by Elley Arden
He pressed against her until she toppled backward, sprawling on the mattress beneath him. And then he kissed her, hard and punishing, squeezing her face in his hands. She whimpered, grabbed hold of his wrists, digging nails into his flesh, and then she arched into him, trapping his erection between them, milking it with rolling hips.
Tony swallowed a growl. Making a baby would be damn near impossible if he gave in too soon. Raising onto his hands and knees, he straddled her, releasing some of the pressure to his groin. Another kiss. A brush of palm across her nipple. Her hands smoothing down his sides. The blood pounded through his veins, pooling in his penis.
Tony dipped his lips to her shoulder and then to her breast. As much as he wanted to linger, he needed to keep moving, to get away from her hands that were crawling across his lower stomach, inching toward the launch site. One touch, and he knew he’d be over.
He dropped his mouth to her stomach, licking her skin. His hands roamed, grazing her thighs inside and out until his fingers opened her. She was wet enough to finish this, no need to delay, but the faint floral fragrance of her skin on his lips urged him to taste the rest.
Shoving his hands beneath her, he lifted only to feel her muscles harden in his hands.
“Tony, don’t. You don’t have to. It’s not necessary.”
His gaze grazed the center of her body, past her taut belly button, between her swollen breasts, to find her staring down at him, brows furrowed even as her chest heaved. “But I want to,” he said. And when he did, she unclenched her butt cheeks, dropped her head to the pillow and moaned.
Apparently he’d found the ultimate way to relax Trish DeVign. He smiled as he kissed, licked, and teased.
She moaned again, squirmed, yanked his hair, and then she lifted her body to him, pressing against his mouth. More tortured noises. More hair pulling. He was hard as a rock, avoiding contact with everything and anything, praying for not so much as a brush of air. And then she broke. Shattered. Muscles shaking. Breathing in sobs. He crawled over her to find her eyes closed and her arm flung over her forehead.
“That was not part of my plan,” she whispered.
“I figured, but I like my plan better.” He kissed her, wanting for her to taste the proof of a good plan on his lips.
Several seconds passed before she returned the enthusiasm of his kiss, but when she did, there was no mistaking the boost of energy. She drilled his mouth with her tongue as she reached between his legs. This time, he didn’t panic. He held his breath and rocked against her hand, hardening every inch of his skin, feeding the ache to a fraction of the edge, and then he cranked her knees higher, lifting her hips. On a single, labored breath, he drove inside.
Trish yelped at the abrupt movement, but before he could pull back and slow down, she gripped his neck and yanked his face to hers. “You were right,” she managed between heavy breathing. “I did want to be with you.” And then she kissed him, driving her tongue into his mouth again, matching the rhythm of their lower halves. She clawed at his shoulders, nibbled his lip and drove him crazy, until the edge was a welcomed relief.
He collapsed on top of her with only sweat and breathing between them. Holy hell. That was…
“Do you think it worked?”
Was it wrong to wish against her, to hope it didn’t work? Maybe it was lousy of him, but it was also true. Tony hoped he failed. He hoped Trish wasn’t pregnant.
Because then they could do it again.
CHAPTER TEN
Trish rested her chin on Tony’s shoulder and watched candlelight flicker on her ceiling. God, she hoped this worked, because if it didn’t, they were going to have to do it again, and that was… She closed her eyes, tried to breathe, but his weight restricted the motion. What little air she managed to inhale was tinged with him, cedar and soap. She was entirely too comfortable in this position, and that wouldn’t do.
Tony was simply a means to an end. No matter how attractive or good in bed, he wasn’t a romantic possibility. He was a sort-of employee, her best friend’s brother, and a man fundamentally opposed to settling down. She sighed, wanting her body to agree with her brain, to declare more sex with Tony out of the question, but who was she kidding? She’d never been closer to having a baby. But she’d also never been closer with chaos. And why? Because Tony made the loss of control exhilarating.
“We should do it again, just to make sure,” he said, nuzzling his nose against her neck, blanketing her skin in shivers.
