Free Unchained by Suzanne Halliday, Jenny Sims Page B

let any of the dozen or so cats out of the bag that were currently causing a ruckus at home. Meghan would have plenty of time to play Lady of the Manor. She didn’t need to involve herself while they were honeymooning because all the bullshit would still be there when they got back. Plus, he wasn’t so blissed out that he didn’t realize his brotherly posse in Arizona was keeping things from him, too.
    But following the exhausting run up to the wedding and the endless hoopla of their weeks in Boston, he wanted his wife to relax. To unplug and just be. Their quaint and cozy Spanish finca was so far off the grid that he’d easily found the unspoiled togetherness he had hoped for—as long as Justice or their parents didn’t interfere.
    He had to hand it to his parents. After they had returned to the vineyard following the group visit to Arizona, they’d kept their distance even though they were just a few hours away. It was because of his intense desire to carve out as much quality privacy as possible that he’d reluctantly given in and taken his excited bride to the family winery for a quick and very perfunctory visit.
    His parents understood. This time, when it was just the two of them, it had sacred overtones. What they’d started to build during their time in Arizona and what they’d brought to their first months of married life was the foundation they’d need for a long, happy life.
    But the time had come, he groused, to start dropping breadcrumbs. Their business in Washington would eventually wrap up, and it was almost time to go home. He needed to prepare her for what awaited them on the Justice compound.
    Her stomach picked that moment to rumble. He’d better feed her before they had those drinks he poured. The last thing he needed was a drunk wife with an overly lively sex drive.
    Actually, maybe that was exactly what he needed. What they both needed. A bit of letting their hair down and turning the filters off before life came crashing down around them.
    Snickering as he guided her onto his lap, Alex brought her hand around his neck and squeezed her fingers. When they wrote the definitive book on sex positions—this one would be his favorite. Fully clothed, focused entirely on each other and his Irish Fuck Goddess settled comfortably on his lap. He didn’t need to get inside her to be inside her.
    Giving his inner dialogue the finger, he thought, Yeah, whatever. Makes perfect sense to me.
    “Why, Mrs. Marquez, I do believe your stomach is growling. Have I neglected your gastronomical needs?”
    “Oh, for god’s sake, Alex.” She laughed as her whole face lit up. “Gastronomical needs? No wonder Da thinks you’re some kind of Spanish royalty. Cut it out, would you?”
    After a quick palming of her butt, he pinched her through the flimsy cotton dress she wore. “Getting too clever for your own good, you’re spoiling all my fun.”
    “What the hell does that mean?” Her lush smile was enchanting.
    “I just mean,” he drawled, “that you’re getting better at avoiding saying shut up. Cut it out? Isn’t that just a smarter-ass way of cutting me off?”
    Batting her eyelashes, she feigned a simper with a lip bite to stop from giggling. He’d taught her well.
    “Major Marquez. Sir.” The wicked way the taunt sparkled in her expression made him instantly hard.
    Yes. It really was that simple.
    She continued with a naughty wiggle for emphasis. “I have to insist you shut up.”
    He liked this game they played. And so did she. It was their trademark. Everyone knew about it, and that only made it more fun.
    Drawing his brows together in a mock scowl, he grabbed a hefty handful of her hair and took control of her head. “Are you mocking your master, wife? I’m serious y’know. Every time you tell me to shut up, you earn spanks. Am I not pinking your ass hard enough? Maybe I should practice more.”
    He yanked and pushed until she rolled on his lap in a sprawl of arms and legs where he proceeded