Forever (24 page)

Amy looked beautiful. Tired, but beautiful. Her hair was the same bountiful mass, her lips pink and soft, despite her fury. There was a little more fullness to her sweet breasts and he’d felt the slight swell of her belly where his baby grew. He longed to press his lips there before kissing down to her apex, pushing her thighs wide to lick and explore his pussy, finding that little nub to nibble and suck until she closed those full thighs around his head to prolong the sensation, her cries stifled by her fists or a pillow. His cock thickened again and Dean shifted his position, the leather seat squeaking beneath him. He risked a glance at Amy, wondering if she was recognizing the strength of his will and coming to accept it.
She was still his woman, would always be his woman, and he was going to take the best care of her from here on in.

She was asleep, slumped slightly against the door, her profile softened, reflected in the glass, hair in drifting tendrils catching the intermittent light from oncoming traffic and from the dash lights. His possessiveness and the need to protect her
, have her close by and take care of her, outstripped his own desire and he turned his attention back to the road. He’d do well to cultivate those emotions because he doubted Amy was going to welcome his carnal attentions, at least not immediately. Dean forecast some personal time in the shower, and cold showers at that. He debated making a stop for food, but they’d be home in under an hour. Fumbling with his cell, he called Randy.

“I’m an hour out. Is there food in the condo? Amy will be hungry.”

A low chuckle filled his ear. “So she agreed to come back. Must say I’m surprised, buddy. You always did have the power of persuasion.”

“There was no
need for discussion, Randy. Amy agreed.”
Because she didn’t want you around her new friends.
For once he was overtly grateful for the shadow he cast.

“Holy shit. Okay. Maybe you’ll give me the goods later. There’s food. And I’ll ask Andrea to drop off some milk for your
pregnant
hostage right away. You take care.”

“Hardly a hostage. Although it’s gonna take
some convincing for her to stay.”

Rather than considering the possibility that convincing Amy might prove to be impossible,
Dean smiled at the note of envy in Randy’s voice. His friend wanted a baseball team of kids and Andrea wasn’t convinced. He’d told Randy about his true identity when the shit with Andrea went down. Randy had planned to give up the life for her, and Dean jumped at the opportunity to tell his lieutenant. Despite his decision to go straight, Randy was pissed with Dean’s actual job—no one liked to be taken in—but soon came around. The other man shone in his position in the business, a schemer at heart, and willingly stayed as Dean’s right hand. Dean decided he’d be sharing a fundamentally important piece of information with Amy in the near future, that of his undercover status. He’d blown her trust because he hadn’t trusted
her
, a vicious cycle, and now he couldn’t think of anything more important to trust her with. He would willingly put his life in her hands, although probably not right away. He wasn’t blind to how furious she was with him, and while he didn’t believe she’d out him, their present relationship would hardly withstand another body blow.

The exit loomed in the darkness and Dean followed it, navigating the streets to his home. The entire complex housing him and his crew, like a medieval fortress, interspersed with a few naïve young couples, came into view. No families, no children. It gave him pause. His child wasn’t going to be raised there. But that was a ways down the road. He had a woman to placate and gentle.

Pulling into his drive he shoved the gearshift into park. The lack of motion likely woke Amy, because she jerked upright and he could see her hair flow around her shoulders as she looked around.

“Home, sweetheart. Wait until I come and get you.”

She didn’t respond, and Dean sighed inwardly as he exited the vehicle. He was tired, worn out from the pressure and exertions of the past weeks. However, she would expect him to act out. He was going to do the exact opposite and kill her rage and hurt with kindness. Grabbing her purse and the garbage bag, he opened her door, reaching in to click open her seatbelt, not really concerned Amy would try anything. She knew who lived in the complex and that she wouldn’t find any support here. His men, and their women, would follow his orders, not matter the friendships Amy had forged. He took her elbow once she swivelled her legs out, and held her in place until she was steady on her feet. She was probably exhausted despite her nap.

Guiding her to the stairs, he felt her steps hesitating
, but he urged her forward, wondering what was going through her head, but well aware it wasn’t anything he really wanted to hear. As she approached the door, her lithe body stiffened and she yanked her elbow from his grip. Dean punched in the door code and turned the handle, ushering her inside. She stopped in the middle of the room and looked at him, one golden brown brow arched. Dean closed and locked the door behind him, and Amy’s eyes tracked the movements but remained blank and aloof.

