Until I told him he was going for a pamper day. Whether Benson agreed through fear or not, I couldn’t give a fuck.

  Now, to handle my wife . . .

  I push the door of our bedroom open and poke my head round, hearing the shower. Perfect. She’s more amenable when she’s naked. When I’m naked. When we’re both naked.

  I push my shorts down my legs and go to her. She’s facing the spray, face up, her hair wet, stuck to her back, skimming her arse. I groan and look down my body, watching my dick wake up and slowly rise, pointing the way. I lay a palm over it, taming the fucker, as I step into the stall. She stills, her hands in her hair, pausing running the conditioner through it.

  She peeks back. It’s like rocket fuel to my cock. I give up trying to talk it down and let it protrude, skimming her lower back. Silently, I take her wrists and direct them to the tile, lowering my mouth to her shoulder. Flames. A moan. Raised shoulders, her head tilting. I release her wrists. I don’t need to tell her to keep them there. I slide my hands up her arms while I kiss every hot piece of her neck, licking the water away, working my palms onto her breasts, her stomach, her hips. Head falling back, she moans, vibrating against my lips on her throat, her arse pushing back against me.

  I bend my knees and swivel up, sliding inside of her, breathing in and holding it. Rose’s hands ball into fists on the tile. The water becomes hotter. I slowly start to pump, holding her waist. “I have a surprise for you,” I say calmly, watching her head roll on her shoulders.

  “What?”

  I grind, taking my mouth to her nape and kissing.

  She moans, then brings one hand back and slips her fingers through my wet hair. “Show me.”

  “In good time, baby.” I bite down. “I think you’re going to love it.” I am on dangerous ground, but I will deal with that later. Today feels like it could be the end. Anything is possible. I have to make sure the girls are out of harm’s way. I jolt, and Rose moans harder, making me pause, trying to rein myself in, close already. I sit my chin on her shoulder. She looks at me. That alone has my dick twitching, and she feels it, smiling, rolling back, ending my attempt to save myself. I slam my mouth over hers and kiss her, and start driving in and out, firm but slowly, my cock buzzing. I know she’s coming because she tugs my hair and bites my lip, so I let it claim me, rolling through my release on a moan into her mouth and a squeeze of her hips as Rose constricts and drains me, her wet body twitching against me. I bite her lip in return and pull back, wiping her face of water and moving us out of the spray, withdrawing and turning her. I push her into the cold wall and crowd her, kissing her softly, finding my planned words again as we both come down.

  I don’t find them soon enough for Rose. She ends our kiss and cups my cheeks, pulling my face to hers. “What?”

  “You want some freedom,” I say, taking her wrists and pulling them away, relishing her intrigue.

  “I do . . .” she says slowly.

  “I booked you a pamper day.” She should get a pamper year for how much I paid.

  Rose leans back as far as she can, which isn’t far with the wall behind her. “Pardon me?”

  I smile. This is the wedding all over again. A tactic on my part. “I’ve booked out a salon spa thing for the day. For you. And the other girls.” I’m relying on Rose to make this happen too. I need everyone gone from the house.

  “Why?”

  “To pamper. Get your hair done. Have a manicure.”

  “Right . . .” Her suspicion is warranted, of course, so manipulation has to come in here, and I will be shameless. “What’s going on?”

  I make sure I appear offended. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, all of a sudden, Daniel can go to school, I can take him for pizza, and now I’m going off on a pamper day at a spa. So I’ll ask you again, my lovely, gorgeous angel-faced assassin, what’s going on?”

  I scowl. Why the reminder of who I am? Stupid question. Fine. Here comes the manipulation. I pull away, solemn, and leave the shower. “I was only trying to do something nice for you.” I grab a towel and yank it down. “I know it’s not easy being married to me, Rose.” I throw it over my shoulders and tug it from side to side. “I’m trying here.” I finish drying and go to my closet, avoiding my suits, because they’re a dead giveaway if I’m dealing with business, and instead pull on some gray joggers and grab a sweater, grumbling away to myself. I still, my arms in the sleeves, ready to pull it over my head when I hear her behind me. I wait, looking out the corner of my eye, ready to accept her apology and her gratitude.

