KYLE: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 4) (5 page)

He drank fairly heavily, downing glass after glass of champagne that was offered to him. I didn’t drink more than half a glass, but I could still feel the warmth of it growing in my belly. I wasn’t much of a drinker; I had never really wanted to drink. But this seemed to be one of those occasions when it was practically required.

Once, when I turned to ask him a question, I caught him staring at one of the girls across the room. I followed his gaze and saw the girl smile, nodding as though they’d just made some sort of agreement.

He didn’t want to be here. I knew that. But did he really have to make a fool out of me after everything he’d made me promise in the elevator?

Kyle

I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want this woman sitting beside me, with all these other beautiful women staring at me and offering me things I would have had to work for before I had a gold band on my finger. I shouldn’t have come here; I shouldn’t have gotten myself wrapped up in this mess. I just wished I understood how I got into this mess in the first place.

I still didn’t remember a second of my wedding night. And I was glad—on the one hand—that I didn’t. I’d never wanted to get married; I’d never wanted to be tied down in such a way. Why would I want to remember the moment I agreed to such a prison sentence? But, on the other hand, I needed to know what the fuck was going on here.

Was this part of the mess that the family had been experiencing? Brianna’s kidnapping? Pops’ arrest? The death of Stacy’s fiancé and the hit she took out on Killian?

I didn’t understand how it could be a part of all that, but I also wouldn’t be surprised. Someone was messing with all of our lives in order to bring down Pops. A quickie wedding in Las Vegas to a girl I knew nothing about? Then a quickie divorce? That wouldn’t look good for Pops. And it certainly wouldn’t look good for MCorp. And it would keep me away from Jack, keep me from being there when he needed protection.

Was that what this was all about? Was someone trying to set up Jack and that person needed me out of the way? But what could
that
have to do with bringing Pops down?

None of it really made much sense to me. But it hadn’t made much sense before this, either.

At least she was a beautiful woman.

I drew Amelia out onto the dance floor and pulled her into my arms. She fit there quite well despite her deficit of height. She smiled up at me as I dropped her into a dip and lifted her back up against my chest. She didn’t have much experience with men. The way she acted when I kissed her in the elevator, the way she blushed when I pulled her close, it was pretty obvious. Maybe her traditional Catholic upbringing had kept her from the same sort of escapades that got me into trouble more often than not when I was in high school and college.

She wasn’t like any girl I’d ever been with. I liked tall women, women with lots of experience, women who fit differently in my arms and who could handle it when I wanted to get a little frisky in bed. I liked women who were just as wild as I was, who liked to experiment. I’d never wanted a virgin, a girl who didn’t even know what a blowjob was. What kind of life would that be, being tied down to someone who had no idea of what fun really was?

Yet, here I was with this little slip of a girl who made my cock hard with just a look.

Holding her in my arms was like holding one of those precious china cups Abigail kept in that special cabinet in the dining room. I was afraid I’d break her, but I was so fascinated by her curves and the silkiness of her skin that I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to pull her closer, wanted to bury my fingers in her hair, wanted to bury more than that inside of her. But there was this wall that came up each time she looked at me that I couldn’t quite surmount.

That was another thing that confused me. I woke with her in my bed this morning. She was naked as the day she was born. But I was pretty sure, now that I’d had time to think about it, that nothing had happened between us. Or, if it had, we hadn’t used a condom—I couldn’t find one in the trashcan beside the bed—and I couldn’t remember a second of it. You’d think if I’d slept with a girl as pretty as this one, I’d at least remember if it was good or not.

I lifted her chin, pulled her attention away from the women who were staring daggers at her, and kissed her. Our lips barely brushed, but it might as well have been the deepest, most passionate kiss I’d ever experienced. There was something about the hesitation in her touch, the taste of her lips, that was threatening to drive me crazy. I kissed her again, snagging her bottom lip between my teeth. She moaned softly, moving so close to me that I could feel her full breasts against my chest, her hips brushing mine. Another movement and she’d be fully aware of just how aroused she made me.

