Bronson: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

by Shanna Handel

  His mouth finds my ear. His hot whispered words come in a rush. “Paige, you are mine. You are mine. You are mine, woman.”

  “No one else’s, yours alone,” I breathe.

  My whispered words send him into overdrive. Our skin slaps together as he slams into me. His thrusts are measured, rhythmic. My eyes squeeze shut tight, my head flying back. Heat covers my skin. It’s damp with sweat. I lock my ankles together, legs wrapped around him so tightly I fear I won’t be able to unlock them.

  The pleasure in my core turns into a demand. I fear if I don’t get release, I might die. My hips rise up, the tension so tight I feel as if something inside me might snap.

  Then comes the beginnings of the release.

  Pulsing waves rock my core, one after the other. I cry out his name. Tears brim at the corners of my eyes. I’m sweating, panting. He’s gripping me as if he’s holding on for his very life. We are wound as tightly as two people can be. He gives a final thrust. We lock together as one. My pussy milks his cock as we climax together. The walls of my sheath throb and quiver as he fills me with his seed. I can feel his cock give a few more pulses, then still. I give a final shudder as he whispers my name. We stay like that a moment, the orgasm ebbing.

  Our bodies are satisfied. They’ve taken everything they can get from one other; we collapse onto the bed.

  He places light kisses on my forehead, my eyelids, my lips, my cheeks. He leans down and his breath catches in his throat.

  He speaks, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m falling in love with you.”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever heard those words. They travel straight to my heart. There’s a welling in my chest. It feels heavy—strangely full. The tears that teased my eyes earlier suddenly become flowing rivers.

  He pulls back, alarmed.

  “You’re crying.” He makes the statement as one would say, you’re bleeding. Concern dwells in his eyes. His hand smooths back my hair. His lips find my cheeks, kissing away my tears. He whispers, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “I... I want to. I’m glad for it.”

  His gaze locks on mine. I have to look away.

  My fingertip traces the muscle of his shoulder from the base of his neck down his arm. “I... I’ve waited a long time to feel this way. So, I’m glad even... if it comes with tears.” Shyness washes over me at my confession.

  I hold back my raw truth; no one’s ever loved me.

  I feel more naked than I had when I first stood before him undressed.

  His fingertip touches beneath my chin. He forces my gaze up to meet his. His eyes are dark, worried. “Me too.”

  “You’ve never... been in love?” I ask. How can that be? He is perfect. Beautiful to look at. Strong. Wealthy. And older than me. How has he not yet found love?

  He gives a small shrug. He answers simply, “I hadn’t met you.”

  My heart feels as if it’s melting into a puddle in my chest. I put my hands behind his head, pulling his face to mine. I kiss him.

  The kiss feels as if it’s fated, signing us over to one another.

  I am his.

  He is mine.

  Chapter Seven

  Bronson

  When I wake, she’s gone.

  I look around the room, searching for any evidence of her. A forgotten article of clothing. A note?

  My gaze stops when it reaches the nightstand beside me.

  On it sits my little brass clock. The one she stole from my desk, months prior.

  She’s returned it to me.

  A smile stretches across my face. I reach my arms up over my head, pulling my muscles taut.

  I feel satiated. Full. Comfortable. Content, even.

  A strange twinge flits through my chest.

  I miss her. Terribly.

  I lay my face in her pillow, inhaling her scent. Vanilla, and roses, and just Paige.

  I feel like a young man in love must. Suddenly, all those silly songs, movies seem to make sense, all at once.

  How soon is too soon to call, the morning after?

  I sit straight up like a bolt in my bed.

  I’m not one of those men in the movies or the songs. I am a Bachman. And my life is not a simple romantic comedy.

  I call when I want to.

  How the hell did she get out of here without waking me? And where is she now? There is no way she could get past the gate without my thumbprint.

  I rub at my forehead, trying to solve the mystery. Grabbing my phone from the tabletop, I punch in her number.

  She answers on the first ring. Good girl.

