This Life 1

by Cara Dee

  “I have school,” she said at the same time. I was losing her; the fog was clearing, and I refused to let it happen. If she went home, she’d shake this, whatever it was, and I would go back to being a convicted felon and mobster. She would regret telling a fake agent that her birthday dinner had been canceled.

  “Fuck school.” I brushed her hair aside and cupped her neck. “You need a break. Drop everything you hate and let me take care of you.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “You’re horrible, Finnegan.”

  “I know,” I chuckled.

  I could taste her surrender. She was almost there.

  I was a dick for playing with her emotions, but I’d show her. All she had to do was give me a shot. I’d take care of her. I’d treat her like a fucking queen, because I had a feeling she’d make me look like a king.

  “I’m too weak for this,” she laughed shakily. The defeat was everywhere. “I’ll stay. One night.”

  She wasn’t weak. She just needed to trip before she could come back with a bloody fucking vengeance and show everyone, herself included, what she was made of.

  I was the manipulative son of a bitch who was going to make her fall.

  “What’re you looking at?”

  “You.” I continued watching her in the mirror as I unbuttoned my shirt, and she fidgeted with a lock of hair, taking in everything. She’d changed into one of my T-shirts, and I had no words for how that made me feel.

  There wasn’t much to distract herself with in my bedroom. Other than the bed, two nightstands, and a chair, I hadn’t done anything with it. My mother had taken over and had the wall where the bed stood painted in dark red, and she’d ordered me to hang pictures there. They still sat in a box in the hallway outside.

  Opening the closet that took up the opposite side of the bedroom, I threw my shirt in the laundry basket, and I discreetly removed the gun tucked into my pants.

  Emilia stood awkwardly next to the bed.

  At her sharp intake of air, I cringed and figured she’d seen it anyway, but that wasn’t it. She was staring at my back, or more correctly, the Celtic cross and my last name.

  “That’s, um, one big tattoo,” she mumbled and averted her gaze to the window. “Are you afraid you’re gonna forget your name?”

  I smiled to myself and shook my head. I never knew what she was gonna say, and I loved it. In a way, she was shaking me back to life.

  As I removed my belt, I dug out the birthday gift I’d been saving. Now seemed like the perfect time.

  “Be good, or I’ll sleep naked.” I dropped my pants and picked out a pair of sweats, then pushed off my boxer briefs too.

  There was a squeak from Emilia. “Finnegan!”

  “Relax. See?” I slipped into the sweats, pocketed the gift, and left the closet, tightening the drawstrings.

  “I can’t relax. I just saw your naked ass.” She was looking anywhere but at me, and even in the low light of the lamp on the left side of the bed, her blush was clear as day. “Abs, hi. I mean, fuck. Christ.”

  I pressed my lips together to withhold the laughter, and that wasn’t easy.

  I was counting my blessings for getting her here, so I decided against pushing it and pointing out how flustered she was. Instead, I changed the subject.

  “We gotta settle something important. What side of the bed do you sleep on at home?”

  She eyed the bed, and her shoulders shook with a silent snicker. “There are no sides to my bed at home. You either sleep in the middle, or you fall off.”

  “Noted,” I chuckled.

  She shrugged and tugged down the tee. “I have no preference.”

  “Good, ’cause the left side is mine.” It wasn’t, but the left was closer to the door. I got under the covers, and it was impossible not to notice her awkwardness. I didn’t take it personally. If my suspicions—and hopes—were correct, this was as new for her as it was for me. “Get in bed, princess.”

  “Fine.” She slipped under the covers and stayed near the edge. “You promise you won’t try to have sex with me?”

  “I promise.” I left the light on and rolled over to face her. It was time to give her some honesty on that topic, and hopefully, it would ease her fears. Of course, I wanted to dig first. “How did you handle sleepovers with past boyfriends?”

  “What boyfriends?” She mirrored me to lie on her side, and she tucked her hands under her cheek. In the low light, her hazel eyes glowed with warmth. “In case it wasn’t clear, I have no life. I work and go to school. Hobbies such as football and handing out V-cards are for other kids.”

