This Life 1

by Cara Dee

  “Hi!” she said. “I’m running errands.”

  “As you do in pajamas.” I chuckled and dropped a kiss to her hair, which…smelled incredibly fucking good. Better than usual. Damn. “You did something here.”

  “Yes.” She straightened, and her smile grew larger. She donned the worst Southern accent and said, “I got mah hair did.” The girl drew a laugh from me that echoed off the marbled walls. “Olivier’s husband did it. He cut, like, six or seven inches, layered it, and then he gave me highlights.” With her hair in its usual untidy bun at the top of her head, it was difficult to see its new length. As for highlights…okay, yeah, maybe…? I thought she’d had them before. “Anyway,” she went on, “Gavin asked me to pass along a love note—”

  “It’s not a love note,” Olivier argued. I was quickly losing interest in this part. “It’s an apology for shrinking my favorite shirt.”

  “Whatever, dude. All he did was talk about you during my appointment,” Emilia told him. “He’s so precious.”

  I checked my watch. Emilia had started cooking these past few weeks, and I was starving. For claiming she was only half decent at it, she’d quickly gotten me hooked on her food. Furthermore, cake tasting topped standing around for this shit.

  “I think the hubby’s impatient,” Olivier stage-whispered.

  I smiled politely.

  Emilia snorted. “It’s past five. He’s approaching hangry mode.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  “Lastly,” she said, “I came down here to get the mail, and you have a delivery I can’t sign for.”

  “All right.” I stepped closer to the desk, and Olivier jumped into action to get me a relatively small box. From Chicago. Interesting. I signed for it.

  Probably sensing my mood, Emilia wrapped up their chitchat, and we headed for the elevators.

  I was gonna have to work on my patience at some point. I did often come home grumpy as fuck, and her face being covered in paste so I couldn’t kiss her silly wasn’t improving the situation.

  On the way up, I began opening the box from Chicago. “So I know you don’t really wanna be near your old neck of the woods, but would you mind spending the weekend at the house?”

  “Need a break?” she guessed. I nodded once. “No, of course. We can do that. We’ll be there next Thursday anyway.”

  “Oh?” I dug through some packing material and found an envelope. I recognized Aunt Anne’s elegant handwriting, so this must be the engagement present from her and Uncle John.

  “Grace, Sarah, and I finished planning the engagement party slash bachelor and bachelorette parties,” Emilia explained. “If we do it out there, we’ll have more space to be separated without driving back and forth to meet up again.”

  That was a good idea, actually. We were already pushing it with two weddings, two packed churches, the first one a little over a month away. Friends and family had to show up, and associates didn’t dare decline. So to save everyone time, we’d decided to do it up big for one weekend, including our stag nights. I’d stayed out of it, assuming we’d celebrate in the city, but this was good.

  “When’s the engagement party?” I asked, scanning my aunt’s note. I smirked a little. The felicitations were sweet, and the gifts were a way of showing how loaded they were. Blah. Now I’d have to come up with a new wedding gift for Emilia.

  “Friday,” Emilia replied. “Bachelor and bachelorette shenanigans on Saturday, and you can’t get too drunk during the day.”

  I lifted a brow at her, and the elevator stopped. “Uh, why?”

  “Because Grace rented us that pub for the night. The one your friend Mick owns?” That was here in the city. “A car service will take us back to Philly after dinner, and then we’ll have a wild pub night together.” She finished with a proud grin, and fuck me, maybe I did love her. No—fuck. Too soon. Not according to my plan. God-fucking-dammit. “We’re talking all the stout you can drink, live music, dancing, and a pub quiz.”

  That sounded fantastic to me. I couldn’t picture a better stag night, and I knew the activities Pop was planning for us during the day wouldn’t exactly blow our minds. Pat and I were betting on golf or whiskey tasting.

  “My mother would never plan a pub night,” I said, ushering her out of the elevator. “Did you do this?”

  “Yes, I did. Pat me on the head.”

  I chuckled and patted her on the head. “You rock, baby.” As we entered our place, I handed her the box. “By the way, Uncle John sends his best, and he’s giving you a car.”

