The Marriage Debt

by Waltz, Vanessa

I swung forward and pinched her cheek. "You’re too much."

  She raised an eyebrow. "You’re the one with the gangster—oops, I mean philanthropist—family."

  "If I’m going to be punished for the sins of my fathers, so be it, but I’d rather they come from a judge."

  "Why?"

  "Because I can pay off a judge." I grinned. "Not you."

  "That’s very sweet." She dissolved into laughter. "In a horrible sort of way."

  Eventually, her chuckling subsided. "Suppose you’ve won me over. Then what?"

  I had already. "You come with me."

  "Where?"

  "Anywhere. We need more time, Naomi."

  She nodded with a shy smile. "Not sick of me?"

  "Of course not. Are you?"

  "No."

  "I'm not saying let's get married." No matter how I felt about her, trust wasn't earned in the weekend. "Let's see what happens."

  "Okay," she said, rubbing her forehead. "I can’t believe I’m doing this."

  "Me either."

  "Everyone will say I’m insane for running off with a stranger. I mean, who does this? Who meets someone in Vegas and—and starts a…" she trailed off, blushing a dark red.

  "A relationship," I finished for her. "Maybe there’s something in the air."

  Naomi held my gaze, beaming. "Perhaps it’s meant to be."

  Graham

  The restaurant was Ethan's property. I couldn't force him to sell, not without help.

  Thugs.

  I wasn’t above beating the shit out of Ethan. Sending someone else to do it rubbed me the wrong way, especially when said help had a dead-eyed stare and zero conscience.

  Ethan was a colossal prick, but did he deserve this?

  A harsh yes whispered from the marrow of my bones.

  I hesitated.

  All my life, Dad told me to avoid the mob like the plague. My father did business with the Cesare Crime Family on occasion, but cautioned me against it. My job description didn’t include getting involved, but wasn’t this the sort of emergency that called for intervention?

  A gossip column article swam across my desk. It was a smear campaign, the first of many against Naomi. Ethan paid for the reporter to publish it, just like he bribed her college friends to contribute to the story.

  And then, I thought about how he’d manipulated my wife—my goddamned wife—into a relationship for five years. The decision wasn’t hard anymore. I pressed the call button.

  A voice darker than shadows answered. "Vincent."

  "It’s Graham. Graham Hawthorn—"

  "I know who you are. What is it?"

  My heart thundered. "Can we meet?"

  "I’ll send someone."

  The phone went dead. It was as though I'd already signed on the dotted line and condemned my soul.

  How did a five-second conversation give me so much dread?

  My spine tingled with the vague promise of meeting Vincent, the boss of the family, as though I’d committed an unforgivable sin.

  Naomi wouldn’t want this, but she didn’t have to ever know.

  What was one more lie?

  I dismantled the burner and crushed its SIM card. Somewhere in Manhattan, Cesare was probably doing the same. The fact we had anything in common sent another chill down my back. I threw the broken cell in the trash and stepped into the library.

  Bold reds stroked the floors and accented the walls. I closed the French doors, bristling from weeks of self-restraint. I was bleeding through the cracks. My personal life hung by a thread, and a psycho was determined to see it destroyed. The lies I built around Naomi wouldn't last. My sister wasn’t talking to me.

  I grabbed my phone and clicked on Blair. The bright screen dimmed to black. It mocked my patience as I redialed my sister’s number.

  Voicemail.

  I slumped into a chair and simmered. A shadow rippled the wood at my feet, growing larger. Hair tickled my neck. Naomi peeked over my shoulder. "I don’t think she wants to talk."

  I hadn’t heard her come in.

  "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

  A flash of rage zipped through my arm. I tossed the phone into the fireplace mantle. Bits of plastic flew as it smashed into the brick.

  "Graham," she gasped. She picked it up and tutted at the smashed screen. "These are expensive."

  "Like I care."

  I lurched from the chair because pacing was better than sitting. I'd rather do anything than wait. Peeling gold letters flashed on book spines. I scanned them for something that would help me.

