KYLE: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 4) (76 page)

Jason

Two months later.

My mom slid her arm through mine. We were sitting on a low swing on the back porch of the house I grew up in. It was a warm afternoon, the winter haze finally blowing off and bringing back the humidity and heat that made Houston’s weather famous around the world. Alexa was on a blanket on the low porch, talking in that babbling baby talk to a rack of toys positioned above her.

“When do they get back?”

Mom shrugged. “At the end of the month.”

“Do you think they’ll work things out?”

“Honestly?” Mom looked down at the baby, a distinct sadness pulling down the edges of her mouth. “I’m surprised they lasted as long as they did.”

“But Justin—”

“Loves her. He always did. He was heartbroken when you started dating her in high school. But Sara was always ambitious and Justin only wants to be happy.”

I nodded. I’d known that for a long time, too. I just hoped that Sara loved Justin enough to make things work. And now, with Alexa, it just seemed extra sad.

“What about you? What about Joanne?”

The baby began to fuss just then. I went over and picked her up, lifting her high above my head until she started to giggle.

“She loves that.”

“She’s too little to be afraid.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were all incapable of fear?”

I glanced over at her. “Are you and Dad going to be at the fundraiser tonight?”

“Of course.”

I handed her the baby. “I should go. I have some things to finish up before it’s time to head over.”

She grabbed my hand before I could walk away. “There’s really no reason for everyone to be miserable, Jason.”

I kissed her cheek and left.

I didn’t want to discuss the troubles in my personal life with my mother. It was bad enough that I had to work side-by-side with her now that I’d taken over the Wallach Foundation. She was supposed to retire, but somehow she always thought of some way to insinuate herself into the day-to-day running of the foundation. Shelly was running JB Graphics now, doing the job she probably should have been doing all along. She was, after all, the one person who had been there from the very beginning who cared as much about the company as I did. And she probably saw more and knew more than I ever had. If she’d been in charge when Frank was still there, he probably never would have had the opportunity to steal the money in the first place.

But then I wouldn’t have met Joey.

It was all such a double-edged sword, wasn’t it?

The fundraiser tonight was a small dinner party, really. It was a dinner we gave twice a year to thank the biggest donors. There was a rumor that it was something of a competition to be invited. I wasn’t sure that was true. But I knew that the donations tended to roll in more consistently in the weeks before it was due to take place.

I found my thoughts wandering as I stood in the shower, letting the hot water work at the knots in my shoulders. I had a flight to catch after the party tonight. I hadn’t told my parents. Hadn’t told anyone. It was just a weekend getaway. But I was surprisingly nervous.

I moved carefully as I dressed. My ribs were sore.

What a week this had been!

“Where’s that pretty little girlfriend of yours, Brooks?” Congressman Todd demanded, as he greeted me at the party a short time later.

“Not here tonight.”

“Sorry to hear it. She was quite entertaining last time.”

I just inclined my head and grabbed a flute of champagne, as a pretty, blonde waitress walked past. She caught my eye and winked. She was pretty, just the kind of girl Justin would have chased back to the kitchen a few years ago. I might have, too, before.

“We’ve raised more than three billion dollars this past year for our various causes,” I announced a bit later to the gathered elite. “And we hope to raise ten percent more this year.”

Polite cheers rose around the table.

“We’ve also added to our charitable works. One new cause is a fund that helps educate students about student loans and helps working graduates pay off their loans. The idea is to help students who fall in that no man’s land between poverty and privilege, those who have to take out thousands of dollars’ worth of loans in order to get an education, but then find themselves struggling to pay them back.”

There was more applause, but it was also pretty clear that they were ready to dig into their meals and forego the speeches. So I held up my glass and said, “Here’s to the Wallach Foundation and the good works we do together!”

Another cheer and more applause. I drank deeply of my champagne and wished it was already over. The only problem with being the head of the foundation now was that I couldn’t sneak out when the party got tedious.

