by Nina Park
Which gave his brain plenty more space to try and figure out the best way to move forward. Focusing on work was probably the best idea. He soaped up his hair, rinsed, and stepped out of the shower. And realized he'd made a crucial error. He'd tossed a couple of pairs of jeans and new T-shirts into the pile that Alina had purchased earlier, but he'd left all the clean clothes out in the main room. The only clothes in the room were those he'd been wearing for two days. Apparently, he'd be walking out of the room buck-ass naked, and he hoped that either Alina was still asleep or that she wouldn't freak out at him.
When he pulled open the door, Alina was sitting up on the bed, clean and neat. Her hair was brushed, and she was wearing a clean skirt and top. He forced his brain away from how gorgeous she looked as she sat on the bed, her phone in her hand. She glanced up at him, her eyes widening ever so slightly at him, drifting down his body, and then clearly shaking herself.
"Hey," she said. "Good shower?"
"Yeah," he replied, feeling a little awkward standing there. He wasn't sure if he should cover his cock or put his hands on his hips like he didn't care. "Forgot to bring my clothes in."
"I see that," Alina said with a little smile. "I wasn't sure if you were coming onto me again."
His cock twitched, the fucking traitor, and he forced himself to keep his mind on unsexy things. Not how he hadn't gotten to press her down into the mattress, watching her tits shift as he fucked her hard. Dammit.
"Do you want me to?"
That wasn't the right question, goddammit.
She stretched out as luxurious as a kitten, and yeah, covering his cock was going to be the right choice. Jesus, this girl. He turned and walked into the living room, aiming to grab at least a pair of boxers and jeans before it became painfully obvious that he couldn't keep his cock soft for a half an hour around this woman.
She followed him, though she kept her distance.
"Do we need some ground rules here?" she asked.
Adequately covered, he turned to face her again. "What do you mean?"
She shrugged. "I mean that you said we're going to be here for a while. That seemed like a lot of fun, back there, and I want to know if you want to do it again."
She was keeping her voice so steady, but he saw something else in her body. Her face was turned just a little bit away, and her hands were shaking just a little. Was she nervous?
"Do you?"
She laughed, and he wanted her so much that it hurt. Not just in his cock, but in his head. As if that made any sense at all.
"Red card, ref."
He pulled a shirt on, and he heard her make a little hiss as his body flexed. All those hours of lifting iron and dealing with aching muscles after hard workouts were suddenly much more worth it.
"Look, let's be clear here. You're the boss."
"I'm the boss' spoiled kid."
"Which, by extension, makes you the boss." Vincent scrubbed his hand through his hair and sighed. "I know how this goes. I piss you off, you tell your father, and it's my head on a pike. I'm not looking for that."
"You think I'd do that?" She seemed genuinely offended, and he had to bite back a snarling comment.
"I think people do what's necessary to protect themselves. And I don't think that's wrong. I just don't want to be caught in the blowback."
She sighed, leaning back in a chair. He had the sense that she'd given up on the conversation for now, and that was just fine with him. She was undoubtedly sending all the signals that she wanted him to bend her over something nearby and drill her until she was screaming again, but that wasn't enough. Once was fun for anyone, but if she wanted more – well, it wasn't a childish thing to say he wanted her to beg for it, but it certainly was a way to make sure.
"So what did Nick say to you when he called?"
"Not all that much. That we needed to lay low, that he'd let us know when it was clear, and that he'd get in touch when we could resurface."
"And we're just here until then?"
"Sounds like."
Alina gave another huge sigh. "It's not that I'm annoyed to miss finals, exactly. But this is frustrating. What are we going to do until... whenever?"
"Got any TV you want to binge? I'm sure this place comes with Netflix."
She laughed again, and God he loved that sound. "That'll last us a few days, anyway. But seriously, Vincent. I mean – Look, I've had a crush on you for most of a decade, okay? I'm not... This was great, this was really great and fun, and it felt incredible. And I'm not going to be that girl who gets laid once and is then in love with you or something. But I just need to know if that's it. If you got your rocks off with the boss' daughter, and now you're done."
Something in him twisted, and he didn't even entirely understand what it was. "That's not it." He wanted to go and sit next to her, but there certainly wasn't room in the chair. Sitting across from her felt weirdly formal.
After a moment's thought, he leaned against the arm of the sofa. Close, but not too close, and letting her keep the position of power in the room. "The last time I saw you, really saw you, you were a kid. Yeah, you were back at the penthouse sometimes, but we never talked again after you went away to school. To be entirely honest, I still thought of you as a kid. But then I was sent to get you, and you are definitely not just a kid—"
"Thanks for noticing." The tiniest corner of a smile had peaked upon her face.
