by Ashlee Price
“What kind of favor?”
“I’d like to take Grazia away before the end of the party.”
“Why?”
I frown. “That’s between us.”
“Not when it interferes with business.” She snorts. “You need to figure that out quickly before she gets mad. Nothing gets in the way of business with Grazia.”
That’s one of the reasons why we’re perfect for one another. Although, if there’s anyone I’m willing to miss a few days of work for, it’s Grazia.
Christ, that admission is enough to make me drip with sweat, but I ignore that and say, “I have a surprise for her. It was ready today, and I’d like to show her as soon as I can.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“I’d like her to be the first to know,” I retort, ignoring her suspicious reply. “Only thing is, I know she’ll stay late to take everything down.”
“I can handle things here,” she concedes. “Tell her I can deal with shutting down, getting the others home, and getting the van back to the rental place.” Jessie narrows her eyes at me. “But you owe me one.”
I smile. “Whatever you want, just ask.”
“Well, I don’t want anything yet, but when I do, you’ll be the first to hear about it.”
Amused, I hold out a hand. When she shakes it, I say, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
“Likewise.” She hesitates a second, then murmurs, “Look, just… don’t hurt her. Please.”
“I have no intention of doing anything of the kind,” I assure her matter-of-factly.
“Men always say that, but still, I had to try.”
“And I appreciate the fact you care, but there’s no need to be concerned.”
She eyes me, and I can tell my words haven’t eased her mind much. “If you say so. Have a nice night.”
I back up a step, nod at her in farewell, then retreat to the banquet hall. Spotting Grazia trying to drag a potted plant across the floor, I come up behind her and tell her, “I’ve managed to get you a reprieve.”
She blows out a breath to waft a piece of hair from out of her eyes. “What kind of reprieve?”
“Jessie says I can whisk you away and she can handle everything here.”
That has her frowning. “That’s not fair. I won’t be here long.”
“I know, and she said you’d argue, but still, I need to take you somewhere.”
She studies me a little suspiciously. “Where?”
“Does it matter? It’s your surprise.”
“I have work to do, Marshall. You know that. Look at how crazy this place is.”
“I know, and it’s not fair. I wouldn’t ask, only it was finished today and I’d like you to see it. Jessie didn’t mind, and she says she’ll get the others home and drop the van off at the rental agency. She can handle it all. Come and play truant with me… just this once,” I plead.
She wrinkles her nose at me, then looks around the room. Blowing out another breath, she grumbles, “Let me just speak with Jessie to tell her what needs doing.”
“I’m sure she already knows.”
“I’m sure she does, but I want to make sure we’re on the same page. I’ll be five minutes.” She looks at me like I’m a nuisance, and I’m hard pressed not to laugh.
It’s not often my exes have looked at me that way when I’m trying to give them a gift.
It’s no wonder my feelings for her are difficult to describe, difficult even to process. She’s tilted my world on its heel, and though I’m glad for it, it’s unsettling to know that someone else has that control over your life.
I guess that’s what trust is about, and despite myself, I trust Grazia.
Maybe I can say that because I have the NDA there to protect me, but I have faith in her, in her honesty. I highly doubt she’d do anything to rake either of our names through the mud.
I learned why integrity and honesty is such a big deal to her a couple of weeks ago.
After finding out that her father was a mob boss and her mother was his mistress, I can see why she views the world a little askance. And really, considering how negatively Grazia sees her mother and judges her for the life choices she made, it’s no wonder she reacted so badly to my offering to make her my mistress.
Really, I couldn’t have asked her anything worse. Talk about shooting yourself in the foot without even knowing it.
I wish I’d known that about her before I’d stumbled in headfirst. But my investigation into her past had revealed nothing about her parents aside from their names and where they lived in Brooklyn—in a far better neighborhood than the one I’d been raised in. Nothing had raised my suspicions, but then I guess that’s how DeVecchio, Grazia’s father, had wanted it. He’d certainly covered up his tracks, and that was facilitated by Grazia’s stepfather adopting her.
Public records should have shown that, and my investigation should have highlighted that part about her heritage, but I’m guessing DeVecchio paid someone to make it disappear. Considering his own father was renowned for being a staunch Catholic—oh, irony of ironies—I guess having a child born on the other side of the sheets wouldn’t have gone down too well.
The myriad contradictions to her nature can be found in her childhood, I think, and though they usually act as a barrier between what I want from her and what she’s willing to give, I don’t mind coming across those walls every now and then.
We all have them, after all. Those little secrets we don’t want anyone to know about… I have them, but I feel that with time I’ll be able to share them with her.
When she pops up from the back room, striding towards me, I watch her walk and feel like drooling. Her sashay is half Sofia Loren and half Marilyn Monroe. She has curves that don’t quit and an ass I love to bite, with hips that were made to take a pounding.
God, what the woman does to me is astounding.
Maybe she can see my reaction, because a kitten-like smile crops up on her lips as she approaches me, and when she’s a foot away, Grazia puts a hand on my chest and smirks. “I’m ready to go.”
