A Carpino Series Collection, Books 1-3

by Brynne Asher

  “Should we watch the ball drop, gem?”

  “Sure.” I allow myself to snuggle into his side, something I’ve missed terribly over the past two weeks. I rest my cheek on his shoulder and drape my leg over his thigh. Having this back again is good. Better than good. It’s perfect and I’m mad at myself for taking it away from both of us.

  As I lay pressed up against him, warm and full of life, my emotions take over again. I could have lost him. My tears start as I can’t get the picture of him in ICU having just been shot out of my head.

  I can tell he feels my tears as he tries to look down at me. “Sweetheart, why are you crying?”

  I shake my head and try to get a handle on it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to take care of you. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  His arm flexes around me and I feel his lips come to my head. “Stop crying. You’re here now, it’s all that matters. It’s a new year, gem. I can’t think of any other way I’d rather start it off than having you here with me.”

  I nod into his shoulder and let my body relax further into his. I don’t get to see the ball drop. I drift off into dreamless sleep for the first time in two weeks.

  Tony

  I click off the TV and toss the remote to the other side of the bed. Doing my best to scoot us down without waking Leigh or hurting my gut isn’t easy, but I finally get us settled. I wipe her tear streaked face, smell her hair and feel her in my arms again pressed up next to me. It’s better than it’s ever been because she’s in my bed tonight where I plan on keeping her.

  The last two weeks have been my own brand of nightmare. Getting shot was a definite low, but having the women in my life, in my life, and not just on a daily basis, but what seemed to be an hourly basis, has been a living hell. My mother, my aunts, my sisters and my cousins have all been cleaning and cooking up a storm driving me insane. They would have driven me insane anyway, but all I wanted was to have Leigh here and that made it worse. It’s been a long two weeks and I hope she was serious when she promised not to leave me again because I’m holding her to it.

  I hated being demanding and hard on her tonight, but we weren’t making any progress. I needed her to open up somehow. It was a measured risk but it worked. And getting her to come to me was even better.

  But what she told me about her child and how she blames herself keeps ringing in my brain. It kills me this has been in her head all along, ravaging her thoughts, both coherent and incoherent. I have no idea how to get her to stop blaming herself for what that fuckwad did, but even if I have to take it day by day, I’ll get that wiped from her head, too. And the minute she’s mine, I’ll work hard at giving her the baby she wants. My baby.

  That thought makes me smile. I roll into her hitching her knee over my hip and slide my thigh up tight in between her legs the way we’ve become used to sleeping. I feel her tuck in close in her sleep and hear her sigh as her breathing evens out again.

  Yeah, I can’t wait until she’s pregnant with my baby.

  Chapter Seven

  It’s Done

  Leigh

  I sign the last paper.

  I sigh.

  It’s done.

  Four years of misery. Four years of hurt. Four years of being scared of what could come next, ending in the worst heartache imaginable. I don’t know what my future holds and it’s still scary, but in a different way. I look up at Tony who’s pulling the paperwork together and sliding it into a folder containing the end of my marriage.

  Oh, and the paper work changing my last name back to Johnson.

  Honestly.

  It’s not like I have fond memories of that last name, either, but oh well. Now I’m making a mental checklist of everywhere I have to go to have my name changed. Social Security, driver’s license, paperwork at my job, insurance, banking … even magazines. The list goes on. I guess I’ll think about it tomorrow.

  Tony reaches out and grabs the back of my head, pulling me to him for a kiss. This one, soft and sweet. “All done. You’re free, in more ways than one.”

  I let out a breath and give him a small smile because he’s right. I am free in more ways than one. Free from Preston, free from his abuse and even though I didn’t want to be, I’m also financially free. That’s because I have one point seven million dollars sitting in my bank account.

  That’s a lot of money to not want.

  I guess when Tony sets his mind to something, he doesn’t mess around. I know what Preston was worth and that doesn’t even put a dent in his retirement or savings, not to mention what our house was worth or even what was in the house. I didn’t want any of it. No reminders. A new start.

  Well I sure have a new start and it has come with a boat load of money. I guess I won’t have trouble putting down a deposit on a small apartment. Or paying for Gabby’s bachelorette party trip to Sedona next week. Gabby was insistent on paying my way, but not anymore. Hell, I should pay for everyone to go.

  It’s the third week of January. Preston was released from treatment for his pretend addiction to narcotics. I found out he kept his job but was demoted about three levels, which I’m sure is more of a hit to his pride than to his bank account. The judge had no problem giving me what Tony was asking for. But Preston is still awaiting trial for assault charges. He claimed he didn’t know I was pregnant and after speaking with the District Attorney’s office, Tony relayed they don’t think they can get a manslaughter charge to stick.

  I want this to be over and done with. Tony is worried Preston will make a plea and I’m hoping Preston will make a plea. I don’t want to testify in court as to what happened that night, not to mention the previous four years. The restraining order still stands, but Preston hasn’t made any attempt to approach me and the only time I’ve seen him was that day back in October in the Carpino Law Offices when I “changed my mind.”

