by Lili Valente
Her eyes fill with understanding. “But they didn’t help?”
“No, they did,” I say, glancing down at our joined hands. “They took me home, arrested my piece of shit dad, and told my mom what she needed to do to get a restraining order. I thought everything was going to be okay. But it turned out my old man had a friend down at the station, a captain he paid off with a cut of his take in exchange for turning a blind eye to the breaking and entering on our side of town.”
“Shit,” Shane says.
“Yeah. It was shit. Dad was free, no charges filed, within a few hours.” My tongue slips out to wet my lips, but they go dry again almost instantly. “Not long after that, he was back home beating the crap out of me. I was pretty sure he broke something, but I didn’t know for sure until an X-ray of my ribs years later. He didn’t take me to the doctor. He locked me in my room and told my mom he would kill me the next time either of us talked to the cops.”
I shake my head. “After that, she was so scared she did whatever he said. She even let me go back to helping him after I healed up. But I never blamed her for it. She had four kids, and my youngest brother was just a baby. He could barely breathe most of the time because of his asthma, and she was just trying to keep us all alive. I know she did the best she could.”
“I would like to kill him for you,” Shane says, the lack of heat in her tone more chilling than if she’d shouted the words. “I know you don’t need that now, but if I could time travel…”
I smile. “Nah, I wouldn’t want you getting your hands dirty. He wasn’t worth it. And he got what was coming to him. He was shot while we were breaking into a house about a year later. The guy almost shot me, too, before he saw that I was a kid. Still, he held me until the police arrived. By the time they got there, Dad was already dead. We buried him right around my eighth birthday.”
“And that’s why you don’t trust the police,” she says gently.
“That was the start of it,” I say with a shrug. “But it was also growing up where I did. Cops that drove through my neighborhood assumed we were all the enemy—every poor, angry, fucked up kid on the streets, even the ones who just wanted to grow up and get out. It didn’t feel like they were there to keep us safe. It felt like it was us against them, except that they had guns and power, and we had nothing.”
Shane presses her lips together, and her brow furrows.
“Go ahead.” I nod. “Say what’s on your mind.”
“I’m not sure what’s on my mind,” she says. “I mean, I can see where you’re coming from, and I’m so sorry those things happened to you and your family. But I keep thinking of Father Patrick, the priest at my school.”
I wince. “Bad priest?”
She shakes her head. “Oh no, the total opposite. He was an angel. After my parents died, he was always there for me, even when I was lashing out and breaking the rules and generally doing my best to get myself kicked out of school. He never judged, or said anything about my parents being in heaven because it was God’s will, or any of the things I hated to hear because they felt like lies. Like these paper-thin bandages laid over a wound so deep that the blood soaked through them in an instant.”
She swallows. “But Father Patrick didn’t preach… He just loved me. He loved me, and every other kid in that school. He never offered any bandages, but he helped me heal all the same. I don’t know if I would have made it through that first year without him.”
“I’m glad,” I say. “Wish there were more like him.”
“But there are,” she says, with complete faith. “For every priest who molests children or makes ugly headlines, there is a Father Patrick quietly working everyday miracles for people who need him.”
I grunt, seeing where she’s headed.
“I’m not claiming to know what it’s like to grow up in the inner city,” she says. “I know I’ve led a privileged life. But I do believe in taking people for who they are. And priests and policemen are people first. That means most of them, on an average day, are somewhere between good and evil, depending on how well they slept the night before and if they’ve had enough coffee.”
My lips twist. “Most people are too lazy to be truly good or truly evil?”
“I think so.” She shrugs in a way that is both frustrated and forgiving at the same time. “Or too distracted or confused, or just so wrapped up in their daily drama that they can’t see the world outside themselves. But you’re right, some people are criminal assholes who abuse their power.”
She tightens her grip on my hand. “But some of them are also heroes, people who are willing to take a bullet for a stranger, or to go without sex forever because the Catholic Church makes crazy rules and then refuses to change them for hundreds of years.”
I smile. “Father Patrick really was a hero.”
“You bet your sweet cock,” she agrees with a straight face. “Can you imagine living your whole life without orgasm-colored glasses?”
“Not since last Saturday.” I draw her into my lap so I can hug all of her at once. I wrap her up in my arms, bury my face in her sweet-smelling hair and promise, “I’ll try.”
“That’s all any of us can do,” she says, kissing my forehead. “Try to believe in the good in people and to be better than the ones who let us down.”
“I aim a little higher than that,” I say, curling my fingers around her thigh. “Being better than my criminal, wife-and-child-beating, piece of shit father is setting the bar pretty low.”
She kisses my cheek. “You’re worth ten of him. A hundred. You’re a good man, Falcone.”
“Even when my stubborn side is showing?”
“Yes.” She straddles my hips, sending fire licking through my body. “Even when you’re stubborn, you’re also patient and thoughtful and sexy as hell.”
“We should probably be done with the serious talk.” I cup her breasts through her tank top, loving the way her nipples tighten at the brush of my thumbs. “I’m suddenly having a difficult time concentrating for some reason.”
