Five Ways 'Til Sunday by Delilah Devlin Page A

this morning?”
    “I’d think you’re so well fucked you might not be able to sit at my mother’s table without a pillow under your butt.”
    She’d grabbed his pillow and swatted his arm, but he took it from her, grabbed her wrists and came down on top of her to kiss her.
    Barely able to breathe, she’d giggled. “I like the way you wake me up.”
    He’d nuzzled the corner of her neck. “I could call them. Tell them my horny fiancé won’t let me out of bed. I’m sure they’ll all understand. They’ve seen you in action.”
    Marti had shaken her head. “I wish we could stay here. But I’d sleep all day.” She pushed against his chest. “Go. I have to meet Grady.”
    “Come watch the game? We’re playing firemen today. I know how much they turn you on.”
    “They do not.”
    “Liar.”
    She’d bracketed his face with her hands and leaned up to mash his lips with hers. “Go!”
    His head had turned, glimpsed her hand, then he’d given her a wicked smile. “I like seein’ you wear my ring.”
    She wrinkled her nose. “I feel branded.”
    “Is it a bad thing?”
    “No, I like being owned. By you.”
    Opening her office door, she smiled, thinking about the grin he’d worn walking out the door.
    A figure blocked the way. A man wearing a bandana covering his lower face and a New Orleans ball cap atop his head.
    She gasped and pressed her hands against her stomach. Terror made the blood drain from her face in a cold wash.
    He waved a gun in front of her. “Open your safe, bitch.”
    Her stomach sank. “There’s not much cash in there. It’s deposited every night. I only have what’s needed to fill the till tomorrow.”
    His head seemed to sink into his shoulders as he muscled forward. “Open it,” he shouted.
    Where the hell was Grady? This punk should never have made it past him. Had he injured him? It had to be the guy who’d been robbing businesses up and down the strip.
    “I’ll do what you ask,” she said, turning quickly. With her back to him, she stumbled toward the safe behind her desk. While she shuffled there, she pulled the ring from her finger. Bending to turn the tumbler, she slipped it into her mouth.
    “Hurry it up!”
    “I can’t think when you shout,” she shot over her shoulder then winced. Who shouted at a gunman?
    The lock’s mechanism made its final click. She pulled down the latch, opened the door, and reached inside for the cash tray.
    When she turned, she set the tray on her desk. “Take it, that’s all I have. One hundred dollars.”
    “It’s not enough,” he said, prowling in front of her desk, slamming his fist against the wall and kicking her desk.
    “My purse,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “I have about forty dollars in my wallet. I’ll give you that as well. Just go, please.”
    She bent to pick up her purse.
    “Don’t you fucking move,” he shrieked. “Gonna pull a gun on me?”
    His breaths were short, sharp, and he sounded oddly near tears. Had she somehow rattled him? That might be bad.
    Marti held up her hands. “I don’t have a gun. I’m just getting my purse. See?” she said, holding up her right hand, “I’ll reach with my left and put it on top of the desk. Please be careful with that gun. This doesn’t have to end badly.”
    She opened her wallet, drew out the bills, and held them up. “I’ll put all the cash in the deposit bag for you,” she said, forcing calm into her voice. “That’ll make it easier for you. I’ll just open my top drawer, all right?”
    He nodded, the gun still pointed right at her.
    Marti opened the drawer, retrieved the bag and put the cash from the tray and the bills from her purse inside it then zipped it closed. “Do you want the coins too?”
    “It’s taking too long. Get over here.”
    With her arms raised, she came around the desk, he grabbed the bag, stuffed it down the front of his baggy jeans, then gripped her shoulder and pushed her out the door, down the corridor to the