by Faye Byrd
“Monday is my off day,” she starts, shoving one of her hands into my hair. I fucking sigh. “I decided to get some fucking answers. Since I have no other way to contact you, I took a walk around your block.”
My eyes, which had almost fallen closed, jump back open. “My block?”
“Yeah, your block.” She nods, giving me the “hold your horses” look. “I’d been to your garage. I knew it existed, but the elevator we took requires a fingerprint I’m not capable of producing. So I went in search of the entrance. It has to come out on the street somewhere, right?”
“Sei un biscotto intelligente, solare.” I tell her she’s a smart cookie, and for some unknown reason, a pet name rolls right the fuck off my tongue along with it.
“Dante.” Her voice is a warning, and my eyes jump to hers. “Consider you speaking Italian like me tugging your hair. A big no-no,” she says seriously before her lips curve into an excited smile. “But what did you say?”
“I said you’re a smart cookie.” I pause, unsure if I should say more, but the look of pride on her face only makes my lips flap like they don’t know how to fucking stop. “And I might’ve called you solare.”
“Solare?” Her brows furrow.
“Gesù Cristo,” I mumble to myself, but my fucking tongue won’t stop wagging. “A term of endearment. It basically means solar or sunshine, but I meant”—I pause and rub the back of my neck—“your presence is like sunshine to me.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says softly, both of us realizing we’re inching back toward stoking those never-ending flames. “I love it.”
I chuckle uneasily and pull the moment back into the normal range. “Well, don’t get used to it.”
Her fingers leave my hair and grab for my nipple, giving it a twist. “Okay, okay. I give.” I laugh, grabbing her hand and holding it in mine. “Back to Monday.”
Her eyes sparkle, the atmosphere between us light and playful. “You’d better not be planning Lori’s murder in that head of yours.”
“Lori will be fine as long as he was a gentleman,” I say, crossing my fingers over my heart. “I may even thank him.”
She pushes closer to me, like we were earlier, before I pinned her to the bed and almost lost myself in her. “He was quite shocked when I came walking down the tunnel, but as soon as he recognized me, he was very welcoming. For your information, he wouldn’t tell me where you were or anything. He just assured me you’d be home in a few hours.”
“How did you talk him into letting you up?” I ask, because though I’m glad he did, I seriously can’t fucking believe she was able to accomplish that feat. Lorenzo is an old-timer. He plays by the fucking rules.
She pushes her lips against mine and pulls back with a smirk. “I told him to tell you to go fuck yourself and never contact me again.”
My jaw pops open, but I have no fucking idea how to respond.
She closes my mouth and slips her hand back into my hair. “It was obvious he didn’t want to deliver that message. He took me to the elevator, told me to wait in the penthouse, and you’d be up as soon as he could get you here.”
“I don’t even know what the fuck to say to that shit,” I tell her, my eyes becoming heavy as fuck. “I’ll definitely thank him, though.” I fight back a yawn. “Will you stay until I fall asleep?”
“Of course,” she answers quietly. “Do you want me to talk or be quiet?”
“Talk, please. It’ll help remind me I’m home,” I say, finally allowing a yawn to escape.
Her soothing voice lulls me to sleep, and she even stars in my dreams. Not naked ones either. Normal ones, crazy ones. Just regular stupid fucking dreams about me and her in all these weird situations.
The next morning, before I even open my eyes, the soreness of my shoulder is noticeable but not gut-wrenchingly so. I breathe through the ache as I rotate it a little, rolling to lie on my back.
My eyes pop open, and the muted gray beyond the windows is a welcome fucking sight, simply because the sun would be lighting my ass up otherwise. A sigh beside me sends my heart thumping inside my goddamn chest, because there’s only one fucking person who could be there.
I slowly turn my head, afraid of disappointment, and am blown the fuck away. Not only is she there, curled in the opposite direction, but she’s shed her tiny jean shorts and is only in her tank and thong. She has the other side of the duvet pulled against her front and tangled between her legs.
