by Elley Arden
After hearing pretty much the same thing about Nonna’s condition from Ma, Tony swung by Angie’s and worked until his fingers ached. When he left, the car was ready to roll.
Riding away from the garage with wind in his face, he questioned the extreme he was willing to go to in order to give his grandmother something special. A baby. But when he stopped by her apartment, and witnessed the weak smile she offered for a loaf of Mancini’s bread, he was convinced he’d go to any extreme to give her bigger joy. Besides, Tony was used to gambling and living at the extremes. How was this plan of Trish’s any different?
Trish. Thinking about the way she responded to his attempts to make her relax made him smile. At least their kid would have one conscientious parent who towed the line. And that was better than he always feared he’d do. You’ve got Vegas wedding written all over you, Vin used to say. Considering the women Tony usually dated, that was a scary thought. Waking up tied to the likes of Brandy the Bartender was bad enough. Having a kid with her was a million times worse.
He thought about it as he parked his bike and jogged the steps to his flat. Ultimately, he wasn’t worried he’d end up married in Vegas, because after seeing the pain of his mother becoming a widow and Vin’s ugly divorce, marriage lost its luster—not that it had much before. If you could get the goods without the gold, then why bother. And if you could get the kid, too? Bing-to-the-O.
Tony showered, shaved and thought some more. Nonna was dying. There was no question about that. Ma said ovarian cancer was tricky, sneaky, and symptom-free—until it was too late. There wasn’t much they could do, but wait. For her to die. And that wasn’t okay with Tony. Weddings and funerals, baptisms too. He had power here, power to give his family something to wait for besides Nonna’s funeral.
He buttoned his shirt, zipped his jeans, and shoved into his boots. Stopping in the kitchen, he grabbed a six-pack of Heineken, 100 percent certain Trish DeVign didn’t stock a fridge of beer. He wasn’t nervous but after the pressurizing news about Nonna he wasn’t feeling his usual carefree self either. Under the circumstances, he tried not to stress over it. He’d get to Trish’s, have a drink, settle her down, and then they’d have some fun.
Thinking again about Nonna, he knew…there were worse ways to spend an evening.
By the time Tony made it to Trish’s front door, he was ready. Having spent the last five blocks conjuring up images of her grinding in that grass-green dress and fishnet hose, he was halfway to a hard-on.
She opened the front door, eyes shiny and wide. “You came.”
“Not yet.” He smiled, unable to hold back the crass but teasing comment. She made it too easy for him to enjoy shocking her, making her blush. Somehow those little thrills wiped a lot of big worries away.
“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.” She clutched the doorknob in her left hand as she smoothed her right hand up and down her cotton-covered thigh. Black stretch pants clung to her legs with only the shirttails of an oversized oxford hiding the goods.
“I’m not changing my mind.”
“Okay, then.” She released a shaky exhale and stepped aside, waving him in. “But before we get started you should know that I don’t actually ovulate for a few days. I read that sperm can live inside a woman for three to five days, so we should be good.”
She was walking away from him, toward the stairs, but he heard the quiver in her voice.
He itched to crack open a beer. “Hey, wait.”
She stopped on the first step and turned. “Yeah?”
“You’re going to take advantage of me without even offering me a drink?” He lifted the corners of his mouth and the six-pack of beer.
“Tony, I read it’s not good to drink alcohol when you’re trying to conceive.”
“You need to stop reading,” he said with a chuckle. “Relax. Remember? Come on. One bottle won’t hurt. Do you know how many babies were conceived because Mom and Dad got tipsy?”
She clutched the railing. “I don’t want to get tipsy. I want to remember every detail. This is a big deal.”
No pressure, Tony thought, rubbing his free hand on the back of his neck. Heck, he never felt pressure to perform when his performance was the focus. Here he was simply a cog in Trish’s baby-making machine, and he was white-knuckling the six-pack. “Yeah, well, I need the beer. Consider it foreplay.”
