by Kay Maree
“Listen, Jen. I know I’m not your choice,” he murmurs in the softest tone I’ve ever heard from him. The darkness that had overcome him lifts and I’m treated to another glimpse of the real Desmond McMahon that hides beneath his mask. “To be frank, as hot as you are, you’re not my first pick either. I like my women experienced and ready to be a partner in all the ways that count.”
He trails off, pressing his hardness against me. I try to contain my response, but it escapes my control. Desmond notes my gasp and the frown that wrinkles my forehead with a nod.
“See what I mean? My twenty-seven doesn’t go into your eighteen.” He chuckles, putting space between us. “As much as I’d like a taste, I don’t think you’re ready for me. Our parents have their plans, but I have mine. I don’t want some untouched virgin for my wife. I want you to go and have a life before me, so my needs are met, and you’ll have some idea what the hell yours might be once we’re together. When we make that leap, I plan to take my vows seriously. I figure you’ll do the same if you’ve lived a little before me.”
This time my gasp isn’t because he’s making me uncomfortable. No, I react because, for once, it seems like we’re on the same page.
“Do you mean that?”
Desmond smiles. “I know my actions when we meet don’t exactly support what I’m saying, but believe me, you cop the brunt of my frustration at those dinner parties. My dad won’t get off my arse about proposing and I take perverse delight in pissing him off by taking my sweet time about it.”
Since his explanation makes sense, I decide to seize the moment. “I want you to tell my parents that I’m with you for the next two weeks.”
His eyes widen. “Why?”
“I want to help rebuild a library.”
This time when Desmond pulls me to him, I go willingly. His honesty has gone a long way to melting most of my previous animosity toward him.
“I was right,” he comments. “You are vanilla.”
Glaring up at him, I try to pull free when he quickly elaborates and strips the wind from the sails powering my growing defiance. “I’m not having a go. I’m genuinely in awe of you right now. To tell the truth, when I was eighteen, I wasn’t asking people to lie for me so I could go rebuild a library. No fucking way… I was taking off to Hamilton Island for the weekend with a bunch of people my parents hated.”
“Okay, but what does that mean for me?” I arch an eyebrow, trying to play it cool while I inwardly fight off the rising tide of my hopelessness.
If Desmond thinks I’m too young and stupid to help, I’m shit outta luck.
“Nothing,” he replies. “I’m just shocked at how mature you are.”
“So, you’ll help?” There’s so much confusion flowing within me that it could be my middle name.
“I’ll help,” he promises. “But I have one condition.”
“Anything,” I vow.
“Promise you’ll accept my proposal at dinner on Sunday.” Before I can answer, the grip he has on my upper arms tightens. “Make that two conditions. I’m going to take you up on your offer.”
Without waiting for my response, Desmond hauls me up to my tiptoes and presses his mouth against mine. I fall still, my entire body stiffening until Desmond prods at the seam of my lips with his tongue and I part them to allow him access. A strange sensation flows through me as Desmond tangles his tongue with mine and explores my lower back with his strong hands. When he moulds his fingers to my backside and angles my hips to his, grinding against my crotch, I moan at the sparks of electricity that shoot through me.
“I think I like your kind of vanilla.” Desmond drops his face into the crook of my neck. His warm breath sends a shiver coursing through my body when he says, “Push me away, Jennifer. Fight me before I take what I promised you could keep.”
His tone has my shiver morphing into fear. Prickles of awareness flood my veins. His words have reminded me just how out of depth I am right now. I jam my hands against his chest and push. He yanks me back against him and forces his hand between my thighs. He rubs me hard with the heel of his palm. I kick at his shins, but my ballet flats aren’t a match for his strength. If the hardness that’s pressing against my stomach is any indication, my struggle is turning him on instead of making him let me go.
“Desmond, please,” I beg. My plea meets deaf ears. “I’ll accept your proposal, but I don’t want this.”
In a last-ditch effort to make him see sense, I let my arms drop to my sides and stop fighting him.
It works.
With a groan, Desmond falls back. Shaking his head, he blinks fast then meets my eyes. I’m panting hard, my lips swollen from his kiss, while I fight the duelling emotions that still swirl through me.
I’m scared of him.
I’m more scared of how I responded to him.
“You need to leave.” Desmond scrubs a hand over his face, then points to the door I’m leaning against.
“But?” After what happened, I can't bear to leave without his agreement.
“Accept my proposal on Sunday and I’ll tell your parents we’re spending time together while you rebuild your library.”
“Thank you. I’ll owe you one.”
“Do you mean that?” he asks. “Exactly how far would you go to thank me?”
Meeting his eyes, I press myself harder against the door when I read his intent. He has that look again—the one that says he wants to eat me.
“Desmond, don’t.” I’m not sure what I’m asking him not to do, all I know is that I won’t be able to stop him if he lays his hands on me again. “I’ll do anything, but that.”
“Then we’re in agreement,” he quips. Confusion invades my whirling mind and my eyebrows pull together as I gaze at him. He waves his hand down the length of my body. “I don’t want to be responsible for breaking you in. Virgins are boring and too bloody needy.”
