THE CALLAHANS (A Mafia Romance): The Complete 5 Books Series (73 page)

I jammed my finger into the button that connected to the security system and brought up an image of the doorman in the lobby.

“What is it, William?”

“A Ms. Rossi, Mr. Callahan.”

The doorman stepped aside and a fuzzy image of Mia filled the screen.

“Send her up.”

I shut off the computer screens and strolled out into the living room, tugging at the bottom edge of my t-shirt, pulling out wrinkles that sitting in an office chair for hours had created. I entered the code on the elevator that would allow the door to open when she reached my floor, then stood to wait. It wasn’t a long wait. And when the doors opened and she stood there in this lovely green and black dress…every nerve in my body seemed to suddenly stand to attention.

“Hey.”

“You said you’d call.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy day.”

She stepped off the elevator, her hand reaching for me, but stopping just short of actually touching me. She licked her bottom lip and the sight of the tiny pink tip of her tongue was incredibly hot. I wanted to yank her into my arms, touch her everywhere.

“I just thought we should talk because things are about to get pretty crazy. I have the bridal shower tomorrow and my bachelorette party is this weekend. And then the rehearsal dinner is next Thursday and…I just…”

I held out my hand. “Let’s go sit down.”

She smiled a little, her hand cool as she slipped it into mine. I led the way to the couch, glancing behind me to watch her walk, nearly smacking my shin against the coffee table because I wasn’t watching where I was going. Her smile widened because she didn’t miss any of it, her own gaze taking in everything about my movements.

I wasn’t sure there was going to be a lot of talking here this afternoon.

“We should talk about where we’re going to live after next week.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I just assumed we’d live here.”

“Is that okay?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to move in with your parents.”

“Probably not.” She laughed. “Can you imagine having breakfast across from my dad every morning?”

I groaned a little. “It would be—”

“Insane. He’d ask you all kinds of stupid questions, pretending he was just looking out for our welfare, but really just wondering when he was going to be a grandfather again.”

I laughed. “My pops would probably be the same. You should see him with David…he’d love to have more grandkids.”

“What about Kyle? How long have he and Amelia been married?”

“Less than a month.”

“Oh. I thought…they look like they’ve been together forever.”

“No. They just met a month ago, as far as I know. It was one of those spur of the moment sort of things.”

“But they seem so happy.”

“They are. They got lucky.”

“And Sean and his girl?”

“They’ve been together a couple of months. But I think they’re pretty content to take their time.”

“So the pressure is on.”

I nodded, biting my lip to hide a smile. “I guess Pops’ll have to wait a while.”

“Do you even want kids? You never really answered.”

“Sure. Someday.”

She nodded, a thoughtful look coming over her face. “Is it stupid that we’re even thinking about that sort of thing?”

“No.” I tugged at her hand and pulled her closer to me. “I know this is an arrangement created by Jack and your father, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t become something else.” I touched her face lightly. “I like you, Mia. And I hope you kind of like me, too.”

“I do.”

“Good.” I lifted her chin slightly and brushed my lips over hers. “I want to get to know you better. I want to spend as much time as possible with you. And if things progress to the point where children are a possibility, I hope they look just like you.”

I knew I’d said the right thing when she melted against me, leaning into my chest as if her bones had turned to butter. I tugged her chin upward, capturing her lips. She tasted the same as she had the day before, like every good thing I’d ever tasted. I remembered the first time I kissed Carrie, how she tasted of the garlic from the pasta she’d just been eating. I remembered thinking that I was grateful she worked in an Italian restaurant rather than one where I wasn’t really into the cuisine being served. It was an odd thought to be having when kissing a beautiful woman for the first time.

Was it possible Stacy was right? Was it possible that Carrie simply wasn’t who I thought she was, and that was why I didn’t have the feelings for her that I thought I should?

I groaned softly as I moved closer to Mia, my hand drifting to her hip, tugging her closer before wandering further down along the curve of her thigh. All those curves…she was so beautiful, so sweet to the taste, so silky soft…my fingertips actually ached to find her bare flesh, to slide along the outside of that toned thigh, to feel the heat of her skin against mine.

