Somebody's Wife: The Jackson Brothers, Book 3 by Jasmine Haynes, Jennifer Skully

left it running while she was out. But she’d had things to do. Didn’t he know how busy she was? Running here, running there, three grocery stores so she could hit all the sales instead of saving time by buying what they needed at one store. She did her best to scrimp and save on every purchase. For him . To make him feel better. Which he never appreciated. He treated her like a child, as if she was incapable of managing the family budget or making necessary spending decisions on her own.
    He would freak at her credit card bill when he saw how much she’d spent on the vibrator, the handcuffs, and the blindfold. He wouldn’t even notice how much she saved on groceries and looking for the cheapest gas. Not to mention the fact that she’d made her bridesmaid dress instead of buying some humongously priced getup she’d never wear again.
    She would not get mad. She’d be an adult and admit her mistake, then when he blew a gasket, the fight would be his fault because she had been calm.
    “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left until it was done.”
    That really cost her a lot to say. He better figure out just how much or she would lose it despite her best intentions.
    He drew a deep breath, then relaxed his shoulders. “I should have fiddled with it yesterday instead of the sink.”
    What? Mitch admitting he might have been wrong? She knew better than to say that .
    “No, no, you did a wonderful job on the sink. I should have told you I wanted to do laundry today, and you would have looked at the washer instead of the sink.”
    God, they sounded like polite strangers. No, it’s my fault. No, no, I beg your pardon, it’s my fault. It might actually be worse than fighting. She just knew what it meant for their evening. It was ruined, all ruined. They’d sit on separate ends of the couch. They’d politely ask what the other wanted to watch on TV. Mitch would probably even do the dishes for her. But on the inside, he’d be pissed, seething with passive-aggressive male bullshit. Popping his antacids and extra-strength aspirins. And by bedtime, they’d be screaming at each other like they always did these last few months.
    Her breath came a little faster, and she could feel her heart beating harder in her chest. She wanted to cry. One day, they’d had one good day, now this. Why did the crummy washer have to give out today instead of next week?
    The tense silence pounded at her eardrums.
    “It’s okay, baby.”
    Baby? He was still calling her baby?
    She didn’t realize she was standing with her eyes squeezed shut until she opened them. He was above her on the top step, his face in shadow, his startling brown gaze liquid and warm. The sun was hot on the top of her head and bright in her eyes.
    “Aren’t you going to yell?” She spoke as softly as he had.
    “I promised I wouldn’t.”
    “You did?”
    “Yeah, last night.”
    He’d said he loved her. She remembered that. But he’d said that before and it didn’t mean they hadn’t gotten into the next fight. What else had he said? She couldn’t remember beyond that incredible mutual orgasm they’d shared.
    “Let’s get some Chinese for dinner.”
    He wasn’t going to yell at her and he was springing for Chinese food? She wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
    “I just have to fold the load in the dryer and put the other load in so it doesn’t sit around wet.”
    He flipped the washer lid open. “It did get through the spin cycle. You go powder your nose, and I’ll take care of the rest of the laundry.”
    Ha. She’d have to refold everything he folded. But she didn’t care. He’d offered, and he was taking her out for dinner. Things weren’t so bad. In fact, they were good, really good. “Okay, honey.”
    As she sidled by him, he trailed his fingers down her arm. “I love you, Connie.”
    She stopped, looked at him, searching for a flicker of insincerity in his too hot eyes. And found none.
    This was getting too good. Almost too good to be