Brenna smacks the frying pan down onto the stovetop and whirls on me. This whole time I’ve been contributing the flush of her cheeks to embarrassment, but the fire spitting from her Irish green eyes tells me it’s rage coloring them. “She’s not here at the moment, and most likely won’t return any time soon. Not as long as she has a husband who would rather not touch her and who uses his own hand for pleasure instead of using his perfectly willing wife.”
