Free Hard to Hold by Incy Black Page B

most of your warnings when we were
     married, and Will’s already told me you are on your last one. Don’t let them kick
     you out because of me. You won’t survive without the Service.”
    “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence—” And as if sarcasm wasn’t enough, he again
     toasted her briefly before taking another swig of his beer. “—but if I survived you,
     baby, I can survive anything. Fortress stays in place, though admittedly, I’ve stood
     the men down tonight as you’re with me.”
    She’d taken to examining her wrist. He hadn’t hurt her when he’d grabbed her. He’d
     made sure of it. Still, she had to punish him, which again wasn’t like her. Damn it,
     she was deflecting, hiding something. “’Fess up, Anna. What’s going on?”
    “Nothing. I just don’t like being controlled, and I certainly don’t appreciate you
     trying to do so behind my back.” She reached for her drink, sipped, and grimaced,
     before continuing. “You remind me of the past, Nick, when it’s something I prefer
     to forget.”
    “There you go with the nastiness again. Must be the pregnancy.”
    She actually flinched. He wasn’t sure whether from his accusation of nastiness or
     his reminder she was pregnant. Either way the color drained from her cheeks. He hadn’t
     meant to hurt her. Damn it, he’d been teasing. “Come on, it’s late. I’d better get
     you home.”
    Home? Jesus. He didn’t need the memory that little word conjured. He hadn’t cared
     that the apartment they shared had been the size of a shoebox made even smaller by
     Anna’s untidy clutter. Wanting her safe when he was away, he’d gladly sacrificed space
     for the smartest neighborhood. She’d been his home. Having her and all her craziness to return to after a dirty assignment
     had kept him sane—until he’d started fucking up.
    “Come on, we’re leaving. I have to get back to work,” he repeated, unable to keep
     the sharp bite from his tone.” And because he was an asshole and regret was swilling
     in his gut, he had to go and add, “And just to confirm what I said earlier, get used
     to having me around, because I am now in charge.”
    “Of the case, maybe, Nick, but not of me. Try it, and I’ll fight you every inch of
     the way.”
    “That’ll make a nice change.”
    Her mouth tightened, her eyes spat lethal splinters. Oh, shit. He’d promised himself
     he wouldn’t provoke her—massive fail.
    She edged in close enough for him to smell the waning trace of the perfume she favored—Jean
     Patou’s 1000, heavy with dark, rich notes that tempted him to grab her, throw her
     down on the table, and love her into submission. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it
     before.
    “Huge mistake, Nick. Huge.” She’d thrust from her seat and was halfway across the
     dance floor before he caught up with her, his own anger simmering.
    “What the hell do you think you are doing now?”
    She scowled, then one hand to a cocked hip, she had the nerve to smile. “It’s early
     yet. A new band’s up in a moment. I thought I’d stay and enjoy myself.”
    Jesus, trying to keep up with her mercurial mood swings was going to kill him. “You’re
     pregnant,” his reminded her disapprovingly.
    “Guess what? I know. And dancing is supposed to be an excellent relaxant. Want to
     join me?”
    He caught the wicked laughter—more a mocking taunt—in her eyes and swallowed the reflexive
     “hell no.” Two could play at this game.
    He moved in close, close enough for the cotton stretched across his chest to kiss
     the silk skimming her breasts, and tasted victory when she gasped and retreated a
     step. He followed, closing the gap. Then, with his mouth real close to her ear, he
     whispered, “Tell you what. Sooner or later there will be a slow number. I’ll join
     you then.”
    Her hand shot out to grasp his arm as he turned away. “Wait up. You hate dancing.
     You’re supposed to leave.”
    “Can’t. I stood your security