Page 17 of Kingpin

I quirked an eyebrow. “You do your own laundry?”

She snickered. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“No.”

She quickly looked up at me. “Oh. Well. Yes, I do my own laundry. I know how to pre-treat certain stains and things like that. But this amount of blood? I can’t fix that.”

“No matter. I didn’t expect you to. I have a dry cleaner across town who handles needs like this.”

She wet the washcloth again. “Good. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Why do you care?”

Again, her face almost look believably hurt. “What?”

“Why do you care if I’m hurt, Brianna?”

Her eyes slowly lifted to mine, and her angelic beauty caught me off guard.

“Because you’re my husband, Israel. And that’s my job.”

I pulled my hand away from hers and gripped her chin. She gasped softly, parting those pillowy lips as my eyes danced along her face. Just as I suspected. She practically looked like a different fucking person underneath all that clown makeup.

She was breathtaking.

“You’re prettier without all the makeup,” I said.

She blinked. “You…think so?”

“Try a lighter look next time. It’ll suit you better.”

She nodded softly. “Okay. I can do that.”

My hand fell away from her chin, but so did the heat of her skin. I wanted to feel more of it. More of her. Damn it, my day had been long. Fraught with bullshit I hadn’t been prepared for. I hated being ambushed. I hated it when people thought they could pull the wool over my eyes. But as my hand threaded through her thick auburn locks, I felt the stressors of my workday fading away. Women usually didn't have that effect on me. I kept my emotions out of it—too dangerous. But her…that hair…that skin.

“Is this really your natural hair color?” I asked.

Her eyes fluttered closed. “It is, yes.”

“I could’ve sworn you had black hair.”

She sighed. “It was dyed that way for a while. Mom thought it was a more natural color on me with my skin tone.”

“Huh. Does anyone in your family have this color hair?”

“My uncle.”

“Which one?”

I watched her swallow hard. “My father’s older brother. He had auburn hair.”

“Had?”

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I understood. I brushed it away with my thumb right as she tried pulling away. I gripped her hair firmly. Then I brought her eyes back to mine as my free hand settled against the small of her back.

“My apologies,” she whispered.

My nose nuzzled hers. “No need to apologize. Losing someone we love is always hard.”

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