Black Sheep Bargain, page 10
Damn. He didn’t need the gift of clairvoyance to see where this was headed.
On bare feet, she strode toward her kitchen. Within moments, she returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She didn’t ask if he wanted to partake but poured him some anyway. Sliding one of the elegant flutes toward him across the breakfast bar, she picked up the other and sipped. Only then did she continue.
Staring down into the deep red depths, she said, “Mom was not happy.” She flicked a look at him. “She hasn’t been happy with you since that NDA, but she’s abided by it. Still, it’s stuck in her craw, and since she can’t take it out on you, I’ve been the lucky candidate.” The corner of her mouth quirked, then she took another sip. “Randall had phoned her, of course, complaining. He doesn’t want to be at the bakery because he has more important things to do, and why can’t I just run it like I have been? And he’d only acquired the loan to invest the money so he could make improvements to the bakery. I called bullshit. Because if that were true, then why is this the first time we’re hearing about it? But Mom bought it, hook, line and my-baby-wouldn’t-lie-to-me. And now, because Randall is so busy—still don’t know with what—she wants me to cover his loan and come back and run the bakery for him. All because he called and whined. As usual. Still no consequences for his actions.”
“What did you tell her?” he asked, attempting to remain neutral.
She slowly lowered her glass to the breakfast bar and lifted her gaze to his. The shadows that swirled in her gaze couldn’t conceal the turmoil and hurt there. And his grip on the glass tightened.
“I told her no,” she quietly said. “Just because she’s flipped the script and changed her mind doesn’t mean I will. And she’s furious.” Her tremulous whisper belied the smile that ghosted across her lips. “She called me selfish. Selfish. I think she could’ve called me a bitch and it would’ve been less offensive, less hurtful. She told me to call her back when I’ve decided to put family ahead of my own petty grievances.” Athena leaned her head back and laughed, the sound jagged...wounded. When she quieted, she looked at him, reaching for her glass of wine. “Go ahead, say it. Because as much as Mom never cared for you, the feeling was more than mutual. Here’s your chance to say, ‘I told you so.’”
Several blistering comments leaped to his tongue. About her lazy, manipulative brother. About how her family wouldn’t know a boundary if it flashed its neon red tits. About how they didn’t appreciate her, took advantage of her kindness...of her almost desperate need for their approval.
Oh yes, there was plenty he could say.
Instead, he went with, “What would you like for dinner?”
Athena froze, the glass midway between the bar and her mouth. Blinking, she peered at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Dinner. I’ll have it delivered. You have a taste for something in particular?”
She frowned, once more setting the wine down. “I’m confused. What about the ball? We’re not going?”
“No.”
Shock melted into confusion and then into understanding. Well, at least that made one of them. Even though he’d said the words, part of him still couldn’t believe it. Not twenty minutes ago, he’d been impatient to leave for the social event of the season, and now he was blowing it off.
“But why? I thought tonight was important,” she murmured.
Because you’re in no state to attend a gala.
Because you’re hurting.
Because someone needs to put you first today.
“One ball is the same as another.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Unless,” he arched an eyebrow, “you’re just dying to attend?”
She smiled, and it was only a curve at the corner of her mouth, but it contained genuine warmth. “Somehow I think I’ll carry on if I miss this one.”
“Good.” He looked away from her, from the eyes that were a shade freer of shadows. “About dinner... I’m feeling Italian or Chinese. Is that good with you?”
“Either sounds perfect. And Nico?”
He looked up from pulling up a browser on his phone.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He cocked his head. “Now, lasagna or shrimp egg foo yong?”
* * *
“I’m not discussing this with you anymore.”
“Hah!” Athena stabbed her tiramisu-stained fork in his direction, a triumphant grin stretched across her face. “That’s the refrain of a loser.”
“No, it’s the statement of someone who refuses to argue with an illogical person,” Nico shot back.
