Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

I pulled Jemma closer, savoring the warmth of her body against mine.

Holy shit, was my future wife beautiful.

And luckily daring enough to not even hesitate when I told her to sit on my face or ride me.

“You’re a spitfire, grasshopper.”

“Grasshopper?” she said, raised a single eyebrow, and looked up at me.

“I’m testing out new nicknames.”

“So that’s why you asked me if I wanted to keep my hair green?” she asked, “because you think I would let you live if you nickname me after a bug? And what’s wrong with Punk…or Little One anyway?”

I squeezed her against me. “You will always be my little punk, but it might be strange if I call my wife and the mother of my children ‘Punk’. ”

She didn’t reply but laid her head back on my chest and started following the black lines of my tattoo.

The silence between us stretched.

“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?”

“Hmmm,” was all she said.

Which wasn’t good enough. “Talk to me.”

“We didn’t use protection…again.”

I nodded. “I’m clean, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She shook her head, then circled one of my scars—one of the many reminders of how my father’s favored form of keeping me in check, or “educating” me—as he used to call it—was complete public humiliation—this particular scar and many more I got when I came home for the summer at age sixteen.

That was the summer he forced me to step into the ring against grown-ass men in illegal dog fights to promote his newly established underground fighting ring. I’d barely made it out of there alive. But it sure as hell had stoked my hatred against my father.

“Do you really mean it?” she said and pulled me back into the present.

“Do I mean what?”

“The starting-a-family-right-away? Or do you just not want to use protection?”

Her question hung in the air between us, heavy with implications.

Heat flushed through my body, and I ground my teeth. Did she really think that I would say something like that because I wanted to fuck her bare? Did she really think so little of me? And did she really think I would do that to her out of pure egotism? Well, maybe I did, but not the kind looking for a quick bareback fuck.

Goddammit.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I want a family with you.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I paused. Images flashed through my mind—Jemma glaring at me, her belly swollen with our child, her skin glowing. The thought sent a jolt of desire through me, so intense it floored me.

I hadn’t realized how much I wanted that image to be real. Why now, all of a sudden? What had changed? I’d never had the desire to procreate. My siblings had always given me enough of a headache growing up, so I never, ever wanted to take on that kind of responsibility again. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.

Until now.

But imagining her carrying our baby, nurturing a new life we’d created together—it was primal, possessive—and incredibly appealing. I splayed my hand across her flat stomach, picturing it rounded and full…and sexy.

Then, my thoughts shifted. I saw myself holding a tiny bundle, a miniature person with Jemma’s eyes and my dark hair, teaching them to walk, to read, to navigate this complicated world we live in.

A deep longing welled up inside me and caught me off guard with its force. I wanted that future—desperately. To be a father, to have a family of my own to come home to. To give a child the love and security I’d never had growing up.

“I want it with you,” I admitted softly. “The idea of you carrying our child, of us raising a family together…it’s everything I never knew I wanted. ”

I trapped her hand against my chest. “I really think you’re perfect for me, Punk. But we have time. It will happen when you’re ready. When we’re both ready.”

She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge my words at all.

I put a finger under her chin and lifted her face so I could see her eyes.

She looked conflicted as if she wasn’t sure.

“Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” I said.

“It’s not the right time,” she whispered, with so much pain in her voice, it hit me like a high-speed train.

Everything that had happened in the last couple of hours ran through my mind, and the warmth of our intimate moment, of dreaming about starting a family with her, gave way to the cold, hard facts of our situation.

It was not the right time.

She tensed slightly in my arms, sensing the shift in me.

“You’re right. As much as I want this,” I said, my voice low and serious. “Now’s not the right time.”

She nodded.

“We’re in the middle of a shitstorm right now,” I continued, running a hand through my hair. “And I don’t even know where the wind is coming from.”

She nodded again. “There are people out there who want to hurt us. And we don’t even know who’s behind the attack on the rooftop, yet.”

I sat up and brought Jemma with me. “And then there’s the hacking situation. We need to figure out who’s behind that, too. Not to mention, we still haven’t dealt with your father. ”

Jemma nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.

“So, as much as it pains me to say this”—I sighed and hung my head melodramatically—“you’re right.”

Just because our situation was shitty right now didn’t mean it wouldn’t be better with a little bit of humor.

I gave her a lopsided grin when she jabbed against my chest. “Glad you can acknowledge that, at least. Maybe there’s still hope for you.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You know how we Italians like to be right more than anything.” I winked at her.

She sighed. “We should definitely hold off on starting a family. Solve these problems first. Get our lives in order. Maybe give you a couple of years to grow up.”

The expression on her face was one that could be used as a meme for “You’re so childish.”

I cupped her face in my hand, my thumb brushing her cheek, and stared at her until we both were back to serious. “For now. Because I want to give our children the best possible start in life. And right now, with all this chaos…it’s not.”

The expression in Jemma’s eyes softened slightly, a mix of relief and something else—disappointment, maybe?—flickering across her face.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Let’s definitely wait until we’re not dodging bullets, attacking helicopters, and unraveling conspiracies.”

I pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll get through this, Punk. And when we do, when it’s safe…then we’ll revisit the idea of starting our family.”

She nodded .

“We can use the time to find out how good of a team we are.”

She cocked her head. “Find out how good of a team we are… So you’re done dictating everything?” she countered.

