DEVLIN

I pat Ella’s head, reluctant to be parted from her. She smells and looks so good that I just want to eat her up.

But Chris is wearing a rather grim expression that could alert her and speaks only of danger.

“Work stuff?” She asks, scanning my face with those enticing bug-eyes that make me want to confess my sins at the altar of her.

“Yes.”

Ella is not stupid, you see. Her gaze lingers. I know she has tons of questions for me. Anyone would. And I would respond but not ...