The corners of her eyes and lips drooped, and Tony had the distinct impression that he’d somehow insulted her without meaning to. “Fine. I’ll get a glass.” She bounded off the step and down the hall to her right.
“I don’t need a glass.”
“But I do,” she called. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Okay. So much for the playfulness he managed to cultivate in her office today. Maybe after the beer.
He took the steps two by two, six-pack in hand, not knowing where he was going in a house this big. At the top of the landing, he saw one room with lights on. Walking there, he wrestled with weirdness. Angie would shit. Vin would shit. Heck, Ma would shit, too. But as much as he loved his family, there was no room for them in this bedroom—even though they were the reason he was here.
Standing in the doorway, he took it in. Opulent, feminine, floral, plaid, and gold. Decidedly Trish DeVign. He smiled, because she’d lit candles, dozens of them, despite her admission that she worried he wouldn’t come. And there was music. He wondered if this seduction scene had always been part of her plan, too.
“Maybe I went a little overboard. Sorry.” She pushed past him, pilsner glass in hand. “When I’m nervous I over plan. I mean, I’m a planner to begin with, but…” she waved her hand. “Never mind. Just give me a beer.”
His smile widened, because, damn it, if she wasn’t the most charming woman he’d ever met. He loved the way she flustered, but powered through. Setting the six-pack on a nearby table, he snatched two bottles, twisted the caps, and took the glass from her. As he poured the beer down the side of the glass and watched the golden liquid pool, the fun kicked in.
He stepped closer to her. “You know it’s all in the head, right? So pay close attention to that. How it looks. How it feels on your tongue.” He winked at her.
“Give me that,” she spat, and taking the beer, she polished off half before he had his bottle to his lips.
“You know, I was talking about the beer.”
“I know that,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “But there’s always a double meaning with you, isn’t there?”
“What can I say? I enjoy myself.” He set the bottle on the table beside him. “And you’re going to enjoy yourself, too.”
She drained the glass. “No pressure, Tony. I’m serious. Let’s just make sure it counts.” And with that, she turned, walked to the bed, dropped her glass on the bedside table, and crawled fully clothed beneath the covers.
He watched as she drew the comforter to her shoulders and shimmied beneath it. First the black stretch pants peaked out from beneath the blankets and dropped to the floor, followed by black panties.
“I’m ready,” she proclaimed with a crisp nod.
Just like that. “You can’t be serious.”
She sat up, clutching the comforter to her chest, even though she wore a shirt. “I am.”
“Why? Why would you want to do it like this? You have candles and music and…”
“You said downstairs that you needed a beer and the beer was foreplay. I get it, Tony. You’re doing me a huge favor. Huge! And you’re hoping to get something awesome for your family in return. This isn’t about you being attracted to me. I can live with that.”
But he couldn’t, because nothing could’ve been further from the truth.
CHAPTER NINE
Trish wanted a baby, she didn’t want to be a baby, and yet here she was with feelings hurt because Tony made a joke about beer being foreplay.
Come on. She didn’t recognize herself lately, not since the night of her cousin’s wedding when her usual poise under pres
sure crumbled in the face of Tony’s flirting. What was the big deal? He was a nice-looking guy who was always up for some fun, and now he was going to help her get pregnant. She shouldn’t be pouting because he wasn’t interested in her. She didn’t need him to be interested. This was a mission with one focus. Pregnancy.
He stood there, at the foot of the bed, beer in hand, and she wished beyond reason that she could send him away, go back to before, when he didn’t know her deepest secret, when he didn’t have her running scared.
“What makes you think I’m not attracted to you?” He walked to her, placing the beer on the bedside table.
“Honestly, Tony, I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t.”
He sat, narrowly missing her legs still stuffed beneath the covers. “But I do. And you know, making a baby together sort of entitles me to be heard.”
