by L. A. Fiore
Lizzie stepped out onto the balcony. The cashmere sweater and yoga pants were too big. Even the socks were big, but she looked comfortable, warm and fucking adorable. My heart twisted. My hands itched to touch her. Instead, I took a sip of whisky and focused on the burn down my throat. “Are you hungry?”
Her focus was on the view. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I could eat.”
“The room service is quite good here.”
She leaned her hip against the railing and tilted her head. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Not your first visit.”
“No.”
Her smiled faded. “Why are you really here, Brochan?”
I looked down at my drink. “Thank you for the painting.”
Her expression softened.
“I’ve lost hours looking at it.”
“I love that you love the painting. I even love that you’re here, but you were cruel the last time I saw you. I know you well enough to know something happened, but you didn’t share it with me. You cut me from your life. You gave me a glimpse of something I’ve always wanted, and then you yanked it back. I can’t do this with you. I can’t turn it off, I can just move on. I’m trying to move on, but you’re not making that easy.”
She waited for me to say something and when I didn’t she walked back into the room. Maybe I was a fucking fool. I had caught a glimpse of it too, but then I saw the two bloodstains and how brutally it could be taken away. I finished my drink and walked inside. Lizzie was calling for a cab. For the first time in my adult life I felt panic and fear that she would walk out that door and I’d never see her again.
“Don’t go.” She looked over with tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’ll call you back.” She wouldn’t look at me as she hung up the phone.
“What do you need from me?” A risk, but to keep her I would give her anything.
Sad eyes lifted to mine. “Tell me what happened that last night?”
LIZZIE
A shadow drifted across his face. He was so still.
“My father was a broken man after my mother died. I became the focus of his pain and despair. After Brianna confronted him, after his estate burned down, that was when I roamed. No place in mind, just away. I had so much anger, didn’t know what to do with it. I knew I was heading down a path that would have led to my death or jail. Mac Donovan, he came into my life when I really needed him. He was the one to show me there was another way to handle the anger, an outlet. My mentor, my friend…the father figure I never had.”
I remembered him mentioning Mac. I wanted to flee the room because I so didn’t want to hear what came next.
“He retired, got married. Ava, his wife, she wanted kids. He had found it, that elusive happiness. That day we returned from Edinburgh…” He lowered his head and I felt his inhale from across the room. Pain laced through his next words. “They were murdered, both of them, execution style.” Only his head turned, his pale eyes bright. “Her only crime was loving him.”
We didn’t meet; we crashed into each other. Mouths fused and bodies entwined. His fingers dug into my thighs, lifting me. My legs wrapped around his waist like a vice. He fisted my hair, tilting my head to kiss me deeper. I yanked on his tee. He jerked back only long enough for me to get it over his head before his mouth was back, tasting, exploring, invading. His hand found the bare skin of my stomach, his touch setting me on fire. He moved it up slowly, his fingers dancing along the underside of my breast. Hot eyes met mine when he pulled my sweater up, his mouth replacing his hand, closing over my breast, sucking it deep. I held his head, moved into his touch, wanted him to take me deeper. I hit the mattress, my sweater hit the floor. My pants and panties followed. He stripped, but instead of him taking me hard and fast, he pulled me up so I was kneeling in front of him, our naked bodies touching from chest to thigh. He cradled my face, his thumb lightly stroking my cheek. A tear slipped down his face. I kissed it away.
“His killer made him watch. The few seconds where he lived in a world without her, knowing the only reason she was gone was because of him.” His voice broke, “That could have been you.”
I choked down a sob; he closed the distance and kissed me, raw, real and fueled by love. He lowered me back on the bed, his body moving into the cradle of mine. When he joined us, like his kiss, it wasn’t hard or fast. It was slow, deliberate and so achingly sweet. My hands moved over him, his mouth never left mine as our bodies moved together. His hands curled around my thighs and he pulled me closer. When we peaked it was together. Neither of us moved, savoring the love, the shared pain, the moment that changed us both. His head lifted stealing my breath because there was no mask. I saw him, all of him, every inch of his tragically beautiful soul. Quietly, purposefully and a little shyly he brushed my hair from my face and spoke the words that burned on my heart, seared my soul and sealed my fate, tying me to this beautiful and complicated man. “I love you.”
I touched his lips; wishing to hold those words, to physically feel them as all the emptiness inside me was filled with love for him. “I love you.”
He pressed into me, as he grew hard, “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
His hips moved.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
His mouth slammed down on mine, stealing the words before I could say them. He wasn’t gentle as he moved almost violently, claiming me with each thrust of his hips. My arms wrapped around his neck; I pulled him closer, kissed him deeper and let myself fall because we were falling together.
I woke, stirred from sleep. Brochan was sleeping. Turning to him, I thought of Mac and Ava. Their story had hit me really hard and not just because Mac had clearly been a father to Brochan and he lost him so brutally, but because it could have so easily been Brochan and me. It didn’t change anything. I’d rather a day with him than a lifetime without him, but it drove home how dangerous the world was he lived in. It was also a reminder of how short life was and how it could change in a blink. Mac and Ava had wanted children some day, but some day would never come for them.