“I’m ready for something,” I grit out, my voice hoarse when she lowers her hand a little. The move is semi-threatening, but I know she’d never do anything risqué in public.
I’m not sure if I’m grateful for that or disappointed.
Amused, I grab the offending hand and tug her along to the elevator banks. When we go up rather than down, she asks, “We’re going up?”
I nod. “My helicopter is up there.”
“I saw a helicopter arriving earlier. Before the party. Was that you?”
“Yeah. It was quite opportune, actually. Had a meeting a few floors up, then came down for the reception.”
“Look at you, Mr. Efficient.” She’s teasing, but I can hear admiration in her voice.
One thing I like about Grazia is her appreciation of my hard work. She doesn’t appreciate what the hard work can buy her, but she does like the way I go about my day. She values my work ethic, and I have to admit, I value hers.
It’s not something I’d have thought was important for a couple to value in each other, but I’ve come to realize it is. She understands when I have to work, even though it must be a pain because while her schedule is full, it’s not nearly as manic as mine. I’m usually sympathetic to her routine too—even if it interferes with plans I have.
“Where are we going?” she asks as we travel up.
“Back to base, but your surprise is only a few streets away, so we’re traveling from there.”
She accepts that in silence, only murmuring a peep when I help her into the helicopter. The whir of the blades drowns out most noise, but I can tell this is a treat in itself.
The journey takes twenty minutes, but she’s glued to the window, and I’m glad we took the long way home just because she enjoys it so much. It was an extravagance keeping the helicopter parked on the roof for the length of time I did, but hell, it’s only money.
Like a little child star
ing at a toy store, she presses her fingers to the glass as we travel back to base. When we land, she squeezes my hand in what I can tell is a nervous gesture, but when we’re out and getting into the back of a car, she gushes, “That was amazing. Thank you so much, Marshall. I loved it.”
“Remember, that wasn’t your surprise,” I tease, touched by how much she loved the helicopter ride.
“It sure felt like it. Wow,” she whispers, then self-consciously puts a hand to her ears. “I can still hear the whir of the blades.”
“Yeah, it’s damn loud, isn’t it?”
She nods. “Do you get used to it?”
“I guess.”
Grazia peers out the window again as she tries to ascertain where we are in the city. “We’re in Little Italy,” she guesses after a few moments. “We’re not going to Tribeca?”
I shake my head; Tribeca is where my apartment is—the one we’re currently sharing. “No. I wanted it to be close enough for you, but not too far either.”
“Close enough for what?”
My smile is, admittedly, secretive. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
By the time we pull up outside a small building, she’s almost bouncing in her seat. Her childlike appreciation of the world is a breath of fresh air after the apathy of the socialites I’ve dated in the past.
I help her out of the car, jerking her against me when a car passes us by at a crazy ass speed. “Moron!” I holler, then grunt when she chuckles at me.
“I’m sure he heard that.”
“You could have been hurt.”
“But I wasn’t.” She shrugs it off. “Come on, I want to see this surprise.”
Tugging on her hand, I guide her to the door of the building and then into the elevator. It’s an older building, but it’s safe—I know because I had it inspected, thoroughly, before I bought the damned place.
We ride to the second floor and then I hand her a key. “Here’s your gift.”
She eyes the door, then looks at me. “Something inside is my surprise?”
“In a manner of speaking. Go and open it and see what you think.”
There’s a hesitance to her step that wasn’t there before, but before I can feel in anyway confused, she approaches the door and opens it.
When it swings open, making the grand reveal, I’ll not deny I’m a little disappointed by her reaction.
I’d hoped the sight of the large area, with a mood board in one corner, a cutting table in another, an industrial sewing machine by the window, and a whole wall loaded with bolts of fabric opposite the door would have her gasping in delight. Instead, she looks around, her movements wooden as she trails a hand over the sewing machine.
“This is too much,” she tells me, her voice grating a little.
Before I can say anything, she nears one of the doors that lead off the studio. It connects to a bed and a small bath.
Her jaw tightens as she sees the bed. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Her coldness when I’d expected warmth stuns me. I stride forward and force her to face me. When she tries to look away, I grab a hold of her chin and say heatedly, “I never have to do anything, that doesn’t stop me from wanting to.”
She purses her lips and nods once. “I suppose you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I can accept it.”
“Of course you can. I arranged it all for you. I know how you miss designing. I can feel it when you sit down and start to draw something and then stop because you know you can’t make the design.” My voice softens, the anger bleeding out a little. “I wanted you to be able to create again.”
Tears suddenly appear, flooding her lashes as she tries to blink them away. “I would have worked things out myself.”
“I purposely kept it generic so you could do whatever you wanted with the space, but you have the bare tools to make whatever you want.” I huff out a breath. “I just wanted you to be happy.” I reach for her hands, clasp them both in mine and say, “I always want you to be happy.”
“I might not be able to afford the rent, Marshall.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous,” she snaps. “It’s a valid point.”
“You don’t have to pay anything at all.”
“I’m your girlfriend, remember,” she snarls at me. “Not your mistress.”
