Mile High

by Ophelia Bell

  “I’m not an idiot; I didn’t bring it with me. It’s in a safe place with copies being made as we speak, for insurance. You harm anyone in my family, ever again, all your dirty secrets get spilled to your boss.”

  Gustavo’s face turns in on itself, constricting in rage. “Get out!” he roars, then he turns and drops his gun, grabs the chair I was tied to, and smashes it against the wall with another yell.

  Zoe jumps and starts to cry. “Let’s go,” Mason says. He slips his hand into mine and pulls me toward the stairs, leaving the rampaging beast that is Gustavo Delgado behind to tear the basement to pieces.

  40

  Mason

  We take a couple more days in Mexico City, handling all the legal shit surrounding Rafael and Emilia’s estate. Zavala already took care of the cops, so on paper they were killed in a car accident. A construction crew and some plaster and paint are enough to make the patio of the house look like new, removing any trace of the barrage of bullets that slaughtered the original owners.

  Then we pack up all their things and entrust them to a shipping company my brother calls, who will haul everything to Los Angeles. I put the house on the market since there’s no way in hell I want to come back to this city. Not until Zoe is old enough to ask where her parents came from. Part of me still thinks of Rafael as her dad. He was for the first eighteen months of her existence—the nine months inside Emilia’s womb, followed by the nine months out of it. She was his, and I don’t intend to keep his role in her life a secret, even though she’s mine now.

  Stepping off the private plane in Los Angeles on the third day, I feel like a weight’s been lifted. I just stop and stand on the tarmac, taking enormous gulps of air for several seconds. Zoe’s still strapped to me—I wouldn’t let her go no matter how many times Callie or Maddox offered to carry her—and Callie stops at my side, her hand on my arm.

  “Are you okay?”

  I can’t speak, and I think I may be hyperventilating at first. Then the tears come, and instead of struggling for breath, I break out in body-wracking sobs. Zoe makes a little whining sound and I try to comfort her, but it’s too much. I’m on my knees before I can control myself.

  Callie drops down beside me. “Mason, what is it?” She waves at my brother, who drops his bag and rushes over. “Maddox, can you help me? Take Zoe.”

  Mad lifts the baby out of the carrier and Callie helps extract me from the straps and buckles, then wraps her arms around me. I bury my face in her hair and cling to her, surrendering completely to three years of pent-up emotion. Hell, it’s probably more like two decades’ worth, because this moment is the first time I’ve felt free in years.

  Callie doesn’t say anything, though. She just holds me while I ride out the freak storm of overwhelming feelings. When it finally subsides, I hold her a little longer, just enjoying her solid, yet delicate heat and her tart apple scent. Then I kiss her, long and hard, trying to squeeze every ounce of my love and thanks into the kiss, pulling back only when I feel her start to melt into me with a soft hum of pleasure. The arousal grounds me enough to let her go, and I stand, reaching down to help her up beside me.

  “You’re a f—a dang angel,” I say, cutting my eyes toward Maddox and Zoe, who are having a stroll around the plane. He sounds like he’s explaining aerodynamics to her, and she’s babbling with interest and little grasping hands.

  Callie laughs. “You know you can just skip the expletives entirely. Nobody would miss them.”

  I shrug. “It’s a hard habit to break, but I’m trying.”

  “So where do you want to go now? I’m here for you.”

  “Shouldn’t you think about getting back to work? You’re about a week late by now.”

  She waves a hand dismissively. “Ah, Dr. Yao will cover for me. Now that I know he’s secretly in Arturo Flores’ pocket, I think he and I have an understanding. I want to help you and Zoe get settled. That is, if you’ll let me.”

  The hesitance in her voice is endearing and I pull her into my arms again. “If you can put up with us, heck yeah, I’ll let you.”

  Freedom feels too surreal after the ordeal of the last two weeks. Hell, after the last three years of becoming someone else, it’s a challenge to slip back into my old life. The more I try to find my way back to that old skin, the more I realize it just doesn’t fit me anymore, and I’m at a loss as to how to behave.

