Lady and the Champ (55 page)

Gently I draw her hands away from my neck. “We should go,” I tell her.

“Where?” Her eyes are still closed as she tries to drag herself back under control. I can feel her trembling in my arms.

“The airport.”

She jerks back, her eyes suddenly clear, staring at me. “What? Why?”

“Don’t you want a honeymoon?”

At that, she laughs abruptly. “Oh, Cain. Really? Seriously?”

“Yes.” I straighten her skirt and help her hop down from the desk. “You’re my wife. You deserve a honeymoon. Besides, if we head out somewhere for a while, it’ll give everybody here a chance to get used to the idea that we’re married.”

Jess nods slowly, taking that in. “Not a bad idea.”

“Nope. Not at all.” I zip and button my trousers, re-buckle my belt. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She gives me a smile that’s halfway between wry and her own version of smug. “More or less.”

“Then let’s go.”

I don’t know if anybody heard us, but there’s no way anybody who sees us on the way out won’t know what we were just doing in that locked office. Jess’s pupils are still blown, her hair a mess, and she’s digging her nails into my arm like she’ll fall right down without the support. I have to grin a little to myself. Nothing like fucking a woman until she can’t walk. Her wobbly legs make me proud.

As we head down the steps toward the car, though, my mood takes an immediate about-face. Frank Mangioni is standing on the sidewalk, chatting with a pretty woman I don’t recognize.

Shit. There’s no way to avoid him. I take a step backward, thinking maybe we can go back inside the building until Frank goes on his way, but it’s too late. He’s glanced up, and he sees us.

I can tell by the shift in his expression that he’s put the pieces together. Still, he calmly tells the woman goodbye with a neutral kiss brushed across her cheek before he turns to face Jess and me.

I square my shoulders. Jess has tensed next to me, and she starts to move away. I pat her hand, holding it firmly in the crook of my elbow. She must recognize this guy, too. No surprise—most of Spada’s underlings spend time in and out of that house for business meetings and whatever the fuck else they get up to. Jess has to have seen every one of them at least once.

“I’ll do the talking,” I tell Jess. She looks like she might want to argue, but in the end she just nods. Good. She’s learning. For a split second I’m hit with a twinge of guilt—am I really any better than her father? But I’m trying to protect her.

Frank drops his hands in his pockets and gives us both a narrow look but doesn’t bother to move toward us at all. Instead he just stands there, waiting for us to come to him.

If that’s the way he wants to play it, that’s fine with me. I straighten my tie and saunter on down the stairs, Jess’s arm securely in mine. “Frank,” I say. No point being rude. Not yet, anyway.

“Cain.” He pauses a moment before tilting his gaze toward Jess. “Ms. Spada.”

She tenses almost imperceptibly. I squeeze her hand where it lies against my arm and look Frank right in the eye. “That’s Mrs. McAllister to you,” I say.

Frank’s eyes widen. I’ve genuinely caught him off guard. I have to wonder what Spada has told his men about me, about Jess. About us. Frank opens and closes his mouth a few times. He looks like a grouper.

Finally he says, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

I smirk. “Want to see the marriage license?”

He looks down, and I realize he’s looking for our rings. Of course we don’t have any. I’ll take care of that soon enough. When his gaze lifts back to mine, he’s got his teeth clenched.

“Spada’s not going to let you get away with this.”

I continue down the stairs. He’s not going to stop me. He doesn’t have the balls. “Think I give a shit what Spada thinks? We’re married. He’ll just have to deal. And you…” I stop, looking him up and down. He flinches, just a little. “You can just fuck right the hell off.”

And I continue to my car with Jess—my
wife
—on my arm.

I
lean back
in my seat on the plane and take a sip of the fruity, umbrella-garnished drink the flight attendant brought me a few minutes ago. I didn’t even know you could get umbrella drinks on a plane. Apparently you can if you fly first class.

It surprised me that Cain was so insistent on a honeymoon. I figured our crazy fuck in the county clerk’s office was going to be the best I’d get. But he’s insisting on doing it up right. So we’re on our way to Cancún.

I’ve never been to Cancún before, and it’s never occurred to me until just now to wonder why. I guess I just never got around to it. I went to Puerto Vallarta once, but now that I think about it, the last time I talked about going on vacation, Pop went cold and quiet, and I knew he didn’t want me to go.

Well, fuck him, anyway. That part of my life—the part where I’m constantly under Pop’s thumb—is over now. I have bigger and better things to focus on now.

Like my husband. Who’s next to me, drinking wine out of a can with a big gorilla face on it. Apparently it’s good wine even though it comes out of a can. He grins toothily as I look toward him, and I smile back. Then he leans toward me and says something so filthy I feel my cheeks go red.