Athena chuckled, the sound wicked. “Illogical? When you start tossing insults, it’s another sign you’ve been thoroughly beaten. Just admit it. You’re wrong.”
“I’m not.”
“You so are.”
Nico ground his teeth together. “We’re going to have to agree to disagree. Although you’re wrong as hell.”
“Say it,” she sang. “Just say it. Gandalf is a better wizard than Dumbledore.”
“I don’t know what’s in that tiramisu,” he said, jabbing a finger at the half-eaten dessert, “but no doubt it’s one hundred proof.”
Snickering, she scooped more of the sweet into her mouth and hummed in pleasure. He swallowed down a curse as his cock jerked behind the zipper of his tuxedo pants. His heart squeezed at the humor in her eyes, no traces of her earlier pain in evidence.
“You’re still a sore loser, Nico.”
“That would imply that you’re the winner of this argument. And that would be a fallacy, Athena.”
More chuckling, and Nico fought back a smile. Rising from the couch, he said, “I’m a little afraid to offer you more wine, but can I get you another glass?”
She grabbed hers off the coffee table and held it up with a wide grin. “Yes, please.”
Shaking his head, he headed for the kitchen for refills of the Moscato. As he returned to the living room with the two glasses, he surveyed the open floor space of her condo, as he often did when he arrived to pick her up. The ordinariness of it struck him again. There was nothing wrong with the matching canisters in the kitchen or the landscape painting on the wall of the living room or the royal blue throw rug in the hallway. All perfectly fine—for an apartment staged by a real estate agent preparing for a showing.
Athena was missing.
“Why’re you looking around like that?” Athena asked as he stepped down into the living room.
“Like what?” Nico handed her a glass and sank down onto the couch.
She tapped a finger against the bowl of her glass. “Like you’re trying to figure out a puzzle.”
“That’s pretty accurate,” he said, weighing whether he should go forward with the conversation.
They’d enjoyed a rare, good evening. One where the thorny past hadn’t intruded. Even now, she sat, curled up on the sofa, dressed in a loose-fitting, off-the-shoulder T-shirt and black leggings. He’d shed his jacket and bow tie and had rolled his sleeves back. Since they’d reentered each other’s lives, it was the most relaxed they’d been together. Almost as if they’d silently agreed to lower their guard. At least for tonight.
And he loathed fucking up that temporary truce.
“Let me guess what you’re thinking right now,” she murmured, leaning forward and cradling her wine. “We’re having a great evening where no verbal swords have been crossed or blood shed, and you don’t want to ruin it with a possible argument. Let me make you a promise.” She held up a hand, palm out. “I hereby do solemnly swear not to be offended at whatever comes out of your mouth. Or not to show it.”
He huffed out a soft laugh, and after a moment, nodded. Scanning her living room once more, he frowned.
“I’m assuming you moved to Cambridge to be closer to your grandmother, but what happened here? In this apartment,” he clarified. “I remember your old place, and how you put your stamp on mine. Kitschy shit, refurbished pieces from flea markets, framed photographs or art from local artists. This—” he took another visual tour of the apartment, gestured toward the perfectly bland wooden-fruit-in-a-bowl centerpiece on the coffee table “—is almost sanitized. It’s not you.”
She didn’t immediately answer but scanned the room as if seeing it for the first time. And maybe, in a sense, she was. Through his eyes.
“You’re right. I did move here after Mama went into assisted living a couple of years ago. If I wasn’t at the bakery, I spent my time there, only coming here to sleep and shower. And since she’s passed, I just...” She again shrugged a shoulder. “I guess I just haven’t viewed this place as anything more than a way station. It’s hard to transition from that thinking to something else.”
He frowned, tipping his head to the side. “Why were you so worried about your grandmother? Wasn’t that part of the reason behind her moving to the facility? To ease your concern about her care? Cambridge Grounds is one of the best assisted living residences in the state.”
“Yes, they were wonderful. That wasn’t the problem—Wait. How do you know what facility she was at? I didn’t mention the name, and we broke up before she went to Cambridge Grounds.”
