Page 65 of Dirty Lyrics
We’re standing by the massive windows in the living room of our new house—the house I gave her as a Christmas present.
Our forever home.
It’s perfect.
Big enough for a family.
Warm. Safe. Ours.
Of course, it’s outfitted with a home studio that can rival any professional setup out there.
Yes, it’s soundproof.
What can I say? I know I’ll have to go to the other place Balor bought to record from time to time, but I couldn’t stand the idea of being away from her for too long.
Outside, delivery guys are schlepping the last of the nursery furniture up the icy drive.
It’s been slow going with the storm, but today’s the final push. Just the finishing touches before my son arrives.
I narrow my eyes when one idiot loses his grip and the antique cradle Maya picked out for the baby tips sideways.
My gut clenches as one of the legs cracks.
“Oh, hell no.”
I storm outside, boots crunching in the snow, fury rolling through me.
“Do you have any idea what you just did?” I bark, stalking over to inspect the damage. “That’s not some cheap crib from Target—that’s an antique my wife picked out! Do you even understand how important that is?”
The guy stammers. “Hey, man, it’s not my fault. It’s icy?—”
“Of course it’s your fault,” Chuy growls appearing beside me. “We shoveled, salted—there’s literally nothing to slip on. You just weren’t paying attention.”
I grin. I love that about Chuy.
He’s as protective of Maya as I am these days. She does that to people.
Makes them fall for her, want to keep her happy.
Hell, half the guys I know would die for her.
But she’s mine.
And I make sure they all know exactly where I draw the line between grateful and homicidal.
Now, I’m still chewing the delivery guy out when I hear her voice from the door.
“Rico?”
“Hold on, Songbird, I just wanna see what this idiot did?—”
“Rico!” Louder this time.
Something in her tone freezes my blood.
“What?” I snap, turning just in time to see her tense.
Her whole body goes forward, her hand flying to her belly.