Dinner was amazing, as usual. And when it was done, I was sneaking peeks at my watch, wishing time would pass a little faster. My mother pushed her elbow into my side. When I glanced at her, she gestured with a little flick of her head toward the back of the room. A cake, maybe four or five layers, was being rolled in on a cart. It was decorated with green and lavender flowers—the colors on the letterhead of the foundation stationary—and very delicate lacy piping. It reminded me of something I’d seen Rosie do in Joey’s kitchen.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

“I need to go,” I whispered to my mother, as I climbed out of my chair.

If I’d thought my early departure would cause some sort of scandal, I’d been mistaken. No one hardly looked up, except my mother, of course.

The jet was fueled and waiting for me. I would have flown commercial, but catching a flight this late in the evening was always a nightmare—and I didn’t want to take a chance of missing her.

Joey

Cabo. I’d never pictured myself walking the beaches of Cabo.

At least, not alone.

I didn’t think I would miss him as much as I did. But he never came by the townhouse; he never tried to talk me out of leaving him. He never called, never texted. He didn’t do anything. I guess he was relieved to see me go.

I cried every night for weeks. Rosie pretended she didn’t see the dark circles under my eyes, or notice the weight I lost because I couldn’t bring myself to eat. I got the job I’d interviewed for on the day I met his parents, so things were looking up again. It paid well enough that I was able to quit working at the bar. And the cake business was booming. I guess some of Sara’s friends had really liked the cake we made for her luncheon, and they spread the word so that we had more orders than we could fill. Things were so good that Rosie signed a lease for an actual bakery. I still baked cakes for now, but once the bakery was up and going, I’d probably be replaced.

That was okay. I was never the creative one, anyway.

The tickets for this trip just showed up in the mail one day. Two tickets to Cabo. I remembered this trip was auctioned off at the fundraiser I attended with Jason. He must have bought them. It seemed strange to take the trip myself, without him, but it also felt like an insult not to use the tickets. So I was here, alone. I gave the other ticket to Rosie and she traded it in on two third-class tickets to Dallas so that she could finally introduce Jackson to Mom and Dad.

The hotel was nice. The restaurant decadent. I got a few stares, staying in such a romantic location alone, but it was okay when I was alone, like now. Walking along the beach and pretending that I hadn’t made the biggest mistake of my life when I walked away from Jason.

I picked up a shell to add to the small collection I had back in my room. Then I turned, deciding it was time to go back and get some sleep. I was supposed to fly home in three days, but I was thinking that I might change my ticket and go home in the morning. It just wasn’t the same alone.

Someone was coming toward me in the darkness. A tall man in a suit. I crossed my arms over my chest and kept my head down, thinking he would ignore me if I did. The closer he got, though, the more his profile began to feel familiar. It was too dark to see his face, but the way he held himself, the way he walked…

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

The moon picked that moment to lose the small cloud that had been moving across it. The light picked out the twinkle in his eye, the soft angle of his jaw.

“Jason?”

“I’ve been rehearsing what I was going to say,” he said, his voice so low that it was almost lost in the crash of the waves on the shore, “but, somehow, I’ve lost all the words.”

“You could start with hello.”

“Hello,” he said, a slow smile touching those beautiful lips. “You said you wanted to go to the beach, but I didn’t think I’d actually find you out here in the dark.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, me either. For two months.”

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d be here, and I thought we could get dinner. Have a conversation or two.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve decided that you were wrong, that nothing came between us but our own stupidity.”

I stepped back, physically struck by what he said. “What?”

“I think I’m in love with you. And I think you’re in love with me. I think it would be a mistake for us to let that slip away.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

I turned slightly, not able to look at him in that moment. “What makes you think I can just forget about the last two months?”

He didn’t say anything. He just slipped up in front of me and took my face in his hands. And then he was kissing me the same way he had that night, that night that I fell asleep inside a wooden cake in his entryway. No hesitation, no doubt that I wanted his touch. And I…I couldn’t help myself. I moved into him, opened to him, and returned that kiss like the last time he’d touched me was just hours ago.

