Nesta was vaguely aware that her husband had been doing work. The evidence of it was around her, the ink well on the table, the pen dripping on the page he had been scrawling over. She'd only come in to ask a question about dinner, to prove she could do more than warm his bed, yet she'd somehow ended up nearly on his lap as he trailed hot kisses across her jaw and neck.
"What was your question?" Quinn asked after pulling his lips from Nesta's throat.
She bit her bottom lip and gripped his vest tighter in her hand. "I don't ... dinner I think?"
"Ah, dinner?" He asked with a smirk. "A very good question."
"What would you like for dinner?" Nesta asked, looking at her husband from under her lashes.