  “Fuck off, Black, what are you up to?”

  My head drops back. Why? Why, God, did you give me such an arduous fucking woman?

  Because you need that.

  On to Plan B. I pull my sweater on and down as I turn. She’s still naked. Wet. Pregnant. Her arms crossed over her chest, nestled between her boobs and her rounding tummy. I look at her tiredly, waving a hand at her magnificent figure, like, come on!

  She just tilts her head and raises her brows. I roll my eyes and go to her. Plan B better work, because Plan C is the truth, and that means our shower just now will have been the last time I fucked my wife. I take her arm and tug her to the bed, sitting her on the end and kneeling before her. And because I’m a cunt, I pull her legs apart and drop my mouth into her pussy, sucking on her clit on a salacious smile when she drops to the bed.

  I work efficiently, slipping my fingers inside of her, hooking them up, making sure I get her sweet spot as I massage, bite, kiss, lick her nub of nerves, flicking my tongue quickly when her back arches and she gathers the sheets in her fists.

  Okay. So this wasn’t part of Plan B but I’m not the kind of man to pass up these kinds of opportunities.

  She comes all over my face on a high-pitched, broken moan, and goes lax beneath me. I crawl up her body and trap her beneath me, kissing her, sharing her release. “You need a wax,” I say, smiling when she snorts over a laugh. “It’s a bit prickly down there.”

  Her head shoots back, her laughter addictive. I take the opportunity and pay some attention to her throat, her jaw, until I’m plunging my tongue into her mouth again. “Why would I want to go to a spa when I get all the pampering I need right here at home?” she asks.

  “Can you trust me?”

  She groans, and I know I have her. “Danny, please.” She holds my head and looks at me, and I hate the fear I see in her eyes. “Every time you ask me to trust you, epic shit goes down.”

  “Yes, but we always come out the other side, baby,” I remind her, praying she hears me. I can’t tell her anything about Amber. She will lose all reason. “Today’s just meetings, I promise. James and Beau aren’t great. If she pulls one of her disappearing stunts again, it could fuck everything up, Rose. We’re getting somewhere here. Not only is she in danger every time she galivants off around town, but James is also distracted. I need his head on straight today.”

  She loses all fight before my eyes and deflates. “You actually think Beau will accept my offer to be pampered all day? Have you ever met such an ungirly woman in your life?”

  “True. But I have every faith in you.” I slam a kiss on her lips. “Make it work,” I say, nipping her lips.

  “Yeah, yeah. What about Daniel?”

  “He’s out for the day with Tank and Barney.”

  She laughs. “Fucking hell, you really are desperate.”

  “Rose,” I warn.

  “Wait. Lennox agreed to let Barney hang out with Daniel? Even after the newspaper article?” Her eyes narrow. “What did you do to convince him, Danny?”

  I smile on the inside. “I was as nice as pie.”

  She snorts. “A British flavored pie?”

  I don’t want to talk about Lennox Benson. I saw the way he looked at my wife. So I get up, ignoring her, and look down my front. My cock is jutting out. Gluttonous. I peek up at Rose, my eyebrow high.

  “I have a spa day to get ready for and a few friends to convince to come with me.” She gets up and saunters off, leaving me with a raging erection. She stops when she gets to the door, looking back. Her playfulness has vanished.

  “I’ll be careful,” I say before she can demand it.

  A nod, a swallow, and she disappears into the bathroom.

  * * *

  By the time Brad, James, and I make it Hiatus, it’s past noon, a good thing because I could do with a drink. We enter from the back, and I wave to Mason who has a Scotch on the bar for me where Goldie, Otto, Nolan, and Ringo are lined up.

  Mason doesn’t only have a Scotch for me, he has one for Brad too. And a vodka for James, who physically heaves and turns away from it. I smile as I take a sip. I should have sent him to the spa with the girls, because he doesn’t look like he’ll be of much use to us.

  I take a stool and drag it away from the bar so I’m in front of the others. “What’s up?” I ask, detecting a bit of tension.

