“You can’t make that judgment call, Gran,” Cinna said. “What if she was the love of his life? What if he’ll never love another woman again? What if she looked just like Pepper, and he’s trying to make her fit into a box she doesn’t actually belong in?”
Maybe it hadn’t been Pepper’s fault she’d never been able to seal the deal with a man. Maybe the problem was in her genes. “What if you all quit talking and mind your own business before I drag you out in the snow and lock you out for the rest of the night?”
“I’ll walk to CJ and Nat’s place. And Mom would skin you alive if you mistreat Gran, even when she deserves it. Besides, we should know Tony’s history if he’s going to date you.”
“No, I should know Tony’s history. It’s none of your business.”
Huh. That came out pretty easily. Too easily.
Almost as if this were real.
“You know what would make this soup better?” Gran said.
“If you’d eat it without talking?” Pepper muttered.
Tony coughed, and she caught a hint of a smile before he ducked his head.
“If I had a man to eat it with tonight.”
“Talk to Mother Nature, Gran,” Tony said. He was effortlessly slicing the ends off a bunch of asparagus, and though she’d watched him slice, dice, and prep all of the chicken noodle soup, she still was fascinated by his dexterity in the kitchen.
By the way his shoulders curved, and the way his muscles flexed and bunched beneath his simple blue T-shirt. By the way his ass filled out his jeans. His easy grace. The way his face gave her subtle clues to the emotions playing beneath the surface.
His ex-wife had hurt him. She was as sure of that as she was of her own name. And he’d lost his mother—that might’ve been what his grief was about this morning at the skating rink.
Or maybe there was something more.
He had a wicked sense of humor. Not new knowledge, but that spark of amusement had lit his eyes or quirked his lips more often than not all afternoon.
All day, even.
“Good thing you live next door, Tony,” Cinna said. “Not sure how you’d get home if you weren’t so close.”
Pepper kicked her under the table, because that was rude.
“Or you can stay here,” Pepper said. All night. With her. In her bed.
“That’s a horrible example to set for your baby sister,” Cinna said.
“So is sending someone out to walk home in the freezing cold during a blizzard. Even just next door. Quit being a brat.”
Cinna was still eyeing Tony. “You packed an overnight bag, didn’t you?”
“No need. I sleep naked.”
Ah, right. He had a big family of his own. He could handle himself. “Wow, those carrots are so uniform,” Pepper said. “You really know how to handle a knife.”
“Useful skill for so many reasons,” he said.
They shared a smile while Cinna snorted and Gran sneezed into her soup bowl.
Gran eyed her soup, then lifted bloodshot eyes to glance around the table. “George,” she called, “come have some soup.”
The poodle was already dancing around the room. He charged straight to Gran’s side. Her hand wobbled when she picked up the bowl, but before Pepper could reach her, Tony was there, gently lowering the soup for the dog. “Hold tight,” he said. “I’ll get you another bowl.”
“That’s sweet of you, and it was delicious, but I’d really like to just go to bed,” she said. “Help me up the stairs?”
She was either feeling way worse than she was admitting, or she was planning to slip Tony some condoms.
It was odd to hope it was the condoms.
“My pleasure,” he said. He took her hand and helped her out of the seat while George slurped his homemade soup.
As soon as the stairs stopped creaking, Pepper turned a glare on Cinna. “Can you please be a little nicer?” she whispered. “He came over here in a snowstorm and made Gran homemade soup, and you throw his divorce in his face? What’s wrong with you?”
“He has a secret,” Cinna hissed back. “His brother was in Suckers last night, and as soon as I mentioned you two dating, he clammed up. Like, you should probably make sure Tony’s actually divorced. And that his ex-wife is still alive.”
“First of all, some families actually respect each other’s privacy. Second of all, you’re hardly the most trustworthy person to gossip with. And third of all, why can’t you just trust me?” And fourth, why did Cinna get to meet Tony’s family, and Pepper didn’t?
Cinna pressed her lips together and looked away.
She had a light dusting of freckles on her nose year-round, her red hair tied up in a messy bun, and pajamas on. Looking every bit the baby of the family. The one who didn’t want to go to college, who had moved here on a whim two years ago to tend bar for CJ because it was easier to let family coddle her than to figure out what she wanted to do with her life.
But there was something perceptive about her tonight. More intelligent. More grown-up.
More mature.
More knowledgeable.
“What do you know that you’re not telling me?” Pepper asked.
Cinna stood and carried her bowl to the sink.
“Cinna?”
She flipped the water on, still not answering. Pepper’s heart rattled out an uneven beat. Regardless of everything else, Tony had been her friend. The last three weeks, he’d become a good friend.
“I know in my heart he’s a decent guy,” Pepper said.
“One of you is going to get hurt, but I don’t know which one.”
A chill raced down her arms. “Nothing new for my relationships,” she said, aiming for light and funny, but missing the mark.
She’d had enough of getting hurt.
And she didn’t like to hurt other people, intentionally or accidentally.