“And can’t a man do something like this for his girlfriend?” It’s my turn to snarl. “You’re the one making this more sordid than it has to be. I wanted you to have this, so I made it happen. It’s not a crime, is it?”
She lifts her chin. “I suppose not. But I will pay rent, and I’ll move in as soon as I can get my things together.”
That has me frowning. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not living here without paying you for the privilege,” she retorts.
“Who said anything about you moving out?” I ask, astonishment lacing my tone.
“You made it pretty clear, Marshall. What with the new apartment and the bedroom!” She pulls away from me, striding over to the window to peer out onto the street.
“It’s there in case you need to nap, dammit. You’re not moving anywhere.” I stalk toward her, spin her around, and haul her against my chest. Pressing my mouth to hers, I take what’s mine and state, “You’re staying with me, where you belong.”
“I don’t belong anywhere.” She makes the statement out of a need to commit rebellion, but there’s an emptiness to her tone that tells a tale of its own.
She really means that; she feels she doesn’t belong anywhere.
“You belong with me.”
That has her shaking her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. It’s the truth, and no matter what you feel, you can’t deny it.” When she opens her mouth and starts to speak, I wait, intent on hearing her argument. But she stays quiet, her lips pursing as though she can’t find the words to disagree. Satisfaction floods me. “You see, you feel it too.”
“I don’t know what I feel,” she whispers, then does the damnedest thing—presses her forehead against my chest. The act is so weary, so tired, it makes my heart melt.
“We don’t need to know what we feel to know we feel something. The presence of anything at all means this is more important than half the relationships we’ve ever had.” I press a kiss to her hair. “This is a gift from me to you. I want you to enjoy it, but it was never intended as a prompt for you to move out.”
She gulps, then peers up at me. “You swear?”
“Hand on heart.”
As she nibbles her lip, I long to tug the morsel free from her teeth. A single nod has my breath whooshing from me in relief. “Thank you, Marshall.”
I lower my head and claim her mouth as my own. She passively accepts my tongue, letting me stroke hers, letting me fan the flames but not fighting back as she usually does. I cup her cheeks, tilt her head back so she can take all of me. “I need you, Grazia. I need you very much.”
They aren’t words of love, but I’m not capable of giving them yet. Maybe with time, I’ll find it easier. All I know is I’ve never needed anyone, not since my grandmother, and that need is more power than I’d like to give to anyone.
Her mouth trembles beneath my own. “I need you too,” she whispers, and a relieved breath gusts from me.
I can’t help myself. I lift her up and rest her butt on the window ledge. I don’t think people can see, nor do I care.
Utterly grateful she’s wearing a skirt, I let my hands settle at the hem as I take her mouth again. Fucking her with my tongue, letting her know she’s mine, I lift her skirt and drag it up, high enough to free her legs.
The instant she can move, she spreads them and I settle between her thighs. Her hands come to my fly and she pulls my dick free, not caring that my belt is still on or that both of us are fully dressed. She makes a quick detour to my pocket, where the ever-ready condoms are waiting, and opens one.
She grabs my shaft, covers me, pulls her p
anties aside, and sets me at her gate. As I start to notch the tip inside her, both of us moan. Slowly thrusting inside her, I release her mouth to nibble at her chin and jaw, ducking my head to nip at her throat.
As I work my way inside her, her head falls back against the cold pane of glass. The window rattles as I start to take her, marking her as mine.
I don’t know where we’ll be five months from now, I don’t know where we’ll be five years from now, but what I do know is that for this moment, this woman is mine. And I intend on that being so for a very long time.
Just because I don’t know the future doesn’t mean I can’t read between the lines.
We’ve only known each other for five short months. They’ve been months loaded with upheaval, with devastated loss and heavy hours and hectic work schedules. Neither of us trust easily, and there is no greater act of trust than giving another person your heart.
If there is anyone I could give it to, though, I know it’s Grazia, and strangely enough, I know she feels the same way about me.
For the moment, I’m content with her needing me, but eventually, I know I’ll want more, and I’m sure she’ll be the same. We’re intrinsically similar when it comes to things like this, and I look forward to the battles that will happen between us as we strive for more.
Because more is always what I’ll want from this woman.
And as I take her harder, deeper, faster, both of so close to exploding with a pleasure only we can give each other, I realize that where she’s concerned, I’ll never accept anything less.
~The End~
WESTERN ROMANCE COLLECTION
Cowboy’s Baby
Introduction
Mia is the daughter of a rodeo legend on the last bull ride of his career. She goes with her dad for moral support, but runs into Trevor, an old friend she hasn’t seen since leaving Texas for college out east. Trevor introduces her to Clint, and sparks fly immediately.
The two are very different, but Clint is determined to win the woman over. Trevor tries to warn him that Mia’s heart is not up for grabs, but Clint cannot resist. He has to at least try.
Mia’s reluctance just spurs him on, and Clint’s soft kisses do more than anything that he could say to win her over. When she finally decides to give him a shot, he’s not ready for what comes next. Clint finds himself chasing a woman who doesn’t want to be caught.
