THE CALLAHANS (A Mafia Romance): The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  I stood under the spray of Kyle’s shower, my eyes closed so that I wouldn’t see the luxury around me, so that I wouldn’t be reminded of the life I’d lost with my mother’s one bad choice and my father’s inability to survive her abandonment. I lost everything because my father loved my mother more than she loved him.

  I wanted to be angry with my mom. I was, for a while. But now…I realized that there was no point to the anger. I needed to be proactive; I needed to look toward the future, not focus on the past. I needed to remember what I was fighting for.

  I wasn’t going to be just another washed up debutante, sitting around waiting for people to remember the glory days with me. I was going to make a life for myself, build a career, and be the woman my parents had once dreamed I would be. I just had to get through this.

  And then my thoughts drifted to Kyle’s touch, to the feel of his lips on mine, and I began to lose focus. What if…?

  But what ifs were dangerous for girls like me.

  Chapter 8

  Kyle

  I stood a polite distance behind Jack, but close enough that I could move him out of the way should something suddenly go wrong. He was flanked by two of his lieutenants, young men I’d known most of my life, but with whom I’d never interacted. They were the sons of Jack’s former associates, men who had worked hard for him—some who still worked hard for him—but were either in jail or dead.

  “We’re willing to offer you ten thousand,” Jack said in his low, gruff voice.

  “The Italians are offering twice that.”

  “But the Italians aren’t supplying you with guns at a discounted rate.”

  “They could.”

  “They won’t. You know that.”

  The leader of the Harbor Point Bloods studied Jack for a long moment, his expression purposely unreadable.

  “I’m putting my men in a difficult position by asking them to go against the Italians.”

  “You’d also be putting them in a difficult position if you turned on me, Frankie.”

  The man nodded. The tension left his arms as he uncrossed them from across his chest.

  “Okay. We have a deal.”

  I relaxed a little then, too. These meetings could be impossible to gage, but I’d learned a long time ago that once the handshake came, the danger had passed. They spoke a few minutes longer, then Jack turned.

  “Stay behind. Make sure there’s no trouble when they leave,” he said to me.

  “Yes, boss.”

  I watched Jack and his men get into their SUV and take off, navigating the familiar streets of Dorchester like they did it every day. Frankie was gone already, his lieutenants gone as well. It was just my counterparts, other men in charge of security, standing around the dusty, abandoned storefront with me.

  “Your boss is cheap.”

  “Excuse me?”

  One of the Bloods looked over at me, smirking behind a pair of sunglasses that were hardly necessary inside.

  “Your boss is cheap. He could have easily offered Frankie four or five times what he offered.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s a smart business man. He only pays for what he gets.”

  “You calling us cheap?”

  I shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

  The man charged me like a bull looking for easy prey. It was a dance of machismo that I’d found myself drawn into a million times before. He wanted to prove that his group was bigger and more dangerous than mine was. The thing was, no one was bigger or more dangerous than the Irish mob.

  He got in a few good shots, a blow to my jaw and a couple of quick punches to my ribs. But then I flipped him over and made sure he’d need a plastic surgeon when it was all said and done.

  I spit on him when I stood to my feet, a little bit of blood splattering on his shirt. He probably wouldn’t notice, however, because he had plenty of his own blood there already.

  “You’re a fool,” I told him. “Should have kept your dirty mouth shut.”

  I looked at his buddies, waiting for them to try to defend their friend. But they simply picked him up and carried him out to their car.

  “Sorry about that,” one of the men said, coming over to me with his hand extended. “He’s a little bit of a hot head.”

  “Maybe he just learned a good lesson.”

  “I hope so.”

  We shook hands, and I waited until they were gone.

  Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been six on one.

  Killian pulled up out front a few minutes later.

  “You look a little worse for the wear,” he commented, holding out a handkerchief as I climbed into the car. A quick glance in the mirror and I realized that the blow to my jaw had split my lip.

  “Just a little scuffle.”

  “Looks more like a big scuffle, brother. You’re getting a little slow in your old age.”

  “If I don’t let them get a few blows in first, they cower the next time we come face to face. At least this way, they have a little spirit left.”

  Killian laughed. “Leave it to you to worry about their spirit.”

  He pulled away from the curb and sped through the streets, headed toward Beacon Hill and my house.

  “When do we get to meet her?”

  “News travels pretty fast around this family, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, when our rebellious, I’m-never-getting-married brother comes home with a new bride, you have to forgive our curiosity.” Killian glanced at me. “Stacy’s worried. She thinks someone is playing a game with you.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Then you really like this girl?”

  “You’ll like her, too, once you get to know her.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Amelia.”

  “Classy. Much better than Candi or Cookie.”

  “She’s not like that. She’s not like the other cocktail waitresses.”

  “Good.”

  I looked at myself in the mirror again, dabbing at the blood that refused to stop seeping from my lip. And then I noticed the dust stuck to my jacket. I sat up a little, slipping the jacket off and brushing at the dirt adhering to my cuffs. I didn’t want to freak Amelia out when I walked into the loft.

