If I Love You

by Tmonique Stephens

  Bracing himself on his arms, he leaned down to capture a nipple between his lips. Sucking, licking, nibbling on the hard peak, she bucked beneath him, rocked on his cock. Drove him out of his fucking mind. She groaned and mumbled something that got lost in the fog of lust. His name was a harsh rasp, then a shudder ran through her, and her walls milked him. Her tight passage flooded with her arousal.

  His orgasm slammed into him, sucker-punched his control. He wanted to keep going, wanted to drive into her quivering flesh until sunrise, but the pleasure was too much. She was too much. He emptied into the condom and collapsed, his head buried into her neck, his body sated. He had to be crushing her, but he couldn’t move. Not yet. Her hands came up to surround him as her legs tightened their hold. She held him, rubbed her face against his, breathing him in, and sighed.

  He caressed her shoulders, let his fingers trail down her spine to the swell of her rear. Her arms tightened around him. She snuggled closer and then relaxed, boneless in his embrace.

  He dropped a kiss to the crux of her neck. The floral scent of her hair mixed with the erotic hint of musk on her skin. His blood stirred and headed south. He wanted her again, exhaustion be damned. “Asleep yet?” he whispered in her ear and breathed her in.

  “No,” she said, but the drowsiness in her voice said sleep was close. “That was… awesome,” she groaned.

  It was more than awesome. It was perfect. He rolled off her sweet body and trekked to the bathroom to take care of the condom. From the bathroom door, he had a perfect view of her splayed body. Her pillowed breasts, the slight roll of her stomach, and rounded hips. For the first time in a long time, he was content. No, he was happy. She made him happy. Her smile, her laugh, her sharp tongue, hell, her soft tongue. Her presence made him happy.

  And he would do anything to make her happy. Anything… except for one thing he couldn’t do. And she wasn’t going to like it. Not at all.

  Twenty-Three

  Joseph huddled lower into the collar of his coat and curled into his chest. Little protection from the biting cold and blustery wind. What little warmth the sun provided this time of year, in this neck of the world, ended five hours ago at sunset.

  “I can’t feel my dick,” Pauly whined a few feet away.

  “That’s because you don’t have one,” Brandan snickered. He jogged in place to keep warm.

  Joseph glared at his younger brother. The asshole never listened. “You were told to sit tight. If you’re seen from the cabin—”

  “Awright, boss.” Brandan sneered and planted his ass close to Joseph. Together, they huddled behind an outcropping of granite.

  One week since they’d buried Lonnie in an unmarked grave and Brandan no longer tried to hide his jealousy. Last born, he never had a chance of leadership with Lonnie and Joseph alive. Now, unexpectedly closer to the title, the unattainable was suddenly within reach. One step closer with only Joseph in the way. Joseph did blame Brandan. If he were in his little brother’s position, he’d think the same way.

  But he wasn’t in the same position. He was in charge, head of the Moretti family. He made the decisions. No one else, but him.

  “I don’t know why we have to hide out here in the fucking cold. It’s February for Christ’s sake.” Pauly sulked and wrapped his arms around his thick middle.

  Joseph backslapped him, the sound seemed to echo between the trees. “Lonnie is dead. That’s why we’re out here, you dumb ass. Or have you forgotten already?”

  Pauly rubbed his cheek and ducked his head like a whipped dog. “Sorry, Joseph. I didn’t mean nothing by it.” Proper respect was back in his voice. Too little, too late.

  Joseph smacked Pauly again. “My brother’s in an unmarked grave because we rushed into that house in West Virginia.” He had no one to blame but himself. Lonnie told him to wait, stake out the place before rushing it. Joseph scoffed at Lonnie and the two-bedroom bungalow isolated on a dead-end road.

  They drove up to the place. Joseph got to the front door first and knocked. Instead of “Who’s there?” he heard the pump-action sound of a shotgun loading and froze. Lonnie dragged him away from the door, but the shot came from the window. The blast lifted him off his feet. Lonnie grabbed onto Joseph. Together, they crashed through the railing and landed in the snowbank lining the walkway.

