She was dumping spaghetti into a colander in sink. He got close to her back and started to say her name again when suddenly the pot hit the countertop with a clatter, she whirled and took two steps back, lifting a finger and pointing it at him.

"Don't!" she snapped. "Don't you fucking come home and think you can give me a different Ty. Do not think you can fucking play me like that. I don't know what the fuck you're dealing with and I don't care. I asked, you wouldn't tell me. I tried everything I knew to get you to let me in there," she jabbed her finger at his chest, "and you didn't let me in and now, Ty, I don't fucking care. You can ride the wave of whatever's controlling you but don't drag me along on that trip." She swung her arm out to the side. "Out there, I'll be what you're paying me to be." Then she pointed to the floor. "In here, it would be good if we could be civil to each other and you don't give me any of that pussy bullshit of yours. And that's all for in here, Ty. Tonight, I sleep on the couch and I keep doing it until my bed gets here and then I'll move to it. You wanted to talk, there it is. I'm laying it out. You don't like that, you get your bling back and I walk. Think about it and enjoy the spaghetti, I'm going for a drive."

Then she turned, snatched her keys off the island and ran to and down the stairs.

Walker stared at the space where he last saw her and he did it for a long time waiting for the burn to fade from his throat.

This took awhile.

Then he turned off the burner under the stove, the oven where the garlic bread was baking, walked upstairs and took a shower.

When Lexie got home at ten to eleven, Walker was flat out on the couch, eyes to the TV.

He didn't move when he heard her hit the room.

But he did speak.

"I'm takin' the couch, you take the bed."

No sound, no movement.

Then, "Fine."

Then he heard her go up the stairs.

He stared at the TV for a long time not seeing it. Then he lifted up his hands and rubbed his face. Then he turned the TV off and tried to find sleep.

This took awhile.

Chapter Eight.

Got a Wife Who Knows My Every Move Ty Walker jogged up the outside steps after his morning run. It had been over five years since he'd run in Colorado. He wasn't used to it and the altitude had kicked his ass.

But it had also been over five years since he'd run free, alone, wherever he wanted his feet to take him, the road open for him to decide where he wanted to go, not caged, not limited, not with eyes tracking his every move so he didn't give a fuck the altitude kicked his ass.

He opened the door and instantly saw Lexie at the island, dressed, hair done, makeup on, coffee cup halfway to her lips. Her boxes had come, her wardrobe selection increased and she'd wasted no time unpacking her shit and taking advantage of it and the results were right there. Thin, tank-like tee the color of the inside of a honeydew melon with ragged, torn-looking straps, one falling off her shoulder, what he was sure were dark brown short-shorts even though he couldn't see her legs but that was all she wore, thick, dark brown leather belt with something stamped on the leather and a heavy silver buckle and he knew by her height she was wearing heels.

It was Sunday, his day off, two days after she'd laid it out. He'd come home from work both Friday and Saturday, Friday, right after work, last night, right after his workout after work. She was civil. She offered him dinner. She made him dinner. She did the dishes. Then she disappeared to the top floor and he didn't see her again.

Her light was out.

And her eyes were on him now and he saw she hadn't switched it on that morning.

And he didn't like her light switched off. He didn't like her keeping that light from him. And the fuck of it was, he was the asshole who'd switched it off in the first fucking place.

"Morning," she greeted then her head went down and he saw she was scratching something on a notepad. She kept talking, her voice dead as it had been for three days and he didn't fucking like that either. "I don't know if you noticed but I got the bottled water on that note you left me."

He'd noticed.

He'd also noticed she'd done his laundry.

He went to the fridge and got a bottle of the water she bought for him after he left a note about it, twisted the cap and sucked back a huge pull.

This he used as his affirmative response. He didn't speak often because he didn't feel he needed to speak when his actions could speak for him. At that moment, he also didn't speak because he didn't want to do something stupid, something that would set her off, something, anything that would make Lexie's light shine through. Which was what he wanted to do.

"All right, I'm going. I'll see you later," she announced, moving to the sink to put her coffee cup there.

"Where you goin'?" he asked.

"There's a garden center in Chantelle. Shambles told me about it. I'm going to get some flowers," she told the island where she went to grab her purse which she did then she ripped off the top paper on the pad. Then her eyes skimmed through him and she finished, "Later."

She started toward the stairs, shoving the paper into her purse but stopped and turned around when he asked, "Who's Shambles?"

"The guy who owns La-La Land coffee," she told him, started to turn back to the stairs but stopped and turned back at his voice.

"La-La Land coffee?"

"The coffee house in town," she answered then started to turn again but stopped when he again spoke.

And he spoke when he shouldn't have. He spoke because he was a dumb fuck. He spoke because he couldn't hack it; Lexie shut off, not just off but shut off from him.

"You're not goin' to a garden center."

Her head tipped to the side. "I am, the deck needs plants."

"The deck doesn't need plants."

"Yes it does."