  Naomi slipped my phone onto the coffee table. "Want to talk about it?"

  "No."

  "Maybe you should anyway."

  Naomi’s persistence banked the fire in my gut. She kept breaking my one goddamned rule, which I hand-waved anyway because she’d endured hell. I had to be supportive. No matter what. It was killing me.

  God, I needed to fuck this out of me.

  I settled for a growl. "What are you doing here?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  "If I want my words repeated, I’ll buy a parrot."

  "You were brooding," Naomi said. "Thought I’d see if you’re okay."

  "I need space."

  "You always say that when I ask personal questions. I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone."

  In the last few weeks, she’d opened up. Every day I discovered something new. She liked doo-wop music and made killer breakfast pastries. She sang in the shower. She was irritatingly kind.

  I still didn’t want to let her in. "This my problem, not yours."

  "Technically, she’s my sister, too."

  I snorted.

  Concern knitted her gaze. "I’m just trying to help."

  "Sweetheart, I don’t want you to see me blow up. You’re the one good thing in my life that isn’t fucked up. Let’s keep it that way."

  "I can’t go anywhere, remember?"

  Naomi closed the distance between us, and I noticed her clothes for the first time. I’d never seen her so delectable. A black dress wrapped her body, a long slit shifting to reveal her leg. Her dark waves were combed into a thick ponytail, which made her look young and vulnerable.

  She pressed her lips to my cheek. "I can handle it."

  Electricity zinged from her touch and collided with my fury. The red haze parted for Naomi. She was all that mattered.

  She cupped my cheeks and kissed me. I stopped resisting her and embraced my wife. She slid her palms to my neck, leaning into my arms. We fit so well. I imagined a thousand moments in the future, just like this.

  Naomi moaned, yanking me deeper into lust. I wanted to grab her ass and shove her against the shelves. Bend her over. Fuck the rage out of me.

  I couldn’t use in that manner.

  I disengaged from her and stepped backward. Her scent was all over me. I had to get away from her. My breath hitched, blood still pounding.

  Confusion feathered her brows. "Graham?"

  "Nothing’s wrong."

  She hardened. "If I wanted an emotionally-distant asshole, I’d—"

  "Fine. I’ll tell you."

  Naomi startled at my voice, and I forced myself to simmer down. Years of practice taught me to imagine a wall of fire slowly shrinking. I saw the flames turning into wisps of smoke, which I blew away.

  When I looked at her, I was calm. "My sister won’t speak to me."

  "What happened?"

  Must she always go for the jugular?

  "We fought. That’s it."

  "No, it’s not. Stop pretending you’re fine." She crossed her arms, her wine-red lips drawn into a frown. "I want to know you. Talk to me."

  "Blair is probably the only women in my life who doesn’t hate me. I fucking miss her."

  "I don’t hate you." Naomi walked closer, dragging with her a tantalizing floral scent. "What did you fight about?"

  A lot of things. "I punched her boyfriend."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

  "Because
he was lying to me about dating her. It’s a long story. The point is, I apologized to both. He’s talking to me. She’s not." I sank into a couch, head pounding.

  Her fingers brushed over my hair.

  "You won’t get her to come around by calling every five seconds."

  "I know."

  She sat beside me. "Let her come to you."

  "No, I have to make it right."

  "She has to be willing to hear you out, first." Naomi slid her hand up my back. "I know it’s hard, but you have to allow her some room."

  "I can’t."

  "Graham, she’s an adult. She made her choice."

  "But she doesn’t understand."

  "I know, but you have to respect it." Sympathy gleamed from Naomi’s eyes.

  Grief swelled in my chest. Naomi watched me, the devastation inside me matching her expression. Never talk to my little sis again? My only sister? I couldn’t fathom a holiday without her. Already, I’d missed her birthday. I apologized. There was nothing left to do but wait.

  I smiled at Naomi. "You’re right."

  Blair didn’t want to see me, and it killed me.

  Naomi stroked my hair. Her fingers raked my scalp, the hard digits massaging my head. Gradually, the tension worked from my forehead to my chin. Her lips sealed against mine, and I kissed her with a relentless hunger. Lust fused with anger as my tongue swiped her mouth. She grabbed my zipper.