  The relief to have it confirmed that she hadn’t been with anyone hit me harder than I thought it would’ve.

  “Last party I went to was over a year ago,” she said with a quirk of her lips. “I’ve dated a little, but my main man was always the diner. He’s a demanding fellow.”

  Oh, really. So she’d dated.

  “Come here.” I couldn’t make sense of the tightness that had formed around my chest, but I wasn’t a fan. Emilia shifting closer eased it a bit, though. “You’re with me now,” I murmured and met her in the middle. I stole a kiss, as if to remind myself I could and no one else had that privilege.

  “Am I?” She ducked her head and fingered the chain around my neck.

  I covered her hand with mine. “I’m working on it, anyway.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “St. Christopher.”

  She hummed and got settled on the pillow again. “He watches over travelers or something, right?”

  That was a surprise. “You know of him?”

  “Not really.” She chewed on her lip, thinking. Debating. “My mom was Catholic.” Is. She is. “All I have left of her is this little book about saints, and I used to read it a lot. There was one prayer to him—St. Christopher—that I memorized.”

  Wanting to keep her talking, I asked, “Do you remember it?”

  She squinted. “Um. I’m not sure…”

  “‘Dear Saint Christopher, protect me today, in all my travels, along the road’s way.’” I recited the beginning for her.

  “Oh yeah.” She smiled softly. “‘Give your warning sign, if danger is near, so that I may stop, while the road—no, wait—while the path is clear. Be at my window, and direct me through…um.’”

  “‘When the vision blurs, from out of the blue.’”

  Recognition sparked, and she finished the prayer without help. Then she snickered to herself. “We just went from talking about sex to a prayer.”

  “As religion intended it.”

  She laughed, finally looking more at ease.

  I reached out and touched her cheek, just feeling like it. “Speaking of.” I cleared my throat and got serious for a moment. “I don’t believe in sex before I’m married, so when I say you don’t have to worry, I mean it. It’s important to me.”

  She blinked.

  I stifled my amusement. This could go one way or the other, and I was used to both of them. She would either laugh or call me a liar. No one ever believed I was serious. No one of my generation, at least.

  “You mean…” She furrowed her brow. “I mean… You mean what?”

  I snorted under my breath and tugged at a lock of her hair. “I mean that I made a decision at an early age to abstain from girls and distractions like sex.” I paused to let her process that. “A chick my brother went to high school with claimed he was the father of her unborn child, and it freaked him out. They had to do a paternity test, and the first one came out inconclusive, so lawyers got involved.”

  “Oh my God, you’re serious,” she mumbled, visibly stunned.

  “My uncle has three kids,” I went on. “My aunt isn’t the mother to any of them—”

  “Nurse Walsh?”

  “No, on my mother’s side,” I replied. “I work with men who fuck around and have more kids than they can count. They’re always surrounded by drama—”

  “Finnegan.” She scooted even closer and
kissed me quickly, her cheeks turning pink. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

  It was my turn to furrow my brow. She didn’t react right. What the fuck was wrong with her?

  “You believe me?” I questioned.

  She scrunched her nose and lifted a shoulder. “I figure, of all things, this is one you have no reason to lie about. No offense, but in today’s society, having never had sex at twenty-five is kinda…well, you know. Lame.”

  I muffled my laughter into my pillow before remembering I had her here, and I could force her to join me. Yanking her flush to my body, I sank my teeth into her neck and tickled her rib cage.

  “No! Fuck you, no!” She let out a shriek and smacked my chest hard enough to make me flinch and hiss. “You freaking savage. You bit me!”