“Then let’s not do it.” She shoved at the covers and wiggled off the opposite side of the bed, fully aware that her bottom half was bare beneath the oversized T while Tony sat guard over her leggings and underwear. “This was a mistake. We have too much in common, like work and Ange. I got caught up in the possibilities and clearly didn’t think it through.” She walked the perimeter of the bed, eyeing her pants.
Tony lifted a foot and dropped it slightly to the left, pinning her clothes beneath his boot. “Fine. We don’t have to make a baby. But if you think for a minute I’m leaving here before I get something in return, you’re crazy.”
She stopped, narrowed her eyes, and punched hands to hips. “Is this another joke?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I think you should lift up the shirt.”
“Excuse me?” Pressure built inside her head, heating her face, and bugging her eyes.
“You’ve been teasing me for two weeks, ever since that birthday party and your comments about the cake.”
“My comments? What comments?”
He flattened his palms against the mattress and leaned back, just a smidge, not enough to free her clothes, but enough for his leather jacket to fall open and his fabulous chest to strain against his shirt. “You know what you said, and you know why you said it.”
She scoffed and wiggled a bit, hoping to shed the shivers from his stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was with Jackson that night.”
“Uh huh.” He smiled. “But you wanted to be with me.”
Trish shut her mouth so hard her teeth chattered. Had she been that transparent? “Tony, stop it. Give me my pants and go.”
“Okay. As soon as you lift the shirt and put me out of my misery.”
She rolled her eyes. These games might work on his usual conquests, but she wasn’t usual, and she wasn’t his conquest. “Never mind. I do own other clothing, you know?” She turned her back on him and walked to her dresser.
Before she could open a drawer, his arm looped around her waist and he spun her to face him while crushing her body against his. “Let’s get something straight.” His mouth hovered inches from the tip of her nose. “Long before you hit me with this crazy plan there was something brewing between us.”
The hint of beer on his breath, the strong arm locked across her back, the heat rising between them. She’d planned for a lot, but she could’ve never planned for this. She blinked, grasping for control of her wayward emotions. “So you admit this plan is crazy.”
He grinned. “Don’t change the subject.” And then he lowered his cheek to hers, smoothing skin to skin until he was nibbling her ear, licking the lobe, drawing it into his mouth, leaving her breathless. “For the record, I am very attracted to you.”
“You are?”
“I am.” He backed her into the dresser, hooking a hand beneath her knee, and hiking her leg along rough denim.
Trish shivered. Something rough and unfiltered stirred in her chest, urging her to drive him back toward the bed and see this thing through.
“Despite what you may have heard, I’m a gentleman,” he continued, adding his trademark grin. “And you asked me to leave. So I’m asking you, is that really what you want, or should I stay and finish this?”
Beneath a hypnosis caused by Tony’s beautiful face—bold black brows, dark chocolate eyes—Trish wanted the baby, but suddenly somehow she wanted the man more. “Stay.” It was a hurried answer made by her overheated body instead of her overused mind.
A second later, his lips met hers, shocking her body with pleasure and giving her mind a much-needed break. It was impossible to think straight while being electrocuted, so she didn’t try. She surrendered to her tingling skin and racing heart, neither of which was necessary to get pregnant. But when his tongue invaded her mouth, making thought soupy and knees weak, she decided the chemistry was a welcomed bonus. At least she wouldn’t have to grin and bear it, not while his fingers crawled along her bare thigh and his mouth dropped to her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and blocked her nervous chatter, threading fingers through his soft, thick hair, holding his head as he sucked the skin on her throat. Her sigh echoed in the silence. Burying her nose in the blanket of black, she breathed him in and let him consume her.
Just as she managed to fully relax in his arms, he spun her away from the dresser, releasing her onto the bed. Her shirt wound around her waist, and she scrambled to cover. Instinct.
“Too late.” Tony smiled. “I saw what I saw, and I liked it.” His jacket hit the floor. “Your turn.”
“For what?” She gulped to go along with the blush.
“I lost the jacket. You lose the shirt.”
She glanced at her jumbled shirt. “No way. I’m pantless. You’re not. We’re hardly even.”
