Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

“The Gremlin is not the point here,” I say, trying to bring us back to the point.

“We were sitting on the same piece of furniture. We weren’t snuggling,” Mateo states.

“I watched her rest her head on your shoulder. She tried to feed you ice cream from her bowl. You guys were super close.”

He grasps his heart in a blatantly mocking gesture. “How close?”

“It’s not funny,” I object. “It hurt my feelings.”

His amusement melts and he adopts a more serious expression. “All right. I didn’t know that. Thank you for telling me.”

His agreement comes too easily and throws me off. I didn’t expect to argue, we rarely argue, but as much as I’ve been putting it off, I expected more pushback than that. “That’s it?”

Quirking a curious eyebrow, light amusement dances in the depths of his handsome brown eyes. “Did you want me to argue?”

“I don’t know.”

He watches me for a few seconds, then abruptly changes the subject. “Is this what you’re wearing to dinner?”

I glance down at my dress, mildly surprised that we jumped that many tracks in this conversation. “I was planning on it. Do you not like it?”

“It’s pretty,” he assures me, his hand sliding up my thigh. “But you should wear the new one I bought you—the white one with red roses.”

I smile faintly, catching his devious hand as it moves too far up my thigh. “All right.”

“No panties,” he adds.

I grin, leaning in to kiss his neck. “Yes, sir.”

“I hate panties,” he states.

“You do not.” I trail a hand down his chest, creeping down his abdomen and lightly brushing his crotch. “You love to peel them off.”

Adrian interjects. “Do I really need to be here for this?”

Mateo grins, steals one last kiss, then boots me off his lap. He gives me a smack on the ass to ease the dismissal, telling me, “We need to finish up in here. You go change and I’ll see you at dinner.”

Chapter Thirty Two

Mia

I sigh, falling back into the pillowy softness of our bed. Mateo climbs on top of me, playfully lifting an eyebrow before swooping down and burying his face in my neck. God, I love when he’s playful.

My arms slide up his muscular back. I drag my fingernails down the stiff white fabric of his dress shirt, then let my hands travel down to grab his ass, pulling him against me.

“We have so many clothes on,” I complain, just before his lips make it to my mouth.

His deep voice sends shivers running up and down my spine. “But you’re not wearing panties.”

He catches me around the waist and rolls me over, yanking me on top of him. His hands move down to my ass. He squeezes, mimicking what I just did, but it’s so much sexier when he does it.

His hand is just about between my legs when we hear a knock at the door.

Groaning as he hauls me off to his side and gets off the bed, I say, “Tell Adrian to go away.”

“That’s not Adrian’s knock.” He opens the door and looks down at the dark-haired three-year-old in footed pajamas standing at the door. She has a book tucked under her tiny arm and she looks up at Mateo, all business. “May I help you?” he asks.

Her little messy bun bobs as she nods. “We need to have a talk.” Without awaiting permission to enter, she breezes past his leg and strides over to the bed.

“Oh, do we?” he asks, closing the door and following her.

She nods, pushing her book up on our bed so she can try to pull herself up. Our bed is pretty tall, so Mateo comes up behind her and gives her a boost.

“What do we need to talk about?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“The Gruffalo,” she says, stretching her pajama-clad legs in front of her and grabbing her book.

He gives her a lightly narrowed, playfully suspicious look. “The Gruffalo? What’s a gruffalo?”

She grins, and I don’t really understand why. “Why, didn’t you know?”

This sounds more like a skit than a conversation, but I’m lost.

Moving on, Mateo states, “You already got your bedtime story tonight.”

“Yeah, but you read it better than Mommy,” she informs him. Her face is innocent, but I don’t buy it. She’s only three, but she already knows how to get what she wants.

“If we give you all the bedtime stories you request, you’ll never sleep,” Mateo points out.

“I don’t like sleeping all the time,” she states. But, seeing the tides are not in her favor, she turns around and crawls over to me. Once she’s situated in my lap, she says, “Mia didn’t get a bedtime story. Let’s read it to her.”

Lightly amused, he meets my gaze. “I was just about to tell her a bedtime story when you came in.”

“It was going to have a very happy ending,” I agree, nodding.