  “Tell them,” Ringo says, his big, suited arms folded over his chest, his eyes on Nolan.

  I look at Nolan.

  “A cop staking out over the road,” he tells me. “She was there when I left last night and here this morning at seven when I took a delivery.”

  Collins. James leaves us and walks to the entrance of the club, disappearing for a few moments before coming back, shaking his head. “The cameras?” he asks Otto.

  “She left at ten.”

  “She probably needed her morning poo,” Ringo mutters, and we all turn half amused half questioning looks onto him. “What?” he asks. “Women are like clockwork, aren’t they? Same time every morning?”

  “And men aren’t?” Goldie looks at Ringo like he’s another species. I’m beginning to think he is.

  “No, men shit in the evening.”

  I laugh, looking at the others, hoping I’m not alone. They’re all looking at Ringo with expressions that basically say what the fuck? “You shit in the evening?” Otto asks him.

  “Yeah, I shit in the evening. Don’t you?”

  “No, I shit in the morning.”

  “I shit every three days,” Nolan says, thoughtful. “Could be morning or evening. It’s a bit inconvenient, to be honest.” He looks at Goldie. “When do you shit?”

  She gets up and walks away, increasing my laughter. She only wants to be a part of the gang when it suits her.

  “Well shit,” Ringo sighs. “I always thought it was a man-woman thing.”

  “What the fuck made you think that?” Brad asks him.

  “When I was a kid, all my mates had a shit when they got home from school. Stanley, my best pal, he had a sister, and he told me she shat in the mornings, as did all her friends. So, yeah, men shit in the evenings, and women shit in the mornings. It’s because women are organized, you see. They think ahead. It starts when they’re girls. They don’t want to be shitting in the school toilets because they’re fucking grim. Boys don’t have that foresight. We would dash home from school to shit. Obviously, there were the odd few who got caught short and were forced to shit in the school toilets, hence they were grim.”

  I look at Ringo, my mouth hanging open, as he shows the ceiling his palms. “You’ve thought way too much about shitting, Ringo.”

  “That may be so, but apparently it’s been a waste.” He looks at Nolan. “Are you sure you only shit every three days?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know what that means, don’t you?” I say, toasting Nolan’s shitting habits.

  He looks worried. “What does it mean?”

  “It means that more often than not, you’re full of shit.”

  Everyone laughs, including James and Brad, which is an achievement on my part. “Anything on John Theodore Little?” I ask Otto, getting a shake of his head. “What about Higham?”

  “Len’s bringing him here.”

  I nod. Good. Let’s hear what he has to say about his coffee dates with the journalist. “I’ve heard from Amber.”

  Not surprisingly, Ringo’s and Otto’s ear prick up, and I’m sure Goldie’s have too. I can’t see her to know. “Does she want to get back together?” Ringo asks.

  I smile. Rose wouldn’t. She’d kill. “She mentioned a teddy bear.”

  “Oh really?” Otto twiddles his beard, and Ringo’s lips straighten into a grim line.

  “Really. I’m meeting her at the house at three.”

  “Is that wise?”

  Probably not. “All the girls are out for a pamper day.”

  “Not true,” Ringo nods to Goldie, who gets herself back on the stool next to him, her lip curled in disgust. “Since you find me so repulsive,” he goes on, “why don’t you join the girls for a pamper day?”

  “Why don’t you,” she retorts, looking down at her watch, “have a colonic, since you’re so full of shit too. It’s nearly time to evacuate.”

  “Enough,” I say, smiling around the rim of my glass.

  “I’ve got something,” Nolan says, raising his hand. “I need to replace one of the girls.”

  Oh? I lower my glass, not liking his shifty persona.

  “Which one?” Brad asks.

  Nolan looks away, muttering something. “The one we found in the office with him,” James says, and Brad curses.

  “Oh dear.” I give Brad a look that says, you hired him, you deal with it. “Did she get a bit of a handful?”

  Nolan breathes out, his cheeks ballooning. “She’s got a bit attached, yes.”

  I laugh. “And what lesson have we learned today, students?”