  I groaned out the last laugh and rubbed my chest. “Mental note. She’s ticklish as fuck, and it makes her violent.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” She puffed out a hard breath and flopped onto her back. “Goddammit, Finnegan. Why can’t I hate you anymore? Things were so much easier back then. Ahh…last week, how I miss you.” She scrubbed her hands over her face and sighed. “Today has been…” She swallowed, maybe at a loss, and so was I. Maybe on edge too, for fear of what she’d say. Then she tilted her head at me and offered a small smile. “Thank you. Today was amazing.”

  Thank fuck. More relief, and my chest expanded with it. The way I reacted to her was bewildering at times, to be honest. Correction: how much I reacted. It was one thing to find her irresistibly beautiful, funny, and intriguing. Even our chemistry was a great fortune. But I couldn’t afford to lose my head over this girl.

  What we had now was perfect, if only she’d agree to marry me already. Actually, if she agreed to be my wife for life rather than three years, it would be perfect. But I’d settle for those three years, and I’d achieve my goal. After which, there would be a lifetime of other goals, not to mention risks. And love would jeopardize that. I’d grow lazy and lose track of my priorities. Just look at my father. While he’d been a top earner for decades, the syndicate wasn’t his top priority. He didn’t care about advancing.

  No, what I wanted from Emilia was companionship. A partnership and loyalty. The passion was a fantastic bonus.

  Being away from my crew and Philly was fucking with my head.

  “Now you look all…” Emilia reached out and eased a finger over the spot between my brows. “Don’t frown. Say something cocky like, ‘I knew you’d like it here today, princess.’”

  Her impersonation of my voice failed miserably, and I chuckled and grasped her wrist. I found her fingertips and pressed a kiss to them.

  “I knew you’d like it here today, princess.” I smiled and rolled on top of her, enjoying the surprise in her eyes, and got settled between her legs. “It’s not over yet. Remember I said I was saving one gift?”

  She opened her mouth, promptly closed it, then opened it again. “If it’s in your pants, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” I gave her a slow thrust, which was a bad fucking thing. I’d only shot myself in the foot. The hitch in Emilia’s breath didn’t improve my situation, and I felt a ball of lust dropping to my gut. “Tempting.” I leaned down and nipped at her bottom lip. “And, technically, the gift is in my pants. Check my pockets.”

  She couldn’t hide her blush from me, and I didn’t move off of her.

  “It’s not what you think it is,” I said when she located the little jewelry box.

  “Okay,” she answered warily and held the box. “Because it looks like a box you’d give someone who’s said yes to something.”

  “And you haven’t done that.” Yet. “Open it.” For this, I sorta needed my hands, so I reluctantly returned to lie next to her. “Ever heard of a Claddagh ring?”

  “No…?” She pushed herself up a bit to inspect it closer, her hair falling forward. “It’s so pretty.” She touched the old silver carefully, tracing the design of the two hands holding a heart, and the little crown above the heart.

  I copied her position and supported myself on my elbow. “There are a lot of traditions and legends about this ring. Some say suitors give them to the women they intend to marry. Some say mothers should give them to their daughters, and there are rules about how to wear it, with the heart pointing in or out. I was never any good with rules.”

  She smirked a little. “Shocking.”

  “Right?” I took the ring out of the box. “I’m creating my own rule.” I slid the ring onto her left index finger, and thank fuck it fit. It used to belong to my grandmother, and it’d been too small for her in her final…sixty years.

  “The heart is pointing in now,” Emilia said.

  I nodded. “And when you’re ready to accept my family as your own, you turn it outward to represent your heart being open to them.”

  “Finnegan,” she whispered.

  “I want nothing more than to give you another ring, one that’s just for you and me,” I murmured. “But this is for family. They’ll love you, and I think you’ll love them too.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded with a dip of her chin. Maybe she was choked up and conflicted and didn’t know what the fuck to do or say. I couldn’t blame her. She blinked when her eyes got glassy.

  Without saying anything, she cuddled up against my chest and nudged my arm, silently telling me I should be a good boy and put it around her. I had no problems with that, and before getting settled a last time, I reached behind me to turn off the light.

