by LK Shaw
The gold stylized lion with its massive mane and s-shaped tale stamped into the side of the bag has faded over the years, but I can still make it out. The weight of it in my hand feels heavier than usual. I close my eyes and the fragrance fills my senses, without even opening the bag. I’ve memorized every note of every ingredient.
I don’t need to see the bottle either. It’s a crystal clear picture in my mind. A transparent green rectangle shape with the same lion resting atop a giant X, its mane resembling the petals of a sunflower. It’s topped with a twenty-four carat gold crown shaped cap with two fleur-de-lis at an angle to each other. The green is nearly the same color as Brenna’s eyes.
A stair creaks. I guiltily shove the bag as far back into the drawer as I can before snatching an undershirt and almost slamming the drawer shut, effectively keeping buried ghosts of my past.
Chapter 18
Brenna
* * *
I hold my breath like I’m waiting for Jacob to come around the corner and catch me in the act. Except he’s not here.
He’d made me so angry. Then there had been that kiss. I’d almost gone up in flames, it had been so hot. I’d been flustered and aroused, and angrier still, because I don’t understand what’s holding him back. I’m confused.
Most of all, I’m hurt.
I’d followed him up here to—I don’t know why I followed him up here. Because my temper took control, most likely. Mother and Da have loud, heated blowouts that last forever, but once they clear it out of their system, they go back to being a loving couple. My hope was that Jacob and I could do the same. But seeing the tortured expression on his face while he held that object made me pause. I returned downstairs and finished making breakfast.
I stare at the dresser I share with him like it’s a snake. For the last thirty minutes, I’ve tried hard to stop wondering what he’d been looking at. Mother would tell me that no good ever came from snooping. Yet I can’t stop myself. My curiosity has gotten the better of me.
With one more glance to assure myself I’m alone, I open the top left drawer. Careful not to disturb the contents too much, my fingers inch toward the back until, at last, they latch onto a hard object encased in soft fabric. With a deep breath, I pull it out. It’s a burgundy velvet pouch. The faded logo on it isn’t familiar. Taking care, I slide my fingers into the opening and widen it, the strings shortening on either side.
My palms sweat and a heavy sensation grows in my belly. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, I reach inside and pull out the contents. It’s a nearly empty bottle of perfume. Women’s perfume. With trembling hands, I unscrew the lid and breathe in the fragrance. It smells like my mother’s garden.
Why does Jacob have this? Had it belonged to his mother? Something inside me tells me no. Not after the way he looked at it. Unable to stand holding it any longer, I shove it back in the bag and return it to where I found it.
I hurry downstairs like a ghost is chasing me and grab my phone. I pull up an app and punch in some information. My eyes keep drifting toward the stairs while I shift on the couch, unable to get comfortable. I jump up and head to the kitchen to clean what I’ve already cleaned.
That stupid bottle of perfume is taunting me. My mother always cautioned me against my over-active imagination. I’m more than likely making something out of nothing. I bet it’s his mother’s. The two were close, after all. It probably reminds him of her, especially since Francesca said she died when he was only a teenager.
I snatch my phone off the counter and look at the screen. Close enough. Grabbing my purse, I head out the door.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ricci,” the security guard at the lobby desk greets me.
“Good morning.”
It’s a beautiful spring day. The sun is shining in the bright blue sky, the glare of it bouncing off the glass building across from ours. In each mirrored pane, the view of the city reflects back. The beeping alarm of a truck backing up comes from down the street. Our building hides the Williamsburg Bridge from where I stand, but I can picture it. A horn honks near me, and I jump.
Stopped on the street is the silver sedan I’d been waiting for. I open the back door.
“Brenna?” The driver asks.
“That’s me.” I slide into the backseat.
He fiddles with the GPS on his dashboard and the address of our brownstone pops up. He confirms it with me before pulling away from the curb. Thankfully the driver doesn’t try to make conversation. I stare out my window until at last we’re coming to a stop in front of my family’s home. I thank him, exit, and rush through the front door.
