Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

“I’m not disagreeing. But there are certain things about you that I don’t completely understand, and just in case you were born this way and not created, I don’t want to take any chances. If you and I had a son and he had your survival instincts, he’d be completely fucked. What if he’s as trusting as you are?”

“Well, as suspicious as you are, I think maybe he’d be better off taking a little from each of us and meeting somewhere in the middle. People are better than you give them credit for.”

He points his finger at me like I just proved why I’m not capable of giving him a competent son. “See? No.”

I fold my arms over my chest and give him a good glare, but now his focus has moved to my cleavage, which I’ve just unintentionally pushed together to make even more appealing. He has some nerve looking at my breasts that way when he just told me I’m not good enough to have his heir.

Or, too good, I suppose.

“I survived without you for 18 years, Mateo Morelli. I never once got murdered. I never gave money to a Nigerian prince.”

He forces his eyes from my breasts and meets my gaze, but there’s a cocky gleam that makes me immediately wary. “Never got taken advantage of by a much slyer opponent? Never continued to believe in that same person who took advantage of you again and again, even after he continued to show you who he was?”

“You can’t use yourself against me,” I state. “That’s the biggest dick move in the world.”

“Okay. Mark—you spent countless hours with him at the bakery, and until he had a gun pressed to your side and a Castellanos flunky right across from him, you had no suspicions about him. Vince? You would’ve insisted he wasn’t dangerous up until your last fucking breath when he finally flew far enough off the handle and got violent with you. I’m not trying to be mean, Mia,” he says, prying my arms apart so he can take my hand. “I love you exactly like this. It’s sweet, and it’s fine, because you’re safe with me, but can you imagine me with those traits? You wouldn’t have to, because I’d have died long before we could’ve ever met. We’ll have a daughter. After Meg gives me a son, you and I will have a little girl. She can be soft and sweet like you—I’d love that.”

I soften a smidge. I like hearing he’d love my traits in our hypothetical daughter.

Now he lifts my hand to his lips again so he can press a soft, sensual kiss there. “Besides, if you were the one having the baby now, you would be the one I couldn’t fuck for two months. That sounds like my own personal Hell.”

“You survived for more than 30 years without fucking me; I think you’d make it a couple months so I could recover from birthing our baby.”

Shuddering theatrically, he says, “Dark days. Let’s not talk about a time when I wasn’t fucking you.”

I bite down on my bottom lip, trying—and failing—to stifle a smile.

His brown eyes dance with amusement and he tucks me against him. “See? Nothing to be sad about. I’m just outsourcing this part so I can enjoy you.”

I sigh, totally conquered. He knows it too, the smug bastard.

“Fine,” I murmur, snuggling up against him. “You can’t use this excuse forever though,” I warn him, lightly jabbing a finger into his well-muscled chest.

“I won’t,” he assures me, kissing the top of my head. “I want to have a baby with you. I just want the timing to be right. In the meantime, we can practice all the time, really get good at this whole sex thing.”

I grin. “Oh yeah, we definitely don’t have it down.”

“A couple of amateurs,” he playfully agrees. “We’re embarrassing ourselves here.”

I loop my arms around his neck to give him a hug and sigh contentedly as he secures his arms around me. I fit so perfectly against his body, like I was carved out just to complement him. I could live right here, naked in his arms. I never want to leave.

So of course he lets go and leans back, cocking his head and reminding me, “Now, didn’t you need to go to the bathroom?”

He’s all cocky now that he’s talked me out of my perfectly reasonable feelings. I’ve been with him long enough to know his game, but I still let him win. Frankly, his way is usually better, and since my way meant I’d be sad all night, while his way feels much better, I latch onto his view of this whole situation and head to the bathroom much calmer than I would’ve a few minutes ago.

When I come back out, he has moved from the sitting room to the bedroom. The lights are off in the other room, so I guess we’re in bed for the night.