“I keep thinking about how it felt to come inside your tight pussy.”

“
Cain
…”

“Who’s going to hear?”

“I don’t know. The people behind us, maybe?” Probably not. They’re talking, after all, and I can’t understand anything they’re saying. The background noise on the plane is too loud.

Cain leans in and murmurs again. “I’m going to make you my wife twenty-seven times once we land. In the first six hours. I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk. You’re going to be so worn out from sex that you won’t even be able to check out the sights.”

I laugh a little. “If you’re going to keep me flat on my back in bed, we could have gone somewhere a little less expensive.”

“Who said anything about flat on your back? Or even in bed, for that matter? I’ve got us a suite. I can fuck you on the bed, over the table, on the chair, on the couch, on the sink, in the shower…” He pauses. “I’m sure there’ll be a few other options, too.”

It’s not exactly romantic talk, but it’s got me so wet and puffy between the legs I can feel it, like my panties are a size or two too tight. Apparently I like that kind of filthy talk. But if I haven’t figured that out by now, I haven’t been paying attention.

“I was hoping to at least see the beach,” I tell him, trying to sound aloof, as if his vivid descriptions of what he’s going to do to me have no effect on me at all. “And maybe brush up on some of my Spanish.”

He bites my earlobe. “You speak Spanish?”

“A little.”

“You need to talk dirty to me in Spanish next time we have sex.”

I laugh. “I’m not sure I know the right vocabulary for that.”

“Look it up. I bet it’s on the Internet.”

“I bet it is.”

I go quiet for a while, and he contents himself with kissing my cheek and leaning back, at the same time looping his arm over my shoulders. I feel… I don’t even know how to describe how I feel. Free? Maybe not. I’m a little buzzed from whatever’s in my umbrella drink—umbrella drinks are the worst, because they throw in everything short of the alcoholic kitchen sink. I’m even more buzzed from Cain’s nearness, though, the heat coming off his body and the smell of him, musky and dark and thoroughly Cain. He never wears cologne, but the soap he uses has its own sort of sandalwood undertones, and his hair always smells like almonds when it’s not sweaty from a fight.

I can’t wait until we get to our hotel room. I’ll sacrifice a day at the beach to have Cain on me, in me, over me, under me—anything and everything we can think of. I just want him. Cancún will always be there. Cain…

Well, he might not, and I shove that thought back just as soon as I have it. Because that’s not where I want my brain to be right now. I just want to be happy. Happily honeymooning.

Happily married.

I lean my head against Cain’s shoulder—my husband’s shoulder—and breathe him in.

* * *

T
he next thing I know
, I’m waking up to the sound of the captain’s voice telling us we’re descending into the Cancún airport. I get myself together, straightening my hair, and notice that Cain is looking at me with a dumb grin on his face.

“What?” I demand.

“You’re funny. You snored. And I think you drooled on me a little.”

“Ha ha,” I say without humor. It’s a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t seem too put off, so I let it go. If he can put up with being drooled on, then I can put up with him teasing me about it a little.

The hotel is fancier than I expected. I suppose that’s another way he’s trying to make this honeymoon as special as he can. We make our way up to the fourth floor, to a room at the end of the hallway with a spectacular view of the ocean. I step out onto the balcony for a few minutes just to take it in. The breeze is just cool enough, coming off the water, and the sun is heading down, casting orange over the clouds, reflecting off the rippling ocean. It’s so beautiful. So peaceful.

When I turn around and head back into the room, Cain’s frowning at his phone. I wonder what the problem is, but then I remember I turned mine off before the plane took off and I never turned it back on. I fish it out of my purse and hit the power button.

“This room is fantastic, Cain. I don’t know how you managed—”

And then I stop. Because my phone is going insane. Buzzing, ring-toning, text after text after text after call notification after voice mail notification scrolling up from where they’d been sent during the plane trip.

Oh my God. I sit down on the bed with a thump, my eyes going hot. It’s Pop. Every one of them. And when I start to scroll through the text messages, my hands start to shake.

Where are you, Jessica? You need to be home. Now.

What am I hearing about Cain? Goddammit, Jess, if this is true I swear I kill him.

Who am I kidding. I’ll kill both of you. HOW DARE YOU?!!

I put the phone down for a second, trying to catch my breath. I can feel hot tears on my face, but I don’t remember actually shedding them.

“Jess?” Cain’s voice, as gentle as I’ve ever heard it.

I turn my attention back to the phone. I don’t even want to hear the voice mail messages if the texts are this vitriolic.

He’s a dead man, so enjoy him while you have him.