“Tony…”
The doorbell rang followed by three loud knocks that ricocheted through her exhausted body, rattling her cells to attention.
Tony lifted, hovering above her on the palms of his hands. “Were you expecting someone?”
“No.” Trish scrambled out from underneath him, snatching her pants from the floor. “But what if it’s Ange? Your bike’s parked in front. She’ll…”
The warm, wet sensation between her legs startled Trish. She’d never had unprotected sex before. And although she knew what they’d done and why they’d done it, the proof of their action slightly overwhelmed. With a giant inhale and a squeeze of her muscles, she clenched her thighs, hoping to lock the fluid in a few seconds more, not wanting to lessen her chances of conceiving. But the doorbell rang again, and then her phone. Trish blinked her brain to attention, wiggled into her pants and glanced at her nightstand where the phone sat next to Tony’s discarded beer. Mom. She snatched up her phone and then her shirt from the foot of the bed and glared at Tony. “Stay put,” she warned. “It’s my mother. I’ll get rid of her.”
Trish bounded down the stairs, heart in her throat. She had no idea why her mother would stop by unannounced at—she looked at the grandfather clock—ten o’clock. She hoped it wasn’t an emergency.
Smoothing her hair with one hand and wiping a finger under her eyes with the other, she hoped to God she didn’t smell like sex. Her mother was going to hug her and then ask a million questions Trish wouldn’t know how to answer. Raising her shirt to her nose, Trish sniffed. Faint traces of Tony lingered enough to make her stomach wobble, but she opened the door anyway if only to foil the incessant knocking.
“I see Tony’s here.” Angie stood on Trish’s front porch, lips in a grim line, envelope in hand.
Trish opened her mouth, looked at her ringing phone, closed her mouth, and then opened it again. “You’re not my mother.”
“Don’t be a smart ass.” Angie pushed Trish aside. “Where is he? I’ll happily crash your little nightcap before it goes too far.”
“He’s, ah, in the bathroom.”
Angie raised a brow and then gave Trish the once-over. “He didn’t even take you to dinner, did he? If he took you out, you’d be dressed up. What is this?” She waved a hand up and down Trish’s disheveled clothing. “Was it a booty call?” She shoved a finger to Trish’s chest. “I may not be your mother, but I’m still worried, especially since…”
“Hey.” Tony stood shirtless in jeans at the top of the stairs.
“Jesus,” Angie spit, whipping her head from Trish to Tony. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
Trish laid a hand on Angie’s forearm. “You said you didn’t care. You said you didn’t want to know.”
“Yeah, well that was before I realized he was going to take you to bed before he even took you to dinner.”
“Ange, chill. What’s the big deal? We’re consenting adults.”
“Shut the fuck up, Tony.” She took a step toward him, like she might charge the stairs. “As far as I’m concerned, only one of you is an adult, and it’s not you.”
“Here we go again.” Tony descended slowly, shaking his head. “How long are you going to hold it against me? How long? I didn’t want to run the company. So what? Nobody said you had to do it.”
“Because they knew I would do it. Because they knew I wouldn’t back out. I couldn’t back out after you already did. I was all that was left.”
All Trish could imagine was a colossal confrontation i
n her foyer that would lead to a family feud. “Tony, go back upstairs.”
His eyes widened, and his lips sort of sneered. “No. Not until you’re ready to come with me.”
Angie groaned. “Never mind. I’m going, because this is making me sick. I swear to God I’ll puke if I have to witness another minute of your mutual disease, so here.” She handed the envelope to Trish. “You forgot to sign it.”
Trish recognized the business envelope, featuring her company logo in the corner. With unsteady hands she pulled a check from the envelope. Sure enough, the usual loopy endorsement was missing.
“I can’t pay my crew until I can cash this check.”
Trish squeezed her eyes shut on a wave of remorse and then opened them on a promise to regain her focus. “I’m so sorry. I must’ve been…busy.” Preoccupied with Tony and the baby-making scheme was more like it.
