The Bossman (9 page)

“This,” she said in a small voice.

He waited.

“Stand me in a corner.”

He had to strain his ears to hear her. “Stand you in a corner?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

She nodded into the bed covers.

“Before or after I spank you?”

“In the middle.”

“The middle? Oh, like give you a break in the corner?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sir.
She’d called him that the first day he’d called her. It was ridiculous and endearing. Well, he’d be her
sir
if that’s what she wanted. “What else?”

She lay silent over his lap, so he started spanking again, delivering twenty or so slaps before she started kicking and wriggling. His cock grew hard. He’d meant it when he said delivering pain wasn’t a turn on to him, but he began to think it could be. He loved the look of her ass writhing for him, dancing away from his hand, blushing at his slaps.

He stopped and rubbed again. “Tell me what else. What do you fantasize about, Sophie?”

“Getting spanked in your office by Sammy with you watching.”

He drew in his breath sharply, jealousy at the mention of Sammy momentarily blinding him. But of course, it was just from the story he’d told her. He slowly released his breath as he gave her five full-force slaps. “I might bend you over my desk, but if Sammy ever touched you, I’d kill him,” he growled.

She must have offended him, because he was suddenly spanking harder than she would have thought was possible with just his hand. “Ouch!” she cried, reaching back to cover her terrorized bottom. “Neanderthal!”

He caught her hand and bent it behind her back and dealt several more slaps. “I told you I don’t share, baby girl.”

As the pain increased beyond the level she could manage and still keep her head, she started to think she’d been absolutely nuts to suggest maintenance. “Ouch!” she whined. “I’m sorry, Joey!”

He stopped spanking abruptly and pulled her up to stand between his legs again. She wanted to hide her face in his shoulder, because she was close to losing composure. His expression softened when he saw her trembling lip and he pulled her onto his lap, the fabric of his jeans feeling rough against her tenderized bottom. “Are you okay?” he whispered in her ear, holding her against his chest.

She nodded against his neck. “Yeah,” she said softly.

“Was that maintenance?”

“Yeah, minus you getting mad at the end.”

He chuckled into her hair. “I wasn’t mad.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Believe me, baby, when I’m mad, I
am
a Neanderthal and you won’t want to be anywhere near me.”

She pulled away to look at him. Just how menacing was he? Would he ever hurt her for real? When he’d pounded on her door so angrily after the barbecue, she’d had a moment of real fear, thoughts of calling the police or grabbing the gun he’d left flitting through her mind. But then he’d spoken, and she realized she was being foolish.

As if he guessed her thoughts, he brushed his lips over hers and said, “Don’t worry. I would never touch you if I were mad. And I already told you I will never smack anything but your sweet little ass.”

A shiver ran down her spine just the same. She would do well to remember he was a dangerous man.

The timer on the oven buzzed and she jumped off his lap and pulled up her pants, then stopped and faced him. “May I go check on the food?”

He grinned. “Where’s the ‘sir’?” he demanded in mock outrage, but stood to follow her.

She’d made manicotti the way her Nana taught her, as well as lightly sautéed vegetables. Joey opened the bottle of wine without being asked. There was something so decidedly
right
about having a man like him in the house. Like he knew his role and didn’t need to be told how to fill it. But it was the same thing that made her on edge with him. He was too pushy, too sure of himself. He never took no for an answer, and he had the worst possible job. And really, that was the sticking point. Because even if she ever did get used to his bullish ways, she would never, ever be able to live with a mobster. Not again.

After dinner, Joey helped her with the dishes, and her phone rang.

Her mother. Crap. If she didn’t answer, the woman would keep calling every thirty minutes.

“Hi there,” she said, answering the call.

“Hi, honey, how’s it going?”

“It’s going well, and you?”

“Where do these go?” Joey murmured behind her, holding up the salad plates.

“Up there,” she mouthed, pointing to a cupboard.

“Who’s that?” her mother demanded.

“Oh, no one.”

“I heard a male voice. Do you have a man over there? Are you dating someone?”

“No, no. Nobody. He’s just a friend. Listen, I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“All right. Call me early, because I have my reading club.”