“Mother? Da? Caitlín?”
Pounding footsteps come from above, and I smile. My sister is the only one who barrels forward full speed ahead. Sure enough, she comes crashing down the stairs. An ungodly screech erupts from her, and I’m nearly bowled over. I throw my arms around her and breathe in her familiar scent.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Emilio? Where’s Gio? How did you get here?” Caitlín rattles of question after question.
“I missed you. At a meeting. I have no idea. Ride share,” I spit back.
She sticks her tongue out, but tugs my hand, pulling me down the hall and into the living room. She drags me onto the couch and collapses next to me, never loosening her grip.
“I missed you too. This place isn’t the same without you. Mother constantly mopes, while Da tries to make her feel better.” She sighs dramatically. “Nathan is even more obnoxious with you gone, and Paddy keeps bringing home every trashy woman he finds apparently. He thinks he’s being sneaky and using the elevator to take them up to the second floor and into the library. I keep hiding in different places, and just when the lovey dovey stuff really starts heating up, I jump out from my hiding place and scare the shit out of them. He still hasn’t learned. Idiot.”
The devious grin on her face is infectious. “You’re terrible. I’m surprised Paddy hasn’t murdered you in your sleep yet.”
“He tried, but I set a booby trap over my door. Then, of course, I told Mother. Not about the women—I still need blackmail material, after all—but that Paddy had tried playing a dirty trick on me. I even managed to conjure up some tears. It was brilliant on my part, if I do say so myself.”
My own tears of laughter are falling by the time she finishes. God, I’ve missed her so much. I’ve missed everyone.
“How’s Jack?” I ask. My oldest brother moved out two years ago, so we don’t see him nearly often enough. He’s kept more to himself. It’s hurt Mother’s feelings, even though she’s tried to hide it.
Caitlín shrugs. “Jack is…Jack. I haven’t seen him since your wedding. I think Da talked to him on the phone yesterday, but he locked himself in his office before I could figure it out. He’s acting weird, too.”
My brow crinkles. “Who, Jack?”
She shakes her head. “No, Da. When he’s not coddling Mother, he’s being all suspicious-like, and I haven’t figured out why.”
There’s nothing Caitlín hates more than not knowing something. She’s wily and persistent, and if she thinks you’re hiding something, she won’t stop until she finds out what. Even if that means resorting to trickery. I almost feel sorry for Da.
“Where is Mother, anyway?” I ask, surprised she hasn’t interrupted us yet.
“She dragged Da to the nursery for some plants or bulbs or whatnot.” She waves her hand around. “You know Mother. They’ll be gone a while.”
I can’t help but smile at her dismissal. While I love helping in the garden, Caitlín finds it dirty and tedious.
“Enough about boring stuff, tell me how married life is going.” She hops in her seat.
Goodness. What do I tell her? My father-in-law doesn’t seem to like me. I’m still a virgin. And my husband is possibly hiding some woman’s perfume in his dresser drawer.
“It’s going well,” I say. “I met Jacob’s cousin, Francesca, a few days ago. She’s around my age. I think we’ll become great friends.
”
“That’s nice. Wait,” she stops me. “Who the hell is Jacob?”
“I am.”
We both screech at the male voice, and my heart leaps into my throat. Standing at the entrance to the living area are my parents and my livid husband.
Chapter 19
Jacob
* * *
The guilty expression on Brenna’s face fills me with satisfaction. I told her that where she went, Giovanni went as well. Yet, here she sits without a care in the world. Of course I’m fucking pissed. It’s not only that, though. The fear I’d felt when Gio called me and said my wife wasn’t at our townhouse still has its claws entrenched in my gut.
“I thought your name was Emilio?” Brenna’s sister’s confused gaze bounces between us.
“Caitlín,” her mother admonishes.
“What?” the young girl asks.
