SEAN: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 3)

by Glenna Sinclair

  “I talked to Justin this morning, actually,” Jason said, looking down at me and brushing a curl out of my face.

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s an opening in the accounting department of Brooks Oil.”

  I could feel the tension slicing through me. I sat up a little straighter, my eyes falling to the skirt of my too tight, red dress.

  “I thought we agreed it would be better if I worked out my employment issues on my own.”

  “It’s my fault you got fired.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “But we also agreed that it was better if I didn’t work for you, considering our relationship.”

  “Yes, but you wouldn’t be working for me.”

  “No, I’d be working for your brother and your father. How is that better?”

  “I’m trying to help, Joanne.”

  I looked up at him, feeling a little bad for being so cross. I squeezed his hand lightly.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “Why do you call me Joanne? Everyone else calls me Joey.”

  “I know. It just…it seems to fit you better.”

  I shook my head. “Not really. I don’t feel like a Joanne. A Joanne is someone who goes to these kinds of parties on a daily basis, someone who has a fancy car and a busy cellphone and a life that’s much more than mine. I’m just Joey, just a waitress in a bar.”

  “You underestimate yourself, my love.”

  I started to shake my head again, but he caught my jaw to stop me. “You have no idea how much potential you have.”

  “Potential, maybe. But I’ll never be a Joanne.”

  “Okay,” he said softly. He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Then you’re Joey.”

  We arrived at the party a few minutes later. Jason stepped out of the car and reached back inside for my hand. Like the last party we attended, there were reporters trying to get pictures and ask questions. Jason ignored most of them, holding tight to my hand as we made our way inside the restaurant. I felt a little like a fish out of water as he introduced me to the dozens of people milling around the dining room, waiting for the service staff to seat everyone. There were people from all walks of life there, from a group of lawyers to a minor congressman to an actress I recognized from a movie Jason and I had watched on pay-per-view a couple of weeks ago.

  Why was I here?

  That question kept spinning around in my head as I smiled and tried to ignore the fact that all these supposedly sophisticated, worldly men were staring right at my breasts.

  Justin and Sara walked in just moments before dinner was about to be served. Relief washed through me as Sara greeted me enthusiastically, grabbing my hands and kissing my cheeks as if we’d known each other for years instead of having just met twice, weeks ago.

  “How are you?” she asked, her eyes moving slowly over me as though she really cared and she was looking to make sure there were no signs of distress.

  “Good,” I said.

  “You don’t have to lie to me. I know how these things can be.”

  “It is a little intimidating.”

  She smiled. “I remember the first few of these things Justin brought me to. I was so afraid of making a fool of myself that I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. But you get used to it after a while.”

  I nodded, wondering if I really wanted to get used to it. Wondering if I would have a chance to get used to it.

  And then Jason was beside me, his hand sliding over the small of my back.

  “Don’t make her any more nervous than she already is,” he said to Sara. “She’s not an old pro like you.”

  “No. She’s a natural,” Sara said, patting my arm lightly.

  We moved over to the tables. I was a little shocked to find myself seated next to the congressman. He smiled quite brightly when I took my seat, his eyes moving quickly from my face to my chest. I wanted to tug at my bodice, trying to lift it a little. As it was, every time I drew in a breath, my breasts looked like they were going to burst through the dress like the Hulk did through his clothes when he hulked out.

  Jason leaned close and kissed my temple, then turned away to engage with the woman on his right. I wanted to scream, Don’t leave me alone! But, of course, I didn’t. Sara and Justin were directly across from me. She smiled, lifting her chin a little to offer a little courage.

  “You’re in accounting, correct?” the congressman asked.

  “I am.”

  “Didn’t I read somewhere that you work for Jason’s company?”

  “I did. But not anymore.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. Should I tell him that my former supervisor fired me because she thought it would impress Jason, only to discover that he’d intended to fire her all along? Or should I give him the cover story I’d been telling all my perspective new employers—that the company had chosen to let almost everyone go in favor of reorganizing the department? That was sort of the truth, too. Jason did hire all new executive-level and supervisory-level employees for not only the accounting department, but for the creative department and for human resources, too. So I could say that. But I was afraid it would just lead to more questions.

  “I just thought I should go in a different direction,” I said, cringing as the words slipped from my lips.

  His eyebrows rose, but he didn’t pursue the idea. Instead, he leaned close and said, “My wife worked for me once upon a time. It can be complicated.”

  “Your wife?” I hadn’t realized he was married. He seemed to be here alone.

  “Well, ex-wife,” he said with a flirty smile. “She was my secretary.”

  And then my stomach clenched just as they set the first course in front of me: a lovely salad with big, beautiful strawberries.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be. She’s not sorry. She got more than half.” He laughed, and I wanted to crawl into a hole.

  I hate guys who talk about their exes like that. There must have been something good about his wife once. He married her, didn’t he? He must have loved her then.