Rubbing the line between his brows, I whispered, “Brochan.”
“I wondered how long you were going to stare.”
He was awake. I should have known. The man probably didn’t sleep. His eyes opened and love looked back.
“I have to tell you something.”
He glanced at the clock. “At three in the morning.”
Now that I was actually doing it, those damn nerves came back in force. I climbed from bed, putting distance between us in case this didn’t go the way I was hoping it would. He was out of bed and walking around it toward me. I put my hand up to stop him. “Stay there.”
“What’s going on?” His expression was slightly terrifying. “Lizzie, just say it.”
So I did, dropped the bomb without any pomp and circumstance. “I’m pregnant.”
You could have heard a pin drop. He looked like a statue; he didn’t even blink. He just stared at me with an expression I could not for the life of me discern. The longer the silence dragged on, the more worried I grew.
“Say something.”
Nothing.
Was he mad? Did he think I deceived him? “I was on the pill, but I forgot to take it a few times. I was so caught up in the, well everything. We weren’t…I didn’t…” I hung my head because he didn’t want this, but I did. With quiet conviction I whispered, “I’m keeping him.”
It felt like I hit a wall even though I hadn’t moved. His arm went around my waist and he pulled me close as he gently fisted my hair, pulling my head back for his kiss. I didn’t react, too overwhelmed, then I tasted his tears. My hitman was crying. I curled my arms around him, pulled him closer and kissed him back.
BROCHAN
Lizzie was still sleeping. I hadn’t slept at all. I watched her. She was pregnant; she was carrying my child. I hadn’t thought I wanted kids, but kids with her; it was crazy
to want something so badly. My cell rang. I almost ignored it, but then I saw Rodney Danton’s name.
His greeting, “Norah is in town. It’s likely nothing, but I thought you should know.”
“Any idea why she’s in town?”
“No. Knowing her she’s just looking to spend money. I’ll keep eyes on her. Have you spoken to Lizzie?”
I’d done a hell of a lot more than speak to her. “Yes.”
“How is she?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
“She isn’t going to want to see me.”
“You’re her father. You were the one to turn your back, not the other way around.”
“There’s a lot of water under the bridge.”
“Then buy a fucking boat.”
He chuckled, “I like you.” He sobered quickly and asked, “Dinner tonight?”
“When and where.”
Fucking hell, I was getting as bad as Brianna with the meddling, but Lizzie had given me my family. I could help with maybe giving her back hers.
Cait was green. I had never seen that, but she was so hung over she was actually green. She did drink the whole bottle of wine.
“I feel like shit. How bad do I look?”
I’d seen corpses with better coloring.
“You look beautiful.”
I jerked my eyes to Lizzie at such a blatant lie, so she wasn’t above lying to her friends to spare their feelings. I’d have to remember that. Her gaze met mine. There wasn’t contrition; there was a warning for me not to contradict her.
“Do you want me to whip you up something greasy. It does help.”
“No. I want to die. Just let me die.”
“You’re not going to die.”
“I’m glad Ethan is not here. I’d be getting the lecture on over doing it.” She grabbed Lizzie’s hand. “There was a reason for overdoing it. Between that stupid ass mugger and then the preg—” Her mouth slammed shut as her eyes darted from Lizzie to me.
“He knows.”
Her eyes went wide. “He does?”
“Yes.”
“Thank goodness. I thought I let the cat out of the bag.” She had a funny look on her face when she said to Lizzie, “You know what? I think I will take something greasy.”
“Okay. I’ll make you an egg sandwich.”
“That sounds delicious.”
I stood, she pointed. “You stay. We can chat.”
It was how she said it. I was a man who had seen and done pretty much everything. I earned my living from breaking the human spirit and yet the prospect of a chat with Cait made me want to hurry to the door.
She waited until she heard Lizzie in the kitchen. “What are your intentions toward my friend?”
It wasn’t any of her damn business and had it been anyone else I’d have walked out, but this was Lizzie’s family and so I sat back in my chair and crossed my legs. “To marry her.”
Her expression almost drew a smile. She looked like a guppy. “Seriously.”
“I love her and she’s carrying my child.”
I didn’t realize using the L-word would start the waterworks, but Cait, as if on cue, started to cry. Big, fat tears were rolling down her cheeks. I had skinned men alive, removed their fingers. Once I even cut a man’s heart from his chest, but seeing Cait cry I got a little queasy. What the hell did I do with that? I looked around for tissues; she improvised and used the sheet. I threw a glance at the door. What was taking Lizzie so long?
“You love her?”
“Yes.”
She sat up in bed, fisting the now snot covered sheet. “How will you support her?”
I had a feeling telling Cait what I did for a living might send her screaming from the room or she might reach for her stiletto heel and bury it in my chest. I was getting out of the business though, so I told her a half-truth.