He took a step toward her
and she wheeled away, heading toward the bedroom. Dean beat her to it with two lengthening strides and held out his hand appeasingly. Amy brushed past and went into the bathroom, closing the door against him. After a time he could hear water running in the shower. Blowing out a breath of relief, he sagged to a seat on the bed, setting her belongings beside him. That had gone far easier than even he’d expected. He dared hope she still felt enough for him that they could build on it, move past his utter stupidity.

Then he heard it. It was hard to discern above the beat and hiss of the water and through the closed door, but the faint sounds of his woman crying, sobbing in despair, permeated his head. He scrubbed his face with his hands
, then hardened his heart. He’d done what he had to do. He got up and went to put together something to feed her.

The shower shut off but Amy didn’t emerge from the bathroom. Dean rapped on the door, reluctant to invade that slight privacy despite the total openness they’d shared previously. When she didn’t answer his worry spiked and he opened the door. Amy sat on the closed toilet seat, wrapped in a bath sheet, drying her hair with a smaller towel. She didn’t look his way and Dean tamped down his annoyance
, aware it was a more palatable emotion than what he was really feeling—worry that he wasn’t going to be able to fix this.

“I’ve made a meal.”

“Okay.”

He couldn’t stop the words. “So your attitude doesn’t extend to refusing to eat
?”

Her hands didn’t stop plying the towel. “I’m pregnant, Dean. I wouldn’t do that to my baby.”

Fuck. He deserved that. “Our baby, Amy, and I’m sorry. Will you come and eat?”

“I want my nightgown and a robe, some panties.”

Gesturing behind him, Dean nodded. “All your things are here. Help yourself.”

When she didn’t move, he got it. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Amy joined him a few minutes later, bundled into her pink terry towel robe, her scrubbed face and damp hair making her look about sixteen instead of the twenty-eight years old she was. He’d fucking well missed her birthday and had that to make up to her, too. She settled on the stool as far from him as she could get and reached to fill her plate with fruit and cheese, adding a slice of buttered bread. She deigned to accept the glass of milk he poured and ate quickly.

“We need to talk,” he began.

“I’m tired, Dean. Babies do that to a woman. I worked a long day and lunch was a long time ago. I don’t have the energy to hear anything you plan to share.”

He decided not to say all the things that immediately leapt to mind. Like how she could have called him when Sandra told her he was looking for her, wanted her back. She didn’t have to work. She was
his
responsibility. A few other things came up, but he bit them all back and nodded. He was being an ass, retreating behind selfishness because her comments cut him to the quick. He knew this side of Amy existed, heard it invoked on his behalf, but never dreamed to see it erected against him. Even in those first few days of butting heads, early in their relationship, she hadn’t been so cold. But then the stakes hadn’t been so high. Shit. This was
his
fault and
he
had to fix it.

When she got up to carry her dishes to the sink he forestalled her. “I’ll do that. Go to bed. I’ll be there shortly.”

At last she faced him, looked him in the eye and Dean rejoiced inwardly, although took care to shutter his own, a feat, because he hadn’t had to do that with Amy, not since their first time together. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“You are, Amy. I’m not sleeping anywhere you’re not from here on in.
I’m going to be there for you.”

She studied him, those violet eyes now impassive, resolute. “I have no doubt you can seduce me, arouse me. We have history and you owned my body. But it’ll be force for all of that, Dean. Rape. You take what you want but you won’t get
me
. You think on that. And you think on what your
child
will think of his father.”

Fuck him. Fucked. He didn’t want just her body. He wanted all of her. And he couldn’t let himself ignore the last part of her statement, because he was determined to set a fine example. “We’ll sleep in the same bed. I’m not letting you build any more distance between us.”

Shoulders back, she walked away, but not before he saw the sheen in her eyes. It killed him to make her cry.

Dean cleaned up, listening to the sounds of Amy getting ready in the bedroom. He then made his way to the second bath to clean up, stripping to his boxers
. For some reason, perhaps because of the enormity of the day’s events, he checked the coin in his right boot heel that identified him as more than Dean Chambray, the criminal. The one thing he could use to certify the real reason he headed up his small organization—if his handler was even available at such a time as he was forced to reveal it.