Rushing to the catchall drawer in the bureau beneath the hall mirror, Trish rummaged among hair ties, paper clips, loose change, and keys until she found a ballpoint pen. “Here.” She signed the check, drew a deep breath and faced Angie, who was glaring at a silent Tony. “I’m sorry. I really am.” About all of it, because standing between Tony and Angie was never a place she wanted to be.
Angie snatched the check. “Thanks.” She glanced up the stairs at her brother and then again at Trish. “I’d say enjoy the rest of your evening, but I don’t want to make myself sick.” She turned, took two steps toward the door, and then stopped. “Finishing Collins’s hardwoods at eight, right?”
Trish couldn’t think of what to do now, let alone what came tomorrow morning, but it sounded reasonable, so she nodded. “Yep.”
“See you then.” And with that, Angie stormed out.
So much for Trish’s simple, uncomplicated plan.
* * *
Tony watched Trish, staring at the stained glass window, hand on the doorknob. She didn’t move a muscle, but he knew the wheels in her head were churning at breakneck speed.
“Don’t let her bother you,” he said, walking to her side, placing his hands on her shoulders.
She moved her head from side to side as he rubbed away the tension. “How can I do that? She’s my best friend. When she’s bothered, I’m bothered.” She dropped her chin to her chest.
He wrapped her up and drew her against him. “She’ll get over it.”
“But what if she doesn’t?” Trish stepped away from him. “What if I’ve ruined everything? What if she never looks at me the same? What if she never looks at you the same either?” When she looked at him, tears shimmered in her eyes.
“Ah, come on. This is Ange we’re talking about. She’s harsh, but she’s decent. I’ve never seen her hold a grudge on anyone but me. You’ll be good.”
He chucked his knuckles beneath her chin and smiled, but inside he was furious with himself. Screwing around with Angie’s best friend wasn’t smart. Getting caught with Trish didn’t do a damn thing but affirm his irresponsibility in Angie’s eyes.
“You really think it’ll be okay?” Trish sniffed.
“Yep. I do. She wasn’t mad because we slept together, she was mad because I didn’t take you to dinner first.” He chuckled, because it was just like his non-traditional, carpenter of a sister to have traditional relationship views. “And you know what? She’s right. That was pretty shitty of me. I brought beer and got laid. Typical one-track-minded male.”
Trish matched his grin, but there was still worry in her eyes. “God, Tony, we really did it, didn’t we?”
He wasn’t sure which it she was referring to. Maybe she meant making Angie mad. But the way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and the tousle of her hair had him focused on another it. And it was explosive. And it was much more appealing than rehashing what had happened with Angie. “Yes, we did.”
“Okay, so as far as Angie goes, I’ll talk to her tomorrow, smooth things out some more. And as far as this goes…” she palmed her non-existent belly, “I wait until I miss my period to test. Of course, I could get a blood test sooner, but I’d like to keep this as normal as possible, because once I’m…” She interrupted her babbling with a slightly unhinged laugh. “Oh my God. Once I’m pregnant. By you. Tony.” She turned to the door and then to him again. “If Angie was upset because you slept with me before taking me to dinner, can you imagine how she’d react if I got pregnant this soon?”
He blinked. Shit. He’d never thought of it that way. And Angie wasn’t the only one with a reaction to worry about. Ma. Nonna. How did he expect to go from Trish’s contract employee to the father of her baby without raising his traditional Italian-Catholic family’s collective blood pressure?
“Your mother and Nonna.” Trish slapped a hand over her mouth. “They’ll think I’m a slut.”
“Puttana.” He’d heard the word enough to know it.
“What?”
“That’s what Nonna calls a whore. Puttana.”
Trish paled.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Tony reached for her, but she backed away, pressing against the wall. “You’re not a whore.”
Her face wrinkled. “Thanks for that, but I hardly think they’d agree once they found out I was pregnant by you without so much as a dinner date between us.” She banged her head off the woodwork. “What was I thinking? Angie was right.”
Like fingernails down a chalkboard. Angie was always right, and it irked him. “Let’s go.” He marched up the stairs. “I’m taking you to dinner.”