"And goddamn you're good in bed, but I barely know you. And I don't want to take advantage of you, especially since you've apparently been, uh, crushing. For a while now."
Alina took another long moment, studying him, her gaze drifting up and down. And then she stood up and walked towards him. It was just a few steps, but if he'd needed any kind of reminders that she was absolutely a woman in charge of her body and her femininity, he got them. Her hips swayed, her mouth was soft, and her hands were just so. As she reached him, she put her palms flat on his chest, leaned her body into his, and looked up at him. She was every inch the smooth seductress.
"I tell you what," she said, her voice low and throaty. "Since all we're going to do here is watch Netflix and order takeout apparently, I think we should find some other ways to occupy our time."
His hands tightened on the arm of the couch, but it was only a second before they came free and closed on her waist again. Whatever magnetism was between them now, she felt it too. She sighed happily at his touch.
"What are you suggesting?"
"I mean, we tried out a couple of things. How about we find a whole bunch of new positions to explore? I promise to let you know if I'm getting bored. Sound like a plan?"
He answered by pulling her up into another harsh kiss, one hand tight on her ass, the other tight on her breast. She was already whimpering into his mouth, and he couldn't wait to taste her again.
Chapter Seven
Alina sighed and let the open book fall on her face.
It was four weeks to the day now since she and Vincent had rented out this penthouse. She had passed stir-crazy a week ago and was now officially climbing the walls. Vincent still hadn't heard from Nick. He tried calling a handful of times but hadn't heard back.
The day after they'd arrived, Vincent had taken away her phone. He got her a new one with the clean credit card Nick had placed in the drop location, but none of her contacts were in it, and he sensibly told her that she couldn’t log into any of her social media accounts. Which was boring. She knew she was a millennial and everything, but all of her friends lived in her pocket, and she missed them. A lot.
She had Googled both herself and her dad every few days. Nothing came up, ever. She had to believe that if Frank Costa were dead, the media would be having a field day with it. Her father wasn't ever connected to anything illegal – like any good made man he kept his nose clean while he dealt with problems through behind the scenes work – but every so often the cops did come around to see what was going on. Whenever anyone in town went missing, or something happened in the world of dru
gs, or some new prostitution ring was uncovered.
She had no illusions about who her father was. But it was still annoying, especially when they tracked her down at school to ask questions. One thing she was thankful for; Daddy had always kept her carefully away from his business. She could always honestly say that she had no idea what was going on with anything the cops asked about.
But if her father wasn't dead, why couldn't she and Vincent come back yet? She wanted to see her father. She wanted a hug. They hadn't been close, not really, in a very long time. She found herself regretting that more than she should. Should she have fought harder not to be sent to boarding schools all around the world? Should she have insisted on going to a college closer to the city? If she had been with him when this happened, could she have made a difference?
Logically, no. If his bodyguards couldn't help him, what possible good would she have done? But that didn't stop the wondering. She just wanted to know if she should be planning a funeral or waiting for him to wake up from a coma or what.
The thought made her eyes tear up. The sadness tore through her, closing up her throat – and before she knew what was happening, she was gagging, her hand pressed over her mouth. She scrambled off the couch where she'd been reading and bolted for the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before she was painfully, shockingly sick. It felt like her body was being turned inside out, and she clung to the bowl, tears streaming down her face.
She didn't hear Vincent come in, but she felt his hands on her hair, gathering it up and pulling it back. He sat on the side of the tub and kept it out of her way while she vomited up – it felt like everything she'd eaten all week. When the spasms finally passed, she groaned. She hated being sick like nothing else.
Vincent passed her a cup of water, and she rinsed her mouth out before flushing the toilet. She leaned back against the side of the tub next to him. She was pretty sure she was done, but yesterday, when the same thing happened, as soon as she'd stood up, she'd been sick again. There was no point in moving too fast.
Vincent was quiet for a while, and she appreciated the silence. "That's, what? Three days in a row now?"
Alina nodded, her eyes closed. Her stomach was still twisted up, the nausea not really passing even after she'd been sick. It was so weird. "I guess I must have a bug or something."
Vincent went quiet again.
"I'm gonna ask a stupid question," he said, after a minute. "I should have asked this a while back, but by the time it occurred to me – well… Alina, are you on birth control?"
Her eyes flew open. She and Johnny had always used condoms because the pill gave her migraines that made her want to die, and then when she'd left she'd... never bothered to buy a box at the drug store, and then she'd never even thought about asking Vincent to wear one. Oh, shit. She started counting. They'd been here for weeks, and she hadn't had her period, and—
Oh God.
Vincent cursed, but he didn't sound actually angry, just... frustrated, maybe? "I should have asked. Fuck."