I’ve read of heroines unknowingly holding their breath in my romance books, but I never understood how it was possible until now when I let out my own lungful of air with a sigh of relief. I guess it’s a cliché because it’s real.
“I don’t understand what you want from me. I’ve agreed to accept your proposal and now I feel like you’re talking in riddles just to piss me off.”
Smirking like a swooping vulture, Desmond runs his gaze up and down my form. “There’s nothing remotely riddle-like about what I’m requesting. I’ll keep your parents from finding out where you are for the next two weeks if you spend that time getting your virginal little brains fucked out by someone who isn’t me.”
“Seriously? As if I’d fall for that.” Spinning on my heel, I yank open his office door. “You’re an animal. You could’ve just said no.”
He follows me out of his office. Catching my arm, he pulls me back inside long enough to set me straight.
“I’m not joking. When your two weeks are up, I plan on taking you to my bed. If I find out you didn’t listen to me, you won’t enjoy the way of dispatch of your virtue.” His old-fashioned description makes my blood boil. I slap him across the face. It has no affect on him. He simply lays a hand over his reddening cheek and narrows his eyes at me. “Try me. We’ll see who comes out of this battle with their wits intact. Spoiler alert: it won’t be you.”
Blocking out his voice, I storm off toward the elevators. The doors ping open when I hit the down button and I become aware of Desmond behind me. He slams one hand against the metal to hold open the elevator door and squeezes my upper arm with the other to stop me from entering the lift.
“Leave me alone,” I hiss, keeping my back to him. “I’m not falling for your games.”
“Listen to the words leaving my mouth and do as I say,” Desmond grinds out from between gritted teeth. He sounds as menacing as my grandfather when someone has displeased him. It’s scary enough to cause tears to prick behind my eyelids. “I want you and I’m going to have you once my ring is on your finger and you’ve had two
weeks slumming it with the peasants. What I don’t want is a crying, inexperienced virgin in my bed. Especially one who hasn’t the first clue how to take a man’s cock in her holes. I don’t teach, Jen, I take. I’m going to take your body. I’m going to take your moans for more. I might even take your heart if you prove as addictive as I think you’ll be. But the one thing I am not going to take is your virginity.”
“God, you’re disgusting,” I retort when he halts his tirade. “If I told my grandfather what you’ve said, he’d have you killed.”
Desmond chuckles in my ear. “I’m not scared of some mob boss. With one word from me, my father could have his entire operation broken into pieces and sold to the Carlucci Clan before you’ve taken a sip of your morning coffee.”
“You couldn’t—”
“Why don’t you try me and find out? I’d love to call your bluff and show you who you should really be scared of. Be smart… I could be a powerful ally. In exchange for one tiny thing, I’d give you what you want the most—freedom out from under your daddy’s thumb.”
An alarm sounds in the lift. Desmond lets go of the door and shoves me inside before it closes. We lock eyes and I don’t blink until the doors are fully closed. Once he’s out of sight, I slump against the cold, steel wall and try to make sense of what just happened.
Surely, Desmond isn’t serious?
I’ve had it drummed in my head since I was old enough to understand what sex was that I needed to stay pure for whomever was chosen as my husband. It’s archaic. It’s also a normal way of life in my circle. No one marries for love—that’s what affairs are for. Until Desmond demanded it, I was determined to lose my virginity before our engagement if a deal that pleased my father could be made. Now I’m not so sure.
The contrary side of my personality wants to keep my virginity to spite him.
The smarter part knows that he’ll follow through on his threat.
I guess the question is simple.
How badly do I crave my freedom?
Chapter Five
Angelo
It takes me half the time it usually does to get home. I don’t think my feet touched the pavement for more than a heartbeat at a time as I ran like a bat out of Hell to get to my grandfather before he does something nasty to my mother to alleviate his frustration over waiting.
His men keep pace with me until I zip down the shortcut between the derelict park and the old outdoor cinema. Their outraged shouts are music to my ears, curving my lips in a genuine grin as I put my head down and fly over our back neighbours’ fence and head inside my home through the back door.
“What the fuck?” Punching the dumbass with the gun who’s crouching inside the back entrance in the head, I step over his prone form. In the laundry, I found another goon. He tries to stop me by aiming his handgun at me. I slap it out of his hands and push past.
“Hey, hold up. You can’t just go in there.” He attempts to look fierce without his weapon to hide behind. “Just stop, would ya?”
“I’m the grandson, stupid.”
As the truth dawns, his face turns white. I allow him to scoop his handgun from the floor. He uses it to motion me inside. “Fuck. Let’s go.”
He trails uselessly behind me. Every five seconds or so, he prods me in the kidney with his gun. It doesn’t take long to work my way through our pokey house, even with this second-rate GI Joe on my arse. I burst through the two-way swinging door that separates the living room from the kitchen. With my hip, I ping the door back in my stalker’s face. He curses and I use his distraction to saunter into the living room before anyone is fully aware of my presence.
“I’m here,’ I announce. “Tell me what you want. I wanna see the back of you ASAP.”