  I shrugged out of my suit jacket and loosened my tie. Behind me, Emilia was spluttering something. I was more focused on the two cake boxes on the kitchen table. Fuckin’ A. My day was already looking better.

  “Oh my God… Finnegan! Listen to this, ‘…and we can’t wait to welcome you into our family with open arms, Emilia. Until then, please enjoy our gift to you.’ And there’s a key in here!”

  I knew that. I’d just read the note. My uncle and his wife were giving her the latest Porsche Cayenne.

  “I can’t accept this. This is mental.” She gave me a nearly horrified look. “That’s too much money.”

  She was too fucking cute. Emilia and Sarah were like sisters, yet they couldn’t be more different where money was concerned. Emilia didn’t shy away from everyday purchases anymore, though she gave herself the biggest guilt trips if something was over a few hundred bucks. And it was stupid, ’cause she mostly bought shit for us. Not a whole lot was for herself, aside from some clothes and beauty treatments.

  It was a good thing my parents were paying for the wedding. Ma was making a conscious effort never to show Emilia any price tags.

  “You can and you will,” I told her. “What do you wanna do for dinner?”

  “I, uh…” She was flustered about the car. “I’m sorry, I had a full day. Can we order in? Christ, how do I thank someone for a friggin’ luxury car?”

  “We’ll send them thank-you notes, I reckon…” I aimed for the kitchen where we had our takeout menus.

  “Wait, what’s this about a charter jet?” She held up the note.

  “The engagement gift for both of us,” I replied. “They’ll charter a plane for us when we go on our honeymoon.”

  “Mental!” she repeated.

  It wasn’t, really. She understandably thought it involved a ton of cash. In reality, John would call in a few favors. He had his hands in a lot of pockets in Chicago, and he was part owner in a company that rented out private jets. Given how paranoid my uncle was, it was his preferred way to travel.

  “Right. You wanna do pizza?”

  “Sure. Sorry I didn’t make any—”

  “Shut your mouth. You’re not obligated to cook for me, princess. I’m just spoiled.” Most of all, I wanted that paste off her face and then some couch time. I was wound up tight and had a short fuse. “How long’s that face mask gonna be in my way?”

  She joined me in the kitchen and puckered her lips. Great, she gave me a small peck. “Five more minutes. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll order us more than one pie.” At least she’d learned from the night she’d gotten us only one.

  No one fucking shared a pizza.

  The hot shower that was supposed to reenergize me only made me sleepy. I wrapped a towel around my hips and left the bathroom, and I yawned as I entered our closet. After I grabbed a pair of sweats, the bed looked too inviting. I slumped down on the foot of it, and a beat later, I fell back against the mattress. Now we’re talking. My stomach growled in hunger, and if the pizza didn’t arrive soon, I’d start with dessert.

  “You out, hon?” Emilia called.

  “Yeah.” I scrubbed my hands over my face and yawned again. My eyes refused to stay open.

  The quietest thuds of her bare feet let me know she was climbing the stairs.

  “Long day?” she asked softly.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Not longer than usual, just…not the same either. I was difficult that way. It was almost impossi
ble to find a balance. Either I was stressed out and irritable, or I was bored and restless. “When will the pizza be here?”

  “Hmm, should be about ten minutes now.” The bed dipped with her knees landing on the mattress, and she placed a kiss on my stomach. “Want me to make you feel better?”

  God yes.

  “You never have to ask,” I chuckled tiredly. My blood started pumping immediately, and I released a long breath as she ghosted more kisses along my abs. Farther down… She loosened the towel around me. “Fuck…” I kept my eyes closed and breathed deeply while she stroked my thighs, slowly inching toward my cock.

  Having these past few weeks to explore each other most nights had awakened something in me. I thirsted for her. I could kiss her for hours and roll around in bed with her until—holy fuck.