“Me, too,” she says, her breath coming faster as she circles her hips, grinding against where I’m hard. “But I have one very important question to ask you first.”
“What’s that, princess?” I pulse against her, fucking her through our clothes.
“Will you do me the honor of getting me fake pregnant tonight, dragon?”
My rhythm falters for a moment, until I realize what she’s saying and relief spreads through my chest. “Really? You sure you’re okay with that? If not, we don’t have to—”
“I’m okay with it. As long as we make sure Keri finds out in a way that won’t attract a lot of attention.”
“I can slip the news to a mutual friend of ours, a woman she works with.”
“Perfect,” Shane says, smiling as she reaches for the bottom of her shirt. “Then I guess the only thing left to do is for you to pretend knock me up.”
Her shirt floats up and over her head, revealing her stunning tits. A moment later, her breasts are in my hands as my tongue plays back and forth between her nipples, licking and sucking and biting until the rock of her hips grows urgent and demanding.
“Yes,” she pants, fingernails scoring the back of my neck. “I want you so much. I want you inside me again. Right now.”
I reach down, shoving my boxers low on my hips, freeing my cock as she slips out of her sleep shorts and panties in record time. A moment later, she’s straddling me again, positioning the head of my cock and sliding down until I’m fisted in her wet heat.
“That’s it,” she sighs, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “That’s what I need.”
“So you want me to fuck a baby into you, princess?” I grip her hips as I thrust even deeper, until my cock butts against the tightness at the end of her.
Mischief flickers in her eyes, and even before she speaks I know she’s going to play along, “Yes, dragon. Take me bare and don’t you dare pull out until it’s too late to do a damned bit of good.”
And so I do.
And I don’t.
And it’s so good I don’t see how anything, anywhere, anytime could be any better.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Shane
The next few days fly by in a haze of happiness, horniness, and pouncing Jake so often that by the time we arrive at our photo shoot on Saturday, it hurts a little to sit down.
I wince as I settle into a makeup chair across from where Jake is getting a quick hair smoothing from the stylist, my expression summoning a knowing grin to his handsome face.
“Hush,” I whisper, narrowing my eyes and pointing a finger at his smirk. “Behave yourself.”
“I’ve been trying to behave,” he says, clearly referring to last night and his unsuccessful attempt to convince me to take a night off from banging like bunnies. “But someone won’t let me.”
“How was I supposed to behave when you’re leaving tonight and I won’t see you for almost an entire week?” I pull my hair back in a low ponytail so the makeup artist can get to my face without any flyaways getting in the way.
We’re set up in a tent warmed by heat lamps near the Cloisters in Central Park, but a chill early November wind still penetrates the cracks in the canvas. It makes me hope we can get the shots Denise wants quickly, before my toes freeze off in the silver kitten heels the stylist selected for the shoot.
“About that,” Jake says, a testing lilt in his voice. “Why don’t you come with me this time?”
I glance up, surprised. “Come with you? To Toronto and Detroit?”
“I won’t be busy the entire time. We’d still have a chance to sightsee. Toronto is home to the Hockey Hall of Fame. You could get a jumpstart on your education.”
I blink innocently. “Are you saying my knowledge of the game is lacking is some way?”
“They have art museums, too,” he says with a laugh, not even bothering to dignify my question with a response. “We could divide our time between art, hockey, and eating pancakes drenched in Canadian maple syrup. And then in Detroit you could hit up the hotel spa and avoid looking outside unless you absolutely have to.”
“Poor Detroit. I hear it’s in the middle of a comeback, you know.” I smile, loving that he wants me to come with him, even though I know I can’t. “I would love to come, but I’ve already RSVP’d for two fundraisers and I’m dog-sitting for Cat while she and her husband visit his family upstate. But next time. I’m a fan of maple syrup and hanging out with you.”
“Next time,” he agrees with a smile. “You’ll definitely have to come to the Ottawa game in January. The canal will be frozen by then. We can go ice-skating. Do the entire ten-mile stretch from downtown to the lake and back.”
“Sounds amazing, though you may have to drag me back to the hotel in a body bag afterward,” I say, earning a snicker from the makeup artist clipping a towel around my neck to protect my dress, a gorgeous silver floor length number that is totally fit for a princess. It’s the perfect foil to Jake’s roughed up tux, a grittier take on the usual men’s evening wear that is completely stunning on him.
“Nah, we’ll have your stamina up by then,” he says with a wink.
I glare at him, but I can’t keep the grin from my face. “You’re bad.”
“That’s one of the things you love about me, right?”
My smile widens. We haven’t said the words yet, but the big “L” is there every night when we come together in the dark and every morning when I wake up with a smile on my face because even while I’m still asleep, some part of me knows I’m in Jake’s arms.
The best arms, the only arms I want to wake up in for a long, long time.
I’m gone on him, so gone that not even a photo shoot can ruin my day. In fact, after the first few moments of awkwardness, I relax into the magic of being with Jake and forget all about the camera clicking away around us. We cuddle in the cloisters, kiss against stone walls covered with ivy, and pose for a Romeo and Juliet shot, my fingers stretching down from a balcony to brush his as he climbs the trellis to reach me.