My dick, which is already fucking hard, throbs beneath the fucking duvet. “Gesù Cristo,” I whisper gruffly as my eyes trail from her bare shoulders and arms to her ass cheeks and down her fucking never-ending legs.
I can’t resist. I lean the fuck over and run my lips across the bare skin of her hip, breathing deeply. “Fuck,” I mumble against her soft skin, her scent clouding my mind.
Pulling back, I ease from the bed before I wake her. My shoulder is tender, but the whole fucking throbbing thing from last night is gone. I sigh in relief and move to the bathroom to take a piss. As I come back through the room, I slip into my discarded shorts and continue toward the kitchen.
Fucking finally, I can do something for Piper.
I’m fucking whistling as I move down the hall. A cloudy morning, a healing wound, and a fucking beautiful-ass woman in my bed. Nothing can fuck up this day. Well, aside from the throat that clears in my living room. I stop in my fucking tracks and spin to face a trio of men.
“How the fuck you get in here?!”
My little brother peers at me over his glasses. “Dante,” he starts in a condescending tone. “You know better than that.”
Okay, I should’ve expected that from him, but what comes next causes my heart to stutter.
“Is that Henry’s daughter in your bed?” the Boss asks with an even expression.
There’s no way to judge which way this is going to go, so I don’t respond. Instead, I move toward the island where I have access to a fucking gun.
TWO
I’M WAITING
When I reach the bar top, I casually prop my hands on it and survey the men as they wait for an answer. Ivan is trying to hide his trademark geeky smirk, while Joseph looks me over with a careful expression. But really, those two fuckers don’t even matter. It’s Pop who’s going to be the one deciding how this fucking encounter ends.
“Well?” His voice stretches across the room, though I’m not detecting any real anger.
I shrug my right shoulder—my left still a little achy. “It is. But it’s not what you think … yet, anyway.”
Ivan snickers until our father pins him with a glare, and then he shuts the fuck up. The Boss rubs his hand roughly over his face and sighs. “Dante, I thought we had an understanding on this.”
“We do have an understanding,” I assure with a decisive nod. “I understand the rewards far outweigh the consequences. Piper and I will not be forced apart by an absentee father looking to control her life. We’re both adults who know exactly what we want from each other.”
His eyes narrow. “And you’re willing to risk your life for a fuck?”
“As fucking if.” I snort. “Henry Tate couldn’t take me out on his best goddamn day when he was in his prime. There’s no way in hell his old ass can do it now.”
“Son,” he says, his exasperation evident. “That isn’t really the point. Henry and I have been friends for years, and of all the women around Chicago, you zero in on his daughter. After we made sure …” He trails off. “Never mind. Just use her and be done with it.” He waves a dismissive hand.
A sharp retort to deny that fucking bullshit is on the tip of my tongue, but I snatch it back before it can escape—because isn’t that my intention? It sounds so fucking cold when it’s put like that, not hidden under the guise of dating, but deep down, isn’t that what I’m really doing?
Asshole.
Fuck him for pointing out the obvious. I shove that shit to the back of my mind—so that I can reason it away later—and start rummaging through m
y pantry. These dicks may have dimmed my morning, but they won’t be stopping me from doing something nice for Piper.
After grabbing the dry ingredients for waffles, I deposit them on the counter and turn back to the men who’ve yet to move. “Will that be fucking all?” I snap, annoyed by their very presence. “I have some payback I need to work on.” I wave my hand over the items before me.
“Sorry, son.” Pop clears his throat. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. There are a couple things we need to discuss.”
I lean against the counter and fucking sigh. “Fine. Let me make these waffles and wake Piper. As soon as she’s eaten, I’ll send her on her way.”
Ivan peers at me through his large glasses. “Is there any way I could talk ya out of a couple of those?”
“Fine,” I bite out. “But you can cook them while Piper eats. I’ll make extra batter for ya.”
He excitedly rubs his hands together. “I get to use the iron.”
