My hands cupped her face as she pressed against me. Olivia kissed like she meant it, and I cursed the console between us. I wanted to rip it out, pull her into my lap, and fog up these windows.
She sighed, a faint, satisfied sound that made me smile. Then she threaded her fingernails through my hair and gave my head a gentle tilt.
“Stop taking over,” I said as I worshipped the curve of Olivia’s top lip.
“I’m not.” Laughing, she trailed a path from my cheek to my neck.
“I only have so much oxygen left before these pants kill me.” I coaxed her mouth back to mine. “These last few moments of life should not be wasted.”
“We’re keeping those pants forever.”
I’d just found the spot beneath her ear that made Olivia’s breath catch when I heard the off-key blare of an air horn.
“Yoo-hoo!” The very familiar voice of Sylvie Sutton broke the atmosphere and crushed all my birthday wishes and dreams.
“Can we ignore her?” I asked as Olivia pulled away and straightened in her seat.
“Trick or treat, you lovebirds!” Sylvie yelled from the porch. “Keep it Rated G in this driveway!”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and counted backward from ten. “Let me guess. This is your grandmother’s house?”
“You got it.”
I ran my hand down her arm, making a thorough study of my disheveled wife. “Are we going to talk about what just happened?”
Suddenly the fair Guinevere couldn’t quite meet my gaze. “You kissed me.”
“You kissed me right back.”
Her focus on the visor mirror, Olivia tidied her hair and straightened her regal crown. “I assumed it was for the sake of our audience.” She snapped the visor shut. “Sylvie still needs plenty more convincing, so thank you.”
The little liar. “Any time. Never let it be said I’m not a giver.”
She flung open her door, peeled herself from the car, and brushed hostile hands against the crooked drape of her dress. “Let’s go, Prince Spandex.”
I smiled to myself. So far this marriage stuff wasn’t half bad.
The Big Dipper winked between the magnolia trees as we walked up the driveway straight to where Sylvie stood with the door held open. She wore a platinum wig and a figure-hugging red dress. To everyone else, she probably looked just like Marilyn Monroe. All I saw was a saboteur.
“Hey, sugars.” She patted her buoyant hair. “You got here just in time. Neighborhood intel reports Little Timmy Johnson’s location is one block and three houses away. That boy makes candy disappear faster than Frannie escapes handcuffs.”
I was learning sometimes it was best not to ask. “Hi, Sylvie,” I said.
Her wig shifted as a strong breeze blew. “You have something to say to me?”
Of course she would take perverse pleasure in my discomfort. “Trick or treat.”
Her pearly white teeth flashed in a grin. “I choose a trick.”
Olivia threw out her hand, as if holding me back from a crash. “Do not respond to that, Lachlan. It’s too dangerous with this one. Sylvie, the man wants candy.”
“Oh, I think he wants more than that.” Olivia’s grandma studied me, and not for the first time, I had the unnerving feeling she could read my mind. “Besides, it just so happens we’re not giving out candy tonight.”
Frannie poked her head out the door. “Only cupcakes.”
I rolled my lace-covered shoulders and released some tension. “Even better.”
“For goodness’ sake.” Frannie, dressed as a cowgirl, rested her hand on what I hoped was a fake holstered pistol. Brown eyes beneath unnaturally long lashes roamed across my form. “I see chest hair and the silhouette of a firm buttocks. Aren’t you just the gift that keeps on giving?”
