by Gwyn McNamee
The taste and feel of her warm skin against my lips sends my heart racing.
This woman is everything…
And I need all of her.
I suck her earlobe between my lips and bite down gently. She bucks on my cock and digs her fingernails into my forearm where it’s wrapped around her waist.
“Oh, God, War!”
“You like that?”
She nods and whimpers as she rolls her hips back to meet every thrust.
This. Being her with her here like this, wrapped up completely in each other, buried inside her, is the only thing good to come of this entire mess of the last week. The only thing that has kept me from losing my shit while we’ve been in here waiting for word from Arturo. Her. Nothing but her.
She clenches around my cock, and I groan into her ear. I snake my hand down to find her clit and roll it between my fingers. She mewls and tightens around me even harder.
“God, I’m going to come.”
God yes…
There isn’t a single sound in the world I’d rather hear than Grace coming. Knowing I gave her that release, that I caused that bliss…it’s pure ecstasy for the male ego.
“Yes, come for me.” I thrust into her half a dozen more times, rolling and snapping my hips with every drive forward and twisting her clit between my fingers.
She comes hard and beautifully. Her pussy ripples and squeezes my cock and drags my orgasm from me. I shoot my load into her, fighting the urge to bite down on her shoulder to mark her as mine, then she sags back against me.
Both of us pant, out of breath, and I kiss my way across her cheek and turn her head so I can get to her mouth. She moans into mine, and her tongue snakes out and tangles with my own.
“That was incredible.” The words are whispered against her lips, just for the two of us, but I want to scream from the goddamn rooftops.
What I’ve managed to find with Grace over the last few days is something I never thought existed, something I never thought I could find, something that only appeared in fairy tale children’s books, cheesy romance novels Mom used to read, and in the movies.
Something I don’t deserve yet crave all the same.
I nuzzle against her, breathing in her lilac scent.
The door flies open.
What the fuck?
I scramble to pull the covers up over myself and Grace. She leans into me, and I wrap my arm around her, sheltering her from whatever’s coming through that door.
Shit. What now?
It’s been two days with no word from Arturo. That doesn’t bode well.
Forty-eight hours of waiting for the worst. Forty-eight hours of waiting to die. Forty-eight hours of living like it’s our last. That’s been the only positive in all this—that I’ve been with Grace through it all.
But instead of Arturo storming in gun’s blazing, a tall, beautiful dark-haired woman enters in a crisp, immaculately tailored black suit.
She doesn’t bother to hide the weapons in the holsters at her sides. Shrewd hazel eyes scan the room before she turns back to the hallway. “Tutto a posto.”
Who the hell is this? What did she say?
It sounded like Italian.
Over the years, I’ve seen most, if not all, of the Marconi goons, and not a single one has tits, or a presence like this. This bitch means business.
I can’t imagine Arturo would let a woman protect him. He’s far too misogynistic for that.
The man who enters isn’t Arturo.
Il Padrone appears at least twenty pounds heavier than the last time I saw him and struggling a little bit more with each step. Despite that, he still demands the attention of everyone in the room and enters with clear purpose.
His eyes roam over us, and he offers a cordial smile, so different than the one Arturo gave us. This one holds hints of warmth absent from his nephew’s.
“Mr. Pike. Ms. Albright.” He holds his hands out. “My apologies for not coming to see you sooner. My nephew failed to mention you were visiting. My nephew has failed to mention a lot to me lately.”
Bingo.
Just like I thought. Arturo is up to something. Something Il Padrone is not on board with.
“I do hope your stay here has not been too difficult. Had I known, I would’ve released you two days ago, when you arrived.”
I nod and tug the comforter up tighter against my chest. “Thank you, sir. We’re fine.”
For the most part.
“Excellent. I understand my nephew sent you to intercept some cargo that was not his to take.”
Is this a trick?
If this is a test about my loyalty to the family, the wrong answer could cost me dearly. But something tells me Il Padrone isn’t happy with Arturo and is only looking for the truth.
“Yes, sir.”
He nods and crosses his hands behind his back to pace at the foot of the bed. “My nephew has been quite vocal about his desire to take the family business in a different direction.” He looks over his shoulder at the tall mysterious beauty stationed by the door. “I have other things in mind.”
What is he talking about?
He waves his hand. “But that is none of your concern. You’re free to go. Whatever deal Arturo made with you is null and void. He was not speaking on behalf of the family. I’m the only one who speaks for us. The only terms you need to abide by are those of our original agreement which will remain intact until your debt is repaid. You will be dealing solely with me from now on. Arturo has to learn his place. And it’s not behind my desk.”
Holy shit.
It’s a pretty strong statement about the man who, for all intents and purposes, is his heir apparent. Things are definitely brewing in the Marconi house, things that will no doubt be affecting us all in the future.
“So, I’m free to go too?” Grace’s voice is soft and wavers slightly.
I squeeze my arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she leans into me farther.
Il Padrone nods. “You are, Ms. Albright. Return to your business as if none of this ever happened.”