I’m barely able to hold back my snarl. That shithead better not fuck up my Wells Belgian Waffle maker. He may be a fucking genius when it comes to technical shit, but mechanical? That’s a whole other ballgame.
I let my work soothe me as I mix the ingredients together. The obtrusive fuckers in my living room stay silent, and it makes me wonder what’s on their minds. As I set the batter aside to let it rest a few minutes, I go back over and prop across the island.
“What’s got you fuckers so quiet?” I ask, taking a look at each of their faces. Ivan’s still a little too giddy looking for my liking, but Pop and Joseph both seem somber.
Joseph, who’s staring at his lap, brings his eyes up to mine, and I fucking know. The pain in them can only mean one thing. “Anna isn’t doing too well these days.”
My shoulders slump, and all the annoyance drains right the fuck away. I haven’t been able to see her, and it breaks my heart. “I need to see her,” I say with determination, going back to the bar and pouring the first batch of waffles, even though they haven’t sat as long as I would’ve liked.
“You do,” Pop agrees in an earnest voice. “But there’s another matter we need to discuss first.” When I go to be an insistent asshole, the Boss holds up his hand, stopping me before any words fly. “We’ll be quick.”
I nod and get back to work on Piper’s breakfast, whipping some cream and slicing strawberries. The feeling has been sapped right out of it, though. Making breakfast to impress a girl seems petty in the grand scheme of life, but I think Anna would approve. She always has hoped someone would knock me off my fucking high horse. I may even feel inclined to let her believe it to be the case.
The last thought surprises me, so I add it to the pile in the dark recesses of my mind. After grabbing one of the china plates from the dishwasher, I load warm syrup and a saucer of both strawberries and whipped cream alongside the two waffles and a glass of orange juice.
When I pick it up and turn around, I almost bump into Ivan. He’s lurking just behind me, eyeing my waffle maker like it’s the fucking holy grail. The thought of him touching my shit makes me want to slam the whole tray up against his head.
Instead, I clench my jaw and speak through gritted teeth. “You break it, I fucking break you.” I stalk off, but not before catching the kid-like gleam in his eye.
As I sweep into my room, I try my fucking best to smile brightly—her bare ass sure helps a lot—but not much can dispel the sadness that has settled over me. Anna has always been a part of my life, more mother to me than my own. Finding out she had cancer was hard enough, but watching her wither away has been devastating. Knowing the end is close, I can’t decide if I should be happy her pain is almost over or drowning in a pit of despair—like Joseph.
I push it away as much as I’m able and set the tray at the foot of the bed before moving up to the edge where Piper’s still tangled in my stained duvet. The first place my hand goes is to her hip, naked aside from the thin strap of fake-lace fucking polyester that’s part of her barely-there panties. I give it a good squeeze before continuing up her side, allowing my fingers to brush against where her tits almost spill from the top of her tank.
She moans and arches into the contact, causing a genuine smile to dance across my lips. I should’ve known that she—even unaware—would somehow make me feel better. She always fucking does. Her arms stretch up over her head and her tits push forward, giving me an eyeful before her eyes slide open and languidly land on mine.
“Morning,” she says lazily. “Have you had a miraculous recovery?”
My brows furrow, not following her line of thinking, until her eyes fall to where my hand has slipped under the front of her tank. I swiftly pull it out and rub the back of my neck. “No, sorry. I couldn’t resist the temptation.”
Her eyes fall to my bare chest and roam over it before coming back to mine with a satisfied smile. “I understand completely, but isn’t it hard enough as it is?”
“Oh, you wanna play?” I ask, lifting my hand and pretending to go after any number of the barely dressed parts she has on display.
She giggles and grabs my hands. “Okay, time out. This will only get us in trouble.”
My smile dims a little as reality comes seeping back in. “I brought you something,” I say, diverting my attention to the tray. I pick it up and motion for her to get situated.
She’s beaming brightly now, but as she studies me, it starts to fade. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, not wanting to go into the details. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head over.”