Their bedroom was in darkness, Amy’s shape under the blankets delineated in the ambient light filtering in from the street above the window coverings and through the tiny cracks between the slats of the blinds. He climbed in beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist, hauling her into him, tucking her fine ass against his pelvis. He rested his chin on the top of her head, scenting her shampoo, relishing the silken feel of her against him,
selfishly resenting the fabric barrier of her night apparel. His cock hardened, instantly, knowing how close it was to his heart’s desire, uncaring of ultimatums and ethics and values, and he willed it into submission. He desperately wanted to touch and explore her whole body, see the changes his child had wrought, to love her, bring her pleasure.

Amy held herself rigid for a very long time
, but at last, Dean felt her relax into slumber. He tried to ignore the tiny voice suggesting not only were the battle lines joined, Amy was in possession of some weapons he had never trained in, nor ever expected to wield. She’d be quite the better loser. A frission of unfamiliar anxiety kept him awake considerably longer, and at one point he carefully exited their bed to ease his lonely cock in the bathroom, like a truculent teenager. But not before double checking that the front door was locked, and hiding her purse in his gun safe.

Chapter Thirteen

“So I can’t leave, can’t call Sandra or anyone else, not even my bosses at the hotel, and you’re staying here with me until I give in
?” The venom in Amy’s voice made Dean want to check for acid burns. But it was nothing less than he expected—or deserved. He thought back to the previous hour, an equally tense experience, while he waited for her to calm down and process what he’d said, not just react.

Waking later than usual, his body probably recharging after the momentous events of yesterday, Dean immediately noted the lack of warm woman beside him. He’d rolled to his feet in one quick movement, his ears registering no sound in the space other than the hum of the appliances and a drip in the adjoining bathroom. Moving quickly and silently on the balls of his feet, he gained the living area. Amy was curled into a corner of the couch, staring out the window, once again wrapped in her robe. Probably sensing him as his movements disturbed the air, she glanced his way then resumed her perusal out the window. Dean broke the silence.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Give me a minute and I’ll make breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about it.” No intonation, nothing. He supposed the flat affect was her chosen tactic of the moment, although her lack of spirit was alarming.

“You need to eat. The baby—”

“How
about if you let me worry about the baby, Dean? I know what my body is telling me, and it’s suggesting I not put anything in my stomach at this time.”

He forced himself to shrug, ignoring the stab of pain resulting from the insinuation he would hardly know what she was experiencing because he hadn’t seen her for weeks. Precious weeks wasted because of his actions. Moving on.

“I’ll shower and dress. You might feel better by then.”

A hint of surprise drifted across her beloved features. Amy clearly expected him to respond in kind, familiar with his refusal to be disrespected. Well, she would learn he could be flexible where she was concerned. Especially when their relationship had suffered a setback. Dean preferred to think of it that way. A setback sounded manageable.

As he quickly showered, he wondered that Amy hadn’t smothered him in his sleep. She’d been angry enough, although this aloof, resigned posture worried him more. The scratches on his face were scabbed over, but still very much evident. But she loved him too—he prayed she did—and surely it hadn’t turned to hatred. It was up to him to deal with the
setback
and bring all of that glorious caring back so he could bask in it and return it with interest. He’d tell her he loved her when he thought she wouldn’t throw it back in his face. Deciding not to shave, in deference to the furrows on his cheek, he considered his next step. Probably setting the ground rules after breakfast was best. Amy might revolt, but better to start out as he meant to finish, and she might listen better on a settled stomach. Tossing the towel over the rod, Dean strode into the bedroom to dress, coming to an immediate halt.

Amy clutched a scrap of fabric to her chest, eyes wide and startled. She’d been dressing, presumably taking advantage of his morning ablutions to do so in private. The shirt she held did little to conceal the lace of her bra, and the expanse of skin above her navel glowed in the early morning light. He noted the convex curve of her belly before his gaze travelled to the tiny panties covering her sex, down the long, lovely length of her legs. When he looked back into her face, Amy was pulling her gaze away from his lower half and Dean struggled to hide both his jubilation and response. She might be pissed,
and trying to remain distant, but definitely not immune.