  The last three weeks have been different in a weird-sort-of-wonderful way. Since New Year’s Eve when Tony tricked me into coming over to check out his fake infection, he’s been a fixture in my life. Meaning, he has fixated himself in my life without giving me a choice, but I can’t say it isn’t good. In fact, I barely let myself think about it being good and I absolutely won’t let myself think about it being wonderful. Or even perfect.

  Tony often kisses me sweet, many a time kisses me slow, frequently kisses me quick and on more than a few occasions over the past three weeks has he kissed me so intensely, I feel like his control is ebbing and he has to make himself stop. To say the least, he finds every moment he can to kiss me. And every single kiss touches me deeply in a way only Tony’s gifts can reach.

  But the real kicker is we’ve slept together every night for the past three weeks, either at his house or my room at Gabby’s.

  Which again, is honestly weird.

  I mean, who sleeps together for months wrapped up in each other, spends all their free time together and never do the deed? Leave it to me to create a scenario like this for myself. Especially after the scenario I just escaped from with Preston. Don’t get me wrong, I am human. It’s not like I haven’t thought about doing the deed with Tony. I have. Plenty. But for some reason, I can’t let myself go there.

  And he’s giving me the Tony Torture in all new ways lately. Ever since “I gave myself back to him,” which is how Tony refers to the big event, he’s been back to sweet, kind and gentle. Him being gentle, kind and sweet yet doing it more intimately than he ever has, is more torturous than I can take. He doesn’t expect anything from me and I’ve never been with anyone like that. Ever. And I’m not just talking about men. I’m talking anyone, even my mother and sister always wanted or expected things from me.

  I guess I shouldn’t say anyone. Gabby’s parents never expected anything from me and gave to me in more ways than I could ever expect. And Gabby has never expected anything from me, either. Tony’s dad insisted on helping me without me paying for his legal services. Not to mention the rest of the Carpinos, bringing me into the fold over the last f
ew months. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised Tony follows suit. He is of their loins and all.

  I’ve known Tony a long time and that time incudes his teenage years, not to mention as a single adult man. Not that he’s known to be a man whore so much, but I’ve heard the Tony Lore from Gabby and that Lore includes lots of women. I know he has expectations and I would think those expectations would soon be coming to a head, although he never gives me any indication they are. But he is a man and although he’s proved to me over and over he’s a good one, he’s a man all the same.

  I finally had to address this about a week ago because thinking about it was honestly stressing me out. I didn’t want to think about why it was stressing me out because then I would have to admit to myself I was scared of losing him, so I decided not to think about that. But it was wearing on me nonetheless, so I decided to take a step, be brave and address the elephant in the room.

  Or the bedroom.

  Or more specifically: the bed.

  And I did this in bed, with Tony wrapped around me, intimately with him wearing only boxer shorts and me in another one of his big t-shirts and panties.

  See?

  So weird.

  But I forge ahead. “Um … we need to talk about something.”

  I feel him tense, which really isn’t hard to feel since he’s wrapped around me with barely any clothes on. “Why doesn’t that sound good?”

  Mustering up all the bravery I can, which isn’t much, I pursue, “No, it’s not, not good. I mean, it’s not bad. At least I don’t think it is. I’m just worried about something.”

  It’s then he scooches down and pulls me up at the same time to bring us eye to eye. His face is full of concern. “What are you worried about?”

  “Well,” I keep on, thinking more bravery would be useful at this point. “I’m just worried about you. And well … me. This is strange, weird really, and you’re being really sweet with me…”

  He looks at me now, not with concern but with curiosity, waiting for me to complete a sentence I can’t seem to manage. “Leigh, what are you trying to say?”

  Bravery depleted, I scooch down further and stuff my face in his neck, a place I’ve come to love but also won’t let myself think about. I mutter into his throat as quick and as quiet as I can, “I’m just not ready for anything else and I’m worried about that for you, waiting on me to be ready, if I’ll ever be ready. I guess I’m worried about not being enough for you … if you know what I mean.”

  There.

  It’s done.

  That’s when I feel his arms tighten around me. Then I feel his thigh that’s wedged in tight between my legs (another thing I have come to love but will ab-so-lute-ly not let myself think about for obvious reasons) press to scooch me back up. That scooch totally giving me tingles in between my legs, but I try really hard not to think about that either. When I finally drag my eyes up to his, I see something I wasn’t expecting.

  He’s grinning. Big. But it isn’t really a grin, more like a private smile, like he has a secret he’s excited about. And through his private smile comes the words, “That’s the last thing I’m worried about.”

  I feel my brows draw together, because again, that’s weird. “You’re not?”

  He doesn’t answer. He pulls me in with his arms and presses his thigh even tighter in between my legs, making me wet, not to mention gasp, and he kisses me.

  Intensely.

  His intense kiss in addition to his big strong thigh pressing between my legs intensifies my tingles and I feel my nipples go hard. And effing hell, since I am pressed up against him with only his old thread bare t-shirt on with his thigh between my legs, I’m sure he felt my nipples and my wetness. But I can’t help it, my hands go to his hair and I hang on, kissing him back with everything I have. He’s the one that finally pulls back and when he does, my heart is racing and I feel his breath has quickened.