  “Hey, you.” Her voice is flowery, floaty. She is happy. She sounds like I feel.

  “Good morning. Sleep well?” I ask.

  She giggles. “Very well. Thank you. And you?”

  The truth is I’ve never slept better. I can’t believe I slept right through her leaving. “Well. Except for the fact I woke up alone. No note? How the hell did you manage to get out of here—”

  “Sasha. I remember Carter saying she had a five o’clock spin class. After you dozed off, I set my alarm for four-thirty and put it under my pillow—I didn’t want to wake you. Your door was unlocked, and no alarm set as far as I could tell. I bumped into Sasha on the stoop, just as she was on her way to class. I explained I’d stayed over with you and didn’t want to wake you but needed to get to work. I went out with her. I got to see the secret alleyway behind Barbells. I felt like I was a spy in a movie.”

  I’d thought she’d be here this morning. That I’d be able to go over more details of the secrecy that’s required of her. I start to say, “Paige. You can’t tell anyone about what you’ve witnessed here—”

  “Oh, I won’t! Sasha completely filled me in. We had the best talk. She was even telling me all about the security clearance she had to go through to get one of those cool thumbprint access codes. I was so enthralled, I was almost late to work.”

  “I’d forgotten you work Sundays,” I say, attempting to hide the disappointment in my voice.

  She says, “I’m here now. I’d better get back to it. I miss you.”

  “I miss you.”

  “Hey, I’d love to chat, but I’ve got to get back to work now. Breakfast is the most important meal around here—if they don’t get it, they’re super crabby the rest of the day,” she says.

  “I’ll let you go,” I say.

  “I’ll see you at the party tonight, right?” she asks.

  I don’t remember being invited to one. “What party?”

  “The luau I’m hosting. I thought I’d told you about it? You’ll be Ingrid’s date,” she says.

  “Paige, I don’t really ‘do’ luaus—”

  “What’s that, Brauny? I can’t really hear you.” There is a loud crash on the other end. “I have to go. See you tonight! Bye!”

  “Goodbye. Be good.”

  “Wait—are you still there?”

  “Of course.”

  “I... I can’t wait to see you.”

  The tug in my heart strengthens. “Me too, Paige.”

  She’s gone.

  I know she’s only a few blocks away. But it could just as well be a million miles.

  I want her here. With me.

  I would have ordered her favorite foods from the deli. Health be damned. I would get her doughnuts and sugar-laden lattes if that’s what her heart desired.

  My heart desires her.

  Without Paige here to convince me to order pastries, I have my usual spinach and egg white omelet. Afterwards, I hit the floor, doing my crunches and pushups and plank work. I take a hot shower. The water runs over my neck and shoulders, reminding me of how hard Paige wrapped her arms around me last night. Like she was holding on to life itself.

  My cock hardens, just thinking about her.

  How am I going to get through this day without her? Or tomorrow, for that matter? Or every day after that.

  I have one consolation. She wears my ring on her finger.

  She’s mine.
Marked by the blue diamond.

  It’s the very same ring I saw her eyeing in the window the day fate had destined we meet.

  Watching her eyeing the ring from the sidewalk, I had a gut feeling she was planning to steal from me. Maybe not that day, but one day soon. I decided to keep an eye on her.

  Then, she stepped in the door.

  I made myself scarce, hiding in the shadows. The way she touched that butterfly so lovingly, it was almost a shame to have to catch her.

  But no one steals from a Bachman and gets away from it. A smile creeps on my face, remembering that day. I check the time on the clock. Eight o’clock. I haven’t slept this late since I was a child.

  Contentment travels through my limbs.

  I turn to my nightstand, my gaze falling on my clock. My finger strokes the metal, as hers had that day in the office. Later, I’d decide whether to punish her for the theft or keep it as a running joke between us—the clock showing up in odd locations, at strange times.

  Now, I have work to do. I get dressed and go to Mary’s house.

  Five hours later, I return home. I’m covered in butter, brown sugar, and pineapple.