  The only thing that allows me to avoid that stress is Zoe. Instead of worrying about who I am now, I focus on her. Her needs are everything. But there are a few things that need to happen before I can truly settle down and start my new life as a dad to my baby girl.

  Zoe’s in a less elaborate carrier wrapped around my body—one I can get in and out of easier—but before we left Mexico City, Callie insisted that if I plan to carry the baby around all the time, I have to compromise by wearing a back brace. I relented, so underneath my shirt is a stretchy harness-contraption that maintains my posture to keep me from over-exerting the muscles around my surgical incision.

  From the airport, we head straight to the hospital. The ICU floor is still filled with the symphony of subtle hums and beeps. My pulse picks up when we near Mom’s room.

  Callie and Maddox lead the way and I hang back, gripped with nerves. We called ahead and learned both Elle and Sam are with Mom right now. She still hasn’t woken up, but yesterday they started weaning her off the drugs that kept her under. Callie thinks the timing is good to visit now. Having me there could help her recover faster. I hope to hell she’s right.

  Elle and Sam don’t budge from their spots in the two chairs when Maddox walks in. They perk up when they see Callie, who greets them before diverting her attention to Mom. Then their eyes slide to me where I stand in the doorway, waiting for a reaction.

  Elle frowns, staring between me and Zoe in consternation. Sam whispers, “No fucking way,” and his eyes go wide. Then he stands and Elle slowly unfolds herself from her seat, mouth falling open when it finally sinks in that her eyes aren’t deceiving her.

  “J.J.?” she breathes. “Is it really you?”

  “Yeah, Bean. It’s me.”

  They both rush me, asking a million questions at once. “Where the hell have you been? What’s up with the baby? Why didn’t you tell us? Are you back for good? Whose baby is this? Is she yours?”

  “Guys, give him a little breathing room, for Christ’s sake,” Maddox says. “I’ll explain things later. He just wants to see Mom.”

  He ushers them out with more promises of explanations. I claim my little brother’s chair and pull it close to the bed, then sit, loosening the carrier so Zoe can sit on my lap. She coos softly, batting her hand against the sheets in front of her.

  “You know who this is, Zoe? This is your grandma. She’s sick right now, but when she gets better, she’s going to teach you how to dance. Would you like that?”

  I meet Callie’s tender gaze, and we share a smile over Mom’s bed. She nods and silently slips out, closing the door behind her.

  It’s a struggle not to break down again, but I manage to take a deep breath and steady myself. I clasp Mom’s hand and squeeze. Her skin is warm and dry and soft as tissue, her bones like delicate sticks. I take Zoe’s hand and place it on top, splaying her little fingers.

  “It’s me, Mom. Your son, J.J. If you can hear me, I’m back. And this little girl here is Zoe. She’s your granddaughter. Pretty crazy huh? I bet you were thinking I’d be the last one of your kids to become a dad. We’d really love it if you could wake up and say hello.”

  Beneath mine and Zoe’s hands I feel a twitch, and my heart leaps into my throat. Then Mom’s fingers slowly begin to close around mine until she’s squeezing so tight it almost hurts. I look up at her face to see tears streaming unchecked from her eyes. She can’t speak past the ventilator, but no words are necessary.

  41

  Mason

  Settling in happens in a blur after that. My brother returns to his life at the Flores estate, but Elle and Sam jo
in me for a few days at our old house in Westlake. They insist Mom would want me there, and I’m pretty sure they’re not wrong, but it still feels weird to start redecorating their two old bedrooms without Mom’s input or her hovering around, trying to feed us.

  Mom is recovering, but it’s a slow process, and she won’t be cleared for discharge until she passes several physical therapy milestones. The stroke did a number on her motor functions on her left side, but she’s been working her ass off to improve. She wants to be strong enough to hold her granddaughter without help.

  By the end of the week, the house starts to feel like home again. Zoe has a nursery in Elle’s old room overlooking the back yard, and I’ve reclaimed the room I used to share with Mad and Marco.