  “No, I’m not worried, sweetheart and you shouldn’t be, either. Although,” he pulls in air before finishing, “it is fun to think about.” He smiles the same smile at me, but this time it doesn’t seem so secret.

  Needing my heart to slow down and completely out of bravery for the decade, I stuff my face back in his neck. “I’m tired.”

  Tony has the nerve to chuckle and kisses my hair while saying, “Then you should go to sleep.”

  Oh, hell.

  That was not the way I thought that would go.

  But it’s done. One less thing to stress about.

  “What do you want to do now?” Tony asks, pulling me out of my Tony memory I tell myself not think about, but I do. He’s grinning at me. “Since you’re free and all.”

  I fall back into the chair across from Tony’s desk in his office. This is something else new I’m trying to get used to. Preston was always controlling—my brain always has to do a double take when I get to make little choices like how I get to spend my day. I look over at Tony, who has moved in back of his desk now, arranging more papers and shutting down his computer. He’s wearing another great suit, this one dark navy, a periwinkle blue shirt with cuff links and a pale gold tie.

  “Well, I think I want to go car shopping.”

  Tony’s head jerks up. “Car shopping?”

  “Yeah, you know, since I’m free and all,” I say sarcastically.

  “Can I come with you?”

  This is another sweet thing Tony does. Although he’s made himself a fixture in my life, he goes out of his way to not be controlling over me. Other than the sleeping together thing, that is. He’s never seems to give me a choice about that, but I’m not complaining.

  Pressing my lips together, I shrug. He asks further, “What? You don’t want me to come?”

  “No, it’s not that.” I look out his office window. “I just don’t want you to … um,” I look back at him to finish, “throw a fit.”

  Pulling his brows together, he stops what he’s doing at his desk and stands up straight. “Why would I throw a fit?”

  “You might not, but I have a feeling you will.”

  He sarcastically widens his eyes. “I’m not five, Leigh. I don’t throw fits. Follow me home, I’ll change and we’ll go together. I promise you, no fits will be thrown.”

  “Okay, I’m going to hold you to that.” I know there’s no way he’s going to keep his promise.

  Tony

  Fucking-A. I think I might throw a fit.

  “I’m not sitting in the back,” I say to Brendon, the car salesman, who’s holding the front seat up for me and waiting for me to climb into the back, which I am abso-fucking-lutely not going to do.

  “It’ll just be for a little while, then we can pull over and all switch around. I’d like to sit up front with her and show her around the controls as she test drives,” Brendon responds with a smarmy smile.

  I’m sure he’d like to show Leigh around. I’m positive he’d like to do more than that with Leigh. He was all over us like scum on a pond when I pulled in driving Leigh’s two-seater BMW. But I know his scum to our pond has more to do with the way he keeps raking his beady eyes over Leigh than it has to do with selling her a clown car. I’m sure he wants to sit close to her in the front seat, which is the only way you can sit next someone in a damn clown car.

  “Not gonna happen,” I bite out and look over the clown car at Leigh, who’s biting her lip to keep from laughing. Probably at me because she can tell I’m about to throw a fit. “It’s small enough, I’m pretty sure you can talk her through the controls from the backseat. Not to mention, it’s a car, not the space shuttle. I’m sure she can figure out the controls on her own.”

  Brendon glares at me out of the corner of his eye before begrudgingly climbing in the back of the ridiculous VW Beetle we are about to test drive. I look back over the car at Leigh, who looks like she’s having a lot of fun and not able to bite back her giggles any longer. That look on her face almost makes me feel better about climbing into this car. She looks more like the old Leigh I remember. I grin ba
ck at her as I throw back the front seat, hoping to slam it into the asshole car salesman who is now in the back but I’d rather he be in the miniature trunk.

  “Climb in sweetheart. Let’s give her a go.” She grins again as we climb in to the confined space. I move my seat back as far as it would go, hitting Brendon’s knees. I smile to myself. “Fire her up.”

  Starting the car and pulling out of the dealership, Leigh navigates the clown car through traffic. I feel the salesman move through our front seats, leaning into Leigh pointing out the features of the car. Which are the same damn features on all cars.

  I move around in my small space and suggest, “You should buckle up.”

  “I’m fine,” he says without giving me a glance.

  “Brendon,” I bite and wait until he looks over to me. “You should buckle up. It’s the law. I’m an attorney, I should know.”

  He huffs before he sits back to reach for his buckle. I turn back to the front and try to enjoy the miserable ride.

  I look over at Leigh and she looks like she’s having fun and not just with the test drive but also my exchange with Brendon. “Are you sure you don’t want something bigger?”

  She doesn’t look away from the road. “This is bigger than my BMW.”

  “True. But I was thinking you’d want to move to at least a four door. This is hardly what I would consider bigger.”

  That’s when Brendon starts to point out the trunk space, an outlet for her iPod, and the vanity mirror. Wanting to get his attention off Leigh, I ask, “What’s the safety rating?”

  “Top in its Class,” Brendon answers.

  “For compact cars,” I add.

  “Well, yes. That is its Class,” he answers.

  “Gem, maybe you should think about a different Class of cars. Go for a crossover, a small SUV.”