KYLE: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 4) (86 page)

              Kissing her cheek, he popped her jeans open then eased the fly down so that his hand could slide slowly beneath the fabric of her panties. With a feather touch, he caressed her labia with his fingertip, sliding up and down and inspiring the warmest friction. She let out a breathy sigh and he kissed her cheek again, working his way to her mouth, to which he pressed a long, firm kiss, then whispered in her ear, “I want you so bad.”

              “Oh, you’re turning me on,” she breathed.

              “Good. I’m going to take off all of your clothes and lick every inch of you.”             

              Hearing that, a fresh wave of heat surged through her.

              Naturally, her hips rose in response to Taylor pulling her jeans down, and in an arch she bent her knees for him to free her of the garment. The cool air on her skin was tantalizing, but not more so than his hot lips wrapping her crotch, though her panties still separated them.

              Feeling eager, she pulled her sweater up and over her head, her nipples hardening as soon as the crisp AC hit her skin. Not a second later, she felt Taylor’s hot tongue flick her left nipple then the right, as his fingers settled between her legs, stimulating her with a gentle massage that made her grow hot and wet for a deeper touch.

              He kissed her lips tenderly, then again flicked her nipple with his tongue and sucked the mound between her legs, his cool breath commingling with the heat of his tongue before turning his mouth to hers.

              “Oh,” she sighed, as he worked through the same arousing pattern, moving from her lips to her breast to her clit. All the while she spread her legs, aching for him to fill her with his thick, long erection. “Taylor,” she whispered, “I can’t wait. I need you.”

              He groaned in her ear and soon she felt the hard, wide head of his dick pressing against the thin cotton of her panties, fitting perfectly in the concave hollow of her natural shape.

              “I’ve wanted you so badly,” he groaned.

              “I need you inside me, now, please.”

              “Okay,” he said softly, pulling her cotton panties down then grazing his index finger along her slippery labia, exploring the outer and inner folds of her body.

              He must have shifted onto his knees to look down at her writhing hips, because she sensed he had eased off before he finally stripped her panties away, discarding them to the floor.

              She wished she could see him grasp his hard erection to angle it against her throbbing sheath, but feeling his tip press against the apex of her body was just as good. As soon as he made contact, a burst of electric arousal fluttered through her loins, and she began aching even more for him to fill her.

              Rose grabbed his waist, guiding him to thrust inside. Her body expanded, as he pressed deeper and deeper until he was met with firm resistance when having consumed her.

              Gently, he rocked, thrusting and grinding and helping her burning ache blossom into a soothing flutter. Just like earlier in the lobby, she noted that every sensation was heightened. She was infinitely more aware of his shape, the firm pressure he delivered, the sensual rhythm he kept to work her higher and higher, heat and tingles building in a slow rolling wave that coursed through her.

              Taylor pressed his lips to hers and she parted her mouth, eager to feel his tongue delicately probing the smooth curves of her lips and tongue, as he quickened the pace of his thrusting.

              She gasped, feeling a quick clench in her loins, the first hot burst towards climaxing, as though her body were pitching upwards towards the peak.

              “Is this okay?” he whispered, breathing the words against her cheek then finding her lips again as she murmured that it was perfect.

              Then she felt a strong surge, the sheath of her clamping around his hard erection. Savoring every inch of him, she focused on the slippery friction he was stirring over her deepest and most sensitive spots, and soon a huge wave of tingles shimmied through her. She arched her head back, moaning and riding the heightening flutter until a muscle-melting orgasm seized her.

              “Oh, baby,” he groaned, intuiting her climax and pumping her harder to come in tandem. “I’m coming apart.”

              “Come with me,” she moaned, grabbing his hips then frantically finding his ass and squeezing it, holding him deep inside her to maximize her pleasure.

              In seconds, he was bursting inside her, hot and hard, as his rhythm calmed and he sighed, shoulders relaxing and chest lowering against hers, sweaty and with a pounding heart.

              After taking a moment to catch his breath, he rolled beside her, scooping her into his arms. She settled into his embrace, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and then drifting into sleep so calmly, she could’ve forgotten she was blind. She could’ve forgotten who she was.

              Taylor lifted out of sleep, feeling Rose’s warm body in his arms. Lying still, he listened to her breathing, the soft flutter of her rising and falling chest. If he concentrated, he could feel her heart beating faintly, its rhythm hitting the side of his chest. He stared at the ceiling then angled his eyes towards the bay windows to his left, studying the dim light seeping through. It told him it was dusk. The sun hadn’t yet completely fallen beneath the horizon. The moon hadn’t entirely risen in the sky. The strange magic of twilight was filling the room.

              He didn’t want to wake her, but needed to tend to a few matters in his study, make arrangements for dinner, and wrap his head around her medical treatment, both managing her pain and recovery and thinking long term. Would she be permanently blind, or was this condition temporary? In so many ways he felt responsible. If she ever regained her sight, it would be because Taylor did everything in his power to make it so. He wouldn’t give up. The difference between failing and succeeding would boil down to sheer will and determination.