Giving him her back, she slipped on the shirt, yanking it around her. He could tell by the way her head tilted and the way her hands worked out of his line of vision she was buttoning it. The conservative cut and color didn’t reflect his Amy. She then sidestepped to the bed where a pair of black pants lay. Dean frowned, while devouring the sight of Amy’s ass, her full buttocks partially cupped in satin. Was she eschewing all the clothes she left behind? Making yet another statement?

“Something wrong with your jeans, Amy?” He wasn’t able to totally hide the little bite in his tone, feeling he was fighting a battle on all fronts, wondering if his plan to be kind and understanding was the best one after all. Fuck, he was never stymied like this.

She stepped into the pants before answering him. “I probably can’t zip my jeans and my self esteem is challenged enough as it is.”

He ate up the physical distance between them in one stride, whirling her to face him, gripping her shoulders, giving her a little shake, grimly pleased with the real emotion filling her eyes that caused her lips to part invitingly.

“Stop the bullshit, Amy. You’re pregnant and beautiful. You’ll embrace it!” His cock swelled and filled, and he ground his pelvis against her, pulling her close. “Does that feel like you’ve lost your appeal?”

It killed him to see her blank her expressive features again, veiling her eyes, visibly pulling away emotionally, doing her level best to ignore his arousal. Just as she ignored her own, her nipples hardening against his bare chest. “Telling me how to
feel
now, Dean? That’s beyond even
your
control.”

He carefully released her, holding onto his temper and his desire, smoothing the rumpled fabric down over her arms. “Go sit at the counter. I’ll make breakfast as soon as I get dressed. Go now, Amy, before I paddle your ass and fuck you senseless.”

She pushed past him, dropping her head, but not before he saw the tears standing in her eyes. Fuck. Was he driving her further away? He grimaced when he replayed his words in his head. Ass. Yanking his clothes on, he hustled out to the kitchen. Amy sat obediently at the counter, hands folded like a student in detention, staring downward. Dean went to make coffee.

“Can you eat now? Eggs? Toast? Cereal?”

A delicate shudder but she wouldn’t look at him. “Toast is fine.”

Cracking a couple of eggs into the pan heating on the stove, he depressed the toaster button on four slices of brown bread and put out some butter and jam. He poured Amy a cup of coffee and set the cream beside the cup. When she made no move to touch it he sucked in air and forced a question. “Not drinking coffee?”

“No.” Goddamn it. His palm itched to smack her ass and he rubbed it on his jeans, turning back to his eggs. Sliding them onto a plate he grabbed the toast and put two slices on a separate plate for her. She probably didn’t eat butter anymore either.

“What
can you drink?” There, that sounded civil. How had he thought this was going to be easy?
Because where Amy’s concerned, your brain turns to mush.

“Milk or tea, water, some juices.” Flat, distant comment.

“I’ll make tea.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Do you want to pour some milk?”

“You told me to sit. I’m sitting.”

This was fucking insane. Holding onto his temper with his fingernails, Dean stalked to the fridge, retrieved the milk and poured his woman a tall glass. The clacking sound it made when it hit the counter in front of her belied his control. He returned to his breakfast and ate without further comment, aware of Amy breaking small pieces of toast off, chasing them with milk.

He tried again with the sweet talk
, desperate to connect with her, make her see reason.
His
reason, he accepted, reluctantly. “I’ll clean up, sweetheart. You do whatever and when I’m done, we’re going to talk.”

She gave him a measured look before standing to head back to the bedroom. He heard the bathroom door shut with more force than necessary and breathed a sigh of relief. He could cope with anger better than her distant, exacting responses. The clean up complete, he made tea, an unfamiliar process, but one he hoped Amy might give him brownie points for. No surprise, she refused it when he called her into the living room, aware she’d exited the bathroom and was sulking in the bedroom.

Dean waited for her to curl up in a chair, again as far away from him as she could manage before taking his own seat on the couch, and laid out the ground rules. Gone was the controlled, distant Amy. She’d framed his edicts pretty well. Nothing doing until they got through this rough patch. No Sandra. No Harold and Francine. Just them.

“We’re going to hash this out, sweetheart. Without outside interference. Just you and me.” He thought that sounded
fair and reasonable.