My mother- and father-in-law step past me and usher her off the couch and out of the room, leaving me alone with my wife, who’s risen from her seat as well.
“Seriously, what’s with the name?” Caitlín’s voice fades as they move farther away.
We stand there staring at each other, while I try to quell my anger. Brenna brazenly holds her ground. Finally, I break the silence.
“I thought we had an agreement.”
“About what?”
“About Giovanni accompanying you if you chose to leave the townhouse,” I reply.
Her cheeks go flush. “I didn’t want to bother him just to come see my family.”
“You having an escort is non-negotiable. We discussed this. I don’t care if you only travel a block away from our home. If you leave the house, you will have Gio escort you.” I wouldn’t budge on that. Especially not after the intel I got this morning before I was called away to chase after my disobedient wife.
A mulish expression crosses her face. It’s time to teach my wife a lesson. I close the distance between us. Pride sparks in me that Brenna holds her ground. The moment I reach her, my fingers spear her hair and curl into a loose fist before I pull her head back. My mouth crashes down on hers in a punishing kiss. It’s my only alternative, aside from placing her over my knee. My cock rises at the picture forming in my mind.
Knowing she’s safe releases all the pent up fear I’d been holding onto. I lash at her tongue, deepening the kiss. Teeth scrape, and the tinge of blood hits my taste buds. The sting of Brenna’s nails digging into my lower back hardens my cock even further. Her hands are under my jacket and clutching me tight.
I slide my leg between hers pressing my thigh against her pussy. I increase the pressure, and her gasp turns into a moan. My fist grips her hip, and I pull her into me, generating friction against her clit. She whimpers against my mouth. Those hard, pebbled nipples poke into my chest.
The bruising kiss goes on. Brenna continues grinding against my leg, my hand on her hip, guiding her unpracticed movements. I swallow every mewling sound she makes. She presses herself harder, chasing the ecstasy at the end of the ride, until at last her muscles tighten and her body trembles with her release. My mouth smothers her cry.
Tiny shudders continue to rack her body as she gently rolls her hips. Finally, they slow and she sags against me, spent. Her arms stay wrapped around my waist, and I continue holding her up.
Brenna’s green eyes are glassy and unfocused when she finally comes to her senses. Her lips are bruised. The tender skin along her cheeks and mouth are lightly scratched from the hard bristles gracing my jaw. Her red hair is tousled and wild from my fingers. She looks thoroughly debauched. I step back, steadying her, and adjust my raging hard on behind my zipper.
“Just so you know,” Brenna rasps out. “You don’t present a very good case for me to not ditch my bodyguard again.”
I blink at her words, and then throw my head back in laughter. When was the last time someone made me laugh like this? Never. Once I get myself under control, I cross my arms and stare down at my unpredictable and highly entertaining wife.
“Let’s say that if you don’t ditch your bodyguard, you’ll get a repeat performance of that. Many, many repeat performances. Plus the second act,” I emphasize.
She clears her throat. “You certainly drive a hard bargain.”
I lower my voice seductively. “You have no idea how hard.”
Brenna’s gaze drops to my erection straining to be freed. Her eyes widen before she quickly raises them back to my face. The pink climbing up her neck and cheeks is adorable.
“Yes, well.” She smooths her hair in a nervous gesture.
I bite back my smile, but I turn serious. “I know the order may chafe, so this time I’m asking. Please do not leave the townhouse to go anywhere, unless Giovanni is with you.” Like my father, I’m not one for pleading. However, if it means ensuring Brenna’s safety, I will.
Brenna focuses intently on me, her head cocked just a bit like she’s studying me. She must see something on my face, because she closes the distance between us and palms both my cheeks, staring up at me with a soft expression.
“If it means that much to you, I promise to always take Gio with me wherever I go.”
I cover her hands with mine and gently squeeze them. “Thank you.”
If pleading is hard, apologizing is even more so. “I’m also sorry about this morning,” I say.