  I always wondered how a relationship can go from love, from tears at an altar, to bitterness and a division of assets. Everyone says that you base your understanding of marriage on your parents’ marriage. My parents have been married for twenty-five years. Not always happily, but mostly. I can’t imagine my parents ever talking about each other the way this guy was talking about his ex-wife, but I supposed I wasn’t aware of every conversation they’d ever had. But…I couldn’t imagine ever getting married to someone I couldn’t see myself with when I’m eighty and can’t get out of the proverbial rocking chair without his help.

  “You and Jason serious?”

  I glanced at him. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Rumor has it that I have a fiancée. But I like to keep my options open.” He dropped a heavy wink. “You know how it is.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said.

  Sara was watching me. But, again, a lot of people at this table were watching me. I suddenly felt like I was under a microscope. I picked up my fork and played with the fruit on my salad, trying to work up the appetite to have a taste. My stomach, however, had other plans.

  Jason touched my knee, offering a little squeeze even though he never really looked at me. He was staring at the woman beside him as though whatever it was she was saying was the most interesting thing in the world.

  “Your boyfriend contacted my office and said that this thing, this community center the foundation supports, is the backbone of the community. He said that if it is allowed to go under, it will impact thousands of families.”

  “It is important,” I said. “It provides a place for children to go after school while their parents work. It also offers classes that parents can take to help them improve their careers. And it offers tutoring to children and helps teenagers find jobs. It ev
en has a program that will help kids find scholarships when they’re ready to go to college.”

  “I know all that. What I’m wondering is, why have there been so many fundraisers for it lately?”

  “The fundraisers aren’t just for the community center. They’re for all the good works the foundation does.”

  “That’s not what your boyfriend implied.”

  I felt a little cornered. Jason didn’t let me in on all the details of the foundation’s work. We talked about it sometimes, but only in the context of what Jason did during the day. I was here as his escort, not to encourage donations or whatever. But it seemed like the congressman was phishing for something, and I didn’t know what I should or should not say.

  I glanced at Jason, but he was still deep in conversation with whoever that blonde woman on his other side was. And Sara…she was watching me, but she was busy with her own conversation, too. I was so ill-prepared for this. I spent my days baking cakes and my nights carrying beers to drunk cowboys. I wasn’t cut out for entertaining politicians.

  “I hear Washington, DC is beautiful this time of year,” I said in a lame attempt to change the subject.

  The congressman’s eyebrows rose. “Are you trying to change the subject, Ms. Forman?”

  I shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not quite up on everything that goes on at the foundation. I know they try to do good works, but I don’t know the details of those. And I have no idea what Jason might have said to you on the phone, so I feel a little more comfortable talking about the weather.” I glanced at him, catching a look of surprise in his eyes. “I’m sure you understand.”

  Once again his eyes traveled over the tightness of my bodice.

  “I understand better than you might think. I just wish I was lucky enough to be the guy who’s escorting you home tonight.”

  I blushed, but I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips. It was sexist, his comment. But it was a little flattering, too. Was that stupid of me? Was I really that bad at this sort of thing? Or was I really that good at it?

  I wasn’t sure. I just settled back and counted the moments until the night was over.

  Chapter 26

  Jason

  I watched her sleep, my fingers dancing lightly on the lines that were still visible on her back from the tight bodice of her dress. I wanted to wake her, but I so loved to watch her sleep, too. When she was awake, there was a certain tension in her expression that was missing when she was asleep. And I so loved when the tension was gone; I loved the way her eyes were soften by the absence of the tense lines that drew them out, loved the way her lips seemed fuller, and the way her jaw seemed slightly longer.

  She was beautiful either way. But this was the image that came to mind when I was sitting in a particularly tedious meeting and I needed a little inspiration.

  I pushed a piece of hair away from her cheek and ran my lips slowly over her forehead. She moaned, her shoulders shifting. I kissed her again, and she moaned, rolling toward me. She was naked, her full breasts uncovered by the sheet we’d pulled over ourselves when we fell into bed last night. The dinner party ran late, and we were both exhausted by the time we got to her place. I’d been so looking forward to touching her, but she was asleep before her head even hit the pillow. It felt like I’d been watching her all night, waiting for this moment.

  She pressed her lips to my throat, her tongue barely touching me, sending shivers across my oversensitive nerves. I slid my hand down her back, over her hip, my fingers searching for places I knew would drive her crazy with a simple bit of pressure. But she didn’t want to give me that kind of control. She pushed me back against the mattress and straddled me, her hands pinning my wrists to the bed as she nibbled at my throat. I lay still for a minute, watched her body move, and lost myself in the heat of her ass rubbing against my hard cock. I wanted to touch her; I wanted to see what was under the veil of her hair. But I wanted to lay there and watch her, watch her pleasure herself the way she wanted. It was such a conundrum.

  Her lips moved slowly over my chest, her tongue teasing my nipples before she moved to this spot on my ribs that she knew would make it impossible for me to sit still. I bit my lip, but when I saw the smile on her lips, it broke me.

