My jaw dropped.

“You’d marry me just because I was pregnant?”

He shook his head, giving me what I think was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but looked more like a zombie leer, given the red smeared across his face.

“No, we’re getting married anyway,” he said. “But if you’re knocked up, we should probably do it while you can still fit into a wedding dress.”

“Holy shit.”

He shrugged, then pushed me back down, centering himself between my legs. I gasped as he pushed in, savoring the stretch even as I realized we’d have to take it easier this time—I was still sore.

“Careful,” I warned. “You look like a vampire, did you know that? The paint on your face is like blood.”

“This whole place looks like a crime scene,” he said, winking at me.

“Oh, God. What a metaphor for our relationship.”

He laughed. “We’d better take a shower together just as soon as we finish up here. No help for it.”

“I think we can make that happen,” I replied, wrapping my arms and legs around him. He twisted his hips, grinding into me slowly, and I sighed.

This was good. Really good. Too bad we’d destroyed Izzy’s room to get here . . .

“You think this tarp will be enough to protect the carpet?”

He pulled back, then thrust into me again, hard.

“Absolutely not,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll probably have to pull it up and replace it. Totally worth the effort, no question. Now less talk and more fucking. Please?”

“You got it,” I whispered, closing my eyes and letting the sensation take me.

I wasn’t quite ready to marry him—not yet. I wanted to be sure we could go more than a week without trying to kill each other . . . But this had potential. Not only that, I’d never have to go on a blind date again.

Forgiving him was probably worth it, just for that alone.

PAINTER

I tiptoed out into the living room wearing only my briefs, because my jeans were soaked through. The paint was still smeared across my body, too, but I’d managed to wipe off my feet. Now I was on a mission to find paper towels.

That’s when the door opened and Isabella ran in, followed by Reese and London.

All three froze.

“What did you do?” London asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. I frowned—a little paint never killed anyone. Izzy screamed and started to cry. London gathered her up, staring at me in horror.

“Where is she?” Reese asked, his voice grim.

“Mel? She’s in the bedroom. I was just getting some towels to start cleaning up the mess. We’ll probably have to pull out the carpet, though.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Reese said. “Loni, get that kid out of here.”

I frowned, then caught a glimpse of my arm . . . dripping red.

“Wait!” I said. “This is paint, not blood. What the hell did you think, that I killed her?”

London nodded slowly, and I realized she was serious.

“No,” I told them, outraged. “I love Melanie—I’d never hurt her.”

“Given how you treated her the other night . . .”

“No, no fuckin’ way,” I replied, raising my voice. “She might kill me, but I’d never kill her. Mel, get out here. Izzy’s home and she needs to see that you’re okay.”

“Just a sec,” she shouted back, and I saw Loni visibly relax. Then Mel walked into the living room, wrapped tight in a bathrobe. Her feet had been rinsed off, but the rest of her was still covered in red. It was even matted into her hair. I winced—we probably should’ve at least moved to a cleaner part of the tarp.

“Hi,” she said, offering a feeble smile. Reese sighed heavily, then looked at Izzy.

“Let’s go get some ice cream. I think Mommy and Daddy need a little more time.”

Mel nodded, and I thought she blushed. Hard to tell, given the situation. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“Yup, we definitely need ice cream. Maybe a nice breakfast mimosa,” London announced. “We’ll be back in an hour. That should give you two enough time to get cleaned up. I want to . . . never see anything like this again.”

Then she turned and walked out the door, Izzy gaping at us over her shoulder. Reese sighed again.

“Have fun, kids,” he said, following her.

Mel giggled again, and I shook my head. They were gonna crucify me out at the clubhouse for this one.

Guess I should just be glad he hadn’t started snapping pictures.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

OCTOBER

MELANIE

“You look adorable,” Duck said, kneeling down next to Isabella. She was dressed up like a princess, of course, and the little purse she carried was already stuffed full of candy.

We were out at the Armory for their annual family Halloween party. Later it would turn into their annual grown-up Halloween party, and I had a feeling the costumes would be getting significantly skimpier. For now, though, we were surrounded by crowds of cute kids going slowly insane as they ate their weight in processed sugar.

“I’m a biker princess,” Izzy said proudly. “Just like on my wall. Daddy helped me paint it.”

“Well, here you go, princess,” Duck said, pulling a dollar out of his pocket and handing it to her. He glanced at me and shrugged. “Uncle Duck didn’t remember to buy candy.”

“There doesn’t appear to be a shortage,” I said dryly, looking around the courtyard. The air was crisp, but it was one of those perfect October afternoons—sunny, with the smell of fall filling the air. Rows of tables were full of food, and they’d already started the bonfire. I couldn’t help but notice there were a disproportionate number of little bikers wearing their own MC cuts. Painter came up behind me, sliding a hand around my waist as he kissed the back of my neck.