  I grabbed her hand. "No."

  I couldn’t fuck her in my state.

  Naomi looked startled. "What?"

  "Go." I gestured toward the door. "Don’t make me say it twice."

  "What the hell?"

  I needed to save her from me.

  "Get out."

  Stunned, Naomi didn’t move a muscle. I breezed passed as I had dozens of times before, but she followed like an angry shadow into my bedroom.

  "What is wrong with you?" she shouted. "One minute you’re kissing me, the next you blow up."

  "I told you to leave." I ripped the tie from my throat and unbuttoned my shirt, smiling when I caught her checking me out.

  Her eyes blazed with frustration. The distance between us was painful for her, as well.

  Good.

  Naomi softened. "This fighting has to stop."

  "If you don't want a fight, don’t pick one with me."

  Two red patches burned on her cheeks. "You haven't said six words to me since I got here."

  "That's an exaggeration."

  "When are we going to talk about what happened?"

  Never.

  No way in hell was I opening that can of worms. She had enough things to make her feel bad.

  "There's nothing to say."

  Naomi stepped closer, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "You promised to meet me at the airport, and then you were gone. I missed my flight. I waited for hours, and still, you didn't show."

  I wasn't going to be manipulated by crocodile tears. "Take off your clothes."

  Naomi blinked. "What?"

  "Shed them, or I'll rip them off for you." The fighting ran me ragged, and I fought the instinct to drag her to bed.

  "I don't want to touch you!"

  She wanted me so bad she could scarcely keep her eyes off me. Grinning, I seized my belt and unlooped it from the buckle. Her mouth slackened as she watched it slide from my slacks. When it hung from my waist, I looped it around her and yanked her into my chest.

  I grabbed her chin. "Let the past be the past."

  "You hurt me."

  And her actions hadn't? "Put it behind you, and life will be so much easier. I promise."

  Naomi swallowed hard. "I'll try."

  Thank God.

  I curled my hand around her neck, stroking the soft flesh. I watched her eyes change. She blinked more slowly, and her lips parted. Her tells were the same as before.

  "Do you still like being kissed here?"

  I brushed my thumb on the spot.

  "Graham."

  That was a yes. I pressed my lips where her shoulder met her neck. I smiled into her skin when she released a tight breath. Slowly, I planted kisses, and then used my tongue. I grabbed her waist.

  Naomi clutched me and moaned.

  I wanted her begging for me.

  I bit her and dragged my lips over her tits. She arched her body into mine, and it was a wonder how I didn't fuck her over my desk. My palm slipped into the slit of her dress, sweeping around her thigh.

  She tore into my jacket. It fell, and I kicked it aside. I stroked her flat stomach, rolled over her pussy, and squeezed. My balls tightened and flooded with heat. She grabbed my shoulders. A memory flashed with a gallery of scintillating images of her naked, her legs wrapping me as she held me. She’d clung to me for support as I nailed her against the door.

  Naomi seized my face and kissed me.

  Was she thinking of it, too?

  I shoved her arms against the wall and pinned them. She fought me. She wanted to touch. I wouldn't let her until she begged. My palm curved over her mound. I traced her thong, knowing she could feel me through the fabric.

  "Graham."

  "What is it, Mrs. Hawthorne?"

  She didn't blink at my taunt. "Let me go."

  "Why?"

  She squirmed. My hand tightened over her wrists. She was already so fucking wet.

  Naomi's lips parted. "I want to touch you."

  "Beg for me."

  "Screw you."

  I yanked her thong down her legs, which clenched shut. I slapped her ass. "Keep them open."

  "Damn you," she whispered, obeying.

  I played in her wetness, as her eyes glazed with lust. Her mouth fluttered. "Please."

  "You need to suffer a little more."

  "You're such a sadist."

  I rolled my eyes, even though my self-control was waning. I sank two fingers inside her. She gasped, louder this time. I pushed my chest flush with hers and watched the battle in her expression. She hated yielding to me, but the pleasure was so worth it.

