“I don’t think so,” Michael said. “I appreciate that you want to help, but anyone can go down to the model and trigger the alert.”I arched a... eyebrow and quirked a smile. “Is this the point where all of you gang up on me and encase me in a bullet-proof trailer from which I can only wave at the masses as you drive us around town?”Ella rolled her eyes. Emma frowned at me. “You’re not the bloody Pope, Seth.”I shrugged. At least someone understood what I meant. I looked at Michael. “Please,. "No more 'dancing eyes,' or 'our tongues danced together this and that' shit."Sounds like a fucking tango going on in their mouths."And milking! God, I hate that one! If I read that she 'milked every drop' one more time I'm gonna puke." No...more...milking." My head was drawing closer to the yellow pad as I wrote and I felt liking curling into a ball. He was grumbling something indecipherable about a cow.Now he was staring out the window."Any more, boss?" I'm thinking."He puffed two. More

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