Lady and the Champ (38 page)

Except…

“Why did you do it?” The question is out of my mouth before I quite have time to think about it.

“Do what?”

“Run in there. Risk your life by going into the bakery.”

He doesn’t answer right away. There’s actually something on his face that makes me think he’s not sure how to answer at all. “I didn’t want you to lose it.” Then his face hardens, and he looks straight at me. “You’re mine, dammit. Nobody tries to hurt what’s mine.”

“Nick, I can’t—”

Before I can finish the thought, he shoves up from the couch. He’s angry now. “You shouldn’t have fucking done it, Sarah. You should have been
here
.
Right here
. Where I told you to be. How hard is that to understand?”

I thought we were past that, but apparently not. His eyes are flashing sparks at me. It’s a hot, lively anger, not the cold fury Sal always directed toward me.

“The whole place would be gone right now if I hadn’t.” It’s the only protest I can think to make. “It’s all I have, Nick. It’s the only thing I have that’s really mine.”

“It doesn’t matter. Sarah, I
told
you to stay put. I can’t protect you if you don’t follow orders.”

“You don’t understand, Nick.” I don’t know why I’m trying to explain myself to him. “That store’s the only thing I have that proves I’m not a failure.” The irony of that hits me suddenly, and I feel my eyes go hot with unshed tears. “And even that’s failing. My parents were right.”

He grabs me so suddenly I can’t react, except to stare at him, eyes wide, as his hand clenches on my face. That anger is still there in his eyes, but there’s something else in it. I’m not sure what it is. Fear? How could it be fear? I’m pretty sure Nick’s not afraid of anything.

“I don’t know what your fucking parents told you, but there is so much more to you than that fucking bakery.”

I shake my head. I can’t really talk right now with his hand half mushing my face—it doesn’t really hurt, but it’s certainly disconcerting. He must see something in my eyes, because he lets go.

“I was trying to make something of myself. My parents wanted me to go into law, or medicine. I just wanted to have a bakery. It’s all I have to prove I actually succeeded at something even though they told me I never would.” The words are small, and I’m surprised I’m even saying them. There’s no way Nick will understand. He’s in the family business in one of the most literal ways a person can be.

But he nods slowly. Maybe he really does get it. “You need to let that go, Sarah.” I swallow hard, my stomach dropping. “You’re too fucking proud. So proud, so stubborn, that you gave up your life for that goddamn loan.” I start to protest, but he’s not done. “And you damn near gave up your life literally.”

“It’s
mine
, Nick. I don’t have anything else.” I want to scream it into his face, but I can’t draw enough breath. My chest is too tight.

“You have your
life
, Sarah. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it does to me. The bakery’s just a building. It’s plaster and wood and equipment. That’s all. Every bit of it can be replaced.
You
can’t be replaced. You need to remember that.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Tears go down my face in hot streaks. This isn’t what I expected from him. No one’s ever talked to me like this before—like I actually matter. I’ve always been a means to an end. Even my parents just wanted me to somehow fulfill their own dreams. Achieve some kind of success that they’d pre-formed in their heads. Any other kind of success didn’t count. They never cared about what I wanted.

I find it hard to believe that Nick does, either, but that’s sure what it sounds like. Like he actually cares about
me
. Like his idea of protecting me is exactly that, and not some trumped-up way to keep hold of his power over Sal.

Finally I just nod. I still can’t speak. I’m afraid to. I peel the back off the adhesive bandage I’ve been holding and set it in place over the big, deep bruise on his ribs. There’s no broken skin, but it’ll at least provide some padding and keep his shirt from rubbing against the bruise.

He closes a hand around mine as I’m carefully patting the sticky edges down, trying to get enough pressure for them to stick without hurting him. I look up and he smiles a little at me.

“Thanks,” he says. “Usually I have to patch myself up.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t get into fistfights with people…”

He gives a soft chuckle, and I let myself meet his eyes. Then, before I can think much about what I’m doing, I lean forward and kiss him.

It’s a soft kiss, because I know his lip is broken open and I don’t want to hurt him. But before I can think much about that, he’s pushing into me with his mouth, hard, and I can taste blood. I feel more than hear a soft whimper in the back of my throat.