  “You’ve got someone with her?”

  “Colin.”

  Killian nodded. “Good man.” He gripped the wheel a little harder. “Pops wants you, me, and Ian at the house tonight. The Italians are making a move on the McKinnon warehouse. He wants to talk about what we’re going to do about it.”

  “Jack doesn’t want to lose that warehouse. It’s one of the few left that the cops haven’t been watching.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not as worried about the cops as I am the Italians. The cops we can deal with. The Italians…we’ve lost half a dozen men in the last week alone.”

  “That many?”

  “Make sure you’re watching your back, brother. And keep a close eye on Jack, too.”

  I nodded, but I had to admit there was this little trickle of regret that I wouldn’t be able to spend as much time in Amelia’s company as I’d hoped. It sounded like things were going to be crazy for the unforeseeable future.

  We’d just have to make the most of what time we did have.

  Chapter 9

  Kyle

  Amelia was lying down when I got home. I sent Colin away and took the stairs two at a time, slowing only when I approached the double doors to the master bedroom. She was wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a thin undershirt, her hair wrapped in one of my heavy, blue towels, her eyes closed as she nestled against the pillows on my massive, king-sized bed.

  I’d seen a lot of women reclining in this bed. None of them excited me quite the way the sight of Amelia’s petite, firm body did.

  I tossed my jacket over the back of a chair as I made my way to her side.

  “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

  She jumped a little, but I wasn’t sure if it was the sound of my voice or the suddenness o
f which she came out of her dreams. She sat up and stared at me as though she didn’t recognize me. Then she gasped, reaching out to touch my lip.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing,” I said, grabbing her wrist and kissing the center of her palm. “I’ve had worse.”

  “Are you okay? You might need stitches.”

  “Naw. This is just a little scratch.”

  Her eyes widened slightly as she studied the wound, her fingertip coming just close enough, but not touching. I pulled her hand closer, forcing her to touch it. She blushed a little, but there was open curiosity in her eyes. She was fascinated by it.

  I tugged at the towel on her head and pulled it loose, loving the way her dark hair fell around her face in long, thick strings. Her eyes fell as I watched, her hand moving self-consciously to the heavy strands that fell over her forehead.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?” I asked softly.

  She shook her head. “I’m not beautiful. Not like all those other girls.”

  “What other girls?”

  She shrugged. “The other waitresses. The showgirls. The performers.”

  “That’s because those women are all performers. They use makeup and costumes to make themselves beautiful. But you…you’re beautiful without all the props.”

  Her eyes came slowly up to my face. “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  I slid my hand along the curve of her jaw. She could have pulled away, but she turned into me, pressing her face harder against my palm. And then she peeked at me from under her eyelashes and I could swear my heart nearly exploded. There was just something about the way she looked at me, something about the way she blushed—even as excitement danced in her eyes.

  I buried my fingers in her hair and tugged her closer to me. I kissed her, ignoring the flash of pain that came from my lip. Kissing her was so exciting that the pain didn’t matter. She moved into me, returning the kiss with an almost hesitant passion, with the softest touch of her lips against mine. I pulled her closer and she was like a ragdoll in my arms, allowing me to position her however I wanted her and I wanted her on my lap. I lifted her up, and she groaned, hesitating when the proof of my desire brushed against her thigh.

  “I want you,” I whispered against her mouth. “You drive me crazy.”

  “You barely know me.”

  “I’ve barely known most of my lovers. What’s to know beyond this?”

  I slid my hand under her shirt, sliding my fingers over each and every bump of her spine. She shivered just slightly, her hand sliding over the top of my head.

  “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop.”

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  I studied her face a long moment. It was a lie. I could see the need in her eyes. Her body knew what she wanted, it was just struggling to communicate that to the side of her that was locked behind her Catholic ideals. But I knew a couple of well-placed touches would help the lines of communication come together.

  I kissed her again, our tongues dancing as my hands slid down over her ass, pulling her higher onto my lap. She had such a tight ass…and the way her hips moved against me was intoxicating. I wanted to hold her there for hours; I wanted to feel her perfect body against mine like this for the rest of my life. But, again, I wanted more. I wanted to be inside of her; I wanted to feel her warm, moist body swallow mine whole. I wanted to taste her kisses, and I wanted to explore every inch of her skin. I wanted to take my time with her, drive her insane, and then start all over again.

  It was a stupid cliché, but I wanted her in a way I’d never wanted anyone before. Abigail always said there would be one woman who’d touch my heart, who’d worm her way through the cracks in my armor. I told her it would never happen.

  Was it possible I’d been wrong?

  I snagged the bottom edge of her shirt and lifted it over her head, moaning as her breasts bounced free, her hard nipples standing at attention and reaching for the ceiling. I bit her neck, ran my tongue along the curve of her collarbone, sliding slowly—excruciatingly slow—down along the soft pillow of her full breast to that lovely nipple. I rolled it with my tongue, aware of how good it was for her when she pressed her fingers against my skull and pulled me closer to her.