  If I’m going to be subjected to a tacky luau, I’m at least going to do it properly.

  I shower again, scrubbing the scent of pineapple from my skin. I shrug into what I assume is John’s classiest Hawaiian shirt (is there such a thing?) that I’ve borrowed, then call down to my driver to pick up Mary and help me load the car.

  Dressed in a pink floral sundress, Mary sits beside me, happily chatting about Paige. She has a thousand questions, and I know the answers to most of them. What information I couldn’t get from my associates, Jane, or Ingrid, I got from Paige herself.

  Paige loves the colors of the sunset—but her favorites are the ones that are pink and purple, not yellow and red. She longs to take a photography class. All the childhood stories she told to the woman in 204 were fake, as I had suspected. She was an only child, often left alone. But managed to have friends in school and make good grades. She was something of a bookworm growing up, her favorite story being Alice in Wonderland.

  She’s broken one bone, a pinky, after a tumble down the front stairs as a child. She’d been alone that day and ran down to the neighbor she knew to be a nurse. The woman set the finger, and gave her a warm, homemade blueberry muffin with butter. Dried her tears with a soft kitchen towel. That memory was the reason she’d pursued her medical license. And to blame for her love of baked goods.

  Her parents never noticed the finger.

  She hadn’t had a proper Christmas growing up. According to Jane, every year on December first, Paige begins to go around to local shops and beg for donations for the home. Year after year, the amount of donated food has increased, leading up to last year, their biggest feast yet. They’d had a full turkey dinner with all the trimmings.

  She loves heights but is afraid of spiders. Her favorite colors are pink and red. She worries about her height, her weight, the size of her perfect ass.

  She’s annoyed that her hair won’t hold a curl. She’s obsessed with having her nails done.

  She has a heart of gold. And a temper of fire.

  She loves with a passion unmatched.

  But I don’t share those last few things with Mary.

  We pull up to the home.

  I’d called ahead, and a couple of the male nurses meet us outside to help unload. Their eyes grow wide when they see the number of pineapple upside down cakes Mary and I have baked this morning. We haul boxes and boxes of fresh pineapples. One fruit for every member of the family and staff. Whether they can eat them or not, I have no idea.

  In my arms I hold the box I carefully packed that afternoon. Small ceramic pink pigs. Stuffed with cash. To help them pay for their medicines. Or, for Iris’s neighbor, the man in room 305, gambling debts.

  We’re ushered into the big multipurpose room I’d heard Ingrid call Paigey’s party room. Cheerful Hawaiian music plays. There are patrons in wheelchairs, strumming on ukuleles. Craft stations are spread throughout the room. You can make your own lei out of pink and purple tissue paper flowers. There’s a buffet set up with pulled pork, potato salad, and rolls. An empty table awaits our cakes.

  There’s Paige.

  She wears a yellow sundress. There’s a bright red flower tucked behind her ear. A smile stretches across her face as she laughs at a joke made by one of the patients.

  My breath catches in my throat. She’s stunning.

  I suddenly feel silly. Underdressed. Mary, sensing my urge to run, places a motherly hand on my elbow. “Isn’t she just a sight for sore eyes? And I’ll bet her face lights up like a Christmas tree when she sees you. Three... two... one...”

  As if by magic, Paige turns her face my way at that very moment. As Mary predicted, her face brightens as if a light has turned on within her.

  I hold the box out toward her as she approaches. Tongue tied, out of my element and on her turf for the first time, I say, “A gift.”

  “Oh, Brauny. These are absolutely adorable.” She goes to lift one of the pigs by the head. It detaches from its round little body, exposing the cash. Her wide eyes search mine.

  “A little IOU from a company that was cashing forged checks from elderly people who were living in nursing homes. Much like this one,” I explain.

  She gives me a devious smile. “I love it.”

  A criminal after my own heart.

  Beside me, Mary clears her throat. Paige and I turn toward her. She holds her hand out to Paige. “Mary Bachman. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Bronson here showed up at my doorstep at nine oh five this morning, demanding to be taught how to bake a pineapple upside down cake.”