  I grabbed her hips and lifted her, pushing her back just enough. No matter how many times I’ve made love to her in the past, I would never get used to this feeling, the feeling that came in the instant I slid inside of her. It was so much better than anything I’ve known before her. It was like the first time every time, but it was like coming home after a long absence. It was familiar, but it was different each time, too. There simply weren’t words to describe it. But I loved it, and I wanted it again and again and again…

  She bent low and kissed me, the sourness of sleep disappearing and becoming that familiar taste that was just her. Just Joanne. I twisted my fingers in her hair and tugged her head over, pulling her down and into just the right position. And then I swallowed her up the same way she swallowed me.

  She moved slowly against me, rolling her hips so that I touched everything inside of her that made her nerves jump and shiver, that made a moan slip from between her lips, filling me with more need, more desire. I held on for as long as I could, but I eventually had to roll her over; I had to pin her against the mattress and ride the waves that refused to be ignored. She cried out, and I swallowed those, too, the sounds that our mutual passion gave voice to.

  And then the end came, and my vision darkened a little around the edges. She wrapped her legs hard around my waist as she bit down on my shoulder. The pain and the pleasure mixed together until I couldn’t tell which was which. And then my arms gave out, and I collapsed onto the mattress beside her, pulling her with me onto our sides.

  “My God!” I hissed against her temple.

  “I could get used to this,” she said, as she ran her hand slowly up my chest.

  “I certainly hope so.”

  She kissed my shoulder on the spot where she bit me. The pain had changed, growing a little more intense and less pleasurable. She ran her finger over the outer rim of the mark.

  “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “Don’t worry about it. It was well worth it.”

  She smiled, a little blush darkening her cheeks. “I don’t know why you keep coming around here.”

  “I can think of a few reasons,” I said, as I tweaked one of her full, erect nipples.

  She groaned, but then she snuggled up against me, nestling her head against my shoulder. We lay like that for a few minutes, both of us lost in thought. Her fingers kept dancing over my ribs, drawing circles around my tattoo. She seemed fascinated with it, but—with the exception of our first time together—she’d never asked what it meant. I’d waited and came up with several really good stories. But the more time passed, the more I wondered if she would ever ask.

  It was actually a very simple story and not nearly as exciting as I’m sure she imagined it to be.

  I touched her jaw lightly and drew her mouth up to mine. We kissed slowly, this long, lingering kiss.

  “Are you ever going to ask?”

  She studied my face a second, her brown eyes beautiful in the dim light of her bedroom. She opened her mouth to speak, but Rosie—dear, sweet Rosie who had timing like a bad karma—burst through the door.

  “Have you seen this?” she demanded, holding out her cellphone. “Have you read what they’re saying about you?”

  “Rosie…”

  Joanne sat up carefully, tucking the sheet around her chest and my waist at the same time. I sat up, too, using my body to kind of block what the sheet didn’t cover.

  “It’s ridiculous,” Rosie announced. “The things they write on this blog…I always thought it was funny. But when they call my sister a slut—”

  “Excuse me?” I demanded.

  Rosie focused on me, her eyes filled with something that was very close to hatred.

  “It’s your fault, you know,” she said. “If it weren’t fo
r you, they’d have no reason to even care about my sister.”

  “That’s not fair, Rosie,” Joanne said.

  I knew Rosie was right. I’d done what I could to keep the press from Joanne, but there was only so much my stable of lawyers and I could do. And, clearly, it hadn’t been enough.

  “Can I see it?” I asked Rosie.

  She came over and sat on the bed beside me as she handed over the phone. The article was on a blog called, Dear Elizabeth. Multiple stories about Joanne—sorry, Joey…I keep forgetting she asked me to call her Joey—had appeared there almost from the beginning of our relationship. But none had been quite as vicious as this one.

  Joey Forman showed up at The Wallach Foundation dinner last night in a dress that appeared to be several sizes too small, which was likely part of the reason why Jason Brooks was smiling as they walked into the restaurant. However, during dinner, Joey spent most of the evening leaning over and showing off her assets to Congressman Louis Todd. If that’s how Brooks plans on enticing philanthropists to hand over their hard-earned money to the foundation, he might want to keep a tight leash on the woman in his life, or he might find her in a bed that doesn’t belong to him or his generous family.

  “Wow,” I said. There were no other words.

  “Yeah,” Rosie agreed.

  Joanne—Joey—was leaning over my shoulder, reading too. I handed the phone back to Rosie without checking to see if she was done. I was kind of hoping she hadn’t read the entire thing. She already didn’t like going to Wallach Foundation events with me. This would only add fuel to her discomfort.

  “I’ll call my lawyers.”

  “Like before?” Rosie asked. “Is that all you rich guys know how to do?”

  “I know you’re upset—”

  “Upset? This is my sister! They’re dragging her name through the gutter just to satisfy some need to spread gossip!” Rosie climbed off the bed and began to pace the length of the room, as if Joey and I weren’t sitting there naked and totally exposed. “You keep promising to make it stop but—”

  “I can’t really go around the law, Rosie. You know, the whole freedom of speech thing…”