At the sound of my greeting, the two men my grandfather has watching the front of the house twist around and level their weapons at me. My grandfather remains perched on an expensive looking coat that’s been draped over our stained, single recliner. He’s facing the front door and takes his time turning to look at me. This gives me time for a fleeting glance at my parents.
My mother huddles next to my father, shaking with tears streaming silently down her face. Her lip is still swollen from this morning and her two black eyes make her look like she’d been ten rounds with Evander Holyfield. To his credit, my old man is keeping his shit together. He has his arm slung over Mama’s shoulder and his head bent close to her ear. They both jerk their attention to me before they turtle back in on themselves.
The bleak worry clouding their expressions confirms my initial thoughts.
They don’t have any more of an idea what this visit is about than I do.
Mr. GI Joe Stalker Man barrels his way into the living room. He assesses the situation with wide eyes then slides in behind the other two Made Men. Everyone pretends that his abrupt arrival is normal and that I didn’t give the Don’s guard the slip with my surprise arrival.
It’s fine by me. I have zero desire to prolong this visit.
“Angelo,” my grandfather enunciates my name like tastes good in his mouth. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I shrug. “I’d like to same the same, but I’d be bullshitting.”
His eyes narrow the barest amount before he smiles. “It seems we’re very similar. I, too, detest lying.”
“Somehow, I doubt it.”
Mama inhales a sharp breath. I shoot a quick look her way and she nods once when she reads the message I’m trying to convey with my eyes. Her shoulders relax and she puts a little space between her and my father. Once she’s sitting up straighter, I return my attention to my grandfather.
It’s a bleary type of focus. On one hand, I can’t help but note the startling resemblance between us. He looks like an older version of me. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall and strong. It hurts to see the man again after he disappeared in my early childhood so I keep my inspection of him as brief as I can. No good can come from lingering on memories or reengaging with the man who let me down so spectacularly.
Grandfather stands, sweeping his coat from the recliner and handing it to his closest man. The guy sheaths his handgun and holds the coat by its shoulder so my grandfather can slide his arms in. Once the coat is buttoned, I’m beckoned forward with a regal flick of his hand.
“Why don’t we take a walk and talk,” he suggests. Everyone in the living room knows it’s an order. I step into place behind him as he makes his way to the front door. “It’s cold out. I recommend you bring a coat with you.”
“It’s not that bad,” I retort. My mouth is in gear before my brain. Regret steamrolls through me. Arguing every little point isn’t going to help me stay aloof. After a deep breath, I try again, “My apologies, Don. I’ve just run five kilometres to get back here so I’m a little warm.”
He inclines his head. “I should’ve realised.”
Together we head down the front steps and out of the bent garden gate. His men fall in with us, two in front and two behind. I chance a look behind us, grinning when I catch a glimpse of the dopey one I clocked at the back door. They both shoot me a wry smile acknowledging that I bested them both.
A heavy silence grows between us. We walk the streets of my suburb, passing burnt out cars and houses with broken windows. The quiet grates on my nerves, however I know that I can’t be the one to break it. My grandfather has a plan.
He hasn’t broken our sixteen years of exile without a reason.
I look around when he does, following his gaze, as he takes in the rundown environment I live in. It’s hard to see my home through his eyes when I’ve become immune to the dirt and destruction that surrounds me.
“I’m sorry you have been caught in the middle of my war with Gio.”
As icebreakers go, it’s a good one.
I grunt, not willing to acknowledge the understatement of his apology.
“Young Maria is very beautiful.”
My hackles rise. I
ball my hands into fists. Glaring at the man who set in motion the circumstances that left me in this life, I snarl, “You’ll stay the Hell away from my sister. Don’t speak to her. Don’t even look at her. She’s above all this filth.”
When he stops walking, I expect him to set his men on me. Remaining unattached isn’t working—I’ve just engaged with both barrels. Now he knows my weak spot. I’ve given him the key to my compliance.
“I meant no offence.” I freeze at the genuine remorse in his voice. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m getting older and, with age, I’m finding clarity. That doesn’t mean I’ve found patience or some magical ability to undo the past. Even so, I come asking for your forgiveness.”
Spinning on my heel, I stomp off. The two thugs trailing us create a wall of muscle. It does nothing to deter me. Throwing a punch at the first one, I knock him on his arse. The second goon isn’t quite so easy. He ducks out of the way of my fist and kicks me in the gut. I double over. My reaction makes him sloppy so when he follows up, he steps too close and I’m able to smash the back of my head into his chin. With a whimper, he meets his partner on the broken sidewalk.
“Angelo,” my grandfather snaps. “Stop.”
“Fuck you.”
“Have it your way,” he replies.
The barrel of two guns touch the back of my head. I hold my hands out at my side and allow my eyelids to flutter shut. I could take one of them. But, two guys holding guns. The two men the Don allows to guard his front. No, I don’t think they’ll go down as easily as the other two.
“Smart.” Grandfather steps in front of me. “You’re quick, you’re lethal, but you’re not stupid. You know when to hold back. That takes skill. It’s also innate. You get it from me.”
“All due respect, Don. The only thing I got from you is my last name.”
“Call me grandpa. Maria does. You can work way toward Nonno after we get to know each other.”