This is what I’d been thinking about the moment I opened my eyes this morning. I was thinking about the garter belt and stockings she’d been wearing the night before. I’d been thinking about the feel of her skin against my palm, about the taste of her lips on mine. I’d been thinking about how incredible it would be when we were alone again, if it was here or in that lovely garden or on a plane thirty thousand miles up in the air, hurtling toward the quiet beach side resort where I’d booked our honeymoon.

I wanted her. I wanted to be alone with her. I wanted to spend hours lying in my bed, wanted to see every inch of her beautiful body, wanted to explore every curve, every angle, every crevice. I wanted to take my time, make her laugh, make her moan, make her cry out my name. I wanted to see pleasure in her eyes.

Just a single kiss had ignited so much need inside of me…I don’t think I’d ever felt these things for any other woman. Not even Carrie.

Mia leaned back against the couch and I followed, kissing her as if I was never going to see her again. She pressed her hand against my chest almost as if she was pushing me away, but then it began to slide downward, searching for the bottom hem that would allow her access to what was underneath. She had the same thought I did, that need to feel flesh rather than cotton against her palm.

I tugged at her skirt and pulled it up over her knee. She sighed against my mouth as my hand slid over the top of her thigh. In a second, I had her ass in my hand, the perfect roundness of one cheek, my fingers playing with the edge of her silk panties. And her hand slid under my shirt, resting against my pounding heart. I let my mouth move from hers, sliding slowly down her throat. She groaned and the vibration of it moved against my lips, setting off a wave of sensation from the tip of my spine to the base.

I peppered her throat and her collarbone with kisses, working my way down to the addictive valley between her gorgeous breasts. She ran her hand over my head, pulling me closer to her, showing me just how excited she was to feel my touch and that…
hell,
I was so turned on!

I pulled away for a second, stripped my shirt because I wanted to feel her hands on me. Then I lifted her onto my lap, tugging her skirt free of her legs, slipping my hands underneath. I held her ass in both hands for a moment as she lowered her mouth to mine, as she took charge of the kiss that threatened to drive me out of control. And then my hands slid further under her dress, sliding over her hips to the small of her back, my fingertips sliding under the elastic holding her panties in place.

She moved her hips. If she hadn’t moved her hips, maybe I could have made it through without going completely insane. But she moved her hips and her silk covered cunt rubbed against my cock and I couldn’t control myself. I pushed her forward and tore at her dress till it was above her waist, needing to get the damn thing out of my way. There was a deep blush on her cheeks as she reached down to help me, tugging the dress up over her head. And then her breasts, overflowing from the cups of her bra, were just there, in my face, so beautiful that there weren’t even words for them.

I told myself long ago that I wasn’t a breast man. I was a leg man. But those beauties…they would make a liar out of anyone. I slid my hand inside and scooped one out, taking that delicious nipple in my mouth. She groaned again, her fingers dancing over my scalp. There was nothing better than the taste of a woman, the feel of puckered flesh between tongue and teeth. She moved her hips again and…I was truly losing it.

I’ve always prided myself for being a man in control. But this woman…

“We have to stop,” I whispered against her throat.

“Why?”

“Because…because…”

I wasn’t sure. I just knew that we couldn’t do this, not like this. I didn’t want her to just be another woman who’d spent the night in my bed. I wanted…I couldn’t even find the words to explain it to myself. But she wasn’t going to be just another notch on the bedpost. She was going to be my wife and our first time shouldn’t be in a fit of passion on the couch.

I lifted her off of me and snatched my shirt up from off the floor. I had to put distance between us; I had to walk to the back of the room to keep myself from going back to her and giving in to the need that was still racing through me like fire. I could hear her moving behind me; I could imagine what it looked like as she pulled her dress back over her head. I wanted to turn and watch the show, but even that would be too much for my fevered mind.

“Daddy wanted to know if you’d picked your best man yet.”

I cleared my throat as I stood at the windows and looked down on the city. I couldn’t clear my head as easily as I had my throat; I couldn’t get my thoughts to move to anything but her. I groaned a little as I pressed my head between my palms, hoping the pressure would bring me back down to earth.

“If you haven’t, you should probably do it soon. They need to know who to call about the bachelor party and the boutonnieres.”

“Stacy.”

“Stacy? Killian’s wife?”

