Peter's Return

“You were drowning.”

“And it felt good, too.”

“Suit yourself.” He gestured toward the sink.

She promptly stuck her head back under the faucet, relishing the cool water and trying to get hold of her temper. When she finally came up for air, he pushed a towel in her face. “Thank you,” she blurted harshly, then kicked off her canvas shoes and promptly deposited them in the trash can under the sink. Then and only then did she turn off the water and turn to face him, the only man she’d ever loved, and the only man she’d ever wanted to do severe harm to.

“Was that little display of Neanderthal He-Manship really necessary or have you been living in this cesspool for too long?”

“You were making too much noise,” he said evenly.

“Oh, excuse me for disturbing…what? The mutant, diabolical reptiles?”

A smile twitched the corners of his mouth. She raised her fist. “Don’t even think about it.”

He took a step back, his hand raised in an “I surrender” position. “Don’t worry, babe. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Don’t call me babe,” she growled. “I’m not your babe! I’m not anyone’s babe. Got that?” She poked a finger in his chest.

“Okay, okay. No babes, not even a dollface.” He leaned against the counter, his face contorting as he visibly tried to get himself under control. Losing the battle, he burst out laughing.

She narrowed her eyes and said the first words that came to her lips. “You are going to have to die.”

His bright blue eyes sparkled with laughter, eyes that used to have the ability to turn her to butter. Well, she must be cured of that now; she was sprung way too tight to remotely resemble anything like butter.

“Sorry, love, but I have other plans in mind.”

She didn’t know whether to pound on his chest in frustration, or throw her arms around his neck and never let go.