He shook his head, the expression on his face looking like he didn’t know whether to smile or to scowl.

Then he suggested, “If you want to mark the CDs, mark your CDs.”

I gasped then said, “I’m not marking my CDs. I don’t want marks on my CDs. The covers either.” I put in the last as an important afterthought.

He took in a deep breath and I could tel this was an effort at patience before he tried, “Then mark mine.”

“You mark yours.”

“Kitten, I don’t have time to mark my CDs and I don’t have any f**kin’ desire to fight with you about this.” Uh-oh.

Were we fighting?

Fighting didn’t factor in with my War against Mace’s Demons. In fact, fighting would be highly detrimental to my overal Strategy.

“We’re not fighting. We’re discussing,” I told him.

“Discussions between a man and a woman don’t include the woman putting her hands on her hips. The minute that happens, it’s a fight. And you started this with your hands on your hips,” Mace told me.

“I did not,” I snapped but I was worried that I did.

“You did,” he returned.

I glared at him. “Wel , I was putting your shit away. You could help.”

“Brody was briefing me on what he’s finding on my father. He’s coasting on the fumes of seventeen six packs of Red Bul and no sleep for forty-two hours. He’s doin’

deep hacks, al of them highly il egal and some of what he’s finding pretty f**kin’ useful. Sorry I couldn’t interrupt the brief to help you hang clothes.”

Oh dear.

This wasn’t going very wel .

I decided it was time I gave in before I left the Demon Skirmish any more bloodied and beaten.

Therefore I muttered, “Okay, whatever. I’l mark your CDs.”

I threw the Journey CD in, put my hands to the box but Mace was there too. He pul ed the box out of my hands, twisted to the side and dropped it on the floor.

I started to straighten on the word “Hey!” when he lifted in a squat, gripped me at the waist and yanked me to him. I grabbed onto his shoulders and hiked up my heels so the fronts of my calves wouldn’t slam into the coffee table. He had me on my back on the couch, him on top of me, before I could say a word.

His face in my face, he said, “Kitten, you gotta know, that coffee cake didn’t smel so f**kin’ good and I didn’t enjoy watchin’ you wander the apartment, puttin’ away my shit while you’re wearin’ those cutoffs I like so goddamned much, you’d be a pain in the f**kin’ ass.” Okay, so his tel ing me he watched me walking around the apartment meant that maybe I was wrong about losing the skirmish. Maybe I won and didn’t even realize it.

I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t give anything away, so I said, “I’m so sure.”

“Leave the CDs in the box,” he ordered. “Once this shit is done, I’ve decided you’re movin’ to my place.” My eyes grew round, I forgot about skirmishes and wars and demons and I breathed, “Am not.”

“Yep, you are. I like your space but it’s too f**kin’ girlie and there isn’t enough room. I got a yard for Juno. I got a dining room table so we don’t have to eat standing up in the kitchen. We’l move your bed, get rid of your other shit and you can mark the CDs al in one go.”

Get rid of “my other shit”?

I did not think so!

I crossed my arms on my chest. This took some effort since I had to shove them between our bodies but I did it.

“You seem to have everything figured out.” He grinned, completely ignoring the arm crossing move (which said “fight” far, far more than hands at your hips) and said, “Damn straight.”

“Your house is modern,” I told him.

“Yeah. And?”

“I don’t mean to sound funny but modern’s not my gig.” And it wasn’t.

His house was, like, three years old, situated in a modern development. No personality. Al the houses one of three styles, al of them one of three colors.

Boring.

This hadn’t bothered me before since we spent most of our time at my place but it bothered me now. It bothered me because I knew that his house wasn’t his home. It was just a house. After this was over, I didn’t want Mace ever to live in a house. I wanted to make Mace’s house a home.

“Then we’l find another place,” he said, like it was al the same to him (and, it probably was).

The fight went out of me.

“Real y?” I asked.

He watched me a beat and then went back to grinning.

“Real y.” His head bent and he touched his mouth to mine.

“But it’l have rooms.”

“I could do rooms,” I whispered.

His face got soft and so did his eyes. “You set your music up in the bedroom though.”

My body melted under his, I pul ed my arms out from between us and wrapped them around his back.

“I could do that too.” I was stil whispering.

His hand went to the side of my face, the tips of his fingers slid into my hair at the temple and went back. This made me do a happy shiver. He watched his hand move and his eyes came back to mine. I held my breath at the intensity behind them then something flashed in them, the demons came out, my breath hitched then the guard slammed down.

Even though I thought I lost the moment, he proved me wrong by saying, “When I’m with you, sometimes, I forget.” I knew exactly what he was talking about.

I wanted to get up, punch the air and shout with joy, take THAT demon scum!

Instead, I put my hands on either side of his face, lifted up my head and kissed him.

He kissed me back.

It got heated.

Some time later, the timer on the oven went off and, against my wil , I had to rol him to the side and push away. I got to my feet and he got up to a sitting position. Before I went to the kitchen, standing between his legs in front of the couch, I leaned down, put my hands to his thighs, brushed my lips against his, kept my mouth there and whispered,

“Every time I’m with you, I forget.”

I saw another flash in his eyes before I quickly straightened and walked away.

And I just stopped myself from licking my finger, pointing it high and slashing my score in the air.

* * * * *

Mid-morning, after Mace had been gone for an hour, the cel phone Hector gave me rang. I went to it, flipped it open and said, “Hel o.”