“Okay, I will. Love you, bye.”

She hung up and set the phone down. The hurt look on Joey’s face made her stomach drop. She hadn’t been thinking of how her words might sound to him as she got rid of her mother.
Nobody. He’s just a friend.
Did he think it was another man?

He picked up her cell phone.

“It wasn’t a guy!” she said quickly, trying to grab it back.

He stepped back out of her reach, turning it on and scrolling to the call log. When he saw who it was, he turned it off and tossed it back on the counter. Instead of looking relieved the call had been from her mother, he looked even grimmer.

“Look, I just didn’t want to get into with my mom tonight, that’s all.”

He nodded, his expression stony. “I’m not the kind of boy you bring home to mother.”

“Right,” she agreed, realizing too late he’d been expecting her to deny it. He put the cork back in the wine bottle, looking resolved to something. Had she hurt his feelings? Truly? Her tough guy? Was this somehow about her mother? Did the Family still hate her mother?

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, leaning over to give her a cool peck on the lips.

“You’re leaving?” she asked stupidly. No sex. No sleepover. Nothing?

“Yeah, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” He walked out the door without a backward glance.

She stood in the center of the kitchen, her mind whirling. What had just happened?

She doesn’t love you. It’s about who you are.

His mother’s unsolicited opinion kept clamoring to the forefront of his thoughts that week. Sophie’s conversation with her mother had disturbed him more than he cared to admit. He’d never had trouble winning a woman before. Usually his money and his confidence did all the work. But then, the girls he’d dated had been superficial--only interested in wealth and status.

Sophie was so different. Not only was she unimpressed by the money, but he had found he needed to be careful about finding ways to give it to her that wouldn’t offend. He’d resorted to dropping small wads of bills into her purse and telling her it was for the groceries she’d bought to cook for him when she called demanding to know where it had come from.

One time he’d left a C-note on her dresser. When she’d asked why it was there, he’d said it was for the massage she’d given him. She’d thrown a pair of bundled socks at him and said she hadn’t done it for the money.

“It’s better than paying you for sex, isn’t it?” he’d grinned and she’d thrown another pair of socks.

Sophie was a little package of enigmas. She needed money, but didn’t seem to like it. Had a college degree, but preferred to work with her hands. She resented his aggression, yet craved being spanked. She was of the Family, yet against it.

It’s about who you are.

In the end, his biggest hurdle with her was the Family. She held a grudge over her father’s death. And really, there was nothing he could do to fix it for her. He couldn’t bring her dad back. So maybe his mother was right. It wasn’t about him.

He entered the back room at Boom Booms to join the guys for poker night. Cigar smoke already filled the air. Alleaned back in his chair, talking about the latest Cubs game. Taking his seat, he tossed two fifties into the pot and accepted his cards. He picked them up and stared without seeing.

He’d been just going through the motions of poker nights and running the club since he started dating Sophie. This world didn’t mesh with hers in the slightest. He probably hadn’t been fulfilled in it for at least eight years, but now that he was spending time with her, it seemed distasteful. He played the game mechanically, uninterested in the conversation, or the game.

When his phone buzzed and he saw Sophie had texted, asking him to call her, his reaction was intensely physical--his heart quickened, balls tightened, skin grew hot and tingly. He hadn’t called her all week--not because he was giving up on her, more because he needed time to get his head on straight and think about how to break through her resistance. Her text came as a pleasant surprise. He played out the rest of the game and then excused himself.

“Hey baby,” he said when she picked up. He heard her sniff and tensed. “What is it? What happened?”

“Could you come over here? I don’t want to talk about it on the phone.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, adrenaline already pumping. “Hey, I gotta go,” he told Sammy.

“What the hell?” Al demanded.

“Something came up.”

“Don’t be a pussy--you’re going to Sophie’s, aren’t you?”

He bit back the “fuck you” that jumped to his lips. “Yeah. She’s having an emergency. I’ll see you guys later.”

He left before his brother could fling any more taunts at him, driving to Sophie’s with his hands gripping the wheel so tight he had to squeeze his fingers to get the blood back in them when he arrived.