I could not promise her that. Would not promise her that. Being in charge, making decisions—it was too deeply ingrained in me to just change with the flip of a coin—not that I could tell her that.

I groaned as another knock interrupted our moment. “For fuck’s sake!” I shouted, my temper flaring. Couldn’t we have five fucking minutes of peace? “Can’t a man have some damn time alone with his wife?”

“She’s not your wife yet,” Alex’s voice came through the door, tinged with amusement. “And you two better get dressed and come downstairs ASAP.”

I felt her tense in my hold, her eyes widening. “My dad,” she whispered, a mix of panic and resignation in her voice.

“Your dad,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. I looked down at Jemma, still wearing nothing, her short, green hair mussed from our activities. As much as I loved seeing her like this, it wasn’t exactly the image I wanted to present to her father.

“We’ll be down in five,” I called out to Alex while Jemma scrambled to get up, and I did the same.

“Make it three,” Alex replied.

I turned to Jemma, who was frantically looking around for her clothes. “Hey,” I said softly as I rounded the bed, catching her wrist. “It’s going to be okay. We’re in this together—a team, remember?”

She nodded, but I could see the worry in her eyes. I pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before releasing her. Then hurried to make myself presentable.

And as much as I put on a mask of cool aloofness, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and dread.

This wasn’t exactly how I’d planned to ask Craig Donnelly for his daughter’s hand in marriage or introduce myself to him as his future son-in-law, but then again, nothing about our relationship had been conventional so far. So what did I expect?

I grabbed a fresh shirt from the closet, pulled it on, and watched Jemma struggle with her clothes from earlier. She looked beautiful, even flustered and rushed and disheveled. I couldn’t resist pulling her close for a kiss.

“Vince, stop,” she protested, pushing against my chest. “We don’t have time for this.”

“You two better hurry up!” Alex’s voice came through the door again, surprising me. Why the hell was he still out there?

I growled in frustration but released her. She was right, of course, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

And I definitely had enough of the interruptions and Alex’s hovering. I strode to the door, ready to give him a piece of my mind.

I threw the door open, my jaw clenched. “What the fuck, Alex? Don’t you have anything better to do than play hall monitor?”

Alex stood there, arms crossed, an annoyingly smug grin on his face. “Just making sure you two don’t get…distracted.” Then he pushed me aside and stepped into the room. He grabbed Jemma, examined her from head to toe, then turned he r around and did the same before he pulled her into his arms. “Thank fuck, you’re okay. Fee would’ve killed me if there was a single scratch on you.”

I clenched my jaw as I watched Alex embrace Jemma. A surge of indignation and jealousy coursed through me, hot and irrational.

I knew Alex was with Fee, that his action was nothing more than an expression of brotherly concern, but I couldn’t shake the possessiveness flaring in my chest. “Alright, that’s enough,” I growled, stepping forward to separate them.

Alex raised an eyebrow at me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Easy there, tiger. Just making sure our girl is in one piece.”

Our girl. The words grated on my nerves. She wasn’t “our” anything. She was mine.

I took a deep breath and reined in my temper. This was ridiculous. I was being unreasonable, and I knew it. Alex was family, for all intents and purposes. He had every right to be concerned about Jemma’s well-being.

But as I watched Jemma’s easy smile, the way she leaned into Alex’s side, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of…something.

Not just jealousy but a strange sense of exclusion.

How many men in her life were allowed to touch her so freely? To hug her without hesitation?

Even Hawk had embraced her earlier with a familiarity that made my skin crawl. And who knew how many others there were that I didn’t know about?

I shook my head, trying to clear these thoughts. I was being ridiculous. Jemma was mine. She was here, in my room, wearing my sister’s clothes. We’d just shared an incredibly intimate moment planning our future.

I had no reason to doubt her.

And yet, as I watched her interact so comfortably with Alex, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I was still somehow on the outside looking in.

That there were still things we hadn’t yet talked about, hadn’t yet told each other. Things we didn’t know about each other.

Jemma escaped his hug, stepped in my direction, and stopped once her hand touched mine. “I’m fine, really.”

I interlaced our fingers and squeezed, and she squeezed back.

Alex looked at our joined hands, then at me. “The two of you look surprisingly cozy,” he said.

“Things change,” I said simply, my thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand.

She glanced up and gave me that small smile. Her gesture was so intimate, so open, that I felt it deep inside my bones.

Alex nodded slowly, his eyes slightly narrowed as he studied us. “I can see that,” he murmured. Then, louder, “Well, I came to tell you that Craig’s here. He’s waiting downstairs—for now.”

I nodded calmly, despite my pulse speeding up slightly—preparing my body for battle.

Time to face the music.

Jemma’s hand tightened in mine.

“We’ll be down in a second,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. I stared at him, and when he didn’t move, I raised an eyebrow .

“Right.” Alex nodded, his gaze still moving between us as if trying to solve a puzzle. “I’ll go downstairs and let him know you’re coming.”

As Alex turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes—concern, maybe? About me being beaten to a pulp by Craig Donnelly—since the same thing happened to Gabe? Or was it approval?

But before I could decipher it, he was gone, leaving us alone.

I could sense a whirlwind of emotions in her, so I turned her to me. “Don’t be scared.”

She nodded, and then I pulled her with me. Together, we moved down the stairs toward the big room where I could already hear my future father-in-law’s booming voice.

He was not happy. And there was a realistic chance this might end bloody.