Shit.
He slowly leaned backward until the arm of the couch pressed into his spine. For two years, he’d kept his promise, maintained his silence. Not that it’d been hard. Though he had no use for most of her family, he’d always respected Glory Evans. Respected and liked her. It’d been Glory he’d visited and asked for her blessing before proposing to Athena, not her father. So, yes, he held the woman in high esteem and had intended on guarding their secret past her death. But then, he hadn’t expected to become involved with Athena again either.
Just...shit.
“Nico?” Her gaze roamed his face as if seeking answers. And maybe she found them in his eyes or in his silence. Or more logically, her quick brain worked it out. She flattened her hands on either side of her hips, bracing herself. Against the truth? Maybe. “You. It was you,” she breathed, a quick emotion spasming across her face. “Mama said a grant or some social service aid came through that paid for Cambridge Grounds. We didn’t want her to leave home, but she insisted on going, especially since all the expenses were covered. At the time, I didn’t question the story. Not even when I visited the facility. She had her own private room, the staff was professional and attentive, the building and grounds were immaculate. I was just happy she would be somewhere safe, clean and comfortable. Somewhere she seemed content. And she was. Right until...”
Athena trailed off, blinked. When she lifted her hazel eyes back to him, they contained bruised shadows, pain. Everything primal within him howled to haul her across his lap. To curl his body around hers and protect her from that hurt. But even if that was his right—which it wasn’t—she didn’t want that from him.
“Tell me the truth.” Though softly spoken, she didn’t issue the words as a request. No, it was pure, velvet demand. Yet, underneath, he caught the plea. The need.
He couldn’t resist that need. To be honest, he never could.
“Yes, I paid for your grandmother’s assisted living care.”
Her low inhale echoed sharply in the room, and she stared at him, the scrutiny bordering on invasive. But he didn’t glance away.
“Why?” she rasped. “Why did you do it? We weren’t together. We...”
“Because your grandmother asked me to.”
Her head snapped back as if his blunt statement tapped her in the chin. “What? No, you’re lying. Why would she do that? She knew about—”
“Yes, she knew how you felt about me. But she loved you. Worried about you. And that trumped your feelings over her reaching out to me.” He worked his jaw, uneasy with betraying a confidence, even though Glory Evans was gone. But knowing the kind of woman she’d been, Nico didn’t think she would mind so much now. Especially if it meant releasing Athena from whatever guilt held her captive. “Glory hated that you moved back into your parents’ home after her stroke.”
Athena’s gasp broke on the air between them, and this time, he had no problem deciphering the emotion twisting her lovely features. Hurt. Sorrow.
He swore low and long under his breath. “Athena,” he murmured, breaking his personal vow and extending his hand toward her.
But she recoiled, pressing back against the corner of the couch, shaking her head. “That’s not true,” she whispered. “I moved back to take care of her. Because I loved her. That’s just not true.”
Dammit.
He couldn’t stand it. Fuck what had come between them before now. That agony in her voice. The hint of the lost, insecure girl so uncertain of love...
He stood, and in two short strides he curled his hands underneath her arms and lifted Athena from the couch. In the next moment, he claimed her place and settled Athena on his thighs, wrapping his arms around her. Though he held her, a part of him braced for her rejection. They weren’t in front of an audience; he had no legitimate reason to touch her. Other than every protective instinct when it came to this woman roaring that he do just that. So he waited for her to wiggle out of his embrace and demand to know what the hell he was doing.
But she didn’t.
Instead she hid her face in his neck, her warm breath bathing the base of his throat. Her arms encircled his chest, and she curled against him, as if seeking his heat...his protection. That thought shouldn’t cause a growl of satisfaction to rumble in his chest. Shouldn’t have pleasure careening through him or his head bending to brush a kiss over the top of her head.