She opened the door, her eyes and nose red. He pulled her against him but she accepted the embrace stiffly, not melting into him the way she usually did. When they pulled apart, she said, “Joey, I--” She stopped and shifted on her feet.

Was she breaking up with him?

“Bleh. I don’t know how to say it. Come here,” she said, leading him toward her bedroom.

Baffled, he followed.

She entered the bathroom and then returned, holding a little white wand. His heart began to beat erratically in his chest. “You’re pregnant?”

She held the wand up to show him the plus sign in the window. “That’s what it says,” she moaned.

A myriad of thoughts plowed through his brain at once. How could this have happened? Broken condom? Did she want it? Why was she crying about it?
He was going to be a father.
The last thought made him straighten his shoulders and lift his chest.

He dropped to one knee. “Sophie,” he said with every ounce of sincerity in his heart, “I’ll be your man. I’ll take care of you. I’ll provide for the baby.”

She chewed on her lip, obviously not surprised by his pledge. He pulled her to perch on his bent knee. “Marry me?”

A tear squeezed out of the corner of her eye and she brushed it impatiently away with the back of her hand. “Well, I don’t have much choice, do I?” she snapped.

If she’d offended him again he didn’t show it, just looked at her steadily with his intelligent, brown eyes.

“It will be all right,” he promised.

She sniffed back the tears that kept flowing. “Thanks,” she said, not knowing what else to say. She was grateful he was willing to stand by her, but she had never intended to be a mafia wife. She didn’t want to raise a child in an environment of violence and crime.

Ever perceptive, he asked, “Is it me, or the Family?”

Fresh tears flowed and her heart squeezed. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s not you, Joey,” she wept.

He settled on the floor with her cradled in his arms. “Then we’ll figure it out, Soph. We’ll figure it out together. Okay?” She felt his lips on her shoulder, a gentle stroking on her back.

And she let herself believe for that moment he could slay her dragons.

Chapter Seven

The engagement ring caught the sunlight, sending a rainbow of sparkles across the dash of her car. It was beautiful--a diamond nestled between two wide bands of blue opal set in yellow gold. It was perfect--artsy, unique and exquisite. Joey had picked it without consulting her, but his taste had been spot on.

Her belly churned as she drove to Carmen’s for a baby shower for one of the wives. Chances were good someone would notice the ring, and then the news of their engagement would be public. And considering she couldn’t wrap her own brain around being engaged to Joey, the last thing she wanted to do was discuss it with his family.

She entered Carmen’s and groaned, noticing Alessia, Joey’s ex-fiancé was there. Naturally, she noticed the ring. “Are you engaged?” she demanded.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“To whom?” Doña Teresa cut in.

Every eye in the room turned to look at her. She squirmed in her chair. “To Joey,” she mumbled.

Alessia turned pale. Doña Teresa’s lips pressed together in a thin line.

A chorus of very weak “Congratulations” came in.

“Well, that was fast, wasn’t it?” his mother demanded. “You’ve only been dating--what--a month?”

She nodded. “Yes, just about a month.”

“What’s the rush?”

She was damned if she was going to announce her pregnancy to this room full of gossiping women. She shrugged and turned her attention to the visibly pregnant woman, Angela. “So when’s your due date?” she chirped.

Angela rested her hand on her belly. “November 8th.”

“And when does Gerry get out?” another woman asked.

“A year from January. So the baby will just be walking by then.”

A wave of cold rolled through her, memories of her father’s incarceration making her stomach sick.

Don Alberto, Sr., Joey’s dad, had been boss then and he had paid their mortgage, but still money was tight and her mom had to get a job. She’d worked as a receptionist at a beauty salon to keep Sophie at St. Mary’s Academy for girls.

She remembered Joey had dropped the cash off once. He’d been in his early twenties and her mom had instructed her to ask him to wait till she arrived, because her car had broken down and she need to talk to him about getting more cash than just for the mortgage. Sophie had made him coffee, feeling like a grown up playing hostess. When he grew restless of waiting, he had said, “Just tell me what it’s about. Does your ma need more money?”