed and drew me closer. “Kate,” he murmured. And, suddenly, the idea of Stuart snuggled close without an alarm clock sounded perfectly appealing. I mean, honestly. Why question a good thing?
I didn’t have an answer for that one, and so I let it ride, letting all of my worrisome thoughts drift away on a river of my husband’s kisses.
In case you Were wondering, it is remarkably hard to stay awake after sex. Especially the really nice kind of sex that leaves you all warm and languid and determined to cook your husband the best breakfast ever, despite your lack of culinary skills and your desire to never, ever leave your bed again.
I managed, though. The staying awake, that is. As Stuart rolled over, his arms clutching the pillow in that little-boy way he has, I forced my liquid limbs to push me upright. I sat there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest in the dim glow of the single candle he’d lit on the bedside table. I blew it out, then slid out of bed and pulled on the clothes that had ended up in a heap on the floor.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Stuart was still down for the count, and based on past experience I figured it was a safe bet that he wouldn’t be waking up again for a while. And that was true even if a demon leaped out of the closet and attacked me right then.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to put that theory to test, and I made it downstairs without waking my husband or tripping on a stray toy.
I went first to my purse and grabbed my cell phone to call David. Two rings, then straight to voice mail. “Hey,” I said. “It’s me. Our friend turned up last night after all, and he brought along a buddy. Everything’s fine now, but they
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