The door to the suite swung open. Hannah thrust out her hand, feeling her way along the wallpapered hall until she found the rocker switch. Once she depressed it, recessed lighting filled the room, revealing a king-sized bed. The furnishings were nice—solid four-star quality—a far cry from the band's usual sketchy lodgings.

The enormous red-and-gold-wrapped Christmas gift in front of the television really grabbed the eye. The staff had placed it exactly as she'd instructed—their gratuity would reflect her appreciation.

Hannah strode forward and dropped her luggage in front of the closet. Silver entered behind her and set his own bags down beside hers. The door eased shut on its soft-close hinge behind them. He passed her, naturally drawn straight to the present.

"What's this?" Silver asked. As he got closer, he slowed his approach to a cautious creep. His wariness brought a smile to Hannah's lips. You could lead the coyote to water, but he still suspected the pond was poisoned.

"I don't know. It's a mystery to me." Hannah crossed her arms over her chest, guarding against fear. What if he didn't like it? But oh, that was stupid. He'd love it.

"It's pretty big." Silver cast a glance over his shoulder. His sly smile told her that he'd figured it out. He wrapped both hands about the gift—a rectangular package that came to his mid-chest. "You finally got me that hedge trimmer I've always wanted, didn't you?"

"Yup, you guessed it. That's it exactly." She tipped her chin.

"I knew it." He snickered. "Do I have time to open it?"

Hannah hesitated. She ought to tell him no, he had to wait until tomorrow. But oh, temptation... Quickly, she checked the timer counting down on her cell phone. They had thirty minutes before they needed to go. The decryption program she'd uploaded into the hotel's mainframe needed time to complete its task. It spread like a virus through the system, bypassing one firewall after another. An alert would sound once it finished.

"Yeah, we have time." Hannah gave in, unable to resist his impish grin.

With childlike enthusiasm, Silver tore apart the wrapping. In many ways, her mate was Hannah's polar opposite. She opened gifts along the seams, taking great care not to tear the paper, and saved every ribbon. But his differences were what Hannah loved best about Silver. He freed her from all her foolish, stifling inhibitions.

The box yielded no clues as to its contents. Silver scowled at the container and then shifted his hands to claws. He employed his razor-sharp claws as an impromptu box cutter, slicing through the cardboard, and carved his way through to the next layer.

"It's a guitar case." Silver shot a worried glance in Hannah's direction. She knew that look—he already suspected she'd purchased something funky or junky which he'd hate, but would have to pretend to love. The man just drove her nuts. On all matters excepting music, he held her in genius esteem, but when it came to music... her presumed intelligence plummeted to sub-zero.

"Just open it before you say something stupid you'll regret," Hannah advised.

Silver chuckled. "Have I ever mentioned what a lucky man I am?"

"Never." He said it every day.

The latches of the guitar case opened with a thunderous clash. Silver lifted the lid and gasped. Her heart smashed against her breast. It hammered as he reached within and lifted the mahogany and maple instrument. It shone with the luster of polished ebony.

"It's supposed to be a Christmas present but I had nowhere to hide it and besides, I wanted you to have it for tomorrow's show..." Nervous, Hannah talked too fast, suspected she was babbling, and abruptly shut up.

The quiet was daunting. Torturous seconds dragged past like an eternity. Silver stroked the guitar like a lover; he strummed the strings, drawing forth pure, harmonious melody. If she'd had wings, Hannah could've flown on those strains.

Hannah's impatience bubbled and then boiled over. "Well? What do you think? Do you like it?"

Silver looked askance of Hannah, as though she'd gone insane. "It's a vintage Gibson. I love it. How much did this cost?"

The burden of worry dropped off her shoulders. He liked it! Her spirits soared. "It's a gift," she said with contrived primness. "You're not allowed to ask that."

"Hannah, this is a 1968 Les Paul Custom." Silver shot a worried glance at the instrument in his hands. He wore his thoughts plain on his face—he believed she'd spent an arm and a leg; money they didn't have.

She crossed the space between them, and lay her hand on his wrist. "It's okay. We can afford this. I didn't borrow or sell anything to pay for it. I didn't accept money from Ursula or my sister."