  She lay back without me encouraging her, resting her head on the mattress as I moved slowly over to her other side, drawing that nipple into my mouth as well. I rolled it with my tongue, loving the sounds of pleasure coming from between her lips. I couldn’t get enough of it. I wanted more—more pleasure, more sounds. I nibbled at her belly and ran my tongue just under the ridge of her ribs. I moved lower until her fingers tugged at my shirt, pulling me back up to her pretty, swollen lips.

  As we kissed again, she continued to tug at my shirt. I pulled away—a little reluctantly—and loosened my collar so that I could pull the shirt, tie and all, over my head. She sucked in a breath—hard—when she saw the bruises forming on my ribs.

  “What did they do to you?”

  She ran her fingers over them slowly, the touch of her fingertips threatening to drive my patience away. But then her fingers moved from the bruises to my tattoos, the crude ones I’d gotten in jail—and the more colorful ones I’d gotten outside.

  “Abigail,” she said softly, running her fingers over the script that revealed the name of the only woman I’d ever loved. She didn’t seem jealous or annoyed like some of my other lovers had been. In fact, she seemed touched by the gesture.

  Then her fingers moved to another tattoo and another, her fingers tracing the outlines of eagle wings, the silhouette of a dragon, the Chinese symbol for strength. Her fingers moved over every tattoo on my chest, the curiosity never dying in her eyes. But she never asked a single question.

  When her fingers reached the tattoo that disappeared beneath the waistband of my slacks, I grabbed her wrists and pushed her back down against the mattress.

  “My turn.”

  She made a tiny sound that was probably supposed to be a giggle, but was more of a sigh.

  “I don’t have any tattoos.”

  “But you have plenty I want to explore.”

  I pressed my mouth to the center of her belly, just above her navel, kissing her there before I slid the tip of my tongue slowly down, rimming her pretty, little outie, moving slowly down until the scent of her filled my senses. She was so aroused that her dainty cotton panties were moist. But I ignored that fact for the soft, lovely scented flesh of her inner thighs. She groaned as I nibbled there, breathing hard as I moved down the length of her thigh, pausing when I reached her knee. I lifted her leg a little and ran my tongue along the back of her knee. She groaned, writhing a little against the mattress. And then I repeated the move, slipping slowly up the length of her other thigh.

  Her hands were on my skull, her fingers pressing into the sensitive bones, drawing me to that place where she needed my touch. And I needed to taste her. I slipped my fingers under the band of her panties, brushing against the sensitive, puffy skin of her outer lips. She moaned, pushing her hips up, forcing my finger harder against her. I pulled away and watched her face closely as I took my time licking her juices from my finger.

  “You like that?”

  She groaned, her face turning a lovely shade of red. I slid up the length of her body and kissed her.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all want it, we’re just not all capable of admitting it.”

  She touched my jaw. “You scare me.”

  “Do I? Why?”

  “Because I know you can make me want this, that you can make me need you. And that scares the crap out of me.”

  I recognized myself in her words. And that frightened me.

  “I should go,” I said, tugging her hands from my body. “Pops wants to meet with me and my brothers at his place.”

  “Now?”

  “I should go,” I repeated, climbing off the bed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have started this.”

 
I walked away and didn’t look back.

  I shouldn’t have started this.

  Chapter 10

  Amelia

  I dressed while he was in the shower and went downstairs, curling up on the couch. I didn’t know what to think about what had just happened, though my mind kept dancing with the thought that he’d lied when he said I was beautiful. That he’d suddenly seen something ugly and undesirable about me.

  What had I done?

  When he came downstairs, he was dressed in jeans and an Oxford shirt—pale blue, a great contrast to his dark skin—all properly attired and coifed.

  “Have you eaten anything since we got here?”

  I shrugged. “I was more tired than hungry.”

  “You should eat. The fridge is well stocked, but if there’s nothing there you want, you can buzz the concierge and he’ll get you whatever you want.”

  “There’s a concierge?”

  He didn’t seem to find that unusual. He gestured to the elaborate intercom system on the wall.

  “Just dial nine.”

  He grabbed his keys off the side table and headed for the door.

  “Kyle?”

  He hesitated, but he didn’t turn.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you back there.”

  “You didn’t. I just lost track of time.”

  He still wouldn’t turn, but he didn’t move on, either.

  “Will you be back tonight?”

  He sort of sighed, then turned, crossing the room to me. He braced himself on the back of the couch and leaned over me, brushing his lips against my forehead.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours.” He kissed me again, then straightened. “Eat something. There’s no point in sitting here, wasting away.”

  He walked off and slammed the door. The sound tore through me like a hot knife through butter.

  Why were there tears in my eyes? Why did I care that he didn’t want me? I should be relieved, glad that my virtue was still intact despite his apparent determination to take it away. Glad that I didn’t have to look my father in the eye and lie about what I had to do to fix things for him.