by Sarah Curtis
Olivia knew she was talking about Al. "If Nico's not with me, yeah."
"I'm surprised Nico lets someone like that anywhere near you."
Olivia peeked over her shoulder to where Al stood by the display of apples before turning a frown on Gabby. "What do you mean?"
"He's hot." Gabby fanned herself with a head of Romaine lettuce.
Olivia scrunched her nose. "He's got the personality of a cardboard cutout."
"Ooh, the strong, silent type. Even better." Gabby wiggled her eyebrows.
Olivia rolled her eyes. "I would think you'd have a bodyguard."
"I did when I was younger, but I got so good at ditching them, Dad gave up. Now, if I had one who looked like Mr. Muscles back there," she discreetly pointed her thumb Al's direction, "I'd let him guard my body anytime he wanted."
Olivia giggled. "You're incorrigible."
"True." She tossed the lettuce in the cart with a wink. "But just think of all the fun advice I'll give you."
They got in the checkout line, and Olivia started putting all their stuff on the conveyor belt while Gabby perused the tabloids. "I cannot believe Bobby Dixon and Angel Starr broke up. What is this world coming to?"
Olivia had no idea who they were and thought it best not to ask. She looked down at all the ingredients overflowing the belt, and asked with a note of skepticism, "Nico said he'd be home around seven. We'll be done cooking all this by then, right?"
Gabby waved her hand dismissively, nose firmly planted in the magazine. "Sure. No problem."
Olivia's eyes wandered from Gabby back to the pile of food, hoping those weren't famous last words.
* * * * *
Things had been quiet. Too quiet. Nico had his men tracking Carmine, Travis, and Elena and... nothing. No unusual activity. It made him antsy. He wasn't stupid. Someone was up to something, but until that someone stepped a toe out of line, he was fucking screwed. He hadn't been surprised when nothing happened over the holidays, people got busy with their families, but now that it was the middle of February, the radio silence had the back of his neck tingling.
The info they'd gotten from the guy who attacked Olivia in the bathroom had been a dead end. They'd never found out who'd hired him, even with all the creative methods Nico employed to extract the name. He felt impotent—a feeling he'd never experienced before—and he didn't fucking like it one bit.
He looked at the clock on the boardroom wall—seven-o-five. The meeting was taking longer than he'd thought it would. He pulled out his phone, firing a quick text to Olivia. He'd told her he'd be home by seven, and he didn't want her to worry.
It was a strange feeling, knowing someone was waiting for him at home. Strange in a good way. He'd never thought he'd have a woman permanently in his life. But now that he did, he really liked her there. Fuck, if he were honest, he loved her there.
"I say we wrap things up for the night." Ted Jenkins, a manager at Conti Industries—one of the Family's legal businesses—stood from the table. "It's Valentine's Day, and I don't know about you all, but my wife is going to be pissed if I get home too late."
There was a mumble of agreement around the table.
Nico sat frozen. Fuck.
He shook hands with the men as they filed out then locked up and made his way to his car. He slid into the front passenger seat beside Marco, shutting the door before pulling out his phone.
"Boss?"
"Yeah," Nico absentmindedly answered, tapping out a text. He hit the send button then looked up.
Marco was focused on the road but started talking when he sensed he had Nico's attention. "I got a message from Al."
Nico's first thought was Olivia, and he realized she'd never answered his text. Panic had his stomach tightening, and he ground out, trying to sound calm, "Everything okay with Olivia?"
Marco's lips twitched, and he realized he hadn't disguised his reaction as well as he thought. Fucking wonderful.
"She's fine. But I thought you should know, she's been up to something today with your sister."
That got Nico's attention. "What?"
"According to Al, they went shopping at the mall then went to the grocery store. Then spent a few hours cooking something in the kitchen."
It didn't take a genius to put it all together. He sat back in his seat and sighed. "Valentine's Day."
Marco figured it out too. "Yeah." After a few beats of silence, he said, "We can stop by the store and pick up some flowers."
"No." Nico wasn't going to give her some cheap, last-minute flowers.
The house was quiet as he made his way through the door, and no barking dogs skidded to a halt at his feet on the marble tile—an occurrence he'd come to expect.
He spied the note sitting on the bottom stair, and the path of rose petals that led to the top. He snatched up the card and flipped it around to see Be My Valentine written in his sister's loopy cursive.
His fucking sister. With a sigh, he continued up the stairs.
The petals extended past the stairs to their bedroom door. The lights were off with just the glow of lit candles spaced far enough apart to light the way. He didn't see her at first, curled up on the sofa in the sunken portion of the room. The coffee table had been pushed away to make room for a small dining table set for two. Long tapered candles were aglow on it, as well.
He made his way over and stood by the side of the sofa, looking down at his wife. Eyes closed. Breaths even. Sound asleep. He wasn't sure what she was wearing. Something red and lace and sexy as hell. The material barely covered her tits, and a big satin bow sat right under them. Thin, almost see-through, material fell over her stomach ending at her hips, revealing—in her curled position—her bare ass showing a peek of a red thong.