I hated that he had that power over me. But I couldn’t deny that I’d regretted walking away from him from the moment I did it.

“I love you,” he said again, brushing hair away from my face. “I love you so much that every minute of the past two months has been excruciating. I tried to wait; I tried to give you space, but I just…”

“Shut up,” I said, pressing my fingers to his lips. “Just kiss me.”

He did. He kissed me for a long time. And then we managed to find our way back to the room where I’d been miserably existing for the last few days at the hotel. That room that had seemed so dreadful for so long was suddenly bright and welcoming, suddenly the only place I wanted to be.

He carried me to the bed and made promises with his touch and his kiss, promising to never let me walk away again, to never allow anyone to hurt us again. And then he made the same promises with his lips, his voice. And a beautiful ring with more diamonds than I’d seen in all my life.

Sometime toward dawn, I lay with my head on his shoulder, my fingers dancing over his skin. I don’t know how I’d missed it before, but I saw it now. Bright lines on his ribs, covering the dull blue lines that were once there. My name written in reds and blues and greens. My name on his ribs like some sort of possessive label.

Joey. Not Joanne. Joey.

And beside it was a cake. It was a layered birthday cake with thirty-three miniscule candles burning on the top. Not as big and hideous as the wooden monstrosity I was supposed to jump out of, but small and perfect.

“It’s beautiful.”

He buried his fingers in my hair and pulled my lips back up to his.

“You’re beautiful.”

              He was perfect, the right mix of class and secrecy, or so he seemed sitting alone in the lounge where the nightscape beyond the window poured in, bathing him in the faintest city lights.

              Rose had kept her eye on him for the last twenty minutes, as she nursed a beer at the swanky hotel bar. For a Sunday night it wasn’t crowded, though guests of the hotel wandered from the bar to the lounge, drinks in hand, eager to find a cozy nook to enjoy their nightcaps before migrating up to their rooms.

              She expected any number of women to walk up to him, whether for a prearranged meeting or because they were feeling bold. Every time one of them passed his table, Rose’s chest tightened with disappointment. When they veered away, she relaxed and took another sip of her drink.

              He wasn’t waiting for anyone, and if she wanted to claim him, she would have to get off this stool and make her move.

              Leaning her elbow on the bar, she scanned the lounge, making sure he was the best option, though in the back of her mind she was already certain. He’d won her interest by a landslide, but he hadn’t once glanced her way. He seemed lost in thought, shifting his gaze from his whiskey to the window and back again as though neither were of any importance.

              He was wearing a dark suit, not black, but a slate-blue that resonated the color of his eyes. His hair was thick and dark. Chestnut, she guessed, but that wasn’t what drew her eye when she’d first sat at the bar and surveyed her options. It was his mouth that told her he’d make for the kind of evening she was looking for. Full lips framed with dark stubble that dusted his chin and the angles of his jawline. She could imagine having fun with that mouth of his, kissing him and guiding him to brush his warm lips over her most sensitive areas. The thought of feeling his cool breath the moment before he wrapped his mouth around her nipple sent a shock of excitement down her spine, and she straightened her back, drawing in a long breath without quite realizing it.

              She slid off the stool, beer in hand, keeping her gaze trained on the man. She made her way through the candlelit lounge while trying not to feel underdressed in her black, skinny jeans and wedge-heel sneakers. At least her top was loose and flowing. It hung playfully off one shoulder. Rose had never been one to dress up or frequent these types of establishments, but it had been her best option, all things considered. There weren’t too many hotels outside of Seattle. And having a long, carefree night with a total stranger had become something of a ritual. Before every rally and demonstration, she’d sought out a sexy stranger, one who seemed from an entirely different world than her own. She wasn’t superstitious, but had come to realize that when she did have a wild night, she succeeded the next day. And when she didn’t, her efforts in activism turned to crap. Quite frankly, it boiled down to stress. She was overwhelmed with an entire community relying on her, and nothing relaxed Rose like being between the sheets with a man she’d never see again.