Nick draws back. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” I reach up and brush his lower lip, which is seeping blood a little. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Forget it.” He kisses me again, this time engulfing me in his arms, the strong contours of muscle pressing against me. It almost makes me feel safe. His arms make a cage, but it’s a cage where I’m truly protected.

I thought it would be impossible for me to actually feel something for Nick, but I’m beginning to doubt that assumption. I almost think he might have feelings for me, even, as unlikely as that might seem. His hands on my back hold me firmly but gently as he kisses me deeper and deeper, his tongue exploring.

I catch fire so fast with Nick. There’s no need to coax or convince me or my body. The pleasure ignites immediately between my legs, and I feel like I’m melting. It’s so intense, so consuming I’m already shivering on the edge of an orgasm, and all he’s done is kiss me.

After a minute or two he draws back, his breath harsh and ragged. I glance down without thinking about it and see his cock hard and straining under his dark boxer briefs. He starts to pull at the buttons on my shirt, opening them.

I lay a hand on his to stop him, but he doesn’t stop. “Nick…you’re hurt.”

“Don’t care.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I might bump that bruise or—”

His mouth is on mine again before I can finish the sentence, and then he reaches behind me and pops the clasp on my bra. He moves to push my shirt off me, and I move with him, shrugging out of the sleeves and letting the bra slide down my arms. It lands in his lap.

Breaking the kiss, he latches on to one breast, sucking so hard I gasp. It hurts, but a sharp tingling follows the initial stab of pain, the sensation tracing deep into my breast and echoing in my clit. His teeth clench a little harder then release, then he moves to the other breast and does the same thing.

“Pants off,” he mutters as he releases that nipple. I fumble at my buttons until he reaches down to help, shoving my zipper down, peeling my pants out of the way. I lift from the floor to help him.

“Get up,” he says. “Sit on my lap.”

“Nick, are you sure?” That bruise is huge. If I shift just the wrong way…

“Do it.” His hands close around my waist and lift me, as if to assure me he’s quite serious. I start to turn to sit on his lap with my back to him, but his hands tighten. “Not like that. Straddle me.”

I shake my head, and for a second his mouth tightens, but then I grab at the waistband of his boxer briefs and he gets where I’m going. He lifts his hips so I can peel them down, and a few seconds later we’re both naked as I take the opportunity to get my own pants all the way off as well. Then I carefully straddle his thighs, trying to avoid the big bruise as I slide a knee to either side of his hips.

His hot, naked cock pushes up against my thigh then into the crease of my groin when I settle onto him. He closes his eyes a moment, and I think maybe I’ve hurt him, but then he reaches between us and pinches my clit. His eyes grab mine, holding me tight in his gaze.

I can’t move. His fingers on me are squeezing and pinching, nearly painful, thoroughly intense as sparks begin to shoot up my abdomen. Holding my clit between his knuckles, he shoves his thumb inside me and starts thrusting.

I’m not sure what to do. His cock is hard against me, but if I try to stroke it, I’ll move his hand out of position, and I really don’t want to do that. So I go with the flow. If he wants me to do something different, I’m sure he’ll tell me.

His thumb thrusts hard and fast inside me, his knuckles sliding back and forth along the swollen nub of my clit. If I weren’t so slick—damn near dripping—the sensation would be intolerable. As it is, it’s building so fast inside me I’m not sure I can stand it much longer.

“Let go,” he says, and I do. The climax is so intense I can’t summon thoughts alongside it. I’m just an empty vessel with hot ecstasy pouring through me, my body shaking while Nick plays me like a musical instrument.

I’m starting to ease down from the peak when he shifts me. His dick moves inside me—it takes no effort on his part except to position me just right. I’m so slick and ready, my body just lets him in.

He slides deep, and I clench down on him, giving him as much firm friction as I can muster. I’m careful how I position myself, grabbing one shoulder to keep my balance but making sure it’s not on the side where he’s been bruised and battered. I’m not sure he’d even care, but I don’t want to hurt him, no matter how macho he’s trying to be.

