cardboard twelve-pack of diet cola, and two reusable shopping bags full of groceries. Ah yes, the musky smell of a recently vacuumed carpet. The clean lines of a clutter-free room. The white-tornado effects of a woman’s touch around the place.
“Looks like the good fairy paid us a visit,” he said.
Staci sat in his recliner with her feet up. She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Good fairy! Yeah, she stopped by, but I had to tell her to beat it. You told me not to let anyone in, remember? This is the result of the sweat of my brow, buddy.” She pushed the footrest down and stood up, coming to the door to take the pizza from him.
“Next time you talk to Em tell him it’s high time his guys at Langley invented a robot to clean up after you guys, and stopped relying on your wives, ex-wives, mistresses, and moms for slave labor.” She inhaled deeply. “Canadian bacon and pineapple?”
He nodded.
She frowned slightly, looking touched and confused for just a second before trying gamely to mask her expression. Yeah, he’d gotten her favorite on purpose. It never hurt to play up to your enemy. Better to have them licking your palm than nipping at your ankles.
She’d changed into a T-shirt with enough spandex to make it formfitting and jeans that showed off her round, pert butt. In the old days, he would have slipped his hands into her back pockets and copped a good feel of that nice little ass of hers as he drew her close. He clenched his fist, trying not to think about curvaceous asses.
Standing in front of him, Staci seemed shorter than usual. Her shoes were off. He’d always marveled at how petite and cute her feet were, even clad in light green socks covered with four-leaf clovers.
He arched a brow and flicked his gaze from her feet to her eyes. “Hoping to get lucky?”
She looked around the room as if weighing her options. “Oh, you mean with you?”
He raised both eyebrows, indicating yes.
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, playing the flirt. “Would sleeping with you buy me a ticket out of here?”
“No, but it would be fun.” He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. And halfway meant it. They’d always been phenomenal together in bed.
She made thin eyes at him. “Then, no. I’m merely hoping for enough luck to blow this joint sometime soon.”
“Another hope dashed,” he said and grinned at her.
She turned, walked into the kitchen, and set the pizza on the table as he put the groceries on the counter. She began rummaging through cupboards.
“Plates are in the cabinet on the left,” he told her, chuckling as he pulled a six-pack of beer from one of the bags.
She turned and put the plates on the table, eyeing the groceries. “Are those my reusable bags?”
“Damn! The cherry motif gave me away. I have to learn to be stealthier.” He winked at her. He’d meant to please her.
Instead, she scowled at him. “Just remember to return them. I get them as part of the divorce settlement.”
“Don’t I get half? Isn’t one of them mine?”
“No way. They’re mine, mine, all mine. That cherry pattern’s a classic. You get the plain ones with the grocery store logos on them.”
“And if I protest?”
“Like you want my cherries.”
He arched a brow and shot her a suggestive look. Her fault, she’d stepped into it again. He couldn’t help himself.
“Shut up,” she said. “I’ll argue the plain bags are better for spies like you—less distinctive, call less attention to themselves. Engage me in court in a fight over reusable bags, and your cover’s toast and your secret out.”
“You’re a hard woman.”
She shrugged and opened the pizza box, taking a slice. “How are things at the house?”
“No lurking snipers.”
She sighed. “Pity. The window?”
“Replaced. The house is once again secure for my little wifey.”
She looked ready to throw a can of soda pop at him. “Call me ‘little wifey’ once more and you’re going to need to repair this
“Looks like the good fairy paid us a visit,” he said.
Staci sat in his recliner with her feet up. She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Good fairy! Yeah, she stopped by, but I had to tell her to beat it. You told me not to let anyone in, remember? This is the result of the sweat of my brow, buddy.” She pushed the footrest down and stood up, coming to the door to take the pizza from him.
“Next time you talk to Em tell him it’s high time his guys at Langley invented a robot to clean up after you guys, and stopped relying on your wives, ex-wives, mistresses, and moms for slave labor.” She inhaled deeply. “Canadian bacon and pineapple?”
He nodded.
She frowned slightly, looking touched and confused for just a second before trying gamely to mask her expression. Yeah, he’d gotten her favorite on purpose. It never hurt to play up to your enemy. Better to have them licking your palm than nipping at your ankles.
She’d changed into a T-shirt with enough spandex to make it formfitting and jeans that showed off her round, pert butt. In the old days, he would have slipped his hands into her back pockets and copped a good feel of that nice little ass of hers as he drew her close. He clenched his fist, trying not to think about curvaceous asses.
Standing in front of him, Staci seemed shorter than usual. Her shoes were off. He’d always marveled at how petite and cute her feet were, even clad in light green socks covered with four-leaf clovers.
He arched a brow and flicked his gaze from her feet to her eyes. “Hoping to get lucky?”
She looked around the room as if weighing her options. “Oh, you mean with you?”
He raised both eyebrows, indicating yes.
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, playing the flirt. “Would sleeping with you buy me a ticket out of here?”
“No, but it would be fun.” He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. And halfway meant it. They’d always been phenomenal together in bed.
She made thin eyes at him. “Then, no. I’m merely hoping for enough luck to blow this joint sometime soon.”
“Another hope dashed,” he said and grinned at her.
She turned, walked into the kitchen, and set the pizza on the table as he put the groceries on the counter. She began rummaging through cupboards.
“Plates are in the cabinet on the left,” he told her, chuckling as he pulled a six-pack of beer from one of the bags.
She turned and put the plates on the table, eyeing the groceries. “Are those my reusable bags?”
“Damn! The cherry motif gave me away. I have to learn to be stealthier.” He winked at her. He’d meant to please her.
Instead, she scowled at him. “Just remember to return them. I get them as part of the divorce settlement.”
“Don’t I get half? Isn’t one of them mine?”
“No way. They’re mine, mine, all mine. That cherry pattern’s a classic. You get the plain ones with the grocery store logos on them.”
“And if I protest?”
“Like you want my cherries.”
He arched a brow and shot her a suggestive look. Her fault, she’d stepped into it again. He couldn’t help himself.
“Shut up,” she said. “I’ll argue the plain bags are better for spies like you—less distinctive, call less attention to themselves. Engage me in court in a fight over reusable bags, and your cover’s toast and your secret out.”
“You’re a hard woman.”
She shrugged and opened the pizza box, taking a slice. “How are things at the house?”
“No lurking snipers.”
She sighed. “Pity. The window?”
“Replaced. The house is once again secure for my little wifey.”
She looked ready to throw a can of soda pop at him. “Call me ‘little wifey’ once more and you’re going to need to repair this
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