Page 69 of Twisted Temptation

"I'm monitoring a situation."

"Yeah. The situation of your wife not showing up."

I give him a look that makes most men think twice about opening their mouths again. But my twin only takes a sip of his wine and grins wider.

When she arrives, Sunny and I will have a very direct conversation about punctuality.

About respect.

About what it means when a room full of men who kill for a living are sitting at a table questioning my ability to control my own household because my wife is late.

I will be calm, and I will explain, clearly and without emotion, that when I say dinner is at eight, I mean eight.

The doors open, and every head turns to look at my wife standing in the doorway.

Suddenly, her punctuality becomes the least of my problems.

Because my wife crosses the threshold like an EF5 tornado in sparkles and red lipstick, and the room falls quiet.

Dead quiet.

Her dress is a galaxy of silver, clinging to her body like it was sewn on. The back plunges to the base of her spine, and the hem is so short it's probably going to be the death of me.

My gaze drops to her legs. They’re clad in thigh-high black boots, and all I can think about is how those thighs would look wrapped around my head.

She's left her hair down, and it spills down her shoulders in thick blonde waves, the kind of hair made for a man's fist.

She swings her hips as she enters the room. Nothing about her is elegant. Everything about her is deadly. She's a weapon in stiletto boots, walking into a room full of killers, and every single one of them is staring.

And she knows it.

"Holy shit," John Marco says under his breath.

Sunny smiles a thousand-watt smile as she sashays in.

"Hi, everyone! I am so sorry I'm late. Time completely got away from me."

She moves along the side of the table, stops beside Danny the Shoes, and puts her hand on his shoulder. "I'm Sunny. You must be one of Dante's friends."

Danny is a man who has personally disposed of eleven bodies, but right now he turns pink. "Danny, ma'am. It’s a pleasure."

"Danny! Great name. Love the tie."

She moves on, touching Bobby Bianchi's arm as she passes. "That cologne is incredible. What is it?" She doesn't wait for the answer and keeps moving, brushing her fingers along the backs of the chairs as she passes.

When she passes Garza, he openly stares at the strip of skin between her boots and her dress, and I decide I am going to burn this restaurant to the ground with every man who looks at her in it.

Arriving beside me, she looks at the empty chair on my left.

Then sits on my lap.

"Hi, baby," she says loud enough for the table to hear. "Sorry I'm late. I couldn't decide what to wear."

Baby.

My defiant, wants-to-kill-me-wife called me baby.

She looks at the table, eyes wide, and gestures down at her legs. "And then I couldn't find my stockings." She lifts one booted leg and slowly turns her ankle, letting every man at the table follow the line of leather from her heel to her thigh. I feel my blood pressure hit the roof. “But then I realized I don’t need to wear any with these boots.”