“She’s going to be my best man.”

She giggled a little. “Daddy’s going to hate that. Perfect!”

I turned, pleased with the pleasure in her eyes. “You’re okay with it?”

“Of course. If she’s your best friend…”

“I don’t really have a best friend, but she’s as close as I’ve got.”

“Then it’s perfect.”

“What about you?” It hadn’t occurred to me to ask about her maid of honor. It hadn’t really occurred to me to ask a lot of things about her. “Who will be your maid of honor?”

“Seraphina.”

“You don’t have any girlfriends you’d rather have?”

“Momma insisted that it be Seraphina.” She cocked her head slightly. “I was her maid of honor.”

I could imagine her in a bridesmaid dress. I could imagine her walking down the aisle, too, a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She’d be beautiful in whatever she was wearing, but she just seemed to have the perfect body for formal gowns. I’d have to find lots of excuses to dress her up once we were married.

“I’ll have a few girlfriends in the wedding party, too. They told you, right, that you’ll need four groomsmen?”

“Yeah. I’ve already told my brothers and Colin, a friend of the family. They were supposed to go get fitted for their tuxes today.”

  She nodded. She was standing in front of the couch, her hands restless at her sides. The fire was still burning through me, so I turned away and forced myself to focus on the city below me.

“I guess I should go,” she said after a moment. “I don’t want to keep you from whatever it was you were doing.”

“You’re not keeping me from anything.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Because I want to throw you over my shoulder and carry you up to my bed? Because I can’t stop tasting you on my lips? Because I want to hold those beautiful breasts in the palm of my hands?

“Let’s get out of here.”

I turned and grabbed my keys off a side table, snatching her hand before I dragged her to the elevator.

“And go where?”

“New York. We have this restaurant there that I know you’d love. We could have dinner, talk a little…”

“Are you sure?”

I pulled her against my side and kissed her as passionately as I dared allow myself.

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

Mia

The food was incredible. It was a traditional steak house, kind of like something you might find in downtown Austin, but it had a New York sort of twist to it. There were truffles in the potatoes and oysters served as an appetizer. And the wine…it was a different one for each course, the waiter describing the fruits and other elements that gave the wine it’s unique flavor, explaining why it was the perfect complement to the course we were about to enjoy.

It was so much fun.

My father was a wealthy man. He lived a good life, but he didn’t spoil his children, a fact of which he was very proud. I had a middle-class upbringing. I always had what I needed, but I had to work for the things I wanted. And I’d never dined in such an elegant restaurant.

Spider could never afford a place like this.

“Tell me the name of the last movie you saw.”

I cocked my head slightly. “
Beaches
.”

“You’re kidding. Don’t you go to the movies?”

“I do. But that’s the last movie I saw. They were showing it on television last night.”

He inclined his head slightly. “What about music? What was the last concert you went to?”

It was Spider’s band, but I wasn’t going to bring all that up now. We were having too good of a time.

“Five S.O.S.”

“Five, what?”

I laughed. “It’s an Australian boy band. One of my girlfriends dragged me to see them here in New York.”

“Yeah? Did you get lost in the crowd of screaming pre-teens?”

“It wasn’t too bad. My friend had backstage passes, so we got to meet the drummer and his family. It was actually pretty cool.”

He shook his head. “I’m marrying a teeny bopper!”

I tossed a piece of bread stick at him. “You know what they say. You get exactly what you deserve.”

“Is that what they say?”

“It could be worse. My favorite band could be the Hansons or New Kids on the Block.”

“Hey, New Kids isn’t that bad. I actually met Donny Wahlberg once.”

I laughed, even after I saw the teasing light in his eyes. He chuckled, too, a little blush touching his cheeks as he picked up his fork and pushed around a few pieces of meat still left on his plate.

“Just tell me you aren’t a diehard fan of Taylor Swift and we’ll get along just fine.”

“Oh, no, not her. But I don’t mind Calvin Harris. And I like Imagine Dragons and Panic! at the Disco.”

“I can live with that.”

His eyes met mine and he reached across the table to take my hand. The light was dim, but it didn’t completely hide the scars I’d noticed before on his wrists. They were thin, pale, and almost invisible. But they were there. I ran my fingertip over one, then another, before looking up at him with the question in my eyes.