  “Emilia.” I almost choked on my tongue, and my eyes couldn’t fly open fast enough. Lifting my head, I stared at her in disbelief. Her soft, perfect lips wrapped around the head of my cock was new. I groaned and let my head fall back again, and I fisted my hair. Her tongue swirled around me. She took me deeper as I quickly grew hard. “Goddamn…”

  I had to see. No matter how much I wanted to just let go and focus on feeling this, I had to watch. My mouth went dry. Part of me couldn’t believe it. I thought we’d shared a silent agreement on not going further until the wedding.

  “Jesus Christ.” I shuddered. Fully hard and throbbing, sinking in and out of her wet mouth… She was a bloody sin, one I’d never even try to resist. She’d closed her eyes, and she was using her hand expertly to play with what she couldn’t fit in her mouth, though that didn’t stop her from trying to take more. I hit the back of her throat and felt my balls drawing up. “I won’t last long, princess,” I warned, already short of breath. “Fuck, that feels—unbelievable. Incredible. Oh, fuck.”

  She hummed and went faster. She cupped my balls the way she’d learned I liked it, and her grip at the base of my cock tightened.

  “Perfect,” I whispered. “So perfect.” Needing to touch her, I stroked her cheek, brushed my thumb at the corner of her mouth, and threaded my fingers through her hair. “That’s it. Keep sucking me.” I tensed up, my chest heaving. I wasn’t fucking ready to blow it yet. I needed more time. It was so warm, wet, and tight. She sucked me hard. “Too good,” I groaned. “I’m gonna come—back off now or—” I hauled in a breath, and she shook her head minutely, with my cock in her mouth, then took me as deep as she could.

  It was sensory overload. Everything coiled up inside of me right before I exploded and released. Spurts of come flooded her mouth. She gagged, and shit, sorry, but that felt amazing. Motherfucking hell, she didn’t move away either. She sucked my cock until she’d milked me dry.

  I melted into the mattress and panted as if I’d just come back from a morning run. Shivers ran through me continuously, and I couldn’t lift my head to check in on her as she darted into the bathroom.

  “Baby?” I whispered raggedly.

  “Phew!” She reemerged quickly and blushed furiously. “Good for a first time, right? I’ll practice on the swallowing.”

  I coughed around a laugh and waved her to me. “Get over here.”

  Once she was in my arms, I curled around her and used her as my body pillow. “You don’t have to practice a goddamn thing. Where the fuck did that come from?”

  She shrugged a little and kissed my chin. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I wanted to try it.”

  There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d thought about it as much as I had. That was what morning showers were for. Or when we got each other off with hands and fingers and slipping and sliding together. I shuddered again and held her tighter.

  “You’ve made me one lucky bastard, Emilia Porter.”

  She laughed softly and stupidly squirmed out of my hold. “Keep that in mind at the meeting tomorrow.”

  “Hey, where’re you going?” I grunted. “This means I can finally get my mouth on your pussy. That’s how it goes.”

  A few minutes ago, she was sucking my cock, yet my talking about eating her out made her flush a new level of scarlet.

  “Another time,” she insisted. “Pizza will be here soon.”

  I let out a hmph and watched her disappear down the stairs.

  Keep that in mind at the meeting tomorrow.

  Oh, I would.

  I needed more than three years. No one could deny what a perfect match we made. Not even Emilia.

  “I guess you still don’t feel like telling me who your lawyer is?” I hollered.

  She laughed.

  I joined her downstairs when the smell of melted cheese, garlic, oregano, and pepperoni invaded my senses.

  She set the pies on the coffee table along with a beer for me and a glass of juice for herself. If she was in a Netflix mood, I was game. Another thing I’d gotten attached to, movie marathons with Emilia. We had similar tastes.

  Tightening the drawstrings, I took my seat and waited for her.

  “I found out something interesting today,” she said from the kitchen.

  “Yeah?” I took a swig of my beer and turned on the TV.

  “Yeah. You made yourself sound almost modest when you told me about this place and how your brother had an entire floor to himself.” She returned with napkins and two coasters. “What you forgot to mention was the small detail that you own the whole building.”