I looked around the room, aware that we were the center of attention. That wasn’t exactly anything new for me, but the reason why was. There were dark looks in the eyes of many of the women, particularly the ones I’d bedded in my visits before this one. But there was envy in a lot of the women’s eyes, too. They all thought I was this great catch and, maybe financially, I was. But not in any other avenue. I was bad at relationships. I couldn’t be faithful no matter how hard I tried. Even tonight I found my mind wandering to these beautiful ladies, my thoughts pondering the fun we could have if I could just ditch the wife quickly enough.

You see? Only twenty-four hours and I was already looking for escape.

I’d never felt like I fit in anywhere, so I’d never tried. Even with the Callahans—the snow white, Irish Callahans—I stuck out. My biological mother was a redhead like Pops, but my biological father was a bit of a mystery. I’d been told he was black and Pilipino, but I’d also been told he was black and Japanese. I didn’t know for sure because he apparently didn’t hang around long enough to get to know anyone, including my biological mother. So I stuck out among even the people who took me in and made me a part of their family.

If I didn’t fit in, why should I try to stick around?

I spun Amelia around and pulled her against me again, catching her just before she would have slammed into my chest. She gasped, but then she looked up at me and there was such amusement in her eyes that they seemed to dance. I could get lost in those eyes.

I kissed the tip of her nose, then spun her around again. This time she laughed when I caught her quite effortlessly. Then I dipped her and we were both laughing.

This was okay. I might be able to get used to this.

We danced for a long while, then wandered the room, drinking as much champagne as I could grab off the passing trays, laughing at lame jokes and groaning at the cheesy ones. Amelia stayed at my side, her finger hooked in the waistband of my slacks as if she belonged there. I moved away a few times, but each time I could feel her watching me, waiting for me to come back.
Expectation.
That was what I couldn’t stand about relationships. The woman always had this expectation that I would act in a certain way and behave in ways that she never voiced but always assumed I’d understand. It was bullshit, someone expecting you to act in a certain way just because you’re in a relationship. I couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that.

My mother had always expected me to read her mind. If I didn’t, I got a beating. Not that I couldn’t handle it—the woman was so drunk most of the time that it didn’t really hurt. My mother was a complicated woman. She loved me—I never doubted that—but she hated me, too. There was something about the man who fathered me that she saw in me and couldn’t stand to look at. And she took it out on me in so many ways…it was almost a relief when she…but that’s another story.

I didn’t want to be married because I didn’t want to be at the mercy of another woman. It was as simple as that.

So when Amelia looked at me, expecting me to come back to her side, it made me want to run back to Boston and leave all this bullshit behind me. If not for my Pops’ and for the fact that she wouldn’t give me a divorce—even if I asked—I would have been gone on the first flight this morning.

Like a good boy, I moved up behind her each time I was expected to. And I was rewarded by the feel of her tight, sexy body pressed back against mine. There were some benefits to this commitment thing.

“It’s late,” she whispered to me at one point. “Shouldn’t we head upstairs?”

I brushed my lips over her temple. “If that’s what you want.”

Mickey, who’d been watching us closely all evening, came over.

“Leaving?”

I shrugged. “The missus is tired.”

Mickey’s eyes flashed to Amelia, a strange light coming into them briefly, before he focused on me again. “Are you sticking around the hotel a while longer?”

“I don’t know. Probably. Why?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the guests who were just beginning to get into this party. When he turned back, he leaned close and said, “Ian called this morning. He said something about the Italians causing trouble back in Boston. He didn’t go into details, but it didn’t sound great.”

I frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I didn’t want to put a dark cloud over the festivities.”

“Did you tell Ian about this?”

Mickey shook his head quite emphatically. “Of course not. That’s your business.”

I studied him a second, then held out my hand and offered him a strong shake.

“Thanks, Mick.”

I turned Amelia around and guided her with a hand on her back to the elevators. The second we were alone, she pulled away, sort of slumping against the back wall.

