by Cami Dalton
"Ha, ha," Trace grouched. "Well, at least Alvarez is even more pissed off than I am."
"Good point. Knowing that someone else is suffering more than yourself always tends to have a cheering effect," she teased primly.
"And some private cruise. Cripes, the whole thing was pathetic. Three old farts deciding which recipe's the best and whose tomatoes are the plumpest. Mr. V. foisted off pounds of spaghetti on poor bums like us, the entire crew becoming one massive taste-test group, just so he could beat out his friends." Trace scowled. "At the least, we deserve extra pay."
Chuckling softly, Phoebe rolled over and rested her head on his shoulder. Indulging himself, he ran his fingers through the cool weight of her hair. "Don't laugh," he said. "I have no job. We're going to need all the money we can get."
Phoebe sighed and held out her hand. "You shouldn't have spent so much on my ring. But I love it. And I love you. I don't care about the money."
Trace smirked. "Thus says the woman who's never been poor a day in her life. We'll see what you think of being flat broke when we have nothing to eat and are reduced to living out of my car."
"I think I know where we might be able to get a meal or two. I hear they're always looking for taste testers."
He pinched her. "I'd rather starve, thanks."
Phoebe folded both her hands on his chest then propped up her chin. "I was wondering. Why does your story have to be some big article that sends people to jail? Why not just write about this?"
He stared into her big gray eyes as she talked and felt his chest tighten. Damn, he loved her. Loved touching her whenever he wanted. Lying around in bed. Laughing, and bickering, and making up. He'd never get used to this. Never.
Phoebe had pulled back and was looking at him expectantly. "So what do you think?" she asked.
He shook his head and grinned. "About what?"
"About my idea. I know there are a lot of papers out there that would be interested in running this as a human-interest story. Come on, just picture it. Three ex-Mafia dons, retired and in the spaghetti sauce business? People will love it. You might even be syndicated."
His smile grew wider.
She rolled her eyes and moved up to kiss him hard. "So, what do you think?"
Damn, he loved her. They were going to make it this time. He knew it, and he lowered his voice. "You know what I think, kitten?" he crooned in her ear. "I think you're going to come again. Right—" he slid his hand under the sheet "—about—" and he found her core, silky and wet and slid his fingers deep "—now…"
And what d'ya know, Trace thought smugly. He was right.
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