  I hadn’t forgotten to mention it, technically. “It’s listed as an asset in the file my lawyer sent you, so… If anything, you haven’t paid attention to me.”

  “I swear, Finn.”

  “Finnegan,” I barked.

  “Fi-nn,” she sang. “Why did you buy the building? And don’t give me a spiel about it being a good investment. According to my lawyer, you’re not making a profit here.”

  Fuck, she was sexy when she talked like that.

  “You’ve been looking into me?” It made my crotch tingle. “It’s not some big secret. I didn’t like how lax things were around here before I moved in. I used to stay with Patrick upstairs, and people could come and go as they pleased. So when I decided to get my own place…” I lifted a shoulder. “Now there’s a manned reception desk all hours of the day, upgraded security in the garage, and an empty condo on the seventh floor acts as a panic room.”

  She pursed her lips, studying me. The girl was getting smarter, more naturally suspicious.

  “That’s why you’re not making any profit?” she asked dubiously.

  “For the most part,” I lied. Look, I lived in a world where a lot of favors were exchanged. Some of the residents hadn’t paid for their places. It was a way to grease someone’s pocket without losing any money. What I gained was control and a shitload of favors to cash in. “Can we eat now? And for future reference, I prefer we’re naked when you interrogate me.”

  She snorted.

  Chapter 20

  Finnegan O’Shea

  “They’re late.” Patrick’s patience was worse than mine, and he started pacing by the windows. The law firm that represented us had boardrooms with some of the best views that Philly had to offer. For instance, if I threw my brother out a window, he’d fall for quite a while before landing with a splat. That would’ve been a great view.

  “You can’t open these windows, can you?” I asked my lawyer’s assistant.

  She gave me a look of confusion. “Um, no, sir.”

  Figures.

  “It’s strategy,” Frank replied mildly. “A cheap one, at that.” Seated in the middle on our side of the table, he was doing a last read-through of the contract. Probably just to pass time.

  “They’re not supposed to have found a lawyer good enough to even spell strategy,” Patrick argued. He walked back to the table and sat down on the other side of Frank. “Finn, was Emilia acting weird this morning?”

  “No.” And that was weird. She didn’t make much fuss anymore about our morning runs. For the first few minutes in the park, she could even keep up with me thes
e days. Then we had breakfast together when we returned before we got ready for the day.

  “Would you like me to call in Maxine and Brett, sir?” the assistant asked.

  Frank scowled. “Toots, do I look like someone who needs to resort to intimidation tactics with seat fillers?”

  “Of course not, sir,” she rushed to say.

  I stifled my smirk and leaned back, swiveling absently in my chair. Pinching my bottom lip, I checked the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes.

  A phone beeped, and the assistant glanced at her phone. “They’re here. According to Mark, their representation is from Smith, Campbell & Stern.”

  Motherfucker.

  I narrowed my eyes, then exchanged a look with Pat.

  “Well, it ain’t Brenda helping Emilia and Sarah…” He spoke my mind and groaned.

  I kept my face composed, but inwardly, I was reeling. Somehow, our mother was helping them, and she’d done it without our knowledge. Not a single text message had set off any warning bells, which meant they’d been prepared from the get-go to keep this from us.

  More than that, it meant Emilia was consciously careful about what she said on her phone.

  I’d have to up my game.

  Soon enough, three women walked in, all dressed to kill. Emilia wore one of those ass-hugging pencil skirts, mile-high heels, and a new blouse under her snug suit jacket. Sarah had gone for a pantsuit with too much cleavage.

  Meredith…my mother’s lawyer and friend. Oh Christ, this was gonna turn into a bloody gender war. She was known for representing and defending women, and men were easily fooled by her nerdy glasses and lipstick-stained teeth.

  I met Emilia’s blank expression, and my mouth twitched.

  Well played, princess. Well fucking played.

  “Ms. Campbell,” Frank said and stood up. “I should’ve known.” He waited until the women were seated before speaking again. “Let’s keep this civil, shall we? We want this to stay informal and private.”

  “Of course, Frank,” Meredith answered, immediately tossing formalities out the non-openable window.