“For which part?” Brenna asks.
Releasing her, I move a pace away and run my hands over my face. Why does she have to question that? “I don’t know.”
“That’s not much of an apology then.”
My eyes dart to hers, and a small smile plays on her lips. I find myself responding.
“I’m not sorry for thinking about you while I stroked my cock in the shower.” I close the short distance between us, and her breath quickens. “I’m not sorry I kissed you.”
Pulling her to me, her hands go to my chest to steady herself. Those brilliant emerald eyes of hers stare up at me with a flash of arousal. My expression turns serious again. “I’m sorry I left without an explanation. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
Brenna scans my face. There’s an awareness between us, but she stares at me thoughtfully.
“Are you both still alive in there?” A disembodied voice interrupts.
My wife sighs and steps away from me with a laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you, runt, but no one killed anyone.”
Caitlín comes out from around the corner, an impish grin on her face. Thank god she didn’t arrive a few minutes earlier. Although based on the pink in her cheeks and the way she avoids either of our eyes, I think maybe she saw, or heard, more than she should have.
“So,” she says, finally looking at me. “Tell me about this name thing. Jacob doesn’t seem very Italian.”
Brenna groans. “Must you always be so rude and nosy?”
“Yes, actually,” Caitlín replies with no hesitation, and I chuckle. The girl has balls, I’ll give her that.
“I was named after my mother’s grandfather. Giacobbe Alfio Cantore. She loved the American spelling, so I became Emilio Jacob Ricci.”
“Why don’t you go by Emilio? That sounds more like the name of a mafia boss,” she says.
“For crying out loud.” Brenna throws her hands over her face.
“Technically, I do, although very few people call me anything besides Mr. Ricci. Does that sound enough like a mobster to please you?”
“About as much as Donnelly does, I suppose. Too bad you aren’t related to Al Capone. Now that would make you sound like a true mafia boss. Do you mind if I call you Emilio?” Caitlín barely pauses for breath. “I want to tell my friends I’m on a first-name basis with the bad-ass leader of the Italian syndicate who married my sister, and well, to be honest, Jacob just doesn’t have the same ring to it. No offense or anything.”
I stare at this young girl, my brain trying to keep up with her conversation. I don’t envy whatever man she ends up with. She is going to lead someone on a merry chase. In the meantime, my wife has comp
letely removed herself from the conversation and is leaned back in the couch with a forearm covering her eyes.
Finally, I find my voice. “Emilio is fine. Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s time Brenna and I head home.”
The woman in question quickly rises from the sofa, as though more than ready to leave. “Tell Mother and Da I said goodbye, and I’ll give them a call in the next couple days.”
She hugs her sister, and I guide her down the hall and out the front door to where the car waits. Once we’re in the back seat, she turns to me. “Caitlín sometimes forgets personal boundaries. Especially when it comes to family members, which she considers you to be due to our marriage. To her she’s just gained another brother to torment.”
I can’t help but grin, which fades. “Pierce is the closest thing I have to a brother, but our relationship was never one filled with levity and games. It’s been filled with duty, loyalty, and violence. Your sister is actually a breath of fresh air in this world we live in. I certainly don’t envy your parents though.”
Brenna groans. “She’s a handful, to say the least. Although, there are times I wish I were more like her.”
I reach out to take her hand. “I don’t. I wouldn’t want you to change a single thing about yourself.”
Chapter 20
Brenna
* * *
I stop breathing at Jacob’s words. My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I blink them back. Does he really mean that? My heart is almost bursting with happiness. Is this what falling in love feels like? Because if so, then I’m falling…hard.
“Love can grow from a single seed.” My mother’s voice echoes back at me.
The expression on Jacob’s face when he’d asked me to not go anywhere without Gio flashes in my mind. There had been lingering arousal, but I swear fear had been present as well. As though he’d been worried something happened to me. Not just because I am his wife, but because he actually cares.