"It doesn't."

"Okay," she took one step toward him and the dead was gone from her voice, she was now speaking with strained patience, "you're a guy so you don't get this but when a man brings his new wife to his house, she does shit like plant flowers to put her stamp on it, make it her home, make it his home. People are going to expect me to do shit to put my stamp on your house and therefore, the deck needs plants."

To this, Walker replied, "It's Sunday."

Her brows snapped together. "You're right. It's Sunday."

There it was. Something. Not something big but confusion mixed with impatience.

He took it and without hesitation, fuck him, he went for more.

"So, a man gets outta prison, he gets himself a new wife, he brings her home, takes care of business by findin' a job to provide for her, his first day off, his wife does not go to the garden center to buy plants in an asinine effort to put her stamp on a house. She stays home with her husband while he fucks her brains out."

He watched the color hit her cheeks and her eyes flare and he liked it. It wasn't that Lexie light but it was something. Something more than confusion and impatience and he took it too.

Then he watched her straighten her shoulders before she returned, "You're right, Ty. A man who just got out of prison with a new wife, I can see this. I can also see him returning home right after work and getting his workout not at a gym but, as you put it, by fucking his wife's brains out. But you haven't been doing that. Even this morning," she threw a hand out toward the door, "you didn't engage in morning nookie with your wife but went for a run. You've established the pattern so, clearly, I'm not behaving outside the norm."

"Maybe I didn't fuck my wife this morning because I tired her out last night," he replied and watched her hands shoot up in the air and drop as she lost patience.

There it was. He went for it. He got it. More.

"Well, you didn't tire her out last night. You slept on the fucking couch!" she snapped.

"You drew that line, Lexie," he shot back.

That's when she lost it and how she lost it, she shredded the already frayed hold he had on his control. Frayed because she'd been picking at it from the moment he saw her standing beside the Charger outside in the hot as fuck southern California sun and, after she'd shut down, he'd kept picking at it.

"No, Ty, you drew it when one second you had your tongue in my mouth, your hands on me and me on my back in your bed and swear to God, swear to God, that was all you had to do, I was this close," she lifted a hand and held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart, "to climax just with that and the next second you took it all away from me. All of it and you fucking know exactly what I'm talking about because the next second I was standing on my feet, you were two feet away but you might as well still have been in fucking California and then I watched you shut down."

At her words, he felt his lungs seize but he managed to force out, "What?"

"You heard me," she bit off and whirled saying, "Now I'm going. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Oh no she fucking wouldn't.

"Don't walk away from me," Walker growled.

She didn't respond but she did keep walking away from him.

That was when Walker moved.

She was two steps down when he caught her around the waist and hauled her right back up. The back of her body slammed into his, he wrapped his other arm tight around her chest, turned, set her on her feet and marched her forward, his mouth to her ear.

"I said, don't walk away from me."

"Ty," she whispered, now he had breathiness, surprise, maybe even shock and he'd take those too. Fuck him, he'd known her just over a week and he'd take anything from her.

Her hand came up and wrapped around his forearm at her chest.

He let her go at the waist, pulled her purse off her shoulder, dumped it to the floor and curled his arm back around her stomach, moving her the whole time, stopping her by the couch.

"Why'd you throw away your wedding bouquet?" he rumbled in her ear, she didn't respond, he gave her a careful shake with both arms and clipped, "Why?"

"It's just flowers," she whispered.

"It wasn't just flowers."

"Ty "

"Why?"

"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly.

He gave her another careful shake. "Answer me, Lexie. Why'd you throw your bouquet away?"

"It was just flowers."

"It wasn't."

"No, you're right. It wasn't," she told him softly. "Then, after you put me in my place, it was."

He closed his eyes and shoved his face in her neck.

He couldn't do this. For two days he told himself he could, this was better, this was safer, not for him, for her. He'd let her in, wanted her to come in and she did. Then he saw the error of his ways. Then, being a dick, he'd pushed her back over the line he'd drawn to keep her safe from his shit, from him and he'd made it clear she should stay there. She got his message, she couldn't miss it.

But Christ, he couldn't do it.

He had to have her light back.

"Let me go," she whispered.

"No."

"Let me go."

He moved his lips to her ear and whispered, "I hurt you, baby."

Her body went still in his arms and she whispered back, "Don't."

"I was a dick; I fucked up and hurt you."

"Stop it."

He tightened his arms and pressed his temple into her hair.

It was soft as well as thick and smelled fucking great. He wanted his hands in it. He wanted to feel it on his skin. He wanted to feel it all around as her mouth worked his cock.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Lexie," he murmured into her hair.

"Please stop it."

He slid his hand from her arm, up her shoulder to wrap it around the side of her neck as he slid his temple down her hair so his lips were at the other side of her neck.

"You honest to God nearly came with only my mouth on yours?"

She gave a jerk at his change of subject but he didn't let her go, instead, he held her closer.

"Let me go," she demanded.