Page 27 of Mafia Boss' Surprise Baby

“That’s the plan,” I say, “save some money, do the prep courses, take the tests and start job hunting for a position in LA.’

He doesn’t say anything for about a full minute. He’s gone still beside me except for his fingers in my hair, tenderlythreading through my tangled waves. My hand slides up his chest and I tip my face up to look at him. His brow is furrowed, and he’s not looking at me but out toward the water or the horizon.

“I’d like to stay like this forever,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I know we can’t. It’s impossible. But don’t think for a minute that LA sunshine and smog is better than this because there’s nothing better than this, Mick. I want you to know that. I’m probably—probably gonna spend the rest of my life chasing after anything that reminds me of this even a little bit. Anything that feels like home.”

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t meet my eyes. I’m out here on a limb, breathless, and I feel like I am dying. I need him to say something. I look at him expectantly. I start to feel panicky, my stomach clenching and sweat coming out on my palms. I bite my lips. I was brave, told him part of how I feel and now here I am. Left hanging. Nothing in his posture or his face or his actions suggest that what I said means anything at all to him. My throat gets tight with tears and it makes me mad.

I reach up for his face and put my hand on his cheek to make him look at me. It’s agony waiting to see what those icy eyes will show me. My lip trembles. He doesn’t meet my eyes. He lets his drop shut, turns into my palm and kisses it. The shiver of desire drowns out my fear and sadness. He’s intense and heat rises in chest to blot out the gnawing hollowness that threatens to take over.

He pulls me across his lap and moves his mouth down my neck, big hands sliding up the back of my shirt. Fingers in his dark hair, I try to get his lips on mine. Instead, he strips off my shirt right there in the open air, a cold breeze lifting goosebumps on my flesh. His lips fasten on my nipple and suck as I whimper and hold on to his shoulders, his hair. It’s pure indulgence with that filthy, delicious mouth working me over. A sharp pleasurespikes from my nipple down my belly like a tiny hook of ecstasy tugging at my clit already. I squirm on his lap and then his hand is there where I need it.

I rub myself back and forth in his palm as he presses and cups me there. I need him, but it feels like something is off. He’s using his incredible skills as a lover to distract me from what I said and what he didn’t say back to me. The knot of sadness in my chest holds my lust at bay and I make myself wriggle back from his mouth and hands.

“Stop,” I say, and I grab my shirt, pull it back on. Shame stains my cheeks red and I scoot off of his lap.

He still hasn’t said a word. He meets my eyes though. Looking wrecked. That’s the only word for it. Like he’s been destroyed.

“I said too much, I know. I caught feelings for you, and I probably should’ve kept it to myself, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I just want you to know how much you mean to me. I won’t say anything again.”

He levels me a hot gaze that reminds me how fiery blue eyes can look. It cracks right through the icy fear that had closed around my chest. Everything in me melts under his eyes, and I hold my breath, wait for him to say something, anything.

Mickey runs his thumb across my lips. He sweeps my hair back and kisses my forehead right by where that bandage used to be, and I know he still thinks about it.

A thousand things to say well up inside me. I want to scream and cry that I’m heartbroken. I want to apologize for pressuring him to define the relationship. And I want to shout at him that he has no right to be everything I ever imagined he was when I had a teenage crush on him and more. That he should be selfish or rude or have bad table manners, something to make me regret him less when I have to go. Because it’s obvious I have to go, given that he didn’t ask me to stay.

“The business comes first with me. It always has,” he finally says, and his voice is as grim as if it were in a vault six feet under. “Of course I want you. I’d be crazy not to, but I can’t give you what you deserve—a guy who works a nine to five and comes home and forgets about it till nine the next morning. You can’t have my full attention or a promise to stop being a workaholic. What I want is this, you and me at my place together. You get the best of me, but there’s not much of it to give is what I’m saying. It’s never gonna be enough.”

“Being with you at all is enough,” I choke out. “I’m almost ashamed to say it. But I’ll take you in my life however I can get you. If you can only give me an hour, Mick, I’ll take the hour. Because one hour with you is better than the other twenty-three with anyone else.”

That’s it—my dignity is a distant memory. I’m begging this guy for scraps and I’m not even sorry. Because it’s the sad truth. I want his time, and I’ll take as much of it as he can give me. Even if it’s not much at all. It isn’t easy facing how far gone I am on this man

“How long do I have?” he says finally.

“Till what? Until I get sick of waiting for you to say something and I call a Lyft?”

“Until you leave, back to California.”

“I finished my first prep course. The exam, the first part, is scheduled already. I spoke to HR about taking the day off.”

“Whatever you need,” he says stiffly.

“Are you asking the same thing as my brother? How soon can I leave Boston? I didn’t think when I came home that everybody would be counting down till you see the back of me,” I say, trying not to reveal how hurt I am.

“For me it’s the opposite. How many days do I have left with you, that’s the question.”

“If I pass the first time which is no guarantee because lots of people have to take it more than once, some people do it in under a year. I mean, there’s people who work on it full time for like five months and get it all in that length of time. It has four sections, the test does.”

“So you’re ready for part one. Three more to go after you pass this one. You’re saying it could be a couple months or it could be longer, right?’

“Yeah.”

“What do you say to keeping this up till you go back? If you need more time to study or something, just say so, but I want to hang on to you as long as I can.”

It’s lukewarm and noncommittal but I take that deal happily. Being wanted temporarily is better than not being wanted at all as pathetic as that sounds even to my own ears.

“Okay, how about we set up a regular meeting in the crow’s nest, Wednesday nights?” I offer, trying to make it feel more like a game, filthy and fun, and less like settling for crumbs.

“All right, what time on Wednesdays?”

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