“What’s the end game, Dean? Spell it out. You’re not my father.” She was back to distant Amy.

“Ultimately? I see us married, preferably before you have the baby, with some changes in my business.”

“You want to marry me? Marry someone you believed betrayed you, tried to take your
business
away. Someone who used sex to try and fool you?” Bitterness, underpinned with pain echoed in Amy’s voice. “Because of the child?”

“Not just because of the child, sweetheart, although I want him.
I’m thrilled about him. I want to marry you because I want you beside me for the rest of our lives.” The words echoed in the room, a passionate statement and a plea.

“Until the next time.” Her words were nearly whispered but so full of pain and acceptance they filled the room.

Dean wearily pushed a hand through his hair, again noting the unruly length. “I didn’t expect you to take me at my word, Amy.” Although he’d stupidly hoped. “But I’ve put it out there. It’s up to you now to learn to accept it, because you’re mine, and we’re going to be parents not too far in the future.”

“I’m to accept it. Just like that.” Her eyes were nearly black with rage and indignation, lips tight, face flushed.

“I’ll be doing my best to convince you, sweetheart. We’re gonna spend time together, talk. I’m making time for this because you’re important to me. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Good of you to take time out of your busy schedule, Dean. Good of you to tell me how my life is going to play out. Well, you can think again, rethink your plan. Last I checked you can’t marry someone without their consent. And keeping me here is going to get old fast.

“There’s doctor’s appointments to consider, never mind the fact that I’ll go stir crazy and my emotional state will affect my baby. And you aren’t enough for me, boyo. Not nearly. I need
friends
, people I enjoy spending time with.” It went without saying Amy was furious, vibrating with her rage. And she stabbed him with her words in precisely the right places, too. She was indeed the better loser.

“
Fuck, Amy. I didn’t mean it like that. I have to make sure the business runs okay because it impacts on us. You. You come first. I’ll make arrangements for you to see a physician, and you’ll come to find I’ll meet your needs. Your emotional state is your choice.”

****

Amy got up and went into the bedroom wishing she had the strength to throw something heavy and hard right at Dean’s fucking head. But she was drained once again, exhausted and worn down. He’d thought of everything, her jailer and the love of her life. He said he
wanted
her, regretted his behavior that day, wanted her forever and was happy about the child. The complete package. But he didn’t love her, didn’t voice it, and there
would
be a next time. Maybe not right away, but it would happen, and Dean would turn on her. Well, so be it. He wasn’t going to let her go, would find her if she left again, and running while pregnant wasn’t a plan. The baby deserved better.

Lying down on the unmade bed, curling onto her side, hands tucked beneath her cheek, Amy worked out some ground rules of her own. She’d stay, and take care of herself, deliver Junior—Dean was probably right about the gender. When wasn’t he right? Then return to her old life. With one exception. She wasn’t having sex with him. He wasn’t going to use her sexuality to undermine her intention to fall out of love with him. Surely
, if she built enough physical distance, the emotional attachment would fade or morph into something different. Maybe a kind of friendship. For Junior’s sake.

Tears spilled out, pouring over the bridge of her nose, to join the deluge on the opposite cheek, slipping across her temple to soak her hair, dampen the pillow. The bed dipped and a big hand gently rubbed her back. “Sorry, Amy. But that’s the way it has to be.”

Pulling one hand out from under her head, Amy scrubbed at the tears, using her knuckles. She rolled to her back and squirmed up to sit against the headboard, locking gazes with Dean, not three feet away. His face was tender, the skin over his cheekbones no longer so tightly stretched, sculpted mouth softened, his eyes luminous. The damage her nails had caused to his face was scabbed over but she tried not to look at the scratches—she regretted lapsing into such stupid violence. She decided.

“I’ll stay willingly. I won’t give you any trouble. We’ll try for a new relationship for the baby’s sake. But I won’t marry you and I won’t have sex with you.”

He studied her, not missing a nuance, typical Dean, and nodded. “We should marry for the baby’s sake, but that’s your choice. He’ll have my name regardless. As for the sex, time will tell.”

“You aren’t listening, Dean.
Listen
for once in your arrogant life. Force me and I’ll hate you. It won’t be good. Take it to other women. All I ask is that you be discreet, for your child’s sake.”