Flint shifted, uncomfortable.
That was to be expected. But the thing with Fury Fontanelli was, you never knew. The Lord couldn't have been harder on Moses. She might as well have added Thou shalt not shag' to those stone tablets she'd hammered him with.
And what had he just gone and done? Screwed her.
It wasn't even like it was a good screw. In fact, lousy was the word for it. And he hadn't had a screw in months. Months and months. It was something else that had been denied him.
"Here." He stuck a cushion under her feet. "You should keep them raised."
He blamed the bed for the fact he'd screwed her instead of scarpering. It was the one welcoming thing in this whole damned place.
"My feet?"
"No. Your legs."
But it would have been just his luck to get caught flogging her candlestic