  Where his brother bled out from the bullet in his fucking back.

  Jesus. Joseph shook his head, but the memory was seared into his brain. He didn’t need to close his eyes to see his brother bleeding out. So fresh, the memory lived with him, and only him it seemed. His attention shifted to Brandan. He had no problem with Lonnie’s death. No problem digging the grave and dumping the body inside. No problem walking away without shedding a tear. No problem eating a plate of chicken scaloppini afterward. No problem sleeping till noon the next day. Fuck.

  “How long we gonna be out here?” Brandan demanded.

  Joseph shifted from his blind spot behind an outcrop of granite and studied the house. The country music and laughter had died down. Two men, hunters by the look of them, also by the pelts drying in the shed next to the house. Illegal pelts Joseph guessed by the strange assortment of bear, coyote, and other pelts, he couldn’t readily name.

  The cabin was little more than a rundown shack set up in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t hard to imagine why the two thought it was abandoned. For all intents and purposes, it was. Uncle Alfredo had bought the property under an alias, then sold it to another alias, and resold it to a dead cousin. A lot of work for a four hundred square foot shed.

  A lot of work to keep what was hidden in the shed a secret.

  “Now’s as good a time as any,” he murmured more to himself than anyone else. “I’ll take the front. You—” he nodded to Brandan. “Circle around the back.”

  Brandan took his gun from his pocket. He checked the clip and slammed it home and loaded a round. A know-it-all-smirk twisted his mouth. “No survivors, Boss?”

  After Lonnie, “No survivors. We kill them, then search the place.”

  “Shoulda did that hours ago,” Brandan grumbled.

  Maybe, but the time for taking chances was over. Joseph couldn’t handle losing another brother, even one as annoying as Brandan. Pauly, he wasn’t family, and his usefulness had an expiration date.

  Brandan glanced at his watch. “Gimme fifteen to get in place. We go in a quarter after.”

  Joseph nodded and checked his gun as the soft crunch of Brandan’s feet drew away. He looked up at the cloudy sky, pleased. They wouldn’t see them coming. Also, with the promise of fresh snow, their tracks would be covered.

  This time, there’d be no mistakes, no casualties. Well, none of their own. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes left. Then he spared a glance at Pauly. “Stay here. I’ll whistle when I’m ready.”

  “No problem, Joseph,” he said through chattering teeth.

  Joseph darted around the granite to the nearest tree. God, his joints made a popping, snapping sound, and his muscles ached. Maybe Brandan had the right idea jogging in place, though he’d never hear it from Joseph.

  He kept up the pace until he made it to the single step. He knew it squeaked in the center, as did the door when it opened. He paused on the threshold. This was where things went south, where it could go south again. Lonnie used his body as a shield. Big bro was gone. Any bullets came flying they’d hit Joseph and leave him lying in the snow, bleeding out like Lonnie.

  Joseph raised his foot. One hard kick and the flimsy lock shattered. The door flew open, ricocheted off the wall, and would’ve caught a slower man, but he was already inside the house.

  Well, looky here. He’d stumbled onto a little Brokeback Mountain action. Startled, the men jerked apart. Joseph killed them both before Brandan cleared the back entrance.

  “Look at these two cocksu—”

  “Stow it and start searching.” Joseph didn’t have time for Brandan’s homophobic rant. That’s not what they were here for. “We find what we came here
for and leave.”

  Pauly strolled into the shed with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched without a care in the world, as if he ran shit, and they answered to him. He glanced at the two hunters and shuddered at the headshots that ended their lives. “Good job, boy. I’ll start searching the place.”

  Joseph stepped to him, crowded the smaller, rounder man. “No, we’ll search the place while you drag the bodies out into the snow for the animals.”

  Pauly’s eyes bugged. “But-but—” he blubbered.

  Joseph pressed the barrel of his nine-millimeter to Pauly’s temple. “Another word, and there’ll be three bodies in the snow.”

  Brandan tag teamed Pauly and pressed his gun to Pauly’s temple. “I didn’t get to kill anyone today.”