“I just—” Cinna dropped her bowl and slammed the faucet off. “Never mind. It’s all in my head. I get bored at work and make up stories about my customers, and I’m sure I’m overreacting. Have fun. Date him. Sleep with him. Whatever. But don’t—”
She cut herself off with a head shake.
“Don’t what?” Pepper said.
A host of emotions danced over Cinna’s smooth face. Worry. Compassion. Frustration.
Did she know?
A wave of fear crashed through her veins. Did Cinna know about Pepper’s fertility treatments? She’d gone out of her way to keep all of her medicines locked up. She’d listed her doctor appointments as phone calls with vendors on her calendar. Not a single document had come through the mail at home. She’d even put her doctor’s office in her phone as Smith, V—a random name that wouldn’t mean anything if Cinna went snooping.
Cinna finally snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t go psycho if he marries someone else next year.”
“You are such a brat,” Pepper said to her retreating backside.
“That’s my job,” she replied.
She disappeared up the stairs, and Pepper dropped her head to the table.
Life was never easy.
* * *
For seven days, Tony had thought of little else besides Pepper. And now that he had her alone again, in her basement again, she was killing him, one slow bite of dinner at a time.
Her lips closed around a forkful of salmon, and the moan that followed left him light-headed.
“Is there anything you can’t cook?” she said.
Her grandmother and sister had been complimentary about his soup, but their praise didn’t warm the chilly edges of his soul the way Pepper’s did. “Wait until you try the rolls.”
She plucked one of the round, cheesy rolls from her plate. “These are going to kill me, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but it’ll be worth it.”
Her eyes slid shut as she sank her teeth into the roll. More of Tony’s blood rushed south. Another moan emanated from her throat.
“Good?” he asked.
“So good.�
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He’d done that to her. He’d made her cheeks flush, made her moan. He’d given her a foodgasm.
He slowly cut into his own salmon, holding his utensils too tight. Felt like a sixteen-year-old kid again. Hiding in the basement. Wanting to kiss a girl.
Wanting to shove her up against the wall and take her.
“I’m sorry about Cinna being so nosy,” she said.
He forced himself to unclench his fingers around his fork and knife. “My sisters would’ve done the same.”
“One of those sisters I haven’t met?” she teased.
“That’s the one.”
“I could take her.”
She probably could. “But what evil secrets do you have lurking in your past?”
“I tried to take CJ out with a tailpipe once.”
“Was this before or after he outweighed you by seventy pounds?”
“He was big enough to handle himself then.” She set her fork down and turned to face him. “Gran didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”
“Define trouble.”
“I really don’t want to know,” she murmured. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow and remind her to behave.”
He squeezed her knee and let his hand linger. “She wanted a selfie of a hot guy in her bedroom to show all her friends at the seniors’ center. All perfectly innocent fun.” And then she’d said Pepper was very driven when she had a goal, and not to let that intimidate him like the “other pussies she dated before” did, but the way he’d handled everything so far suggested he was a champ.
“Did she grab your butt again?”
“Is she a one-and-done grabber, or a repeat offender? Because if she’s a repeat grabber, I’m starting to get a complex about why she hasn’t tried again.”
A rueful smile lit her pretty eyes. “Don’t tell Gran that unless you’re serious.”
“She’s a remarkable woman.”
“One in a hundred billion.”
She went back to her plate, and her eyes slid shut again on her next bite of salmon. He liked food, and he’d done a bang-up job on dinner tonight, if he did say so himself. The salmon was perfect, the bacon was crisp, the asparagus delicious, and the rolls were cheesy heaven.
But much as he liked this meal, he liked watching her eat it more.
Every smile, every moan, every little compliment settled into the bucket of his self-worth that Tabitha had knocked over for him. And while he’d never admit to needing validation from another human being—especially a woman—he couldn’t deny the relief at knowing he still had the ability to make someone else happy.
It made him want to cook for her again.
Every night.
Dangerous territory there.
But, hell, being here was dangerous territory. He could’ve spent the night home alone with Lucky. Probably should’ve. Could bolt any minute to wade over there and get home. But since the moment Pepper had offered her trade with him being her pretend boyfriend, he’d had something more to live for.
Even if he hadn’t realized it at the time.
“Is yours okay?” she asked. “Or are you full of soup?”
The basement air held a chill. She was wrapped in a thick maroon sweater and black leggings, with mismatched socks—one red and white stripes, the other yellow with ducks. Her hair was tied at her nape, and as he sat there, holding her gaze, her eyes went dark.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Eat your dinner,” he rasped out. “It’s getting cold.”
She glanced at her plate on the spindle-legged coffee table, then back at him. “It’s really good food. But you’re pretty spectacular too.”
He could work with this.
He scooted closer to her and pulled her plate across the dark wood surface until he could reach her utensils. When he lifted a bite to her lips, she leaned into him, her hand igniting sparks as she rested it on his thigh, her fingers tickling the inside of his leg.
“You let me know when you’re done,” he said.