He didn't make a sound, but something woke her, and she snapped her eyes open. She blinked a few times, staring up at him while coming fully awake. He knew the moment her sleepy brain came into focus because she gave him one of her special fucking smiles. "You're home," she said, sitting up.
"Sorry, I'm late." He looked over his shoulder at the table. "You've been busy."
Her cheeks turned rosy and she shrugged. "I had help."
Yeah, his fucking sister. "Listen, I, um..." He faltered trying to find the right words without hurting her feelings. "I didn't realize what day it was."
A look of hurt clouded her eyes before she could mask it and something twisted in his chest. And then he got pissed. Fucking big name corporations and their money making propaganda, inventing useless holidays just to line their pockets.
She shrugged again. "It's not a big deal."
But it was. To her, at least. And that pissed him off even more. She had expected him to remember and acknowledge it in some way. But that wasn't who he was, wasn't what he'd ever be.
He was never going to be the man she wanted him to be.
Frustrated by his shortcomings, he did the only thing he knew to express his feelings. Placing his hands on the back of the couch for leverage, he leaned forward, capturing a kiss. He sucked on her lower lip before spearing her with his tongue, the force of his kiss causing her to grab him or fall back. He relished the feel of her fingers digging into his shoulders through the material of his jacket but loved it even more when it was her nails against his bare skin. Later. They had plenty of time.
His lips traveled along her jaw to her neck, sucking on the skin there and breathing in her scent.
"I made lasagna." He heard her breathy whisper in his ear. "Well, technically, Gabby made the lasagna." She moaned when he hit the spot behind her ear. "But, um, I helped."
She clutched at his shoulders tighter, t
rying to bring herself closer to him. He obliged her by pulling her nipple into his mouth and felt it peak even through the layer of lace.
"It's, um, your mom's recipe. Gabby said it was your favorite."
He needed to get them off the subject of his sister and mother and fucking lasagna. He raised his head from her chest meeting her dilated and glassy eyes. "Tesoro?"
"Hmm?" she asked still a little dazed.
"I'm not hungry for lasagna."
"You're not?"
"No." His hands skimmed up her thighs finding the practically non-existent waistband of her panties. "I'm in the mood for your pussy." He yanked and easily snapped the elastic. "And I'm planning on feasting until I'm full."
Throwing her legs over his shoulders, he pulled her down the couch until her head rested on the seat cushion, her ass in the air, and her pussy level with his face. Fucking perfect.
The material of her nightie fell away, revealing the roundness of her belly, and his cock strained against his pants, begging for an avenue of escape. "Hold on to me with your legs." When he felt her squeeze and knew she was secure, he released her hips, his hands flying to his belt. He had his cock out in a matter of seconds, fisting it to stop the ache. It didn't fucking work, but it helped a little, at least enough he didn't think he would come right then on the spot.
"Fuck. Do you have any idea how fucking turned on I am right now? Staring at your pussy glistening with your wetness, at my baby rounding your stomach, and your perfect fucking tits, straining against that red fucking lace."
"No. But if I had to guess by the number of times you'd said fucking, I'd say very fucking turned on."
And fuck if that didn't make him chuckle. "Hearing the word fucking come out of your sweet mouth, not sure whether I should spank you or kiss you."
Her legs tightened on his shoulders as she raised her hips. "You can always do both."
"And what? Neglect my pussy?" he asked, sliding his fingers through her wetness before sinking them into her tight heat.
She arched her hips higher and groaned, "No. We wouldn't want to do that."
Done playing, his mouth engaged in the festivities, his tongue licking through her folds before clamping onto her clit. He sucked the little nub, pulling it through his teeth at the same time his fingers moved in and out of her heat, his hand becoming soaked with her wetness.
He gripped himself once more, a little awkwardly with his left hand, but he didn't fucking care. He needed something—anything—wrapped around his dick.
He looked up. Olivia's face was flushed, and a light sheen of sweat, reflected by the candlelight, glistened on her brow. "You need to find it for me soon, tesoro. I'm not going to last much longer, and I don't want to come on the floor."
His fingers fell from her as she dropped her legs from his shoulders.
"What the fuck?"
But she didn't respond. Instead, he watched as she flipped herself around, planting her knees on the seat cushion and her arms on the back of the couch then gave her ass a shake in invitation.
She didn't need to ask twice. Gripping her hips, he slammed into her.
And found fucking heaven.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"You didn't have to come with me," Olivia said for the fourth time. She was sure Nico had more important things to do than shop for baby furniture.
He gave her a look, not bothering to answer her for a fourth time. Especially after telling her he wanted to come the first three times she'd said it.
She held up a hand. "Okay. Okay. I just know you still want to know the sex of the baby, and I didn't want to rub in that fact by making you decide about the decor."