“That was exhausting,” she sighed.

I stood in front of the doors, my feet planted, and my thoughts back in Boston. The Italians. I should have known that things wouldn’t just settle down. It looked like the Italians had stopped getting whatever information it was they were getting that allowed them to hit us where it hurt the most, but I guess it was just a temporary reprieve. They would need me back there if things were only half as bad as they were the last time.

“Who are the Italians?”

I spun around and studied my new bride. “What?”

She straightened, aware of the tension rolling off of me like waves. “I was just…I heard what Mickey said…”

“There’s one thing you need to learn if you’re going to insist on being my wife.” I moved closer to her, pinning her against the wall with just the nearness of my body. “You don’t hear anything that’s said between me and my associates. Unless someone is addressing you personally, you don’t need to know about it. Understand?”

She nodded, a blush rising over her cheeks. You’d think it would be annoying, seeing that blush every time I did or said something her innocent sensibilities weren’t prepared for. But it wasn’t. I found it sort of exciting, to be completely truthful.

I ran my hand over her jaw, sliding my fingers slowly into her hair. Her eyes widened as I tugged her hair to pull her into the perfect position to capture her lips. I wasn’t gentle this time; I didn’t take my time or ask for entrance. This time I simply took what I wanted. I buried myself inside of her, urged her jaw open, tasted what I wanted to taste, and touched what I wanted to touch. She responded with almost the same amount of need that was suddenly bursting through me, her inexperience apparent in the awkward way she moved her jaw, but even that was sweet and exciting. I was quickly discovering that there were some benefits to being with an inexperienced girl.

I wondered how she handled last night. Was I gentle? Or did I pass out before we got to the fun stuff?

I think I would remember this if it’d happened last night. I mean…
damn!
This was hot!

I slid one hand down over her jaw, across the side of her neck. Then further. My fingers brushed the hard tip of one nipple and felt the quick catch of breath as they brushed along her ribs. Then her hip was in my palm the perfect fit. I tugged her leg up and pulled her harder against me, wishing I’d gone with the shorter dress rather than this more elegant, down-to-the-ankle style. I wanted to touch flesh. I wanted to taste more than just the sweetness of her lips.

But then the elevator door opened, so even if her dress had been shorter, the laughing group of late night gamblers waiting just outside the door would have been the same cold shower it was in that moment.

I turned, tucking Amelia behind me.

“Newlyweds,” I said, knowing that would explain it all.

One of the men laughed, while another said, “Get a room!”

“Already got one. Just couldn’t wait.”

“Don’t blame you. She’s gorgeous!”

I glanced back, a spark of anger growing in my chest. But they were already on the elevator and quickly disappearing behind the closing doors. Amelia pushed against my shoulder, encouraging me to continue down the corridor. We slipped through the double doors of my suite, and I drew her close to me again, stealing her lips even as she looked up at me, something she wanted to say caught on the tip of her tongue.

She moaned, and I devoured it, pushing her back against the wall, my hand returning to that hip, sliding around to that beautiful, perfectly contoured ass. She pushed at my wrist and made me move my hand, but I couldn’t resist the need to go back, to feel that bit of perfection again. She moaned again, even as she responded to my kiss with as much heat as I knew I was exuding. Our tongues danced together, her jaw working against mine in perfect synchronization. Her hand was curled in my lapel, her grip hard, pulling me tighter. She might not want my hand on her ass, but she wanted me just the same.

And when I let my lips slide down the curve of her jaw, the angles of her throat, she sighed, her fingers moving over the back of my head. She leaned her head back and gave me perfect access to the top of her beautiful breasts, to the creamy flesh that peeked out of the top of her gown. I nibbled a little, drew her skin into my mouth, and brought something like a little scream from her lips. I loved her responses, the sighs and the moans. The women I brought into my bed often made noises like that, but there was something about the sounds coming from between Amelia’s lips that felt more genuine.