  “Get some sleep, baby.” I kissed the top of her head, lingering and breathing her in. She wasn’t even moving or saying anything, yet she was doing weird shit to my chest again. It felt…fucking incredible to have her in my arms like this, and I tightened my hold on her.

  Stay. Focused.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 12

  Emilia Porter

  Finnegan scowled at me. “I fucking swear. Why do you keep doing that?”

  Because there was nothing cuter than a morning-grumpy Finnegan wearing a scowl, that was why. With sleep-tousled hair, sheet lines on his chest, and his forehead creased in dismay, he tried to shovel leftover birthday cake into his mouth, and I was the jerk who batted away his fork.

  Three forkfuls of cake were currently splattered on the patio where we were sharing a lounger next to the empty pool.

  Spring was warm this morning.

  “You’re cute.” I poked his nose.

  “I’m hungry, and you keep wasting my food.”

  I pointed at the cake. “That’s not food. It’s dessert.” Which was why I was eating heated-up baby back ribs and a baked potato. Like a normal person. “Cake at eight in the morning isn’t good for you.” I licked barbecue glaze off my upper lip.

  “We can have this conversation when you eat oatmeal instead of pig for breakfast.” He let out a playful growl and nibbled on my cheek, and I laughed and squirmed on his lap. “We should probably head inside soon. I’m surprised the twin hurricanes haven’t woken up yet.”

  “But it’s so nice here.” I set our plates on the side table and got comfy. The sun felt amazing, and I was successfully shutting out the real world and all the guilt, dilemmas, and misery that came with it.

  He hummed and hugged me to him. “You’re cuddly in the morning. I like it.”

  I didn’t answer, content to soak up this moment while I had it. There was no way I could know if I was cuddly, ’cause I’d never done it before.

  Part of me knew I was starved for affection. The other part tried to deny that too.

  Finnegan had a few more bites of cake and sipped his coffee, and the silence between us was so peaceful. There were birds chirping, for chrissakes. When did I ever pay attention to those?

  “Hey. Gimme a kiss.”

  I can do that. I lifted my head from his shoulder and pecked him softly a few times. I kissed his smile, he kissed mine, and then we sort of eased into a lazy make-out session that made my toes curl.

  His hand c
ame up my thigh, raising goose bumps in its wake, and he paused right below my ass. I couldn’t stop kissing him. Slow was good. Slow was great. As long as I didn’t have to stop. Tasting chocolate, buttercream, and coffee on his tongue, I squirmed around a bit more until I was seated sideways on his lap, and that way I could more easily play with the hair along his neck.

  “Marry me,” he whispered.

  I shivered forcefully, and my mouth stretched into a grin. “No.”

  “You like that I keep asking, don’t you?” He grasped my chin and swept his tongue into my mouth before pecking me twice. “Give me the truth, Emilia.”

  I buried my face in the crook of his neck. His perfectly trimmed beard tickled my cheek. And at this angle, it did look perfect. Too perfect. I bet he went to a barber. No one could do that on their own.

  “Emilia…”

  I made a noise of complaint. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

  “I wanna know.”

  I sighed and fidgeted with the quarter-sized St. Christopher medallion around his neck. The gold glinted in the sun.

  “It makes me feel special,” I confessed. “I know I’m not, but—”

  “You are.” He wrapped my hair around his fist and gently tugged my head back so he could make me look at him. “I chose you. You’re more than a name on a list. You’re…” He let out a small laugh and shook his head. “You’re way outta my league. You’re stronger than you think, you’re smart—”

  I snorted. “I’m an immature freaking mess.”

  “Because I overwhelm you.” He dipped down and kissed me. “You’ve lived a sheltered life, you’re neglected as shit, and you were forced to act like an adult way too early.”

  I dropped my gaze, feeling queasy. And way too exposed.

  “Last word I’d use for you is immature,” he murmured. “Inexperienced in life? Definitely. You just turned eighteen. But you’re trying. You wanna do what’s right—or what people claim is right. And it seems the last person who gets what you want when you do that is you.”