"How?" Silver cocked his head. She had his whole attention.

"Let's just say Red Fox Securities is doing pretty good." Hannah squashed the impulse to squirm. Over the last several months, her firm had done a darn sight better than she was letting on. She averted her eyes, unable to meet her husband's gaze.

"How good is pretty good?" Silver gave her the side eye. The look that said, "Don't con a conman." Clearly, he'd picked upon her deception.

"Good." Hannah gulped, feeling like she ought to swallow her tongue.

"Really good?"

"Really good... As in my revenue is up a hundredfold over the prior year's fiscal quarter."

Silver parted his lips, but stayed silent for a long moment. "Yeah, that's something. Why didn't you tell me?"

The unspoken accusation hung between them—why had she hidden it from him? Hannah winced. Silver had kept his tone neutral, but hurt and confusion shone in his eyes.

"I did tell you." Hannah crossed her arms over her breasts. The gesture struck her as too defensive. Out of self-consciousness, she unfolded them again. "I told you when Marcus hired me for the first time, and I've talked about every single job I've done for him since then."

Initially, her sister's husband had held a grudge against Hannah and Silver over the theft of a particular piece of his property, but he'd gotten over it with admirable alacrity. Afterward, he'd contacted Hannah about testing and improving his personal and corporate security systems. The contracts had proven lucrative.

Silver frowned. "That's not the same as talking about money."

"We never talk about money." Hannah regretted her brusque tone immediately, but she couldn't take it back. The whole topic upset her so much she wanted to puke... and she wasn't even sure why. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pin it down or put it into words.

"That's true. Maybe we're overdue to start—"

"Fine, but does it have to be right now?"

"I guess not." Silver returned the guitar to its case and shut the lid with a finality that frightened her. She wasn't sure what his indifference signified, but she didn't like it in the least.

"I got you something, too, but it's not expensive." He hunched his shoulders, dug into the pocket of his trench coat, and pushed a present into her hand. Hannah automatically closed her fingers around the box, which was too big to be a ring box but about the right size for some other type of jewelry. He'd wrapped it himself—the gift wore a thick hide of paper and then another layer of Scotch tape over that.

"You know I don't care about money." Nausea swirled in Hannah's gut. Darn it, did he think she was concerned about how much he'd spent on her? But—stupid! She ought to have anticipated this when she bought the guitar. The Les Paul had been an impulse buy, though. The only thoughts in her mind at the time of the splurge had been of how much Silver would love it—his excitement and the music he'd make. It hadn't crossed her mind to worry about his ego, because the man was at once the humblest and most arrogant creature she'd ever had the pleasure of knowing... and she adored him for it.

"So you keep saying," Silver said, and crossed his arms over his chest.

There wasn't anything she could say to that without starting another fight. She didn't want to argue with him, so she bit her tongue and concentrated on the present. Opening it actually required a fair amount of effort—and the sharp tips of her claws—to cut the Scotch tape. Even if she'd wished to salvage the crumpled paper, it was beyond saving.

Silver stayed silent while she unwrapped, and the strain between them grew. The burden weighed on their mate bond like an anchor, dragging them down.

Pensively, Hannah pried open the top of the brown cardboard box. She plucked a white cotton cushion off the top and glanced inside. Everything screeched to a full stop. Whatever she'd been expecting... this wasn't it.

A bright pink pacifier greeted her puzzled gaze.

For a split second, it baffled her. She didn't know what to think. With a trembling hand, she lifted the pacifier from the container and set the box aside. The binkie baffled her, but then realization snapped whip-like.

"You overheard us this morning, didn't you?" Hannah asked, mentally cursing Fiona and her big, meddlesome nose.

"Yeah." His mouth tugged at the corners. "I didn't eavesdrop on purpose."

Hannah groaned. "I'm sorry. Fiona had no right to pry into our privacy like that."

"I don't care about that," Silver said softly. "But I minded finding out from other people that we have a problem I wasn't even aware of."

"We have a problem?" Hannah furrowed her brow. She gripped the pacifier tighter and cast it a worried glance.