              As she approached, he glanced at her and she caught the slightest movement at the corner of his mouth, but he suppressed his smile, making slow work of setting his glass on the low table.

              “Is this seat taken?” she asked, indicating the leather lounge chair across from him. His expression was neutral, but his eyes flared with intrigue like any man's would, hoping the bold and beautiful woman approaching would turn out to be a sure thing. She was. “I like the view.”

              “Have you not seen Seattle at night?”

              “I wasn’t talking about the window.”

              His brow arched slowly and he let the smile out that had been threatening to emerge, though he did a nice job of not seeming too eager or presumptuous.

              “You’re welcome to sit,” he said in a deep and smooth tone, but as she did, he added, “but I have a lot on my mind and might not be the best conversationalist.”

              “What’s on your mind?” she asked, drinking in the sight of him and not quite believing his good looks. From across the bar, he’d reminded her of a young James Bond, but now that she was three feet away, she realized every inch of him was sexy as sin. When he didn’t respond, except to hold his breath then exhale in a carefully measured yet silent sigh, she said, “We don’t have to talk at all. I have a lot on my mind, as well. I’m looking for a distraction, not a confidant.”

              His brow knit with interest and glanced down the length of her, as he drew his hands up his thighs until they rested at either side of the growing bulge beneath his slacks.

              “Who are you?” he asked through a crooked smile.

              “No one,” she said, matching the sultry luster of his tone. “Just someone passing through town, hoping for a little company.”

              “Do you have a name?”

              “Does it matter?” she countered, having a bit of fun with the subtext of this blossoming encounter. She could feel the heat rolling off him. He liked what he was seeing and it thrilled her.

              “No,” he said easily, “it doesn’t matter.” He rested his eyes out the window and his mood changed. “You couldn’t handle me,” he said frankly. Just as she was about to object, he stated, “I wouldn’t mind a distraction, but there’s only one way to distract me and taking one look at you...,” he glanced at her, though quickly, then picked up his drink, “I can tell you’re not up for it.”

              He had her interest peaked, but she couldn’t deny his dark mood had her slightly apprehensive, though the feeling thrilled her even more.

              “So, you’d want to hurt me?” she asked in a challenging tone, but not at all giving up her conquest.

              “I wouldn’t want to, no.”

              She cocked her head at that, which made him laugh and she couldn’t tell if the reaction was for her or directed at himself.

              “It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure,” he said as if that might clarify the matter.

              It did, and Rose felt a rush of heat wash through her, but she didn’t like how his stance included a strong foothold in turning her down.

              “I’m Rose,” she said, getting to her feet. “And if you’d rather stare out the window all night, be my guest.”

              As she started for the bar, he said, “Wait.”

              She glanced over her shoulder at him, and after he held her gaze for a moment, he lifted her beer from the table. “Don’t forget your drink.”

              She snorted a laugh. Clearly, he’d rather get off from turning her down than from thrusting inside her, and if that was his game, he could have it. She reached for her beer, fully prepared to return to the bar, scan the lounge for another man, and get what she’d come here for, but as soon as she wrapped her hand around the glass, he caught her wrist and their eyes locked.

              “This isn’t my town,” he said in a low, deep tone that stirred her attraction to him. “I won’t be staying, and I won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

              “If you’re worried I’ll get attached, don’t,” she said with an edge in her tone. “Can I have my wrist back now?”

              He kept hold for a beat to emphasize his point then released her, and she straightened up, looking down at him, which he seemed to enjoy. Beneath his dress shirt, she could imagine the wall of his chest and wanted nothing more than to smell and lick and kiss it, working her way down to the promise between his legs.

              “I have a room upstairs,” he mentioned.

              “Yeah, I was betting on that.”

              He stood slowly and Rose was surprised to find him towering over her. He had to be at least 6-foot-two, and when he didn’t motion to lead her through the lounge towards the lobby, but angled his dark eyes on her, her breath hitched in her throat.

              “Really,” he said in a whisper as he leaned in, brushing her ear with his mouth, “who sent you?”