She scrambled after him. “Tony, it’s not that simple.”
“The hell it isn’t. Ange knows we slept together. It’s only a matter of time before she whines to Ma. But nobody can say a damn thing about it if we’re dating.”
“But we aren’t dating.”
“We are now.” He grinned. “And don’t forget to put on a bra. I can still see your nipples.”
* * *
Sitting across from Tony Corcarelli in an IHOP restaurant, Trish surmised this was her life. There was some sort of poetic justice in it. Hadn’t her mother always warned her about falling for the smooth-talking guy? Oh, and Tony was smooth. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be caught dead inhaling a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes at midnight. She swiped at a dribble of maple syrup on her chin.
“Damn, you can eat.” He smiled around a forkful of omelet.
“I eat when I’m worried.”
“You talk a lot, too, which must make a big mess.”
She chewed slower, wrinkled her nose in disgust, and glanced at her shirt to make sure it was syrup-free.
“I’m teasing,” he said.
“You always are.”
“Not always.” He held her gaze with smoldering eyes.
Okay, she’d give him that. He could be serious when the situation warranted. There was nothing teasing about the way he made love. Not that they made love, she reminded herself. They had sex and hopefully made a baby. Big difference. Huge.
She took another bite of pancake and then dropped her hand to her belly beneath the table, rubbing back and forth. Was anything going on in there?
Angie’s interruption and Tony’s late-night dinner caused Trish to miss out on the obsessing she planned to be doing at home. She raised her other hand, wrapping it around a glass of orange juice. What were the chances she was pregnant on the first try?
Taking a sip, she held the cold liquid in her mouth until it warmed and then swallowed. She wanted to be pregnant on the first try, because prolonging interactions with Tony had become unnecessarily complicated. But we aren’t dating, she’d said to him. We are now, was his reply. Why did that silly technicality make her tummy tumble? Dating Tony was a front, so his family didn’t see her as a slut once the test turned positive. She needed to keep that in mind if she was going to get through the next nine or so months sane.
“So what’s on the agenda tomorrow?” Tony sprawled in the booth, arm flung across the back, plate pushed away from the edge of the table.
Trish blinked. “What ag
enda?”
“What do you have planned?”
“Work,” she said, leery of where this was going. He’d asked to do it again before Angie interrupted, and now they were “dating.” Surely he didn’t plan to exploit their interactions, and yet, this was Tony she was talking about.
“What kind of work?”
“Interior design.”
He bobbed his brows and tilted his head. “Are you this difficult with all your dates?”
“Maybe.” Hardly. Only him. He made her do the damnedest things.
“Then I can see why you’re still single.”
She tossed her napkin across the table at him. It flopped against his chest. He simply smiled and tossed it back.
“You’re going to need that for cleanup, what with all the eating and babbling,” he said.
She couldn’t stop the smirk. “Fine,” she said, dropping the napkin into her lap. “I’m working on the Collins’s house tomorrow morning. Angie’s laying hardwoods in the addition, and I’m meeting with cement contractors. Tomorrow afternoon I have blocked off for shopping. They’re minimalists, so it’s something different.”
He nodded while he dipped a finger into a clump of whipped cream on the edge of her plate. “How does a frilly traditionalist shop for a minimalist?”
“Very carefully,” she said with an easy smile. “Or else the minimalist ends up with a floral-patterned, oversized ottoman where a recycled-materials coffee table should be.”
Tony straightened, sucked the cream from his fingertip with a smack of his lips, and rested his elbows on the table. “Where’d you find a recycled-materials coffee table?”
“No place yet. That’s what I want to buy, but I can’t find what I’m looking for.”
His brows inched higher on his forehead. “Then let me make it.”
“I thought you only upholstered furniture.”
“Honey, you’ve only scratched the surface of what I can do.”
Her tight skin burned. Ever suggestive, always the flirt, he riled her insides until she squirmed on thoughts of the other things he could do. Put it this way, the man had a very talented tongue.
