by Kim Linwood
“Jesus, Montana…”
“Mine,” he growls.
The sparks and spots of white are only just fading from my first orgasm, when his rough hand slides across my ass and into the cleft between my cheeks. “What are you—oh!”
With the tip of a finger, he teases my tiny hole, making strange ripples of pleasure surge through my core and wind up to my aching breasts. Slowly, gently, he presses, and my skin is so slick that there’s very little resistance. His shirt rubs against my hardened nipples, and his cock fills me completely, but it’s not until he starts to play with my ass that I really lose it.
I come again, clawing at him like an animal as I buck in his arms. I’m squeezing him so tight he can barely move while I ride out my second orgasm, pressing against him and capturing his shoulder between my teeth to keep from screaming. Shudder after shudder ratchets through me before I finally relax, able to breathe again. As if that’s his cue, he renews his assault, thrusting hard enough to make the wall creak, until he groans and pulses inside as he joins me in release.
Long moments pass, both of us riding out the post-orgasm glow, until I finally open my eyes to look at him.
“Montana?” I murmur.
“Yeah?”
“Aren’t I getting heavy?”
He laughs, his body shaking against mine. “I expect it’ll get harder in a few months, but for now I’m good.”
Gently, he lowers me back to the ground, where I nearly fall over as my legs turn to jelly. It’s good I’ve got his strong arms to hold onto until I can stand by my own power. I start to straighten my dress, but Montana grabs my hands and stops me. Getting on his knees in front of me, he lifts my skirt to reveal my stomach. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he leans in and kisses my still unmarked skin.
“Sorry about the earthquake, kid, but your mom’s a bit of a wildcat.”
I flush. “Don’t listen to your father. He’s a perv.”
We look at each other, and even though my feet are flat on the ground, it’s like I’m hurtling out of a plane with no idea whether my parachute works or not.
Mom.
Dad.
A baby.
It’s wonderful and terrifying at the same time.
“I’ll make this work,” he promises.
I can see he means every word, but it’s hard to silence my fears. “How can you be so sure?”
Montana’s jaw goes hard, and the hand that was resting lightly against my thigh suddenly tightens. “Because I refuse to let you down. We’re going to find a way to make this work.”
28
Andrea
It only takes one look from Evie before she bursts out laughing. “And I thought our neighbor back home was bad. You put her to shame.”
My flush probably goes from head to toe. Thank God I’m not as pale as Evie, or I’d look like a tomato. “Way to be discreet.”
“Discreet?” She tips her head and fixes me with an incredulous stare. “With you two out there hammering an addition onto the house? Good luck with that.”
Montana stands close, idly stroking the side of my arm. “Did anyone notice us missing?” Typical guy, not at all bothered by my roommate’s teasing.
She shakes her head. “Nah, the Dragon ran off to her cave, and I don’t think her da’s home.”
He leans down, his fingers tracing over my collarbone as he brushes a lock of hair off my shoulder. “You should go get cleaned up before we run into someone who wonders why you look like you just ran a mile in a dress and heels. Though I have to admit, I like it.”
My hands fly to my hair, trying in vain to smooth it down. “Crap. If I take another shower in this weather I’m going to look like a home perm gone bad.”
“How about I volunteer to hold your hair out of the way?” he whispers.
Him, me, warm running water, soap suds…
My thoughts must be written all over my face, because both Evie and Montana laugh. I give them my stoniest glare, turn on my heel, and leave them both behind so I can go regain what little is left of my dignity.
Behind me, Montana thanks Evie for playing lookout, before his heavy footsteps come my way.
As my foot hits the first stair, one of my least favorite voices calls out from the sitting room. “Andrea!” What, did Mom booby trap the stairs to alert her?
When I don’t appear instantly, she comes to find me, her heels drumming against the hardwood floors. As she storms around the corner, she stops abruptly so we don’t collide. “Well, why didn’t you answer?”
“I was talking to Evie.” I feel more than hear it as Montana catches up behind me.
“You.” My mother’s eyes narrow as she looks past my shoulder. “She doesn’t need protecting from her mother. Go lurk somewhere else.”
He doesn’t move. It might be less trouble for all of us if he did go, but having his solid presence behind me is a much needed bit of support so I’m not going to complain. Their brief staring match ends in a draw when Mom snaps her gaze back to me. Either she decided he isn’t worth her time, or she’s unwilling to lose face by admitting he is.
I cock my head. “Did you need something? Or were you just measuring my response time?”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’ve taken care of most of the details for the wedding, but we need to find a time for the photographer to come and take a picture of you and Marco. Your schedule is not an issue, but he will likely have things to work around so I suggest getting in touch. You’re going to have to talk to him sooner or later.”
“Not an issue?” My hackles go up at having my time dismissed like a child’s. Told what to do and when to do it.
What is it about this one offhand comment that has me ready to burst? Maybe hormones, or maybe it’s just the last straw.
I look her straight in the eyes. Her expression tightens in response, ready for a fight. The same height. The same hair. The same wide mouth and big brown eyes. For as much as we would both love to deny it, I am my mother’s daughter, and DiFiero women are not known to be pushovers.
