"No."

"You seriously haven't considered what would happen if I tried to leave?"

"Not at all," he says. "Back… before… I would've just dragged you right back. But now, if you walk away from me, I suppose I just hope I don't miss you."

"You hope you don't miss me?"

"Yeah, but I don't think it would be a problem," he says, pushing away from the counter, strolling toward me. "After all, I'm a pretty good shot."

I gasp when it strikes me what he's saying, and he grabs ahold of me, wrapping his arms around me, laughing. He's laughing.

"Not funny, Naz," I growl, trying to push him off, but he refuses to let go. "Not funny at all."

"Ah, come on," he says, kissing the top of my head before loosening his hold. "Admit it… it was a little funny."

I glare at him, not at all amused, which only makes him laugh even more.

"Look, you really want to leave me, Karissa? Then I suppose I just… watch you walk away." He shrugs, as if it's just as simple as that, as if he'd just let me go. "Are you trying to tell me something? Planning your escape?"

"No, of course not," I say, shaking my head. "I don't even know why I'm asking. I think the detective just threw me off with what he said."

"Well, it's nonsense," he says. "You've had ample opportunity to send me up the river… you could've easily gotten me locked up long ago just by opening your mouth. I didn't need to marry you to gain your silence. You've given it to me from the start. If you didn't turn on me then, when you had plenty of reason to, I trust that you won't do it now, ring or no ring. I married you, Karissa, because I love you. Nothing more, nothing less."

As many times as he's said those words… I love you… it still makes my stomach flutter to hear them come from him. The butterflies soar. He's not an outwardly emotional person, not at all, so when he says it, I know he means it.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him. His lips are soft, sweet. His tongue tastes like peppermint. "I love you, too, you know."

"I know."

My gaze shifts past him, out into the backyard. Killer is running around, excitedly chasing butterflies, wanting to play with them. He'd never dare hurt one. Naz usually puts him out there whenever it's just the two of them alone.

My guys, they still aren't quite fond of each other.

"So I guess you really did do nothing today," I say, turning back to Naz, looking him over, as my fingertips tinker with the hair at the nape of his neck. He's dressed nice. He smells like Heaven, woodsy and aquatic and so very him. He even shaved this morning. It's a rare occurrence, Naz being completely clean-shaven. "I don't know why you bothered to even put on a suit."

"I've told you before… I don't need to do anything to put on a suit. I'll put one on to answer the door, to order take-out, to sit at my desk… hell, I'll put one on just to fuck."

A chill rolls through me, tingling creeping up my spine. "That sounds nice."

"Which part?"

"Fucking."

"Huh." He leans down, his nose brushing mine. His cheek comes to rest against my cheek as he whispers in my ear, "Is that what you want? Me to take you upstairs and fuck you silly, Jailbird?"

It still gets to me whenever he calls me that. Jailbird. I can feel my body flushing, every inch of me warming in anticipation. "Uh-huh."

I can barely get the response out. My voice is breathy, needy. He chuckles quietly at my obvious reaction, his lips lightly skimming along my skin, his teeth grazing my earlobe. My eyes close, feeling his hands slip beneath my shirt, stroking the skin along the small of my back before his rough fingertips trail up my spine.

I lose myself in the moment, practically panting and close to just climbing him like a fucking mountain, when a loud noise echoes through the kitchen around us, startling me. My eyes snap open. I instantly pull away.

It's a song, I realize, after a second, as it continues blaring.

Hotline Bling.

What the ever-loving fuck?

Groaning at the interruption, Naz reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. The ruckus... the song... is coming from it.

Seriously. What?

He casts me a look as he presses a button on the phone, silencing the sound. I think he might've hung up on the caller, with the way he just stands there, but he brings the phone to his ear after a moment. "Hello."

I can't hear whoever is on the line, but Naz listens intently, his expression guarded. "Give me about twenty minutes and I'll be on my way."

He hangs up, slipping the phone back into his pocket, and advances toward me but I hold out my hands to stop him. "What the hell was that?"

He hesitates. "What?"

"That song," I say. "That ringtone."

"Oh, you don't like it?"

"I, uh..." What am I supposed to say? "I don't know, do you?"

He shrugs. "It's not the worst I've heard."

He tries to kiss me, leaning in, but I move my head out of the way. "No, seriously, Naz, what the hell? Where did it come from?"

He gives up, at least temporarily, and takes a step back, cocking an eyebrow at me. "I downloaded it today. Figured I could use a new ringtone."

"But that?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, but..."

"But what?"

"But it's not you."

"Not me?"

"Besides, you don't even like music. You told me it was just noise, and pointless, and you didn't like it."

"True."

"So what the hell? Is this, like, some kind of mid-life crisis?"

"Ouch," he says, laughing. "I'm not that old."

"Okay, you're not, but really... what gives?"

Different.

So goddamn different.

He stares at me in silence for a solid minute, long enough to make me start to squirm under his gaze. Finally, he steps forward, his hand slipping around the back of my neck, gripping it as he steers me toward him.

"I'm down to fifteen minutes before I have to leave," he says, his voice stone cold serious. "So do you want to talk about Drake some more, or do you want to go upstairs and fuck?"

Well, when he puts it like that...

"Fifteen minutes," I say. "Is that long enough?"

His expression cracks at my question, a cocky smile turning his lips as the dimples come out. "Sweetheart, all I need is five."

"I'll take the second option, then," I tell him, "but I see no reason to have to go upstairs for it."

Naz's face hovers in front of mine, his mouth so close I can practically taste his breath. Softly, his lips brush against mine, as he whispers, "I like the way you think."

I go to kiss him, but before I can, he spins me around so my back is against him, his arm snaking around my waist, gripping me tight. He drags me across the room, shoving me against the kitchen counter so hard that it knocks the breath from my lungs.

I gasp, inhaling sharply, as he unbuttons my jeans and tugs on them, yanking them down my legs. I try to help, try to kick them off, and manage to get one leg free before he gives up. One of his hands slips down the front of my panties, his fingers roughly stroking my clit, as his other works on his own zipper, doing nothing more than yanking it down to free himself. He strokes his cock a few times before pushing my panties down my thighs, giving up when they reach my knees.