“I told you,” he said softly, “I had a difficult childhood.”

I nodded as my eyes dropped to the marks again. I was encouraged by the fact that he didn’t pull away.

“Are there more?”

“Quite a few. I used to tell girls that they were from a car accident because it seemed like an easier explanation. I even made up this whole story, how I was out with my brothers and we stole Pops’ car. After a while, it got around the high school—then around the college campus—and I didn’t have to tell it anymore.”

“Have you ever told anyone the truth?”

He was quiet for a minute, and I could feel his pulse increase slightly under my fingers.

“No, not really. Abigail knew, but that’s because she was my caseworker. Most of it was written in my files with the state.”

“But you never talked about it?”

“They made me go to a counselor when I was younger. But we talked around it more than we ever talked about it.”

I started to pull back, but he grabbed my hand and tugged it back into his.

“Does it frighten you, the idea of being with a broken man?”

That caught me by surprise. I looked up at him, tears making my throat ache a little.

“You aren’t broken, Ian. You’re the most together man I think I’ve ever met.”

His eyes widened slightly, a new light coming into them as he studied me. Then he suddenly stood and pulled me out of my chair.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

I followed him through the streets of Manhattan, overwhelmed as I usually was, with the number of people still on the street even though it was nearly midnight. The old woman in the back of my mind wanted to yell at these people and tell them to go home, to go to bed. But then there was the little girl in me that was secretly thrilled to be part of this recklessness.

Ian led the way to Central Park, pulling me along one of the many paths. I’d been to New York often when I was in college—it was the destination for most of my wilder friends—but I’d not been to this part of the park. It was beautiful, but dark. There was this sense of danger that seemed to settle over us the deeper into the park we went, but Ian slipped his arm around my waist and I felt protected in a way I couldn’t even begin to describe.

“They used to bring me here,” he said in a low voice that I had to really concentrate to hear. “I haven’t allowed myself to walk these paths since then, since Abigail found me.”

“Who?”

“My uncle.”

There was tension in his body when he spoke the words. But the moment they fell from his lips, he was relaxed again.

“My parents lived here in the city. They were the ultimate yuppie couple. He was a lawyer; she was an advertising executive. I had a nanny, and there was a maid…I can remember coming here to the park, playing with other children just like me when I was just a toddler…four or five, I suppose. I suppose it was a good life, but I can’t really remember it. I can see the nanny’s face, but I can’t really remember what my mother looked like.”

We came to a little playground then, and he pulled me over to one of the benches, wrapping his arms around me to protect me from the slight chill in the air.

“They were killed in a car accident while they were taking a weekend alone together up in the Adirondacks. My uncle was my only family, my father’s brother. I don’t know if I’d met him before they died. I was seven at the time, but I guess the shock of my parents’ deaths blurred my memories. There are so many things I can’t recall from that time.”

“I suppose that’s normal. I don’t remember much before I began kindergarten.”

He nodded, his hands splaying over my middle as he pulled me back against him a little tighter.

“I wish I didn’t remember the time after that.”

I ran my hands over his, feeling the slight tremble in them that came from something other than the cool night air.

“My uncle was one of those guys, the relative that everyone has in their family, who was unwilling to do an honest day’s work. He made his money playing the lottery and coming up with get rich quick schemes. When my dad died, it was as if he’d won the ultimate lottery. But he had to take me to get the money. And when it ran out…”

He grabbed my fingers as they made the top edge of the pattern I’d been tracing against the back of his hand, holding my hand tight in his.

“First it was pictures. He’d bring in props—stuffed animals and dogs and once there was a goat. I thought it was fun, like we were actors preparing a role. But then he brought in this other little boy who told me things, horrible things…”

“Ian, you don’t have to—”

“I want to. I want you to know what you’re getting in this deal.”

I turned into him, brushing my lips against his chin.

“I’m getting a good man who cares enough about me to share his darkest secrets.”

He groaned, pressing his lips against mine for a long second. He caught my bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling a little before he let go. He was quiet for a long time, his hand still clinging to mine as he held me close. I relaxed against him, rolling my head against his shoulder.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispered after a while. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve used people and hurt men who were only trying to survive.”