As if none of this ever happened?
That’s easy for him to say. Not so easy for me or Grace.
“One of my men will get you back to your ship as soon as you’re ready.” He offers a broad smile, and his thin skin crinkles around his eyes, giving him a warm, friendly vibe, almost like a grandfather instead of the deadly Mafia Don. “And again…my apologies that you had to endure this. I hope it does not reflect negatively on your feelings for me and my family.”
He turns and leaves the room; the woman trailing behind him with only a quick glance back at us. The door clicks closed, but no sound of the lock engaging hits us.
Grace turns to look at me, her eyes wide. “So that was Il Padrone?”
I nod and run my fingers through her hair. “Yeah, that was him.”
“And the woman?”
“I have no idea.”
But she’s clearly someone important to be at his side like that. Just another mystery that won’t be solved.
“We’re free, at least from the new deal…”
I nod and climb from the bed. I make my way to where my freshly laundered clothes sit. “It appears so.”
“That’s good then, isn’t it?”
I nod again. “Yeah.”
It is good, especially for Grace. It didn’t really matter one way or another who I was working for. Arturo would’ve had me doing more drug runs no doubt, something I would prefer to keep my hands out of, but it wouldn’t have been much different than anything I’ve been doing for the last five years.
For Grace…this means she’s free. Not just from the Marconis, but from me and everything it would have meant to her and to her business to be tangled up with us and these goons.
She can go home. She can pretend none of this ever happened. As long as…
As long as she’s not pregnant.
We won’t know that for a while, and there’s no point in speculating and worrying about so
mething that may never come to fruition. What is important now is she’s free.
And I won’t be the one who forces her to stay.
I tug on my clothes, and she climbs from the bed.
“You’re quiet.”
My chest tightens. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
I sigh and wave my hand. “About what all this means.”
“What all what means?”
“This…what just happened over the last few days.”
Her brow furrows. “With the Marconis?”
“The Marconis and us.”
She leans against the post of the bed, and her eyes narrow on me. “What about us?”
Christ, this will hurt.
But there’s really nothing else to do but pull the damn Band-aid off.
“I never meant for any of this to happen, Grace—the kidnapping, you and me, any of it, especially not you and me.”
Her bottom lip quivers, and I catch her hand before she can move away from me.
“I don’t mean it like that. I don’t regret a moment we’ve spent together like this. Except that I wish every time could have been somewhere romantic and full of champagne and flowers and everything you deserve instead of on a shitty old boat on Lake Michigan or in a goddamn lavish prison cell.”
I wish that so damn much, but it’s nothing more than a dream.
“Grace, all of this…us…it’s all just an illusion. We’re not some fucking fairy tale. I’m not your knight in shining armor and you’re not a damsel in distress. You never were. From the moment I met you, you had a goddamn gun pointed at me. You managed to do something no one else has in five years. You got the drop on us. You got a call out to the Coast Guard and a weapon on me.”
It was pretty impressive and brilliant.
The look of determination on her face. The skittering of my heart when I saw that barrel pointed at me.
“What are you saying, Warwick?”
“What I’m saying is…you’re free. Not just from the Marconis. From me, too. It’s time for you to go home. To your business. Back to the life you had before we set foot on your ship. Back to a time when you didn’t know me. The time when I didn’t exist in your world.”
A tear trickles down her cheek, and I swipe at it with my thumb. My eyes drift down to her flat stomach, and I swallow through the sudden tightness and dryness my throat.
“And if you’re pregnant.…it’s your decision. I’m in no place to tell you what’s best for your life, what’s best for you. So, I won’t stand here and tell you what to do. Only you know that. But if you are pregnant and you want to keep it, I’ll take care of you. Both of you. But we can’t be together. This life, my life is not anything I want you or a child tied up in.”
No fucking way.
This isn’t a world for love or children or family. The only family I’ll ever have is the four men back in that warehouse waiting to see if I come back alive.
“It’s why I didn’t want to agree to your plan in the first place. I don’t want you living your life looking over your shoulder wondering if something I did or the guys did is going to come back to hurt you. It’s not any way to live a life. And I would know; I’ve been doing it for five years. You can hate me all you want, but I’m right about this.”
Her tears flow in earnest now, and she chokes back a sob and presses her hand over her mouth. She shakes her head slightly. “I want to hate you so much right now, Warwick. But I can’t. Because I know you’re right. Your life is dirty and dangerous, and we’re not the fairy-tale couple who gets the happily ever after. We can’t be.”
She pushes up onto her toes and presses her lips against mine.
The kiss says a thousand different things even though we don’t say a single word. We fall into each other’s arms.
Everything we can never say is all there wrapped up together in the slide of our tongues, the press of our bodies, and the shared breaths.
It’s all we will ever have.
26
Grace
SIX WEEKS LATER
I press the phone to my ear and scan the numbers on my spreadsheet again. “I really appreciate your willingness to work with us on this, Mr. Matlock.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Ms. Albright. Your father always had big plans, so I’m happy to see you stepping up and pushing forward after his death.”
