I carefully pushed Fur and Burr back so when I shut the door I didn’t catch an errant paw or tail, then went to my car, determinedly not looking back at any of the sneaky bums. Yeah, they were aggravating and treated me like a blundering idiot sometimes (which was only fair, since I was one), and teased me and followed me because they were bored and because I might be in trouble, but they were mine.
And that was something else the Antichrist didn’t get.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
A day later, I was on my way back to Hell. Not out of any sense of duty or desire to get better at my job, but to punish my sneaky gorgeous Belstaff-wearing tricky-dick husband. Hell: if I wouldn’t run it out of obligation, I’d run it out of spite. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” I informed him, hands on my hips as I glared down at him
(how can anyone look so edible all the time?)
and deliberately did not return his sleepy smile. It was midafternoon and I would have loved to linger for a nap. But I had responsibilities, dammit, and I was still a little irked. I’d insisted the bugs from my car, the blender, and my shoes
(my shoes!)
be removed. The phones I decided to be okay with. Hey, we lived dangerous lives. And these days, cell phones were pretty much tracking devices anyway. Anyone who thought different hadn’t been paying attention the last ten years. “Or a few days, if I can’t get the time thing figured out.”
“You might try a bank of clocks, all showing whatever time you need,” he suggested—was everyone going to have the same good idea that had never occurred to me?
“Don’t teach your grandma to chew cheese,” I sneered, trying for tough and, given his giggle (a giggle!), failing.
“You do come up with the most charming country colloquialisms, darling.”
I made a mental note to look up “colloquialisms.” “You’re the country kid, not me,” I reminded him. “And you leave my collo—colloqu—you leave it to me. And don’t smirk, you infuriating bastard.”
Too late. “Darling, you forgot to add ‘let that be a lesson to you.’ And I must warn you, if what just happened is supposed to be negative reinforcement, you’re doing it wrong.”
“I am not! Never mind. I’m off to try the clock thing.” I paused, then swooped to press a quick kiss to his mouth. “I’ll really, really try not to be gone two weeks this time. I know you must’ve hated it.” Have I mentioned it was sometimes very, very difficult to stay mad at Eric Sinclair? There he was, all nude and lonesome looking and nude and gorgeous. “You didn’t have to wait so long before texting me to come home.”
“Why do texts work in Hell?” he asked, honestly puzzled.
“Right? A mystery for the ages. I can’t think about it, it makes me really afraid of AT&T. Like, Comcast-afraid.” Everyone in the house feared the amoral tyrants that were Comcast/Xfinity. “But listen, I’m telling you now, my intention is to be in Hell no more than ten or twelve hours. If days start slipping by and you don’t—”
“Hear any shrill whining announcing your return, and/or experience your displeasure when you inevitably discover we’re out of ice?”
“I’m not shrill,” I whined then kissed him again, because what the hell. “And for God’s sake, stock up on ice while I’m gone. Okay.” Another smek!—this one on the nose. “See you soon.”
“Beloved.” His hand shot out. He could have ground every bone in my wrist to splinters, but his grip was gentle. Like a small boa constrictor that liked you.
I sighed and gently pulled free. “Sinclair, just stop. I’ve got to go, and no, you can’t come, we’ve been over this, you’ve got to stay here and king.”
“We have never ‘been over’ it. You studiously avoid the subject.” While I tried to think of a retort he arched a dark brow. “And I had no idea ‘king’ was a verb.”
“Well, it is now. So just stop with all the trying to delay me—”
“Elizabeth.”
“—I don’t want to go, either, but—okay, I’m kind of curious to see how the clock thing goes, and I’ve been thinking about what to do about the girl doing time in Hell’s Orange Julius—”
Elizabeth!
“Ow! Don’t do that inside my head unless someone’s setting you on fire.”
Look at yourself.
I did. Then I was silent for a couple of seconds. Then: I should probably get dressed before I go.
“Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job,” he replied, and do I have to tell you he said it with a sizeable smirk? I could almost see the thought balloon: Won’t bring me back to Hell because she fears control; can’t remember to get dressed for work.