  It’s Friday, and I’ve survived seven whole days back in LA. Things still don’t quite feel settled, but Zoe’s safe, sound asleep in her crib, and the house is quiet except for the whooshing of her little sound machine.

  I’m finally off the heavy pain meds, so I’m contemplating actually having a drink for the first time since Denver when the doorbell rings. I open the door to find Callie standing outside, still in blue scrubs, and it hits me what I’m missing. It isn’t booze—it’s her.

  “You are a sight for sore eyes, gorgeous,” I say, pulling her in for a kiss. She sinks against me, practically collapsing with an exhausted moan, and I laugh against her mouth, holding her up.

  “Shit,” she says, standing on her own with a start. “You shouldn’t be stressing your back that much.”

  “Honey, I’m fine. If I can’t hold you up when you’re beat from a hard day’s work, what kind of man would I be?”

  “The kind who needs to let himself heal.”

  “A little exertion won’t hurt. Dr. Yao came by and checked me out yesterday. He said things are healing well.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, he made a house-call? Aren’t you special.”

  I usher her in and she settles on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter, dropping her bag to the floor while I pull out the bottle of wine I know she likes and pour her a glass. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t remember what it was. This is good.” She takes a swallow of the wine and hums in pleasure. I lean against the counter, watching intently as some of the tension in her body begins to ease. She still looks harried and a little wired, the cut and bruise on her cheek making her look more battered than she probably feels. She’s earned some TLC, and I have an idea that makes my cock stiffen a little in my jeans.

  Visiting the hospital on the first day resulted in her getting sucked back into her regular routine, and it was impossible to get her to shift back into vacation mode. So she went back to work the next day, and I’ve only seen her during my daily visits to see Mom. Zoe’s a heavy sleeper, and it’s been a week since Callie and I have had a moment alone. We’re long overdue for a talk too, but first things first.

  “Come with me,” I say, rounding the counter and reaching out a hand to her.

  “I can’t stay. I have an early day, and driving across town in the morning is not my idea of a good way to start the day. I just wanted to see you.” She sounds exhausted, but a little desperate, and gives me a once-over filled with longing and a few other emotions that only make me more sure of what I’m doing.

  “Okay, now you’ve seen me, sweetness. You can keep your eyes closed for what I have in mind, but I’m not letting you leave until I’m done with you,” I tell her, pitching my voice a little lower. That gets the desired response. One eyebrow twitches, and she slips off the barstool and picks up her bag.

  “Oh yeah? Well, I guess we’d better get started then.”

  I lead her into my bedroom and shut the door behind us. The only sounds are the canned ocean noises coming through the baby monitor on my dresser. I turn off the overhead light, then toss a flannel shirt over my bedside lamp to dim the illumination to a warm glow. Callie stands at the foot of the bed, watching me. When I return to her, she smiles and kicks off the clunky, comfortable shoes she wears to work.

  She’s a beautiful mess, her blonde hair slipping out of the braid that trails down her back, her scrubs rumpled from a long day of work. She hasn’t even bothered with makeup over her bruise, and I don’t want to think about what kinds of conclusions her coworkers have come to about me after she showed up with it. She claims she doesn’t care what they think, and I believe her. What matters most to her is saving lives. There’s a strong chance she was poking around inside someone’s skull today, and for some crazy reason that makes her even sexier, and I haven’t even taken off her clothes yet.

  “I warn you, I may not exactly be fresh,” she says.

  “You want a bath? I can make that happen.” I close the distance between us and she stops me with a hand to my chest, glancing at the baby monitor with a frown.

  “I’d better at least shower. No telling what kinds of germs hitched a ride on me from work.”

  “I’m already contaminated.” I rest my hands on her hips and dip my head, brushing my mouth along her neck. She shudders against me and clutches my shirt in both fists.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about, and you know it. I know she’s had her vaccines, but you can’t be too careful.”

  “All right,” I say, stepping back and pulling my shirt over my head. “Let’s clean up together then.”