              Easing her off his shoulder and onto the pillow, he slipped out from beneath her, holding his breath not to wake her in the process. When it seemed she remained in a deep sleep, he pulled the comforter back and slid out, his feet meeting with the cool wooden floor.

              Stepping softly, he found his robe in the closet then pulled a fresh pair of boxer-briefs on that were in a dresser drawer. He padded through the bedroom and carefully closed the door all but for a crack so he’d be able to hear her should she stir and need him.

              He turned on a few of the lights in the living room, expecting nightfall to darken the suite. After pouring himself a glass of water and drinking half of it, he walked into his study where a number of documents concerning the pipeline were resting atop his desk.

              The vast divide between what his father and the government found acceptable when it came to chemical use in the construction of a tristate pipeline and what Rose and One World believed was hazardous was the difference between two foreign languages. Because of this, Taylor had no idea how to reconcile the two. Rose wouldn’t have gotten hurt had she not been there. The only people authorized to handle the chemicals used for the pipeline were those from Davey Construction, namely because of their hazmat gear and experience. But was that level of protocol enough to convince an entire community that they’d be safe living a mile from the pipeline for the rest of their lives? According to the government, it was. Yet according to Rose, and what Taylor had witnessed as a result of her coming into contact with that toxic chemical, it clearly wasn’t.

              So what was he going to do about it?

              Was one woman worth losing billions of dollars?

              If there were no one to answer to but himself, Taylor would say yes.

              He woke his computer from sleep and pulled up a spreadsheet he had been working on that listed a number of eye specialists as well as patient studies of people who’d suffered similar detriment to their sight. Unfortunately, he had come across no examples of anyone having been blinded from the precise chemical that Rose had been exposed to, so while many studies were ultimately promising, they were no guarantee that Rose would undergo the same result should she opt for the same surgery.

              Rose's recovery and subsequent surgery would hinge on the degree of damage to her optic nerve behind her eyeballs. Until she healed well enough for tests to be run exploring the actual damage done to those nerves, any presumption of surgery would be a guess, at best. Would one surgery be more promising than the next? What frustrated Taylor most was that Rose would be in no condition to undergo those tests for at least a week, and that was a highly optimistic timeline. If he wanted to stay realistic, it would likely be two weeks, or perhaps a month. Could he live with himself that long?

              He heard a faint knock and startled, at first thinking it was Rose in the bedroom. But after a moment of listening closely, he realized it was coming from his front door.

              Quickly, he moved through the study, hoping his father wasn’t here to micromanage and lecture him on the sensitive matter of Rose’s health, but when he opened the door and found a large black man on the other side, he remembered Rose had promised to call her team to get started on their next course of action.

              “Carter, right?” he asked, stepping back and urging the man inside.

              “How’s she doing?”

              “Resting.”

              “We didn’t hear from her, but I wanted to stop by, anyway.”

              Taylor followed him, as Carter stalked into the living room and seemed to sneer, turning three hundred and sixty degrees and taking in the decorum.

              “It’s fine,” said Taylor, who admitted to himself that he was more than a little annoyed at the unexpected interruption, though he preferred Carter over his father. “I can see if she’s up.”

              “Not just yet,” he blurted out in a booming tone. “I have a few questions for you.”

              Taylor raised his brows and wondered if he meant questions or confrontations, since that was what the look on his face seemed to imply. Carter’s brow was furrowed, his mouth twisting into a disgusted grimace that couldn’t possibly be good news for Taylor.

              “Hey look,” he began in a preemptive apology. “This shouldn’t have happened to Rose. I never expected this, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, but I’m going to do everything I can.”

              “Are you?” he challenged. “Because doing everything would include making for damn sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

              “Your point isn’t lost on me.” Taylor meant to shut the conversation down, but his retort only seemed to incite Carter.

              “Think about it,” said Carter. “That chemical burns when it’s in direct contact with skin. What do you think is going to happen when it leaches into the soil, gets sucked up into the Bellevue water tower, and people drink it for thirty years?”

              Taylor exercised his ability to say nothing. Hopefully, if Carter vented, he’d run out of steam and wouldn’t need to further engage Taylor.

              “I know for a fact you knew about that chemical.”

              “I don’t deny that, Carter, but in reality I’m a CEO. The chemical is completely foreign to me, and I relied on my construction team to get the necessary clearance from the government to use it and they did.”

              “Ignorance is no defense.”

              “I hate to break it to you, but it is. If you want to do something productive, lobby government to outlaw the chemical.”

              “We’re working on that.” Carter took a few deep breaths, but it didn’t appear to calm him, only fuel his intensity. “What do you want with Rose?”

              “What do you mean?” he asked, unsure whether he was confused or offended, but feeling both strongly.

              “I mean what kind of sick game is this that you’re fucking the woman whose life you destroyed? Do you get off on this? Have some kind of cripple fetish?”