  My forehead touched hers. "Beg me."

  She was losing the war. I slid down, pinning her with my elbow to kiss the nape of her neck. My hand pumped her tight walls. She whined and clenched her thighs. I slipped out to spank her ass, and she opened them again. Beads of sweat broke on her brow. She bucked into my hips as I struck upward and curled.

  "Might've been five years, but I remember how you like to be fucked."

  She made a sound.

  "Did you say something?"

  "Uh-huh," she panted. "I said, please."

  "I can't hear you."

  "Please."

  "Still can't make that out, darling."

  "Please!"

  I released her arms and grabbed her jaw. Our mouths crashed as I sank into her. Naomi embraced me, arms tight across my back. She clawed my hair and moaned. Her pussy tightened like a vice. I stretched out inside her, curved upward. She groaned into my mouth. Her caresses grew gentle. She stroked my face, and her lips softened. Tears slicked her eyes.

  I’d held her like this, once.

  Naomi was thinking of it, riding a wave of ecstasy crushed by heartbreak.

  She only had herself to blame.

  Naomi

  Graham slid out of the car and waved at the photographers. His smile was prized to the world, but it was mine.

  He belonged to me.

  I took his hand and followed him outside. My heart squeezed when he grabbed my waist. He touched my chin. I tipped my head and crashed into his kiss. His affection was a fantasy for the cameras, but my feelings were real.

  When I shut my eyes, I imagined he didn't leave me. We were happily married. Who wouldn't want to be loved by him? Graham pulled away, his lids still closed. Golden stubble framed his pillowy lips. When he held me, I felt protected.

  Never trapped.

  Graham touched the small of my back, searing my flesh like a hot iron. "How are you?"

  We hadn’t seen each other all day.

  "I’m okay.
A little rattled that you gave me one hour’s notice." My heart slammed as women far more statuesque in gorgeous ball gowns walked inside the venue. "I can't do this."

  "Yes, you can. I wouldn't have brought you if you couldn't handle it. Use the same charm that hoodwinked me, and you'll be fine."

  "Ass."

  Graham dropped the cute act once we got inside. "Ethan’s here. "

  "I don’t care."

  We both knew that was a lie.

  Graham squeezed my hand. "You’ve got this."

  I stiffened as Graham led me past the opulent halls of the hotel. He tugged me into a ballroom choked with people. A band checked their instruments on stage. Graham wheeled us to the bar before greeting anyone. I clutched my chardonnay, nerves frayed over my ex. At some point, he’d make his presence known. Ethan wouldn’t disappear without a fight.

  Graham sipped his old fashioned, scanning the crowd with eagle-like precision. Suddenly, he stiffened. He palmed my back, and I looked for whatever drew his attention.

  A grinning man made a beeline for us, hands tucked into his slacks. He lifted them as he approached. They were heavily scarred, as though he'd climbed across a bed of hot coals. Dark blue flashed against his sun-kissed skin. Like everyone else here, his suit was tailored to fit him perfectly. His smile was infectious. It put me at ease immediately.

  “Graham,” he said in a deep, affected voice. “How are you?”

  “Very well.” Graham greeted the man with a one-armed hug instead of a handshake. “Damon, this is my wife. Naomi, this is my cousin, Damon Cesare.”

  A thrill went through me when I recognized the last name.

  Was this man a mobster?

  I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  "Likewise." His smile widened as he appraised me. “So this is who’s causing all the fuss.”

  “Can you blame me?” Graham said.

  “No." Damon’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief as he released me. “Did you guys hear? I got engaged.”

  “Wow. Congratulations.” Beaming, Graham faced the bartender. “Can we get a couple of shots? What do you like—tequila?”

  “Vodka. Just one, though. I shouldn’t drink too much.” Damon rubbed the nape of his neck, and the sleeve lifted to reveal more of the scar.

  A current of unease rolled through me as I wondered what caused those scars. Graham returned with drinks for everyone. I resolved to slam it, no matter how much it burned.