Mid-episode Ms. Mom, just after Angela yells at everyone in the kitchen – Season 7
Mona, Jonathan, and Billy scurried out of the kitchen without a backward glance, leaving Tony to face Angela alone. "Caffeine has nothing to do with this," she growled through gritted teeth.
"Then why are you overreacting to every little thing?" he asked with more than a hint of accusation in his voice.
She practically recoiled at his words. "Overreacting?" she seethed. Then, very slowly, "I am not overreacting. I am reacting as any reasonable person would after a day of unreasonable demands. You have no idea what I've been through!"
"I don't?!" he asked rhetorically, his voice thick with sarcasm? "Let me guess – every time you went upstairs or to the basement, the phone rang, but six of the eight calls were telemarketers. You have a twinge in your lower back from leaning over to make the beds, and you turned an ankle when you stepped on Billy's toys while carrying a laundry basket. And just when you were getting into the rhythm of things, you had to stop to pick up Jonathan and Billy from school and then answer their thousand and one questions about snacks, friends, and the origins of the universe. How am I doing so far?"
In truth, he was a hundred percent spot on, be she'd be damned before she gave him the satisfaction of saying so. "You forgot about fishing out a sock someone flushed down the upstairs toilet and cleaning up a stick of butter that melted on the stove," she retorted instead.
Tony recognized her frustration, but he wasn't about to take the blame. "No one is making you do this, you know. This was your choice, and you don't get to take it out on the rest of us when it's not as easy as it looks on Leave It to Beaver."
Angela believed she exercised admirable restraint by not clawing Tony's eyes out with her bare hands. That alone should win her some kind of award, right? "Maybe if I didn't have to listen to a dozen patronizing tapes explaining which outlet to plug the vacuum into and how to fill the ice cube trays, I would have been able to clean my own house and cook dinner my way!"
Now it was his turn to get heated. "Maybe you don't remember, but once upon a time, you didn't know how to heat up a Pop Tart! And the last time you cooked dinner, my appendix burst," he threw back at her. "So, forgive me if I thought you might appreciate a little guidance."
"My cooking had nothing to do with your appendix!" she shouted at him.
They glared at each other until Tony threw up his hands. "Fine, if you want to do it your way, then have at it. I won't say a word."
"Oh, please! As if you've ever been able to be quiet about anything," she hurled back.
The kitchen seemed to have gotten smaller as they inched toward one another with each volley until they were practically nose to nose. There was a red haze around the edges of Angela's vision as she glared at Tony, and in return, his eyes bore into hers.
With raw heat in his voice, Tony practically growled, "You are so sexy when you're mad."
The words hung between them for a beat before Angela launched herself toward him, fusing her mouth to his and clawing at his back as his arms wrapped around her. Immediately, she thought of Jamaica and the way they'd made out like teenagers on the bench by the beach. They'd been mad at each other then, too.
The passion between them hadn't waned at all, despite all they'd been through since that trip. The kiss was volcanic, and Angela basked in the distantly familiar feel of Tony's mouth as it coursed over hers. Damn, he knew how to kiss!
By the time they came up for air, the fight had gone out of her. How could it not, with her lips still thrumming from the feel of his and every muscle suddenly languid and compliant?
"Feel better?" he inquired gruffly as he stepped back enough to meet her eyes and gather his composure. They were little more than a centimeter apart.
"For now," she grudgingly conceded, and then reached up to brush her thumb over his lip. "But I can't make any promises about tomorrow," she challenged.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he took a step closer, pressing her against the counter and holding himself a breath away. "You know where to find me," he whispered suggestively as his lips hovered over hers. He closed the distance, kissing her soundly, before turning and striding out of the kitchen.
Angela watched him go and wondered, not for the first time, exactly which one felt more like the cat that ate the proverbial canary.