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His strong hand palms the back of my neck, and warm, dry lips claim mine. I inhale a sharp breath, and Jacob’s tongue slides inside my mouth. He’s whisky flavored.
I am not supposed to be attracted to my wife. To find her intelligent, kind-hearted, brave, fascinating. Most of all, I’m not supposed to like her and enjoy her company.
“Just so you know,” Brenna rasps out. “You don’t present a very good case for me to not ditch my bodyguard again.” I blink at her words, and then throw my head back in laughter. When was the last time someone made me laugh like this? Never. Once I get myself under control, I cross my arms and stare down at my unpredictable and highly entertaining wife.
“I was named after my mother’s grandfather. Giacobbe Alfio Cantore. She loved the American spelling, so I became Emilio Jacob Ricci.” “Why don’t you go by Emilio? That sounds more like the name of a mafia boss,” she says.
I reach out to take her hand. “I don’t. I wouldn’t want you to change a single thing about yourself.”
“Did you mean that?” I ask on a whisper. “Mean what?” “That you’d kill anyone who touched me?” I should be horrified at the thought, yet I can’t find it in me. “You are my wife. I’d burn the world to ash for you.”