“I have family money.”
She didn’t like that. Her eyes narrowed. “A man of leisure. They tend to have wandering eyes and hands.”
The only wandering my eyes and hands would be doing was on Lizzie’s body. Speaking of which, maybe I should go do a little of that now. My dick twitched at the idea.
“Well?” She looked indignant. “Are you a wanderer?”
“No.”
Her expression changed to one of genuine concern. “She’s been through a lot. Please don’t be one more thing she has to survive.”
It was because of her concern and love for Lizzie that I leaned forward and looked her directly in the eyes. “She owns me heart and soul.”
The tears started again. “Good answer.”
I think she was about to use the sheet to blow her nose, but Lizzie entered and glanced at both of us then handed her a napkin. I stood. “We’re doing dinner with your father tonight at seven.”
She looked adorably confused. “Wait, What?”
“I’ll pick you up at six.” I pressed a kiss on her head and walked out. I’d had enough emotions for one day. I needed to go hurt something.
It didn’t take much to find the asshole from last night. Prick held two women at knifepoint but the fucker goes to the emergency room because he got a knock on the head. And people called me a monster. The nurse had been helpful when I inquired about my dear grandmother; odds an old woman had been brought into the ER were damn good. Her interest wasn’t my grandmother, it was my cock, but her distraction got me a glance at the admissions sheet from last night. Only one treated for a concussion.
He lived in a shit apartment that probably should have been condemned. Seeing the knife at Lizzie’s neck, the fucker tried to cut corners to improve his lifestyle by daring to touch what was mine. He’d paid for that.
I slipped on my gloves and moved silently down the alley and up the fire escape. He was on his bed sleeping or maybe the concussion took care of him for me. He stirred then jerked up. Or not. Recognition came swiftly. He tried to move; a punch to the jaw knocked him back on the bed. I straddled him, then shoved his own sock in his mouth. His eyes went wide with fear. I pulled out my knife and he whimpered. “This is for touching what’s mine.” I sank the blade into his gut, right to the hilt. He screamed around the gag. I pushed deeper then I twisted it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LIZZIE
There was an awful lot happening all at once. Learning I was pregnant, Brochan stepping back into my life, telling me he loved me and now dinner with my father. I felt like I was on an amusement park ride and there was a part of me that wanted to get off. Not really, but I wouldn’t mind if the ride slowed down.
Brochan held my hand and I was grateful because despite having seen my father already, knowing now the role he played in my life—being the catalyst for my dreams coming true—I was nervous.
“How did this dinner come about?”
“I stopped in to see him when I first arrived.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t do right by you. Someone had to hold his feet to the fire.”
I smiled to myself and moved closer. “You do realize that’s another grand gesture, right?”
He actually huffed. “I fucking do now.”
I wanted to laugh but he was irritated, so I held it in. “And dinner?”
“He called, told me your mother was in town then asked after you.”
“Wait? Norah is in town?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He’s got eyes on her.” He looked down at me. “He cares.”
I never knew a person could experience conflicting emotions and in such intensity. Like right now. I was happy my father cared and really pissed that he waited so long to show it.
“It would have been nice if he cared when I was a kid.”
“No question.”
“When I was just starting out, an anonymous benefactor purchased a painting, my first. That sale was what kick started my career.” My eyes found Brochan’s. “It was my father.”
“I know.”
&n
bsp; Of course he knew. We arrived at the restaurant. He held the door for me. I reached for his hand. He squeezed, silently telling me I wasn’t alone. My father was already at the table. He stood when we approached.
“Thank you for coming,” he said in way of greeting. Brochan held out my chair before he folded himself in the chair to my left.
“Would you like a drink?” my father asked.
“Water, please.”
The smallest of grins curved Brochan’s lips before he turned to my father. “Glenfiddich, neat.”
Once our orders were placed I gathered up my nerve. If we were going to try for some kind of relationship, he had to own up. I was rather direct when I asked, “Why did you stay away?”
He’d been expecting the question and still he didn’t jump to answer it. He didn’t have a pre-rehearsed one. He got points for that.
“I never wanted children…” He raised his hand when I tried to object. “I know it doesn’t make it right. Having one with the woman I did, it made it easier to pretend I didn’t have a child.”
“How?”
He leveled with me. He got points for that too. “Because in my mind you were your mother’s daughter.”
“I’m not my mother.”
“I know. I spent so long hating her. It’s an unproductive emotion, hate, and look what I missed out on…a chance to know my daughter.”
Was it too early to get emotional from the pregnancy hormones? Because damn if I didn’t feel tears. I changed the subject. “How did you get Norah to back off on the suit?”
“She dropped the suit when I mentioned Heather Craig.”
Brochan’s blank expression was proof he didn’t know who that was either. “Who’s Heather Craig?” I asked.
“She was your mother’s friend in Scotland. She died. Your mother fled Scotland not long after.”
“Are you saying she had something to do with her death?” I should be horrified by the possibility, but I wasn’t.