How can you defy me like this? I’m your GODDAMN FATHER!!

Your mother would roll over—

I don’t get to read the end of that one, because Cain abruptly snatches the phone from my hand. He looks through the texts himself, his face going red. I start to sob.

“No, give it back. Y-you don’t need to read that.”

He doesn’t give it back. He keeps scrolling. “That fucking son of a bitch. What right does he have to talk to you like that?”

He’s my father, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. Suddenly he tosses the phone away. I see it skitter under the desk and hit the wall. It’s still buzzing.

Cain sits next to me on the bed and puts his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. “Shhh. Jess, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

“You can’t. This was a bad idea, Cain, we can’t—”

“Stop it. No one is going to hurt you on my watch. Not even your goddamn father. I swear to God, if he tries to lay a hand on you, I will kill him.”

“Cain, no.” It’s comforting in its way to hear him say he’ll protect me, but there’s so much violence swirling around me right now—the hurtful words, the threats from my father. And Cain’s shaking against me, he’s so angry, and that alone is frightening. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him act the least bit afraid.

He strokes my hair. This is better, just the gentle, comforting touch. Better than his promises of violence, even if it’s targeted to protect me. I don’t think I could stand to see him get hurt on my account.

I clench my fists and set them next to each other in the middle of his chest. His shirt is damp already from where I’ve had my face pressed against it. I can’t stop crying. What have we done? What have we done?

* * *

A
long time
later we head down to the beach. I’m wearing appropriate beach garb that makes me feel more exposed than it ever has in the past even though it’s a fairly conservative two-piece. I’m calmer, but my face feels tight and sticky from crying. Cain insisted we get something to eat, so he ordered up room service and I managed to choke down part of a salad and a few bites of chicken. My stomach’s still roiling, but I try to keep my emotions under control. For Cain’s sake if nothing else. If I start to cry again, he’ll flip his shit again, and I can’t deal with it. I just want things to settle back down.

Fat chance of that. I’ve done what I felt I had to do, and it’s split my family apart. Probably endangered my life and that of my new husband.

But what the hell else was I supposed to do? I press my lips tight together, fighting back more tears. Cain squeezes my hand.

“No more crying, Jess. What did I say?”

“You said no more crying.” My voice is dead, in spite of my attempt at humor.

“That’s right. Because it’s going to be okay. I’m going to make sure of that.”

I don’t know how he can, but I nod. He leads me by the hand down the trail that winds its way from the hotel grounds to the white sand beach I saw from the balcony only a few hours ago. It seems like a lifetime—I was so calm then, so centered. So peaceful.

Now? Not so much.

It’s not just the threats and fury from my father. It’s me questioning what’s between Cain and me. He was quick to swear he’d protect me, but why? Because he has feelings for me, or because he wants to be sure our deal stays intact? Is he wanting to save my skin or his own?

I blink back more tears, frustrated with the fact they won’t stop gathering along my eyelashes. Why did I think this kind of arrangement between the two of us would be enough for me? Is this really any different from the way my father manipulates people?

I can’t have these thoughts right now. It’s too much.

Cain must sense that I’m upset, because he draws me a little closer and presses his face against my hair. If he doesn’t have real feelings for me, he sure knows how to act like it. He’s gone from just wanting to fuck me to actually wanting to touch me, hold me. Comfort me, even.

“Jess…”

I nod. “I know. It’s going to be okay.” I try not to sound doubtful or sarcastic as I say it, but it’s hard. I don’t seem to have the same kind of confidence he does about the situation.

“What are we going to do?” I murmur, and I’m not sure he can even hear me over the soft breeze and the sound of the ocean.

He does though. “We’re going to hole up here for a while. Our flight back isn’t for a week. By that time, your father will have cooled his jets a little and not be on such a rampage. Then we go back, and we deal.”

I nod. He sounds so certain. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Pop won’t be able to sustain that level of anger for a whole week. I have my doubts though. Pop is pretty damn good at being mad. It’s like he has an advanced degree in anger.

Still drawing me gently along by the hand, Cain steers us toward a quiet area behind a rocky outcropping. The sand is soft and just high enough that the waves don’t come in to cover it. We sit down and Cain draws me half into his lap. I stretch my legs out, and the waves come just high enough to spray my feet. The warmth of the water feels a little like tears.

“Just trust me,” he says. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

I wonder if he’s as determined to make sure nothing happens to
him
, but I know the answer. He’s not. And that’s part of why the tears keep leaking down my face. I want to protect him as much as he says he wants to protect me, but I can’t.

I lean my head back on his chest, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat, and the slow movement of his body as he breathes. He starts to stroke my hair, runs his fingers along the side of my face. It feels good.