I expect him to start thrusting right away, but he doesn’t. He holds me there on his lap, eyes matched to mine, like he’s just feeling our connection. I squeeze down so I can feel the full length of him inside me. He’s so hard, and in so deep.

“Your turn.” He says it so quietly I’m not sure I hear him at first.

“My turn for what?”

He bumps his hips up under me just a little. “Take over. Go for it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell him again. He just laughs a little and slides a hand into my hair.

“You won’t,” he says. “I trust you.”

Suddenly I’m blinking, my eyes hot, and I don’t know why I’m almost crying. Simple words, and not even the words everyone says they want to hear. But they mean more to me than I can even comprehend right now.

He trusts me.

I roll my hips, tightening on him as I draw back, releasing as I move in closer. He tips his head back on the couch, eyes closed, and sets his hands against my waist.

He’s not even watching as I move on him, not trying to shift or control me, not worrying that I might accidentally touch him the wrong way or grab on to a wounded piece of him. There’s a low hum coming from the back of his throat, and there’s a sight smile on his face.

It makes me feel…powerful. He’s barely moving, letting me control the speed and depth of penetration. Once or twice he shifts his hips, but he never takes away the control he’s handed over to me.

I move faster, rocking on him until the insides of my thighs start to burn with the strain. His hands tighten on me, and I can tell he’s riding closer and closer to climax.

“Sarah,” he says suddenly, and nothing else, and then he jerks his hips up hard. I respond by grabbing the back of the couch to force myself down on him, holding still as he thrusts hard into me. With my other hand, I reach down between us and touch myself.

I explode on him. The moment I do, I feel him let go, too, and we fall over the edge together, until finally I fold forward onto him and kiss his mouth.

He gently strokes his hand into my hair. “You didn’t hurt me. I knew you wouldn’t.”

U
nlike Phil Spada
, I don’t own a mansion filled with conference rooms. My crew meets regularly at Marlo’s, a bar a few blocks down from my place, where I can count on the staff to keep quiet. They pay me once a month to keep an eye on the place; in return for a substantial discount from my regular protection rate, I get to set up meetings in the back and be assured they don’t spread my business around.

We’re getting together today, at the regular meeting time, to discuss in a little more detail what exactly we need to do to keep income flowing now that the MMA ring is temporarily shut down. That’s been a big source of cash for us over the last few years, but we can’t depend on it now until things get settled. I’m thinking about shaking down a few more local businesses for protection money, but I’m also interested to hear ideas from some of the guys. Some of them can be pretty innovative, especially when it comes to strategies the law won’t necessarily jump on. A couple of them are really good with computers, and I hope they’ll float some thoughts about expanding their efforts on that front.

I’m not having much luck keeping the conversation on track, though. All anybody wants to talk about is Sal. Well, specifically the way Sal looks at the moment, after I beat the shit out of him yesterday. Apparently he’s worse off than I am. I’m not surprised. He never was the greatest with his fists. He’s more of an automatic-weapon type of guy.

It’s hard for me to keep from smirking at the commentary, even though we have more important things to discuss. I’ve wanted to put Sal in his place for a very long time, and now that it’s happened, I’m glad it’s making an impression. It’s another step closer to my eventual goal—taking over for Spada.

I’m heading in the right direction. I’m sure of it. Shit, I can almost taste it. Get rid of Sal, move in on Spada… I won’t even have to take Spada out myself, if I’m reading the room right. Nobody respects him anymore—at least not the way they used to. He’s bared his ass, shown his weaknesses. His men are like sharks—converging on the blood in the water, looking for the chum, and then for the live victim to chew up and spit out.

It’s not just the bullshit with McAllister. If Spada still had control of his organization, that spat with Sal wouldn’t have happened. Sal wouldn’t have dared to go after Sarah. And, quite probably, I wouldn’t have been quite so fast to go after Sal.

“All right, it’s time to get back to business.” My voice puts an end to most of the muttering, nudging, and grinning that’s going on around the table. “We’re not here to gossip like a bunch of women in a sewing circle. We’re here to make plans.”