“Fine.” He unbuttoned his shirt, widening the V at his neck, and then lifted the fabric over his head, pitching it to the floor. “There. You’re bottomless. I’m topless. Call me even.”
She’d call him mouthwatering. Hard and rough. Dark and light. A breathtaking balance of masculine beauty. And then there were the tattoos, strategically peppering his arms and abdomen so she noticed his best places, like his bicep, where the Italian words she’d noticed before looped his muscle, and his forearm, where a large star and rambling vines marred his flawless skin.
But there were unexpected works of art as well, ones he kept hidden beneath T-shirts and faded Oxfords. She eyed the fiery comet covering the uppermost part of his right pec. A tail of orange, red, and blue sprawled over his shoulder and disappeared around his back. She lingered there, noticing how the muscled chord of his neck created a gentle swell at the juncture with his shoulder. Her lips twitched, wanting to taste it. She swallowed too hard, knowing she stared too long.
“When you’re done admiring the goods, you can return the favor.”
She choked down the embarrassment. “Nope. We’re not even until you’re pantless, too.”
He chuckled. “Oh yeah? Well, ditto for your top.”
She would’ve rolled her eyes had they not been busy ogling his chest. And her brain, it cried for sanity. She was slipping further and further away from the simple purity of her plan. Have sex. Make baby. There wasn’t a single bullet note on watching each other undress. All they needed to do was the deed—missionary style—on the right days, and then wait for the positive test result.
But Tony changed the game, didn’t he?
He flicked the button on his jeans and tugged down the zipper, revealing gray boxer briefs. “Come on. Gimme something.”
“Fine.” Which was a complete understatement. She wasn’t fine. She was rolling onto her knees and reaching gingerly under her top to wiggle out of her bra in front of this gut-wrenchingly gorgeous man. Fine? She balked and pulled the bra out through her sleeve. “There.”
He waggled his brows. “Tricky, but I can see your nipples.”
She slapped her arms around her chest. “You shouldn’t be teasing me now.”
“No?” He walked to the bed until his legs touched the mattress. “Then tell me what I should be doing?”
She would i
f she could. The problem was, nothing she planned seemed to fit with this man and this moment, meaning she was improvising, something she avoided like horizontal stripes. Improvising led to foolish mistakes and a loss of control. Improvising led her here, to this bed, where a shirtless, grinning Tony Corcarelli loomed over her. For better or worse she’d seen the last of her simple, straightforward plan.
God help her with whatever happened now.
* * *
Tony figured Trish spent lots of time ironing out details, including how the deed would go down. He grinned, because knowing Trish, the all-business Boss Lady, “going down” wasn’t one of those details. But after the kick in the crotch he got from kissing her, he had his own ideas about her little plan. And after the way she responded to him, he didn’t think she’d mind the detour.
“Maybe you could just stop talking and get busy making a baby,” she said, sitting on her knees in the middle of the bed, crisscrossing arms over breasts. If it weren’t for the wide eyes and flushed face, he’d think she was disgusted by him. But he saw the way she gawked at his chest, and there was nothing disgusted about that.
“So that’s how it’s going to be,” he said, dropping his pants and boxers to the floor with one push.
She zeroed in on the goods for a second. Her eyes growing even wider, but then she looked away, reaching behind her for the edge of the comforter. “Seriously, Tony, it’d probably be best if we didn’t say anything else now. Let’s just…”
He dropped to the bed, grabbed her and pulled her to him, knees to knees, chest to chest. Gathering the hem of her shirt in his hands, he tugged the soft fabric over the curves of her bottom and back, stroking soft skin as he went. His breathing quickened, matching hers. When she was naked, pressed against him, he stole a glance between them.
“There,” he whispered. “Now we’re even.”
She didn’t seem bothered by his talking now. She matched his crooked grin, a look he hadn’t seen before, just the tilt of her lips, a sparkle in her eye, and he wanted her in the worst way.