“I’m sure as hell trying.”
God knows, it hasn’t been easy. Finding a new crew was the first hurdle.
I didn’t want to let my crew go and paid them a hefty severance the business really couldn’t afford to keep them quiet and from asking any more questions.
They did everything right when Warwick and the guys came on board, but after everything Warwick and I shared, after everything that happened, I didn’t want to spend my days hearing them talk about the pirate attack and how awful it was because…they really weren’t that awful at all.
Cutter was an ass, E was angry, and Rion could be a real jerk. Preacher was just quiet. And Warwick…there’s nothing to say there. No words that can sum that up.
But all in all, after everything I saw when I was with them, they weren’t all bad guys, just guys who do bad things.
“I’ll be in touch, Mr. Matlock.”
“I look forward to it.”
I set the phone down in the cradle and lean back in the big leather office chair that once belonged to Dad. I spent so many years on his lap here while he shuffled around paperwork and made phone calls. Yet, I had no idea what went into running this business.
Even when I was doing the accounting and handling the office, that only gave me a glimpse into what it really took. I can understand now how the stress got to him and why his heart finally gave out.
It could kill the strongest of people, but I’m not letting it kill me, and I won’t let the business die.
Just like Warwick with his father’s fishing company, something deep inside is telling me how important it is to keep it up and running.
I rest my hand against my stomach.
Maybe for future generations…
Not knowing is killing me.
I look at the clock and take a deep breath. He’ll be here soon.
The set time and date we made before we parted ways that day. He’s making that drive from their warehouse to Traverse City today to get the answer to the question we’ve both undoubtedly been asking all these weeks.
I have my suspicion what the test will say. I haven’t exactly felt right lately, and I’m late. Only a few days, but stress can do weird things to the body, and there’s no denying what I went through could fuck up anyone’s system.
My stomach rolls.
Nausea because I’m pregnant or because I’m nervous about seeing him?
I haven’t mentally prepared myself for having him walk through that door yet. I don’t know if it is possible to mentally prepare myself. Not after everything that happened.
It feels like some movie I watched long ago that just keeps replaying in my head over and over. Some cheesy old-time pirate flick with swashbuckling bad guys and a damsel in distress screaming for help who then gets swept away and falls in love with the captain.
I chuckle to myself. Warwick with long, flowing black hair and a cutlass is about as comical as me in a corseted dress.
I’d much rather dream about the real thing—inked, and hard, and passionate.
A car door slams outside, and heavy steps move up the sidewalk. My chest tightens around my racing heart, and my fingers tug on the pendant of my necklace so hard, I might snap it.
I didn’t think I’d be so nervous to see him again, but the flipping of my stomach and the acid crawling up my throat has me wishing I’d taken a Xanax or something before he got here.
The door opens, and his massive frame blocks the bright afternoon light behind him. He steps forward and lets the door close behind him.
Warwick Pike in all his glory.
His black hair is a little
longer and unrulier than I remember, and the beard that had grown in during the week we spent together is now full-blown, but the same dark gray eyes stare back at me and the same mouth that created so much turmoil and also gave me so much pleasure quirks up on one side.
I swallow through the lump in my throat. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His deep voice rumbles through me and releases some of the tension I’ve been holding.
God, I’ve missed him.
How is that even possible?
We only had a couple days together. Less than a week. It was nothing. The blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. Yet, he left an indelible mark on me, on my heart.
Silence fills the room between us, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot without taking his eyes from me. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and rise from the chair.
“Well, let’s do this.”
He’s here for a reason, and it’s not for us to stare at each other.
I turn toward the hallway. A hand on my shoulder stops me.
He tugs on it, forcing me to face him and stare up at the man I’ve dreamt about every night since we parted. “Wait. There’s something I need to tell you before we go in there.”
My stomach clenches, and a cold sweat breaks out across my skin. “Is it the Marconis? Is everything okay?”
I’d be lying if I say I haven’t worried and thought about it every single day. I’ve had the cold pit of dread sitting in my stomach wondering if Arturo or even Il Padrone set something in motion that could hurt Warwick or the guys or come back to bite me.
He lays his palm against my cheek. Without even thinking, I lean into it, and he brushes his thumb along my skin lightly.
“No. Something more important than that. Something I should’ve come to tell you sooner, but I was too fucking scared of what you’d say, about how you’d react. I was too fucking afraid of dragging you back into this.”
Into what? What the hell is he talking about?
He leans forward and presses his lips to mine gently, then pulls back. “Us. What we so hastily started under the worst of circumstances. I know I told you I’m not your white knight, and this isn’t the fairy tale. That’s still true, and I still don’t want you involved in this life, don’t want to expose you to it, but I’m a fucking selfish man, and all I’ve dreamt about for the last six weeks was you in my bed when I fell asleep and in my arms when I woke up in the morning. You beneath me and on top of me. You asking all your annoying questions that make me want to scream and punch something. It’s just you.”