“Yeah,” Chris pipes up. It’s not so much a brown-nosing agreement as it is his way of introducing a new topic. “Do we have any word on when the fights can start up again?”

“Not yet. Still waiting for Spada to give the go-ahead.”

“Fuck Spada.” I get the feeling I wasn’t supposed to hear those words, muttered from the back of the room. I’m not completely sure who said it, but I act like I am.

“That’s enough,” I say in a tight voice. “We’re not here to share your opinion of Spada, either. He’s the boss, and while he’s the boss, we do as he says.”

“I heard somebody’s planning on clipping him.”

This time I know exactly who said it, and I give him a direct look. “Gossip,” I snap. “And if I hear any more of that bullshit, I knock your fucking teeth out. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The man looks properly chastised.

I sort through the notes on my phone and prepare to launch into the formalized business part of the meeting, but just as I pull up the information I need, the phone rings. It’s Spada himself.

I wonder for a split second if he’s watching the meeting somehow, but I’m pretty sure even he hasn’t gone that far yet. I excuse myself from the room and answer the call.

“Angelino. I need to talk to you.”

“I’m in the middle of—”

“I don’t care what you’re in the middle of. Get to my place. You’ve got ten minutes.” He hangs up.

Instead of staring at the phone in annoyance at his brusqueness, I pretend the call is still going and nod and smile a few times before I put it away.

“That was the man himself,” I tell my crew. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been called to an emergency meeting. Chris, could you take over?”

“Sure, boss.”

* * *

I
’m ushered
into the house by an armed man, and two more of Spada’s personal guards are standing outside his office. Their presence, as well as their stances, tell me immediately that this isn’t a casual meeting. Spada’s calling me onto the carpet.

“Sit down,” he snaps when I come in.

I sit. No point arguing yet. I’m sure I’ll get inspired to do so later.

He launches right in. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, taking on De Luca like that? You have no fucking right and you know it.”

“De Luca’s a piece of shit—”

“De Luca’s a made man just like you are, and I’m not going to sit by and let you two kill each other. Never mind that you go behind my back, you don’t bother getting permission. This is not an organization where you can just do whatever the fuck you want. You should know that by now.”

I’m seething inwardly, but I manage to stay calm on the outside. “So why isn’t he here? He’s just as guilty as I am.”

“Because I don’t want you shooting each other down in the middle of my house, that’s why.” His voice is tight now. “This has got to stop, Angelino. I can’t have the two of you at each other’s throats. It sets a bad example. Now, you two either work it out or I’ll work it out for you.”

“He had no right to go after the bakery. That’s Sarah’s.”

Spada’s eyes narrow. “You’re putting your career and your reputation and quite possibly your life on the line for what? A piece of pussy? I know she’s a pretty woman, but this is fucking ridiculous. You’ve known her, what, a couple of weeks? You need to get your priorities in order, Angelino.”

“It’s more than that.”

“More than what?”

“More than just fucking.”

“You stole her from Sal to make Sal look bad. Well, that wasn’t the brightest move, either, Angelino. You’d be better off just giving her back.”

My teeth clench. There’s no way anybody’s touching Sarah. Especially not Sal, and especially not Spada. “Sal is an asshole. He was hitting her.”

“So fucking what? She’s a woman. He was keeping her in line.”

“Bullshit. He likes hurting people. You know that.”

He gives me a dismissive wave.

“What he did at the bakery—that was just him being a prick. He has no reason to destroy that building other than to get back at me.”

“You brought this on yourself, Nick. Now, you’re going to make restitution to Sal, like you promised, and this is going to end. You got me?”

Shit. I don’t have the money to pay for the goddamn bakery, and Spada knows it. But I give him a nod. There’s really not much else I can do.

Correction. There’s one thing I can do. Sentiment is moving against Spada. I’ve seen it in my own men, and I’ve seen it in some of the other crews. His power is eroding. People are doing business without his permission. That’s not going to get any better, unless Spada grows a pair and starts taking down everybody who pulls an unsanctioned heist or arranges a protection contract outside his normal jurisdiction. And that’s not going to happen. Add that to the erosions in Sal’s organization, and I’m in the best position I’ve been in for a long time.