“Unless you have somewhere important to be?” she asks coolly. “Some closet to hide in so you can cry about how unfair it is to finally have to give back to the perfect life we’ve given you? Maybe their goon,” she nods at Montana, “can stand outside, making sure the real world doesn’t sneak in while you aren’t ready.”
Montana’s hand moves to the small of my back. Support, or a warning?
I’m not sure, and I don’t give a fuck. I snarl, “Better him than my so-called fiancé. A man I barely know! Did you expect me to just go along with all this?”
Her smile is anything but friendly. “If I did, do you think I’d’ve made your father promise to keep it from you until the last minute? No. But now that you’re here, I expect you to do your duty, and that is Marco Caporossi.”
“Doing Marc is my duty?” I snort and shake my head in disgust. “At least you’re being honest.”
“Don’t be crude.” Her face looks like she just bit into a lemon.
“Maybe—” Montana breaks in, only to be cut down by my mother.
“You stay quiet. This doesn’t concern you.”
“Don’t speak to him like that,” I bite out. My heart is pounding and I feel a little lightheaded. The world narrows to just the feeling of Montana’s hand, letting me know he’s not going anywhere.
Something in my mother’s expression changes, going from angry, to just plain ugly. “Don’t tell me you’re getting attached. You think he’s on your side? He’s a Caporossi.” She practically spits out the name. “The only reason he’s here is to make sure we’re keeping our side of the bargain. Taking care of you is his job.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I object. As soon as the words leave my mouth I know I screwed up, but the damage is already done. She’s suspicious.
“Oh, God. You are, aren’t you? You have a crush on this… nobody.” She flicks her red-tipped fingers dismissively at
Montana.
I want to blurt out everything and wipe that smug look off her face but it’s not just my reputation on the line, it could be Montana’s life. “It’s not like that. I… I have a boyfriend back at school.”
“Andrea. Look at me when I say this. I. Don’t. Care. This little tantrum of yours? It ends here. The sooner you get it through your head that this wedding is happening, the happier everyone will be.”
“Happier?” I look straight into her face and laugh. Not a sad little laugh, but one that takes my breath away and leaves me gasping for air. This whole farce suddenly seems hilariously pointless.
She looks at me in confusion. Apparently debilitating laughter wasn’t on the list of responses she was expecting. “What’re you—”
I take a step, putting us nose to nose. “What part of this was about making anyone happy? Nobody here is happy. If you make me do this, it won’t do anything but kill any loyalty I have towards this family. But hey, that won’t matter anyway, will it? Because I’ll be a Caporossi.”
“Go to your room!” She shrieks, pointing up the stairs.
“I’m twenty-two. That doesn’t work anymore.”
“I’ll call Franco and—”
“Oh, bringing in my handler? That won’t help either. Nothing you do or say will make me go along with this. Nothing.”
She slaps me.
I lunge at my own mother, only to get yanked back by an arm around my waist. “Let me go! If you knew—”
“I’ll back you up, whatever you decide,” Montana says quietly into my ear. “But don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
I struggle against his hold, though I’m not sure I want him to let go. I’m at my limit, but knowing he’ll back me up if I spill our secret helps me to reclaim enough calm not to scream it out at her.
“If I knew what?”
“How much I hate you right now,” I spit at her.
“Enough!” My father’s voice booms off of the high ceiling. “You’re behaving like children.” He cuts a dark look at Montana, who slowly lets go of me and takes a step back.
Mother’s expression stills and her skin blanches. “Andrea was—”
He ignores her, addressing Montana instead. “Leave.”
A vein ticks on the side of Montana’s neck. “I can’t do that.”
Dad tips his head, acknowledging Montana’s problem. “Your dedication is admirable. I’ll make sure it’s known this wasn’t your choice. This is a family problem. You aren’t family.”
Montana’s eyes flick to me, and I give a slight nod. He doesn’t look happy about this. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I can’t give you longer than that.”
My father smiles. “I won’t need it.”
29
Montana
The sudden vibration of my cell phone jerks me awake. I sit up too fast, knocking my head on the armrest of the car door. Fuck. Seeing stars, I twist myself upright. My deadened arm doesn’t keep up and slams into the rail underneath the passenger seat. From the sound of it, it was a solid hit, but I can’t feel anything below my shoulder other than a vague tingling. My phone slips out of my slack fingers.
I don’t care how many suitcases you’re supposed to be able to fit in the back of this SUV. The backseat was not designed for sleeping anyone well over six feet.
Fucking hell.
The phone vibrates again, from under the passenger’s seat. With a groan, I reach underneath with my working hand, trying to find it. It’s still dark out, and I’m parked away from the lights, so I have no idea what I’m doing. I jerk as I stab my finger on something sharp, before finally finding my phone again. Marc’s name flashes on the display.
Half asleep, I tap to grumble an answer, my voice spitting gravel. “If you want to shoot me, can you give me a minute? I’ve got to piss and I’d like to retain at least one shred of my dignity.”
“Mont—What?”
I run a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my eyes, and yawn. “What do you want?”
“Dad’s still behind bars, and word is Tony DiFiero got picked up last night while checking on some stuff at Agatina's.”