  “No problem, Mr. Morretti. No problem.”

  The brothers watched Pauly struggle to get the first body out the door until Joseph got back down to business. “Tear the place apart.”

  Ten hours later, as the sun crested, and the cabin lay in ruins, Joseph finally gave up. “Is there any place we haven’t looked?” he questioned Brandan and Pauly.

  Both shook their heads. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Brandan said, “Not that I can think of?”

  They’d torn the place apart, literally. Holes in the walls and roof, the floor torn up. No one would be using this shed for anything but kindling.

  “What now?” Pauly said, unable to keep the whine out of his voice. He wanted his promised payday. Two hundred million dollars. Joseph wanted it too.

  “What we gonna do?” Brandan hopped on the whine bandwagon with Pauly. Not one of them had a brain cell or a single nut between the two of them.

  Two damn good questions. Slouched in a chair, fury and exhaustion beating against his temple, Joseph played the only card he had left. “Now, we go to Sessory Corners.”

  Twenty-Four

  “If he wants to get up and walk around, let him. Exercise is good for his heart.” Kensley explained to Mary, Dr. Fitzroy’s sister, on the speakerphone. After only three days in the hospital, Dr. Fitzroy was discharged with the expressed order to take it easy. Sensible orders considering he had a stent placed, and he was on the other side of young.

  “Walking isn’t the issue. Edgar wants to go jogging as if he’s twenty and not close to seventy-one.” Her exasperation came through the speakerphone. Kensley could imagine the diminutive widow scolding her brother to no effect. The two had the same stubborn, irascible personalities and hoped they’d survive each other long enough for Dr. Fitzroy to get back on his feet.

  “Well, Mrs. Maddow, exercise is recommended.” Though not running a marathon.

  “And he refused to stick to the diet the nutritionist gave him. I swear I’m babysitting a toddler. One I don’t care for.”

  Noah chuckled. Kensley shushed him and smacked his thigh. He ignored her and kept his gaze on the road.

  “I suspect he’s acting this way on purpose, pushing you away. I would tell you to not let him. Your brother needs you, and knowing Dr. Fitzroy, he hates it.”

  Mary sighed. “I suspected as much. Well, I’ve got news for him. I’m not going anywhere. Edgar is stuck with me.”

  Better you than me. “Good for you. You hang in there.” She ended the call secure Dr. Fitzroy had someone caring for him and sad because their employer, employee relationship had come to an end. He wouldn’t be returning to his practice. Effective immediately, he had retired. Effective immediately, she was unemployed.

  He put the clinic on the market, including the building he owned, and his client list. It was a matter of time before he had a buyer, until then, she and Louann didn’t have a job.

  Since Kensley wasn’t employed, she really should put the house on the market and move. Now was the perfect time. Except…

  Her gaze strayed to the man behind the wheel, and her heart gave a strange lurch. Slashes of streetlights washing his features in a yellowish glow, giving him a hardened, brooding appearance. He’d been quiet most of the drive, which she appreciated. She liked the quiet between them. It showed they didn’t need to fill their space with unnecessary noise. They could be together and yet still be apart.

  His phone rang. It’s position in the cup holder allowed her to see the screen. Mom. Hmm. He still had his mother. He picked it up, glanced at the screen, glanced at her, paused, then swept his thumb across the screen.

  “Hey, Mom.” Noah hadn’t put it on speaker, but his mother wasn’t quiet.

  “Well, thank you for answering.”

  “Now’s not a good time. I’m driving.”

  His mother sighed, clearly annoyed. “For the fourth or the fifth time, are you coming to your grandfather’s birthday?”

  Noah’s gaze cut to her again. “I’ll try to make it.”

  “That was not convincing.”

  “Would you like me to lie, Mom? I swear. I’ll try to make it.”

  “I can’t argue with you when you’re driving. Call me back when you’re parked.”

  “I will, Mom.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yeah, I promise.”

  “Love you, Noah.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  Kensley made it thirty seconds before she gave in. “Does your mom still make that strawberry strudel?”