"Yeah, we do, especially if you secretly want a baby and don't feel like you can talk to me about it." Silver cocked his head. "You do want a baby...?"

"I've always loved the idea of having a family, but I've never translated that into concrete terms." Hannah meant to hedge, but Silver seemed to take her admission as some sort of affirmation.

He nodded and explained in a tight voice. "The owner of Club Scathe is interested in opening a new location in Venice Beach. I made some calls—pulled a few strings. When we get home from this gig, I've got a job interview scheduled but it's mostly a formality—"

"Silver, no." Hannah wrung her hands, but he wasn't listening.

"I wouldn't have to travel anymore and it'd mean more money..." Silver hesitated, a thought crossing his face. Occasionally, not too often, but sometimes, Coyote Hustle landed a gig that paid really well. But then he had to deduct all the expenses associated with travel and lodging... not to mention the split between all the band members. He corrected himself, "As a club manager, I'd have a stable and predictable income."

Hannah winced. The word "predictable" didn't belong in her mate's vocabulary. "I've already said money doesn't matter to me. Why do you keep bringing it up?"

Silver pressed his lips into a thin smile. "We both know what's said isn't always what's meant."

She exhaled, struggling to keep a lid on her frayed temper. "I don't want you giving up your dreams to do something that would make you unhappy."

Silver faltered, a slight but betraying hesitation. "I wouldn't be miserable. The job would still involve working around music."

"Yeah, other people's music. You'd be miserable."

"I could still perform," he said, but his declaration lacked conviction.

"Silver, no. Just no. I married a rock star. Do you really think I want to take a step down and have to tell my friends my husband is a paper pusher?" She grinned, trying to coax an answering smile from him. Whenever Silver got into a mood, making him laugh always got him out of the funk.

He frowned, refusing to take the bait, and her heart sank like the Titanic.

She sighed. "I can't allow you to make some stupid sacrifice based on the wrongheaded notion that it's what I want."

Hardness entered his gaze—a look she hadn't seen since they'd first met. Back then, they'd started out on the wrong foot, rivals after the same prize. Knots hardened in her gut, because Silver was supposed to be her partner in all things right or wrong, easy or tough.

"You can't allow..." His tone turned frosty. "I don't get a say? Why is it you can have a successful career, but I shouldn't?"

"I never said that."

"Not directly, no. But it's the only thing that makes any sense. Why else would you have lied to me about how well your company is doing?"

Hannah clenched her hands into fists. "Damn it, Silver, you're twisting this into something it's not. I would love nothing more than to see you succeed as a musician. You deserve to be in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame—"

"We both know the odds against that."

"It's just a matter of time. You're destined for greatness." Why, oh why, couldn't he see it as clearly as she did? The man possessed an extraordinary musical genius. He was—literally—magical.

"I understand why you lied." Grimness cloaked Silver in a death shroud.

Foreboding flocked over Hannah like a kettle of vultures. She asked, dreading the answer but unable to stop herself, "Why's that?"

"You think I'd be a bad father. It's okay. I get it. My father was a drunk, abusive asshole. I'd probably suck at being a dad."

Hannah couldn't find the words to even make a denial. His angry accusation left her stunned stupid. She knew all about Silver's terrible childhood, but it'd never occurred to her that he'd interpret her reluctance to have children in such a negative light.

"This has nothing to do with your father. I thought we were past this." Queasiness churned in Hannah's gut. Her heart ached for her lover.

"So did I. But if it's not this, then what?" Silver asked with severity suited to a funeral. He didn't even attempt to lighten the mood. That alone scared her senseless.

Hannah opened her mouth to answer, but the awful truth stuck in her throat. Shame flooded her, leaving her feeling small and unworthy. She shook her head in adamant denial. Unable to meet her mate's gaze, she dropped her eyes.

"Yeah, I figured," Silver drawled.

Her phone chimed, signaling the completion of the decryption routine.

"Time to go." Silver turned, snagged his gear, and headed out the door.

Hannah stumbled along after him. Reflexively, she snatched up her equipment bag and shoved the pacifier into the front pocket of her jeans. The baby talk would have to wait—they had a casino to rob.