Page 95 of This Wild Heart

I rolled my eyes and Anya answered around a wide smile. “Exactly.”

“So I shouldn’t ask about his?—”

“Goodbye, Vida,” Anya interrupted, her cheeks flushed.

Vida laughed good-naturedly, and I shook my head as Anya disconnected the call.

“It’s a good thing I love her,” Anya muttered.

“That’s how I feel about every person I’m related to.”

She laughed. “You have a great family, Parker.”

I pulled in a deep breath. “I know.”

Anya glanced at her phone, and before I put the truck in reverse, I saw an impressive to-do list. “Looks like it’s back to work for both of us.”

She nodded, giving me a quick, searching look. “I guess this means the honeymoon’s over, huh?”

Something pinched under my ribs, and I ignored it.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Chapter 26

Anya

There was only one logical way for me to try to shove Parker into his own lock box in the back of my mind, and that was blatant, copious distraction techniques.

I hardly even noticed the smell of food until Parker set a plate of sexy-looking pasta beside my laptop. From the moment we got home, I’d camped out on the couch, working on all the stuff I’d effectively ignored during our time with the Wilders. Considering the proverbial honeymoon was over as soon as he left for training camp the following morning, I knew I had to get my ass in gear. Vida had emailed over a list meant to take me the entire week, but I’d cranked through almost the entire thing since we arrived back at Parker’s house.

Spike was happy to see us. Well, he was happy to see me and Leo. Parker got a haughty growl, which was an impressive step up from a warning hiss.

It was typical for me to lose track of time when I got rolling, and I’d churned out enough social media posts to get us through the next month, and reviewed all the resumes she’d sent my way. Food, apparently, had slipped my mind, because the smell of whatever he’d just made had my stomach letting out an angry growl that sounded a lot like Spike on a bad day. I pushed my blue light glasses up onto the top of my head and stared blankly at the meal.

“What’s this?”

“Food. Typically we eat it.”

As he sat on the couch, hardly half a cushion between us once he’d spread his legs out, I gave him a dry look. “Where did it come from? I checked the freezer when we got home, and it didn’t look like Louise left us anything. Figured we’d order out or something.”

His jaw worked on a bite, the muscles shifting in a way that drew my helpless gaze. “I think she’s meddling.”

My eyebrows arched. “Is that on her list of duties?”

“Apparently. I pay her a small fortune, too, so she’s really trying to get her money’s worth.” He slapped a Post-it on the table.

I leaned forward, reading the messy cursive handwriting out loud.“Cook some food for your wife. Trust me.” My eyes raised to his. “You might be right.”

Parker whistled. “Alert the presses. I want that in print.”

I snorted, twirling my fork into the skinny noodles coated in a fragrant sauce. When I took my first bite and the rich sauce hit my tongue, I let out a low, blissful moan. My tongue darted out to catch some sauce on my bottom lip, and when I opened my eyes, Parker’s gaze was locked on my mouth.

A single wrong move, and I knew what that look meant. It meant no clothes and multiple orgasms. It meant nails down his back and my hands locked tight in his hair. That one time felt like a fever dream with the benefit of time passing without any more. No one was supposed to live in a fever dream; you weren’t supposed to live in the high. Because the crash afterward was always spectacular.

Stop. Think. Don’t jump just yet.

That was my brain, and it was so much louder than anything else.

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