  “Twenty of them,” I chime in. Who the hell am I becoming? My hand goes to the back of my neck.

  Mary shakes Paige’s hand. Her eye catches the ring Paige wears.

  Mary discreetly nudges me in the ribs.

  Paige is drawn away by one of her co-workers—a pulled pork emergency. Mary whispers in my ear, “The ring? Your mother’s? This must be serious.”

  I watch Paige walk away. The yellow dress swishes back and forth behind her knees. For the first time in my adult life, I feel weak, powerless. I answer Mary, “It is. It is.”

  Later that night, Paige teaches me the foxtrot, the cha-cha, the lindy jive. All dances that she has learned from her family, as she endearingly refers to her patients.

  Ingrid claps along with the music, her eyes shining as Paige and I dance. An electric current runs between our two bodies whenever the dance calls for an embrace. I sense they can feel our attraction throughout the room.

  Dancing on that floor, seeing the happiness she had brought to the faces of everyone there, I fall even more in love with her.

  Her ring sparkles beneath the lights as we twirl.

  My heart feels as if it will burst. The words press against my lips, no longer willing to be held in. “I love you, Paige.”

  Her mouth forms an ‘o’ of surprise. She stops dancing, her hands hovering in mine.

  Panic, like lightning, flashes through me. Have I misspoken? Spoken too soon? Is saying I love you so much different than saying I’m falling in love with you? Apparently, it is.

  I watch, shocked, as she turns and flees from the room.

  I’m immediately accosted by Ms. Beeman. “What’d you do to our Paigey, you... you big buffoon?” she demands.

  I shrug, helpless. “I told her I love her?”

  “Oh. Well, she’s just got a case of the cold feet. So what are you doing standing here? Go on after her!” For a woman well into her nineties, she gives me a good push.

  If the brotherhood could see me now. I’d never live this down.

  I rush after Paige.

  I find her in the stairwell, seated on a stair, her head in her hands.

  I sit beside her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. I love her so much in that moment, I don’t even care if she loves me back. “Paige,” I
begin.

  “No one’s ever told me that before,” she says. She’s dabbing at the tears that are brewing in the corners of her eyes.

  “No one? Not even someone here?”

  “That doesn’t count,” she sniffs.

  “Is it a bad thing? What I said?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. The flower behind her ear has come loose. I tuck it back into place.

  I’m at a loss. I say, “Should I not have said it? Paige, I—”

  She cuts off my words, pressing a hard kiss against my lips. Her hands pull against the back of my head as she draws me in closer to her.

  She moves back, locking her eyes on mine. “Bronson Bachman. I love you, too.”

  The confusion melts away. A fullness wells in my chest. I close my eyes, kissing her softly. I stand from the stairs, pulling her up and into my arms. We kiss again. I slide my hands beneath the backs of her thighs. I lift her up.

  Her legs wrap around my waist. I hold her there, my hands underneath her skirt, supporting her weight. Her arms wind around my neck. Her legs tighten around my torso.

  My cock presses against her.

  I have to have her. Right now.

  Paige

  He loves me.

  I feel giddy. Like a schoolgirl who’s been given too much sugar. I’d never done drugs but I guess the feeling I’m having is what people would call a high.

  I am high on his love.

  When he told me he loved me in the dance hall, I panicked. My chest welled up as if it would burst. And I started to cry. I felt so ridiculous about my absurd reaction, I rushed from the room.

  Then, sitting in the quiet stairwell, Bronson came up beside me, whispering his soft words, and all the love I felt came rushing forward. Fears, doubts, panic gone. That’s when I kissed him.

  The kiss he gave me back came from deep within him. It was like an animal had been unleashed.

  I loved the way he had scooped me up, as if I weighed nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist.

  His words swirled in my lightheaded mind.

  You look beautiful.

  You’re priceless.

  I’m falling in love with you.

  I love you.