  “Yeah. For her new husband,” he grumbled.

  Oh. “Don’t like him, huh?”

  “Eh, he’s alright. I’m glad she found someone after Dad died. Met him on a dating website.” He snorted. “My mother on a dating website.”

  Kensley could imagine how that conversation went down.

  “She moved to South Carolina a few years ago and took my grandfather with her. There was no one left alive to look after him in Sessory Corners.”

  “Wow. Your grandfather is still alive. How old is he?”

  “Ninety-two? Three? He’s up there.” Love and admiration filled his voice.

  “You should go to the party.”

  A scowl crossed his features, and his hand tightened on the wheel.

  “It’ll be nice to go somewhere warmer.” She tried to tempt him.

  “It snows in South Carolina.”

  “Not like it does here.” Something didn’t add up. He was fighting too hard not to see his family. “Why don’t you want to go to your grandfather’s birthday party?” she posed the question carefully. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel like this was an interrogation.

  He grimaced and didn’t answer until he braked at a red light. “If it were just him, yeah…maybe I’d go. With the entire family present—and I have a big family, lots of cousins—they want the old Noah to show up. That’s not me, not anymore.”

  Not since Afghanistan. She understood. War changes people.

  “Plus, my grandfather. He has fond memories of World War Two. That’s pretty much all he truly remembers with much accuracy. Everything else is a little bit of this and a little bit of that.”

  She reached out and touched his thigh, felt the tense muscles beneath his jeans. It wasn’t much. She may not understand all he went through, and he may never share, but she was there for him. In any capacity. His hand dropped from the steering wheel and covered hers.

  “Dinner. What do you have a taste for?”

  They’d spent the morning in bed, only leaving it to walk Bear, then returning to the sheets. The afternoon was spent on the back of his snowmobile, tooling around the mountain and the lake. Now, she was starving. “Italian. Lillian’s on Washington avenue is still open after all these years. Though she died in 2013.”

  A few minutes later, they were seated at a round table near the middle of the room. He ordered lasagna while Kensley chose penne pomodoro and salad. The red wine was mandatory. She nodded to the Gilroys, eating at a table near the window. The Crowley’s were seated next to them, and the Temple’s with the six kids were at the large booth in the back. Bryan Elks walked in, spotted Noah, pulled up a chair, and started talking about the Bills chances of the Sup
er Bowl next year. Slim to none was Kensley’s opinion though she kept it to herself.

  Along with Hillary, one of the A crowd girls in high school who was now their waitress and mother of three with three different baby daddies—karma was a bitch—everywhere she looked, her gaze met someone she knew, and it was comforting even if she couldn’t stand the person. For so long, she hated the inability to be anonymous. Small town life didn’t allow anonymity. Everybody knew what everybody else had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Tonight, she found comfort in that as people scooted back their chairs and came over to ask about Dr. Fitzroy.

  Tomorrow, the clinic and the hospital would be inundated with cards and flowers, casseroles, cookies, cakes, donuts. That’s how the town showed their love, and she never appreciated it more as people hugged her and patted her back in sympathy. She accepted their touch, didn’t push them away because she needed them as much as they needed her. She was a townie, and this was how they grieved.

  “Tomorrow, I need to go to the clinic and secure all the meds,” she said between bites of pasta when they were finally allowed to eat in peace. “We don’t have narcotics, but it’s not safe to leave anything there. I also need to post a message on the door to all the patients. Luckily all the patient records are on a database Dr. Fitzroy moved to three years ago.”

  “I have some vets to visit. I need to bring that deer meat I promised Mr. Williams. I can help you after I make the rounds, or we can go to the clinic first. Whatever you want.”

  So casual, the way he tossed out whatever you want, made her wet. She reached for the wine, took a sip, and rubbed the rim across her bottom lip. “Whatever I want?”

  His gaze heated, and he nodded. She leaned in, wanted his lips on hers, and not caring they were in public, in a small town, in a room full of people that knew them. “Do you know how sweet that is?”