  Nolan rolls his eyes and trudges off, and I ignore the looks of utter disbelief coming at me from everyone else. They can fuck off. Rose is different. Nolan stops and looks back. “Hey, what about those two girls you picked up?” He clicks his fingers constantly, thinking. “Pearl and Anya.”

  My eyes automatically go to Brad, my lips pressed together around the rim of my glass. He seems to have frozen in place. Did he hear? I can’t be sure; he looks a bit vacant. So just in case . . . “He said—”

  “I fucking heard.” Brad stalks off, holding his shoulder. “Do what the fuck you like,” he growls. “But if you fuck another member of staff, I’ll fuck you with a hammer drill.”

  “It’d be way less comfortable than the blender,” James says under his breath, making Nolan snort his laughter. I’m obviously not in on this private joke, but I give the kid a look to suggest he best rein himself in before Brad, the moody fucker, goes crazy on his arse.

  “Higham’s here,” Otto pipes up, turning the screen to us. I lean in and see him getting out of his beamer, taking a long-arse time straightening his cheap suit jacket. Bracing himself?

  “We’ll stay in the bar,” I look back at the stage. “What time are the girls due to start practice?”

  “An hour,” Nolan calls.

  I look at James. “Enough time to torture the truth out of the fucker?”

  The blackness I both love and hate washes over his face, giving his pasty, hungover skin a little color. “I need ten minutes.”

  “Ooh, feeling feisty, huh?”

  He doesn’t find my joke funny, lowering his arse to a stool, pretty much cracking his knuckles. I’m blaming it on his hangover. I lean forward and hold my glass out, prompting Goldie to take it and pass it back to Mason to refill. “This needs a gentle approach,” I say to James. “No flying off the handle. He’s—” My mobile interrupts me. Mum. Fuck. I don’t dream of ignoring her, knowing she wouldn’t call me unless it’s necessary. “Mum?” I answer, edgy. “Everything okay?”

  “What’s going on?” She hits me with her demand fast and abruptly, not answering my question, and that gets my back up. But the days when I spoke to my mother with little respect and even less love are over.

  I reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Do you want to elaborate?” I ask calmly. If she mentions anything about Otto, my mood will slide. That would be a shame, since I’m feeling almost chirpy today, which is more than I can say for Brad and James. Things are coming together. It feels good.

  “You’re buying Rose a spa?”

  My hand drops from my face. “Say what?”

  “A spa. You’re buying her a spa.”

  “Am I?”

  “Well, according to your wife, yes. So again, what’s going on?”

  I feel my nostrils flare. My mood takes a nosedive. Trust my wife. I hang up and smash my thumb across the screen, walking away from the bar to reduce the risk of the top shelf of liquor shattering when my booming voice hits it.

  “Hello, dear,” she says happily.

  “Don’t dear me. What the fuck, Rose?” I ask, relatively calmly, all things considered. I can see what’s coming, and I seriously do not like it.

  “You told me to make it work. So I’m making it work.”

  Yes, she’s making it work. For herself. The conniving bitch. “And how much is making it work going to cost me?”

  “I’m in negotiations,” she declares, a strongness to her voice that doesn’t bode well. It’s cocky. “But I’ve assured the proprietor that money isn’t an issue, is it, darling?”

  No, it’s not, but her having an interest other than me is. “Rose?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  “Am I?” she cries, sounding surprised. “Shit, I wondered what the fuck was going on with my body.”

  I look up at the ceiling. God, please, make her stop before I do something I regret. Like kill her. “You’re blackmailing me.”

  “I’m harnessing my power.”

  I laugh. “Oh, baby, you sure do have power.” And she exerts it unapologetically. I can’t fucking blame her. She never had power before she had me.

  “Danny,” she says, sounding way too matter of fact. “You told me to make it work. Did you honestly think Beau was buying some horseshit about me wanting to bond over a facial and a bikini wax?”

  “No, but she might have bought some horseshit about you wanting to slag your husband off over a facial and a bikini wax.”

  “Oh, that wouldn’t have been horseshit. I’ve been bad-mouthing you all day.”