She’d never call Smith males “womanizers.” Although she would call them whores.
Shelly LaurenstonMace let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s bad enough we have the baby. Which I was accepting of because he’s mine.”
“That’s real big of ya, hoss.
We told you about our first time,” Phil coaxed.
“You didn’t tell me anything. I was there. In a sleeping bag across the room desperately trying to mind my own business. But you, sir, are a screamer.
No, you’ll regret it in the morning.”
“But it’ll make me happy now.
She pushes you because she wants you to be the best.”
“The best at what? Matricide?
Sissy could walk home while you drive me and the groceries back.”
“Or,” Sissy countered, “I could gut you here and let your rotting corpse attract the hyenas while we go home and enjoy a nice, quiet meal at my parents’ house.”
Mitch thought about that a moment but finally shook his head. “That doesn’t really work for me.
He may have his mother’s gray–green eyes, but this wonderful little boy—and Smitty’s godson—still had the cold, hard expression of a predator. Just like his daddy.
Shelly LaurenstonThey stared at each other for several seconds. Finally, Mitch said, “Thanks for your high level of concern.”
“It doesn’t quite live up to your high level of whining.
Sissy didn’t know feeding Mitch would be so enjoyable—except for the expense, of course. He’d pretty much groaned and purred during the whole meal. Everything she put in front of him made him smile, and then he’d feed like he hadn’t eaten in days.
Shelly LaurenstonBack then, they’d liked their cars the way they’d liked their men. Big, powerful, and mean.
Shelly Laurenston« first previous
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