  She looks toward the bathroom, but her eyes slip back to me and her gaze drifts over my chest and down my belly. My cock stiffens when she licks her lower lip. I love how raw her expression is when she’s tired. How her defenses seem nonexistent, but the exhaustion is plain in the circles under her eyes. It’s as if she’s been making up for being gone an extra week.

  “Here, let me.” I move to pull her blue top over her head, taking over even though she hasn’t made a move to undress herself yet. She’s still a little mesmerized by my half-naked body, which is cute as hell.

  “Sorry,” she sighs, lifting her arms and letting me undress her. “Did I mention I miss you?” She has a long-sleeved shirt underneath, which I pull off next, followed by her stretchy sports bra. She aims for comfort, clearly, but every stitch of clothing is all the sexier for what I know is beneath it.

  “No, but the feeling is mutual,” I tell her, sliding my hands down her naked back before pushing her pants and panties down. When she’s naked, I slip out of my jeans and lead her to the bathroom.

  The shower heats up fast and I urge her to climb in, then follow her and pull the curtain closed behind us. She lets out a long sigh as she tilts her face up beneath the spray. Behind her, I squeeze body wash into my palm and lather up, then spread the suds over her shoulders and begin working my thumbs into her muscles from the top down.

  “Oh. My. God. That feels good.”

  I slide my soapy hands around her belly and pull her against me, spreading the suds up to her breasts. She leans her head back on my shoulder, turning just enough to graze lips along the scruff beneath my jaw. When I swirl the suds in tightening circles around the tips of her breasts, she moans.

  Dropping my hands to her hips, I turn her, and she immediately wraps her arms around me, leaning in to kiss me. I lose myself in the feel of her wet, naked body, my erection trapped tight between us. She tilts her hips, pressing even tighter, and I groan and pull back, giving her a soft smack on the ass.

  “Rinse off, I’ve got an agenda.”

  She pouts. “What, no shower sex?”

  I chuckle. “This is only the beginning. Trust me.”

  We rinse and dry and head back to the bed. “On your belly,” I say.

  She crawls on and sighs as she lies down, a pillow clutched in both arms beneath her head.

  “No dozing off, okay? I want you to feel everything.”

  “I’m only slightly more desperate for your rock star dick than I am for sleep. I think I’m good.”

  Laughing, I step back into the bathroom for one more thing before climbing onto the bed to straddle her hips. My dick is achin
gly hard now, and it’s tempting to just haul her hips up and plunge into her, but a little delayed gratification isn’t going to hurt.

  I reposition her damp braid over her shoulder, then tip the bottle of baby oil up and drizzle a line right down her spine, all the way to the cleft of her ass. She giggles softly.

  “Tickles,” she murmurs into the pillow.

  “Oh yeah? How ’bout this?” I set the bottle down, then with both hands begin spreading the oil over her skin. I start at her shoulders and neck, moving slowly and methodically as I dig my thumbs and knuckles into her tense muscles. She lets out an incoherent groan.

  “I take it that’s a happy noise.”

  More incoherent noises drift up from the pillow, but I can see the corner of her mouth curled into a smile of abject bliss.

  I take my time with her back, working my way down. When I reach the center, I lower my hips until my balls press against the underside of her ass and my hard dick is aligned with the cleft between her cheeks. It’s the softest contact, but she tilts her hips up and lets out a soft shudder.

  Wetness coats the skin where my balls rest, and I’m almost sure it isn’t just water from the shower, but I’m intent on taking my time. I slow the massage as I move even lower, digging my thumbs into her low back for a little longer before grazing lower. Splaying both hands across the backs of her hips with my thumbs in the center, I glide them down inch by inch, tracing the line of her spine down to her tailbone. She’s still slick with the baby oil I drizzled into her crack, and she spreads her legs just a fraction.

  My entire body is on fire with need, but I’m all about drawing this out right now. I clutch both her ass cheeks gently and spread them just enough to slot my cock between, then tilt my hips back, then forward, dragging the length of my cock up and down between her cheeks, sliding along her oil-coated skin.