“She loved you,” he said, his lips moving against her thick curls. “She loved all of her grandchildren, but she found a kindred spirit in you. And she wanted only the best for you—your happiness, your peace...your freedom. Which is why it saddened her when you moved back home. Because she hated being a burden on you.”
“She could never be a burden.” She fisted the back of his shirt. “Why would she think that? We’re family. I would’ve done anything for her.”
“She knew that, too. She also knew...” He hesitated, her family being a touchy subject between them. “She knew your family would place most of the responsibility for her care on your shoulders, and you would accept it because of your love for her. Glory couldn’t do anything about it that first year, but as soon as she had some of her mobility and speech back, she contacted me. Your grandmother—” he shook his head, and a smile played about his mouth in remembrance of the strong, feisty woman “—she was proud. I was aware of her story, of how her and her husband had built their business from the ground up. It couldn’t have been easy to come to me, a man she believed hurt her granddaughter. But she did. For you, she would’ve sacrificed anything. And understand this, Athena.” He leaned back, lifting his hands between them to cup her face and tilt it back so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. Glimpse the truth there.
“Coming to me? Asking that I cover the assisted living expenses? Moving from the only home she’d known for decades? It was all for you. Because Glory knew if she didn’t leave, you wouldn’t either. And more than anything, she wanted you to have your independence, your freedom back.”
A breath shuddered from between Athena’s lips and her thick fringe of lashes fluttered down. But that didn’t prevent a tear from tracking down her cheek.
Even though his brain blared a high-pitched warning, he bowed his head and rubbed the moisture away...with his lips. The saltiness hit his tongue, and he shifted to the other side, claiming another tear. Behind him, her hands balled his shirt tighter, harder, stretching the material across his back.
Lust left him intoxicated, off-balance. Burning up. Before he teetered over the edge and committed a sin they would both pay for, he raised his head, staring down into her flushed face. He shouldn’t have touched her. Or kissed away her tears. No, he shouldn’t have cradled her, hugged her, buried his nose in her hair, inhaled her sugar-and-vanilla scent. He’d crossed a line, and now he struggled to drag his ass back across it.
Because he’d done a lot of things in his life—some he was proud of, some not so much. But he couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. That he refused to do.
Dropping his hands from her face, he murmured, “Athena.”
She released his shirt and cuffed his wrists, holding on to him.
“She always liked you. Trusted you,” she whispered. “In hindsight, I’m not surprised she went to you. I’m...” She swept her mouth over the heel of his palm, and electrical currents pulsed up his arm, down his spine. He ground his teeth against the charge, battled the need to take that delectable mouth with his own while spreading her legs and rocking his dick over her pretty sex. He ordered his body to stand down and focused on her soft admission. “I’m grateful she had you to turn to. Thank you for taking care of my grandmother, Nico.”
He locked down the groan that barreled up his throat as she delivered another caress to his hand. Until that moment, the lines in his palm had just been that—creases. But now they’d transformed into erotic hot spots that connected straight to his cock. And it required every ounce of his control not to shake his hands free, burrow his fingers through her hair and drag her head back so he could suck the elegant column of her throat. Mark it. Bruise it, so when she looked in the mirror the next morning, she would feel him, never forget him.
Fuck, he needed space before he did something stupid that neither of them could take back.
Gently but firmly, he released his wrists and cradled her head. Once more, he tipped her head back, ensuring she looked at him.
“You know who I am, Athena. What I am,” he said, unable to keep the growl from his voice. “And right now, all I’m thinking about is if you’ll open up wide and let me fuck this pretty mouth. Or if you’ll make me work for it, starting with soft kisses, gentle bites.”
He tipped her head back farther, lowering his until their breath mingled, mated. “But I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of women when they’re in a vulnerable place. Next time you’re on my lap, though, ass against my cock and lips against my skin, I won’t hold back. Not until your nails are digging in my back and your voice is hoarse from screaming my name.” He bent his head closer, eliminating all but a mere inch of space between them. “Not until this tight, gorgeous little body is shaking from pleasure.”