She lasted three bites before she launched herself at him, hands roaming, shoving his clothes aside, lips clashing, her tongue seeking his. He was standing at attention below the belt, straining against his jeans, healthy and strong and ready to be tapped into the game. He tugged her hair loose, and the feathery softness surrounded him, teasing him with hints of orange and flowers on top of the sweet sugary scent of her skin.
“We should do this more often,” she gasped as his fingers found her bra strap.
“Every fucking night,” he agreed.
Her skin—like silk. Her moans—music. Her touch—heaven.
She cradled his hips between her thighs and kissed him, hot and frantic and desperate, on his lips, his jaw, his neck. This was what he craved.
Being wanted.
Being needed.
He grabbed the hem of her sweater and pulled it off. She tugged his shirt over his head, and then her hands were on his chest, rubbing, circling, tweaking his nipples and making his groin pulse. He palmed her breasts, perfect, just the right size for his hands, with those beautiful, delicious rosy tips, while her hungry eyes watched him.
Her fingers attacked his button, then his zipper. She tugged his pants down. He sprang free, and she wrapped both hands around him. He arched back, his head rolling on the couch arm while he thrust into her grip, his breath hissing out, her touch hot and cold, soft and hard, everything.
“Pepper—”
“I love how you feel.” Her lashes lowered, and she stroked him again.
“Slow, baby,” he whispered.
She dipped her head over him, her hair a curtain closing out the world. “I need you inside me.”
A man didn’t need a second invitation.
He fumbled for a condom and rolled it on. She pulled herself off the couch and peeled her lush hips and long legs out of her pants, that gorgeous, curvy body, full breasts, creamy skin—all his.
Tonight, she was completely, unquestionably his.
He’d lost the ability to speak, to think, to breathe.
He had to be in her. To claim her. To own her.
Now.
He rose from the couch, hooked her by the waist, and spun her against the wall. Her eyes lit up, and when he crashed his lips to hers, she was smiling. She hooked one leg around his waist. He grabbed her other leg and lifted, and when he slid into her, they both breathed out the same hot moan.
“So good—” he gasped.
“More,” she demanded.
He pulled back, then thrust into her, deep, full, desperate. Her moans and cries spurred him harder, faster, deeper, until her walls clenched around him, coaxing his own release.
She bit his shoulder. He pressed her hard against the wall, heart throbbing, cock twitching, stars dancing in his vision, bone-deep satisfaction settling in his soul.
“Definitely every night,” she whispered into his neck, her breath tickling, but her body so warm and pliant and perfect.
“My place. Bed. Every night.”
She giggled—Pepper Blue, giggling for him—and he slowly pulled out and lowered her back to the ground.
And that was when reality hit.
His condom had broken.
16
“Pepper?”
“Hm?” She blinked sleepy eyes up at Tony, her body sated, her limbs loose, happiness radiating from a point so deep inside her, she finally understood true bliss.
“It broke.”
She blinked again.
He wasn’t smiling. His brown eyes weren’t warm, and he’d gone pale as a ghost. “What—” she started, but a trickle between her legs answered the question.
The condom.
The condom had broken.
“It was new,” he said. “Swear to god, a week old.” He backed up, scrambled for a tissue, then grabbed his pants.
“Tony—”
“Are you—are you on birth control? When was your last period? This wasn’t—it was brand new. I can’t—are you?”
&
nbsp; She tried to breathe, but the air was hiding in little bubbles around the room, unevenly scattered, making her search for it while a burn in her eyelids betrayed her.
Birth control?
What the hell for?
“Tony,” she tried again.
He scrambled into his pants, not looking at her. “I’ll do the right thing,” he muttered. “I’ll do the right thing.”
Do the right thing for who?
“Tony,” she whispered, “I can’t get pregnant.”
God. Saying it aloud was so—so final.
So real.
So wrong.
Why? Why did her body have to not work? Why did the condom have to break? Why did she have to say it? Why?
“Don’t look at me like that.” She squeezed her eyes shut and slid down the wall. Who cared if her body was naked?
She’d just bared her soul.
The linoleum was like ice on her butt cheeks, but her shaking came from the cold inside.
The emptiness inside.
Footsteps shuffled across the linoleum.
She gripped her knees tighter and buried her head. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.
He didn’t.
But she still felt the heat radiating off his body when he slid to the floor beside her.
“My wife was pregnant.” His voice was thick and low. Raw. Hurt. Broken.
She shook her head. “I’m so—”
“It wasn’t mine.”
Her gasp caught her off guard. She lifted her head.
He was staring straight ahead, but she doubted he was seeing the Skee-Ball table.
“Don’t look at me like that either,” he said.
She shifted closer. Wrapped her hand around his bicep, right beneath his tattoo—live, laugh, love, she’d discovered it meant—and leaned into his body. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”
“We are.” His lips pressed her temple, hot and hard, and he covered her hand with his. “But we’re not alone.”
* * *
“Do you two dingbats realize it’s two in the morning?”
Tony glanced at his watch, then at Cinna in a bathrobe and Pokémon slippers. He’d been too busy trying to beat the pants off Pepper in Skee-Ball to pay attention to the time.
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