"I mean. It might not be. It could be something else." Vincent glanced down at her, and she shrugged. "What the hell do I know about this? Have you knocked up many girls before?" She regretted the words as soon as she said them.
Vincent shifted as if he'd been physically knocked off-balance, his nostrils flaring and his eyes darkening with anger.
"No," he said, his voice incredibly careful. "No, I haven't."
He stood and left the room, and really, that was all for the best. Alina didn't think she could stand being in a room with that much anger right now, especially since she'd caused it.
It took a while for her to collect herself enough to stand and make her way out of the bathroom. She got up too quickly and got dizzy; she had to brace herself on the vanity for a long moment before she could stand again. As she turned sideways, she couldn't help but notice her boobs; her silhouette was completely different, and she'd noticed that the cups to her bra had seemed fuller, but not – not like this.
Holy shit.
She would need to get a test to be sure, but there wasn't actually any doubt. Not for her. And now she just needed to go fix this with Vincent so they could figure out what was going to happen.
Alina had expected him to be sitting on the couch with the TV on, but instead, he was just standing in the living room, all but vibrating with tension.
"I'm sorry," she said, figuring it was a pretty good place to start.
His shoulders stiffened more, something she hadn't thought possible until she saw it happen.
"I'm sick of this shit, Alina," he said, and his tone was darker and more dangerous than anything she'd ever heard from him. "I'm sick of you treating me like I'm some kind of Adonis when my cock is out and the worst scum you've met when I'm trying to be a person."
Had she really done that?
"Vincent—"
"I'm not done. I don't know what this means to you, but I'm – I always swore that in a situation like this, I'd stick by the girl. I'd help her do whatever she wanted. And I'll do that. But you don't get to treat me like I'm something you fucking tracked in off the street."
She took the biggest risk she could think of; she stepped forward and put her arms around his waist. It was like hugging a stone column; there wasn't a single bit of motion in him.
"I panicked," she tried again.
"I don't want to hear it. I don't think you get it yet. This is bullshit, and you're better than this."
That was not at all what she'd expected to hear. That he was better than this, that she wasn't good enough to treat him this way. Those were accusations she'd heard over the years, and they'd never been entirely wrong. Alina wasn't great at people; she hadn't really had much of a chance to develop face-to-face relationships with people that generally lasted more than a semester. But this was... She was surprised at how much it stung, and how much she wanted to prove him – well, right.
"I'm trying to be," she said, after a second. "I'm not good at this. At this relationship stuff."
"What about your boy, Johnny?"
She shook her head. He was melting just a little in her arms, and hearing how much better he was than the guy he'd taken her from never failed to get him a little more relaxed – and if she was being honest, just a little bit hard.
"He and I didn't have a relationship so much as we had a mutually convenient relationship. We never thought it was going to go the distance. Or, at least, I didn't."
Vincent shook his head, then turned around and pulled her into his arms. "I'll be a shitty dad," he said. "I don't know anything about babies and crap. That Johnny bastard looked rich. Go back to him – tell him it's his, and that I – I don't know, kidnapped you or something. Tell him you're in witness protection now. Tell him you want to have his baby, and like ten more to be his heirs to his rich daddy's company. You don't want me."
"I don't know what I want," Alina said, entirely honestly. "But maybe we can start with being positive that this is – well, real?"
Another long pause, and then Vincent gave a sharp nod.
He went to the drug store while Alina stayed in the hotel room and tried to find something bland enough to eat that she wouldn't immediately be sick again. She wanted nothing more than her phone so she could reach out to someone – anyone – who knew her a little better than this. She wanted someone to hug her, hold her, and tell her what choice was the right one?
If she had a baby, would that baby ever get to meet its grandfather? How could she have a baby without knowing the answer to that question?
When Vincent came back, he had a plastic bag with three different brands of tests in it.
"I didn’t know which one to get," he said, by way of explanation. "I think the cashier thought I was crazy. Or really proud. I don't know which." He studied the pink boxes with a look of intense concentration.
Alina reached down and grabbed a box at random. Her stomach was tied in knots wondering what was going on; she just wanted it over with.
And in three minutes, it was. Such a clear positive that they could have used it in an advertisement.
She put the little cap back on it, made sure the whole thing was clean, then walked out into the living room where Vincent was waiting, his thumbnail between his teeth. She handed it to him; he studied the stick and its bright blue lines for a moment, then sat down on the couch. Alina wasn't entirely sure where to go, but before she could take a step away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down onto his lap.
"Hey," he said. "I'm not going to pressure you, okay? I know it's been – we've been in a pretty high-stress situation, and it's not like we know. Anyway, I'm here. For whatever you want."