The morning passes quickly, filled with laughter and lingering kisses and the warm glow of spending time with this man who makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
Before I know it, Lucas, the photographer, calls it a wrap. “You two have amazing chemistry,” he says, walking Jake and I over to the monitor, where Denise and her team have already pulled up a few of their favorite shots. “I’d love to shoot you again. Any time. My treat. Just give my people a call and we can set something up.”
“Thank you so much,” I say as Denise widens her eyes meaningfully behind Lucas’s back, making me think not everyone gets this kind of offer from her most sought after photographer.
I’m cynically thinking that Jake’s star status has something to do with Lucas’s eagerness to photograph us again. But then I get a look at the shots Denise has selected, and my cynicism vanishes in a rush of shock and unexpected delight.
“Oh my God.” My hand flies to cover my mouth as my throat gets tight. “We look so pretty.”
Denise laughs, clearly pleased at seeing me so overcome. “And so in love. These are magic. We may get a cover out of this, you two. I’m going to pitch it hard at the meeting this afternoon.”
“Can we get copies?” Jake asks, sounding as awed as I feel. “I’d love to send one to my mom. She’s been bugging me to send her a shot of Shane.”
Lucas launches into the legal stuff surrounding the images—when we can share them and with whom—but I’m too busy staring at Jake to pay attention.
He wants to send his mom one of these fairytale shots of the two of us looking like a prince and princess on the way to their wedding. He wants to take me with him to his games and be with me all the time, and he’s already been making some noises about the two of us finding a place together eventually. He mentioned it in a joking way, insisting his cock wasn’t enjoying being away from my pussy even for the forty-five minutes it took him to run home and grab a few changes of clothes, but I could see us shacking up together in the future.
The not too distant future, in fact.
It hits me all of a sudden that this might be it. That my first date with Jake might have been my last first date, and that our first kiss might be my last first kiss, and that this might be the man I spend the rest of my life with.
The thought of Jake being mine for the long haul is so intense that the world starts to spin. My upper lip breaks out in a cold sweat, and my stomach pitches, and the next thing I know I’m making a run for the bushes.
I’m sick behind a stabby shrub that scratches the back of my hand as I push its prickly leaves away from my face, while someone from wardrobe makes anxious noises about what I might be getting on my very expensive, very borrowed dress.
But not even puking in public can completely ruin my day. Sure, I’m scared—falling in love for the first time since burying the first man I ever loved is a big deal, and more than enough reason to make anyone lose their breakfast—but I’m also happy.
And grateful.
And determined not to take a minute of my time with Jake for granted.
“You okay, princess?” he asks, his warm hand on my back. Only he could still manage to have toasty hands after spending the entire morning in forty-five degree temperatures.
“Ew, don’t look.” I emerge from the bushes, holding my hands in front of his face. “We haven’t been dating long enough for you to see that.”
“Doesn’t faze me.” His fingers circle my wrists, pulling my hands down to reveal his concerned expression. “Just want to be sure you’re all right.”
“Those oysters last night were a bad idea.” I lay a hand on my still-fluttering stomach. I think it’s nerves more than oysters, but at least my eating habits have given me something to blame.
“That’s why I don’t eat raw food,” he says, brow furrowing. “Next time, are you going to listen when I vote no on the oyster appetizer?”
“You�
��re bossy when you’re concerned,” I say, accepting the glass of water one of the shoot assistants presses into my hand. “It’s sweet.”
“I’m going to get you an appointment to see my doctor.” Jake holds my hand as we start toward the tent. “Hopefully he can get you in before I have to leave for the airport this afternoon.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m fine, really.” I sip my water, swishing it around in my mouth before I swallow. “I feel much better now. Even a little hungry.” I pause, considering the aching, empty feeling just below my ribs. “Starving actually. A Portobello and cheese sandwich and French fries sound like heaven right now. Want to grab lunch before you go home to pack?”
He holds the entrance flap to the tent open, studying my face as I stop in front of him. “Are you sure? I don’t mind going to the doctor. If you’ve got food poisoning, you should get checked out.”
“I really am feeling better. Maybe it was just too much coffee on an empty stomach and all the excitement of realizing you want to send pictures of me to your mother.”
His eyes soften, and a hint of shyness creeps into his expression, making me want to kiss him so much that I silently curse my stomach for making my mouth unfit for human company.
“Yeah, well, you knew I was a mama’s boy going into this, Willoughby,” he says in a falsely gruff voice. “Too late to complain now.”
“I’m not complaining. I’m honored. And I hope I get to meet her soon. I’d like to tell her what an excellent job she did with her oldest son.”
“Got any plans for Thanksgiving?” He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer.
I turn my head away, putting my hands up to act as a shield between us. “No, but you aren’t allowed near my face right now. Not until I brush my teeth.”
“I don’t care if you brush your teeth. You should kiss me and give me your food poisoning. Then I can stay here with you.”