“Wait, isn’t he the priest? What the fuck did he do?”
“Yeah, beats me. But the Feds are on the prowl, either way.”
“Shit. What can I do?” I get out of the car, still sluggish from a night in the cold, but waking up fast.
“You can tell the DiFieros we’re out of time. I want Andrea brought over to the house so we can get this mess sorted face to face, and the wedding done by the end of the week.”
That’s enough to wake me up.
I knew they wanted to move fast, but not like this. The memory of Andrea facing off with her mother nags at me. It’s only a matter of time before our secret is out. If the DiFieros heard about Giuseppe—and now Tony—they might want to reconsider the wedding, or agree with my brother and speed everything up.
What went on in that house last night? I hate not knowing, and worse, not being close enough to help if she needs it. Not that I went far, as my painfully tingling arm can attest to.
“You sure you still want to go through with this?” I ask.
Marc snorts. “Fuck, no, but I want it behind me. Maybe then we can sit down and have a fucking conversation with those assholes without watching our backs.”
“I get that.” Exactly how I feel about keeping the baby a secret, but I’m sure as hell not going to drop that bomb over the phone. “Look, I’ll talk to DiFiero and get back to you.” A cat dashes across the road, and a car passing by lays on the horn.
“Where the fuck are you?”
Shit. I should be in the house at this hour. Instead I’m freezing my balls off around the corner after spending the night in my car, just in case Andrea would need me. “Went out for coffee.”
“They don’t got coffee?” he asks incredulously.
“So I wanted a donut. Is that a crime?”
“Fucking sweet tooth. Sounds like Dad. Sure you’re not his?”
Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure, you little cock-knuckle.
He laughs at my silence.
“I’ll call you back in an hour.” I hang up.
The car starts unhappily after a cold night, cylinders firing in a series of dry heaves before the engine settles. I crank the heated seat to max with a shiver.
There’s no way in hell I’m delivering Andrea into Marc’s hands. Getting her out of her house, though, that’s sounding like a better and better idea. Her mom’s a fucking nightmare, but old man DiFiero will be the one to lay down the law. Andrea might actually listen to him. Love goes farther than threats.
Sorry kid, your selection of grandparents isn’t exactly ideal.
Fuck, that’s a weird thought. I could spend hours thinking about that, but I push it away for now, instead giving Andrea a call to let her know I’m on my way. It takes a couple of rings, but then her groggy, sexy voice is in my ear. “ ‘Ello?”
It’s good to hear her. “Morning, princess. Sleep well?”
She yawns. “Not really.”
The sound of sheets shifting around conjures up the mental image of her nearly naked body wrapped up in those same sheets. Almost worse is the way her sleepy voice settles a part of me that’s been on edge since I walked out their door yesterday.
“I just got a call from Squirt.”
“Squirt?” She yawns again.
“Marc. He wants to have a chat about the wedding.”
Andrea grunts unhappily. “Tell him I’m grounded and I can’t come out to play. Then you can sneak into my room and we can make out with the door closed so my parents don’t find out.” Andrea sighs, and in the background there’s the click of a light going on.
“If I was sixteen, I’d be all over that.”
“If you were sixteen, I’d be… nine.”
“Stop making me feel old.”
“You are old, Daddy.” She laughs softly into the phone, making me smile.
“Yeah, well I�
�ll also be there in about fifteen minutes, so get ready to go. I want to put an end to this, and I want you as far away from your family as possible when we do it.”
“What about yours?” she asks, all trace of humor gone.
“I’ll deal with it. You are my family now, the one that matters. You and the baby. I’ll deal with the extended family.” I pull the car out onto the road. “I’m on my way so I’ve gotta hang up. Trust me.”
Just barely peeking over the housetops, the sun puts a dim, orange glow on the chilly morning by the time I pull into their drive. Most of the house is dark, but there’s a light on in Andrea’s room, and a few windows glow faintly downstairs.
Franco opens the door. His eyes are bloodshot, and two days’ worth of five o'clock shadow clings his jaw. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Didn’t you hear? I got temporarily evicted last night.” I drop a white paper box wrapped in string into his hands, and force him to step back so I can get inside. “Andrea up yet? Marco wants a meeting this morning.”
“I’ll go check.” He looks like he wants to tear into me, but also beat as hell.
If what Marc said is true, it wouldn’t surprise me if Franco and Emilio were up last night dealing with the fallout from their man’s arrest.
Good thing I brought donuts.
30
Andrea
Twist, twist, flip, and my hair’s neatly put up in a towel. I totally needed that shower. Finally, my brain is coming to life. Another hour or so, and I might just be awake.
Turning my side to the bathroom mirror, I run a hand over my stomach. Is my belly starting to bulge just a tiny bit? Or am I just eating more again now that I don’t feel queasy all the time?
Do I want it to?
How can something I can’t see or feel cause so much trouble?
I pull on my favorite fuzzy, green robe and leave the steamy warmth of the bathroom. Goosebumps tingle on my skin as the cool, dry air of my bedroom hits me. It’s tempting to dive right back under my covers, but I don’t have time for that.