“You’ve done what you had to do to survive.”

“Not always. We’re criminals, Mia. We hurt people to make money. We steal from good people just because we can. And we kill—”

“Don’t you think I know? I’ve grown up in this world.”

“But the thing is, it doesn’t bother me. Every time I raise my gun to someone, I see my uncle on the other side. Or the men he sold me to when he brought me here to the city. I see everyone who ever hurt me, and I pull that trigger with something that is so close to glee that it scares the shit out of me.”

“But it does scare you. Doesn’t that mean something?”

He turned my face toward his, his breath warm and flavored with the good meal we’d just shared. Our lips brushed and then heat moved between us, passion that I felt every time he touched me. I twisted in his arms and climbed onto his lap, wrapping my arms around him as I kissed him with everything I had to give him. His hands slipped under the thin sweater I was wearing over my dress, his flesh warm against mine. He broke the kiss, burying his face against my shoulder for a long time.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he mumbled.

I kissed the top of his head. “You chose your family over everything else.”

He nodded, a soft chuckle blowing heat against my chest. “You don’t know how right you are.”

He was laughing as we left the park, hand-in-hand, his step light as he asked me if I’d ever tasted an authentic tiramisu.

“You’re talking to an Italian girl. My parents sent me to Tuscany as my graduation gift after college.”

“But you’ve never tasted the one we sell at my father’s restaurant.”

“How many restaurants does your father own in Manhattan?”

“Seven.”

“You’re joking!”

“No. And four of them are practically right next door to each other.”

“Is your dad a frustrated chef or something?”

“He doesn’t even know how to cook. But he knows a good business when he sees one.”

It was past midnight now, but the restaurants and clubs were overcrowded. He pulled me through the door of an Italian restaurant where people were waiting on the sidewalk to get in, staring at their smartphones and grumbling about things they were letting go in order to wait there. The man behind the reservation book looked up with a dry, sober expression. But the second he saw Ian, his face brightened.

“Brother!” he cried, coming around his podium and embracing Ian with one of those well-executed bro hugs. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight!”

“I’m not here on business. I just wanted to get one of Paul’s tiramisus for my fiancée. She’s never tasted it.”

“Oh.” The man’s eyes suddenly jumped to my face, the high color on his face changing to something that resembled mud. But then he forced a new smile and focused on Ian. “Well, then, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

The man gestured toward the dining room. “Table five’s open.”

Ian took my hand and led the way into the depths of the restaurant, helping me into a chair at a table that was right smack in the middle of the dining room. It was a classy place, the tables all covered in expensive linen and flowers in crystal vases on each one. The cutlery was clearly top of the line, the glasses thin and clear and beautiful.

And the faces that adorned the tables, some I recognized from television and movies, some from magazines that still arrived on a monthly basis at my parents’ house. It was like stepping onto a movie set.

“Your dad owns this place?”

“Yeah. It’s one of the properties I oversee for Callahan Industries.”

I couldn’t stop looking around, and I couldn’t help the little sighs that slipped from between my lips every time I saw something else that surprised me. Ian lived a life I couldn’t even imagine. And I was about to become a part of that.

It was hard to wrap my mind around it.

“Paul wants to bring it out himself, so it’ll be a second,” Tom said as he approached our table. His eyes were polite when they regarded Ian, but there was open curiosity in them when he looked at me.

“Thanks,” Ian said, effectively dismissing him as he reached across the table to take my hands.

“We should come up for the weekend sometime, catch a Broadway show and a good dinner. Maybe take in a concert, too.”

“I’d like that.”

He smiled. “Maybe after our honeymoon.”

“You planned a honeymoon?”

“Of course. It’s not a wedding without one, is it?”

He lifted my hand to his lips, my engagement ring sparkling as it caught the light. He played with it between his fingers for a second as his eyes came up to mine again.

“Thank you for coming here with me.”

“Thank you for bringing me.”

“Mr. Callahan,” someone said, his voice as boisterous as my father’s. Ian sat back and smiled as a tall, wide man came toward us through the crowded dining room, two plates of tiramisu in his hands. His smile widened as he spotted Ian. He gestured with the plates and said, “My best batch yet.”