              Curious, she edged back and studied his face. “No one. You have people in your life who would send a woman to you to spend the night?”

              “The people in my life do a lot of things I can’t quite figure out,” he said then started through the lounge.

              After taking a moment to consider the man she’d chosen (he wasn’t typical, that was for sure), Rose caught up and they crossed through the vacant lobby. When they reached the elevator banks, he pressed the call button and glanced at the digital counter over the door.

              “Why are you in Seattle?” she asked.

              “Seattle’s across the bay,” he said, correcting her. “We’re in Bellevue.”

              She angled her eyes up at him as if to say,
answer the question.

              He shot her a steely glance. “I thought you said you didn’t want to talk.”

              The door slid open and he stepped inside and pressed the button for the presidential suite on the top floor, as she slipped inside.

              “Maybe I would like to know a few things about you,” she mentioned, as the elevator glided upward at such velocity she felt pressure building in her inner ears.

              “Getting cold feet?” He let out another laugh that made her wonder if he was laughing with her or at her.

              “Hardly.”

              “You seem to know what you want,” he commented without looking at her. “Are you at the mercy of a craving?”

              “Something like that.”

              “Then don’t bite the hand that’s feeding you.”

              She pressed her mouth into a determined smirk, locking her gaze on the floor numbers overhead as they rolled to the final floor.

              When the door opened, he indicated for her to step out before him then quickly passed, making his way up the hallway as he pulled his key card from his wallet.

              The presidential suite was lofty with a living area, full bar, and four-poster bed through an open set of French doors. He placed a “do not disturb” card on the outer door handle, and as soon as he locked the door he stalked towards the bar and began fashioning two cocktails.

              Rose edged into the living area, as he worked. She took notice when he shed his suit jacket and draped it carelessly over the bar, but for the most part she was thinking about her prior conquests.

              There had only been three—a bartender in Cincinnati, a graduate student in Northern Florida, and a marketing manager who worked at a start-up in Silicon Valley. Other than this ritual of bedding a stranger before a high-stakes demonstration, Rose rarely found time to date. She’d had one boyfriend in undergrad and had made no attempts to improve her love life since then. Her work as an environmental advocate wasn’t a job so much as a calling. She’d spent the last five years of her life traveling the country and meeting with communities who feared corporations that had swooped into the area to build pipelines and drill for oil would destroy their homes and cause health hazards. Each endeavor to shut a project down had been more dangerous than the last. And rather than lose sleep over it, worrying her way through the night and showing up exhausted and foggy to the rally she’d organized, this tactic of getting lost in a man had proved highly effective.

              But the man behind the bar wasn’t anything like the others. There was something brooding behind his dark eyes, and it gave her the sense that he needed to get lost in her more than she wanted to get lost in him.

              With drinks in his hands, he rounded the bar, approaching a plush leather couch, where he set the cocktails on the coffee table, stating, “In case you need it.”

              She urged herself to say something clever like, but words didn’t come. Maybe she would need the extra nudge. He seemed powerful, and going through with it, she knew she wouldn’t be able to brush over her budding curiosity about him.

              She turned for the couch, but he stopped her, taking hold of her waist, which sent a thrill rushing down her loins, stirring up heat and desire.

              He gazed down the length of her then wrapped his hands tightly around her waist, as he said, “Do you have any idea the things I’m going to do to you?”

              Truthfully, she didn’t. “You think you’re going to surprise me?”

              He edged his warm hands under her sweater and as he slowly slid his palms up her sides, his smooth skin warming her. She was shocked with the sudden thrill of being touched by a man she knew nothing about.

              “I don’t think you’re half as brave as you pretend to be,” he said, meeting her gaze.

              “Now who’s interested in talking?”

              He smiled and his eyes turned hungry.

              “What if I don’t want to warm you up at all? What if I want to thrust inside you and make you bend and sweat and gasp until you adjust?”

              Her legs went rubbery after hearing that, but she locked her knees, willing herself not to give away the effect he was having on her.

              Her voice was weak as she whispered, “I’m not picky.”