So the best thing I can do right now is sit tight and do what I can to shore up my own reputation. Paying Sal isn’t the worst way to get that started. I just need to come up with the money.

If I’m going to pay him, though, I also need to hurt him. I need to follow Spada’s orders, but I also need to flex my own muscles so Sal doesn’t come out on top.

It’s a tricky question, but as I mull it over, an idea floats up. Spada will hate it. I don’t hate it at all.

In fact, it’s perfect.

* * *

B
ack at home
, I find Sarah sitting in the kitchen with the laptop we both damn near died for. She’s got a couple of notebooks open next to it, and she’s scribbling in them, then inputting numbers into the computer, then going back to the notebooks.

“What are you up to, sweetheart?”

She jumps as if I’ve startled her and gives me an embarrassed grin.

“Sorry,” I tell her, and walk up behind her to set my hands on her shoulders. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay. I was just really…focused.”

“On what?” I peer at the computer. She’s got a spreadsheet open as well as some kind of design software. There’s another window floating around as well, but it’s covered up and I can’t see much of it. It looks like it might be recipes, though.

“Plans for the bakery. I need to revamp a lot of stuff to get the books back into the black.”

“Sarah…” But I stop. I can’t tell her I’ve been ordered to pay Sal for the bakery. I can’t tell her I don’t have the money, and that the smartest thing to do would be to follow Sal’s plan and burn the place for the insurance money. Or, barring that drastic an option, to shut it down and cut my losses until I can suggest something that’s more likely to stay solvent. I can’t tell her any of that. When it comes down to it, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to do it.

I told her she was worth so much more than her business, and I meant it, but I’ve also become painfully aware of exactly how much that damn bakery means to her. Shutting it down would break her heart, even if it was only temporary. Burning it down would do more than that—it would shatter whatever’s started to grow between us. I have no intention of getting attached, of attaching words like “love” to what I feel for Sarah. But I can’t hurt her, and I can’t do anything that would make it impossible for her to stay with me. She’s been hurt too much already. If I destroy the thing that means the most to her after promising her I’ll protect her, I’m no better than Sal.

The silence has gone on too long, and she says, “What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

Turning away from the computer, she gives me a direct look. “How are your ribs?”

“Still working.”

“The hand?”

I open and close my fist. It hurts, and my fingers are stiff, but I don’t think there’s going to be any permanent damage.

“Well…I think it’s in good enough shape to spank you.”

Her eyes widen a little, and I almost regret making the comment. Almost.

“Spank me?” I can’t tell if she’s actually afraid or not. She might be teasing.

“I never really punished you for your insubordination.”

“My…insubordination?” Now she’s definitely edgy.

That’s not going to do at all. I lean over her, setting my hands on the chair on either side of her shoulders. “You went to the bakery without permission. I can’t just let that slide.”

“I…I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean you could use a good spanking. It’ll make you think twice next time.” I lean forward and catch her lip between my teeth, nipping it.

“Nick…” Something in her voice makes me lean back and look at her more closely. She’s shaking. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do it again. I promise.”

“Oh, shit,” I mutter. I grab both of her hands in mine and lift them to my lips. “Honey, no. I’m not going to hit you. I promise.”

“You said…”

Gently I cup her face. “Sarah. Do you trust me?”

She’s slow to answer, and when she does she’s hesitant. “I think so.” At least she’s honest.

“I gave you my word. I intend to keep it.” I kiss her forehead. “You’re safe here.”

She nods. I kiss her again, this time catching her mouth. Shit. I just want to reassure her, but my dick’s so hard I know I’m not going to be able to ignore it. Just touching her does this to me. Just getting close to her.

While she’s still sitting there looking small and like she’s not sure what’s going to happen next, I scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom. She’s small and so light in my arms. Thinking about Sal hurting her makes me want to kill him, and I had plenty of reasons to kill him already.

I push that out of my head. No thinking about Sal right now. No thinking at all. I lay her down on the bed and lower myself over her, kissing her mouth, her face, her neck. Then I lean back.