"I thought you wanted primary colors and an animal theme?"
Olivia nodded. "If I don't see something I like..." Her voice trailed off as she zeroed in on a crib. Primary colors—yellow, red, blue, and white—with a circus motif of stars and stripes. A circus act was depicted on the front panel—horses, a lion, clowns, and men in high tops.
She ran a hand along the wood. Smooth as a baby's bottom. Nico and a sales associate arrived at her side at nearly the same time.
"Can I help you with something?" The sales woman was dressed in slacks and a silk blouse, fitting in nicely with the posh baby store.
"How much is this?"
"We'll take this one."
Both Olivia and Nico said in unison.
The sales clerk raised her brows, choosing to reply to Nico. "Very good. We have a matching changing table and armoire, as well."
"We'll take them, too."
Olivia spoke up, wanting her questioned answered. "How much for the crib?"
The sales clerk reluctantly pulled her gaze away from Nico and gave her a condescending smile.
Olivia gritted her teeth but remained silent. She wanted the answer.
"The crib is thirty-six hundred, the changing table forty-seven, and the armoire is eighty-nine." The clerk stated crisply.
Olivia quickly did the math in her head. Grabbing Nico's arm, she gave it a yank, saying to the sales associate, "Excuse us a moment."
She gave Olivia a small nod. "Of course. I'll get started on the paperwork."
Olivia waited until she was out of earshot before whisper-yelling, "We can't spend almost twenty grand on baby furniture."
"We can, and we did."
"No, we can't. Nico, that's insane. Nobody spends twenty grand on baby furniture."
"They must or this store wouldn't be in business," he logically returned—damn him.
Olivia took a deep breath. "Okay, fine, but we're not spending twenty grand on baby furniture."
Nico cradled her face, tipping her head back to look directly down at her. "Tesoro, I saw your face when you first saw the crib. You fell in love. And for that reason alone, that's the crib we're getting."
Olivia felt her eyes fill and she blinked quickly to keep the tears at bay. How did she argue with that? She placed her hands on his hips and laid her head against his chest. One of his hands slid to her nape, while the other rubbed down her back, pressing her into him as close as her belly would allow.
"Thank you," she mumbled against his shirt.
"You don't have to thank me, tesoro. Just tell me you love it, and that will make me happy."
She pulled away, looking up, making sure he was looking at her before she said, "I will always thank you for every big or small thing you do for me. And I do love it."
Nico kissed her on the forehead. "Then it's settled. Now, go pick out the bedding, so we can add that to the order."
Olivia sat at the side of her mother's bed. She looked a little better today, having some color in her cheeks and a smile on her face.
"Did you feel that?" Olivia asked, holding her mom's hand to her stomach, hoping the flutter could be felt by her mom, too.
At her mom's weak but happy laughter, she got her answer. "It must be a boy. He's a strong little sucker."
"Well, Nico will be happy to hear you say that. Between you and me, I think he's secretly afraid of having a girl."
Her mom gave her hand a small squeeze. "You're happy, my Livvy? Nico's good to you?"
She asked that all the time, but however many times she tried to tell her mom she was happy, she still persisted.
She squeezed her mom's hand in return. "He's very good to me."
"Then why do you look so sad?"
Did she look sad? She always tried to hide her feelings from her mom, knowing any added stress couldn't be good for her. But the truth was, mingled with the happy were moments of sad that seemed
to occur more often over the last month.
Ever since Valentine's day.
Olivia put on her best fake smile. "I'm not sad."
"That smile says you're not, but your eyes say you are. You can't hide anything from me."
Olivia sighed, knowing that was true.
"Tell me what's bothering you."
"I don't want you to worry about me."
Her mother let out a surprisingly strong burst of laughter. "You're my baby girl. I'll worry about you regardless."
Olivia gave her a weak smile then shared with her mom something she was afraid to admit even to herself. "I'm in love with Nico."
Her mother gave her hand another squeeze, the force behind it weaker than the last and knew her mom was growing tired. "That's a good thing, sweetheart."
Olivia was shaking her head before her mom finished her sentence.
"Well, why isn't it?"
"Because he doesn't love me back."
Her mom tsked. "You don't know that."
"I do." If he loved her, he'd had the perfect opportunity to tell her so on Valentine's Day.
Her mom sighed. "Sometimes men don't realize what they're feeling is love. Give him some time, my beautiful girl. It will all work itself out in the end."
"And if it doesn't," Olivia reassured her mom, "I'll still be okay. He's sweet to me and promised to be faithful. I shouldn't expect more than that." She gave her mom a light kiss on the cheek. "I'm just overly emotional right now. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to marry him."
She just never expected she would fall in love.
* * * * *
Nico leaned back in his chair, ankle crossed at his knee, looking at Marco who sat as casually in a leather chair across the desk from him.
"Valentina's books came back clean."
Nico grunted. Good. That was the last of his clubs. One less thing to worry about.
"Elena's gone."