She huffs a deep breath and looks to the tray instead, dropping the subject, though I’m unsure if I’m happy about that or not. Somehow, I know she’d say the right thing—the very words that would make me feel better.
“This looks absolutely wonderful!” she says with a bright, fake-ass smile.
I smirk. “It might taste good, too.”
“Are you sure it’s all right to eat it here?” She pats my duvet. “In the bed.”
“No.” I smile faintly. “But go ahead anyway.”
She shrugs and takes the spoon, scooping up a glob of cream and spreading it over the top waffle like fucking peanut butter, and then sprinkles strawberry slices over that. Then, she picks up the syrup and fucking drowns her whole plate. I sit almost slack-jawed as I watch the entire process, idly wondering how many more stains are in my duvet’s future.
When her masterpiece is complete, her gaze snaps to mine as she works her fork through the monstrosity and spears a bite. With our eyes locked, she brings it to her mouth. Even with the fucking mess, I’m goddamn mesmerized. Her lids fall closed, and a soft sigh escapes as the fork disappears between her lips.
The complicated array of sensations that moves through me almost causes me to get up and run from the fucking room. It’s like I can’t even take a goddamn breath without her permission; she has me so deep under her spell.
It’s only the voice right outside my door that plunges me back into the here and now with an icy quickness. “Yo, this thing is smoking in here!”
Her eyes widen, and I give her an apologetic shrug before rushing from the room, ready to wring a motherfucker’s neck. As I get to the hallway, there’s a cloud of smoke hovering from the kitchen, and my feet move faster. I thought he was talking shit at first. By the time I make it to my waffle maker, the smoke detector starts dinging. I wave my hand in front of my fucking face and grab a towel, flicking the button to open the top.
It pops open, and there sit two fucking waffles, burned to a goddamn crisp. I quickly turn on the exhaust fan and count to fucking ten in my head before turning around. Ivan’s cowering behind the island, eyeing me with an apologetic expression.
He starts shaking his head. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. I couldn’t get it open.”
“Save it,” I snap, coughing up a fucking lung over the smoke that’s choking my ass to fucking death.
He hangs his head, his eyes falling to the floor. “Yeah, but now I don�
�t get any waffles.”
Before I can lose my shit, a small giggle meets my ears, and my head snaps to the noise. Standing at the end of the hallway, where the whole room opens up, is Piper—and at least she’s fucking dressed. Her hand is covering her mouth as she tries to contain whatever about this fucked up situation has her tickled.
I take a couple steps in her direction, swirling the towel with my hand, and snap it toward her when I get close enough. “Oh, you think this is funny?” I joke as she dodges and giggles.
Instead of trying again, I close in on her, backing her against the opposite wall with my body. Her eyes scan past my shoulder and take in the fucking intruders before coming back to me.
“I didn’t realize you had company,” she says quietly, her hands dancing along my bare waistline.
I snort. “Yeah, un-in-fucking-vited.”
She gives a small nod and grips my hips a little more tightly. “I think I’ll just go and gather my things.”
Though I fucking hate hearing it, that’s exactly what needs to happen. I give her a nod. “Yeah, we have business to discuss, so these fuckers aren’t going anywhere.”
“Okay,” she says before peeping over my shoulder. “Ivan, I’ll bring my tray, and you can eat the rest. I’m not really hungry.”
I can’t see my brother’s response, but it must be positive because she grants him one of her beautiful smiles before flicking her eyes back to me. For some fucked up reason, I dip my head and press my lips to hers. It doesn’t last long, but the move itself with an audience, this audience, is so uncharacteristic of me that I feel a little disoriented by the whole thing.
Piper gives me a secret, seductive smile before strutting her ass down the hallway. My eyes follow every swerve of her hips until Pop barks out a laugh. I spin around to face him, and while he cackles for his own amusement, I also check out the other two fuckers in the room. Ivan’s perched at the island, awaiting his food I’m sure, but his goddamn smile is wide and his eyes are fucking sparkling at me. And Joseph, even with the pain still clearly present, has a small smirk pointed my way.