              “Excuse me?” he gaped.

              “You heard me.”

              “Not that it’s any of your business, but Rose and I became involved before this tragedy. If anything, you should be thanking me for not abandoning her.”

              Taken aback, Carter snorted at the audacity of the man, and Taylor quickly stammered.

              “I didn’t mean it like that. No one should thank me for this, but I didn’t do this to Rose, and I’m determined to see her through this, so I think I deserve a little credit.”

              “Yeah,” he said in a sarcastic drawl. “You’ll get credit for this, I guarantee you.”

              Just as sarcastically, Taylor said, “Thanks,” then realized his robe was open. Working the sash around his waist, he closed his robe and started for the bedroom, saying, “I’m going to put something on and see if Rose is available. Have a seat.”

              Defiantly, Carter planted his feet, and Taylor again exercised immense maturity by not rolling his eyes.

              In the bedroom, Rose was lifting out of sleep, her hand brushing over the gauze around her eyes as though she was discovering it for the first time, and Taylor quickly sat by her side, placing his hand on her leg.

              “Hey, you’re up?”

              “How long did I sleep? I can’t tell what time it is.”

              “It’s a little after six.”

              “I slept all day?” she said, bolting upright.

              “Hey, it’s okay. Carter’s actually here for you, if you feel like working.”

              “Oh,” she said a bit woozily as she swooned in bed. “I just got lightheaded.”

              “How’s the pain? You’re due for another pill, if you need it.”

              “I have a slight headache, but I’m fine. I could use a little help finding my clothes.”

              “Okay, give me a sec, just got to find my pants.”

              Taylor did, pulling on a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt from his closet, before finding her pants on the floor. Realizing she’d need her panties first, he searched around for them and found the black pair tucked under the foot of the bed. When he found her sweater, he stole a glance at her and wondered if she had any idea how gorgeous she was, sitting upright in bed, nude with the sheets bunched around her waist. His gaze lingered on the curve of her breasts, their full teardrop shape, then he snapped out of it, cursed Carter for being here at all, and set her clothes beside her.

              “Here are your panties,” he said, placing them in her hand.

              “I got it,” she said, pulling them on. “Do you have my bra?”

              He handed it to her and helped her fasten the hook and eye once she pulled the straps on. Her pants and sweater were next, and soon Rose was dressed and taking careful steps in the direction she presumed the door would be.

              Before she could bump into the ottoman, he rushed to her side and took her arm, guiding her away from the furniture and out the door.

              “Carter’s standing in the middle of the room,” he said quietly, and Carter’s eyes snapped to him.

              “So where can we work?” asked Carter.

              “Where’s my laptop?” asked Rose.

              At a loss, Taylor said, “I can go out for a few hours and let you set up in my study.”

              “Rose,” said Carter, “I have your laptop. Layla should be here soon. I gave her the address.”

              As if hell-bent on proving Taylor’s uselessness, Carter took Rose by the arm then glared at Taylor expectantly.

              “Uh, right this way,” he said, leading them through the suite and down the hall where his study was situated across the hallway from his entertainment den.

              As soon as he got to his desk, Taylor collected the documents that were strewn across it and tucked them into a filing cabinet, then closed a number of spreadsheets and Web pages on his computer. He switched out of his user and into the guest one, and said, “Feel free to use my computer. The Wi-Fi password is here on this Post-it.” He indicated the yellow flap of paper, then asked, “Would anyone like water or coffee?”

              “We can help ourselves,” said Carter as though Taylor’s hospitality were really an insult.

              “All right, then I’ll let you get to it.” Backing away towards the door, hesitant to leave Rose alone with Carter, Taylor observed the man help Rose into the office chair and then pull her laptop out of his black satchel. “Call if you need anything, okay?”

              “We will, thanks,” said Rose, feeling for the keyboard of her laptop and angling her nose in the air.

              It pained him to leave her, but the fact of the matter was that Rose wouldn’t need him to do her work, and if anything made her feel more in control of her life, it would be to proceed as though nothing, not even blindness, could stop her. So Taylor eased the door shut then wasted no time getting into his bedroom where he changed into a gray suit and dress shoes, the uniform of his persona whenever he expected to face his father. And face his father, he would.

              Opting to take his Lexus over sitting in the back of a limo, Taylor started off on the twenty-minute drive out of Seattle. Traffic was light, but he barely saw it he was so deep in thought as to how to confront Porter Montgomery, argue points for re-envisioning the pipeline, researching new materials, and making it as acceptable to Rose as possible. There had to be a way. It might be more expensive and take longer, but if it would make her happy, that’s all that mattered. His father wouldn’t be easily persuaded, and not just because of the pragmatic obstacles of time and money. Porter Montgomery rarely liked an idea that wasn’t his own. So the real skill Taylor would have to employ to get through to the man would amount to cunning and artful manipulation. Taylor would need to plant the idea in his father’s head and let it sprout into action all on its own. It would be no easy task.