56. Oliver
TWELVE DAYS LATER
56
I groggily patted the bed, searching for my better half. Not finding her there, I opened one eye and then the other, confirming I was alone. I slowly sat upright, locating her sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room. She’d spent the last few weeks working there on the story that’d be published upon POTUS’s go-ahead.
She had a cappuccino in one hand, and tapped her pen at the desk with the other.
“Good morning, beautiful.” Waking up to her in my arms every morning had been bliss, but I rather enjoyed the sight of her in her silk PJs at the desk, as well.
She set both her cup and pen down and spun around in the chair. “Morning, handsome.” She smiled at me, and it was like the sun in my eyes. Bright and fucking everything, bringing me to life and waking me up.
“Working early, I see.” I gestured for her to come back to bed, but she didn’t budge.
“More like you’re sleeping in late.” She lifted her chin toward the nightstand clock, letting me know we were going on brunch territory.
I tossed the covers and swung my feet to the floor. “In my defense, a certain someone woke me up twice in the middle of the night, once while stroking my cock, and the second time while asking to take a ride on it.”
“You know how horny I get this time of the month.”
And I was about to ask for a third go. I stood and walked over to her, offered my hand, and she accepted, rose, and quietly padded toward where I wanted her.
In front of the window, I slung her arms up, placing her palms flat on the glass. Peering over her shoulder, I searched for her reflection even though it was a bit too bright outside to make her out very clearly.
I was only in my boxer briefs, and I pressed my erection against her while sliding one hand around between her legs and the other down the top of the scrap of pink silk to cup her breast. My naughty girl didn’t have panties on, and she moaned and bucked forward against my palm as I caressed her sensitive spot with my thumb.
“I really want to fuck you naked against the window.” My shoulders fell at the sight of Farmer John outside. It was a made-up name I’d given the security guard who liked to pick fruit while doing his perimeter sweeps.
“But we’ll have eyes on us, and you don’t like to share,” she said, her raspy, seductive tone nearly making me forget that important fact. “Rain check, then?” She turned toward me, forcing me to let go of her pussy and breast. “Maybe tonight when it’s not so sunny and easy to see in our room.”
“Promise?”
“To be a bad girl again later?” She slid her hands up along her silhouette to give me a sneak peek. “Absolutely. Only for you.”
“Damn right only for me.” I drew her into my arms and kissed her, forgetting Farmer John might see us, but fuck it.
“What were you working on? I thought the story was done?” I asked once coming down from the high of her tongue in my mouth.
Angling her head toward the desk, she pulled away, and I took that as my cue to go over.
She flipped open her laptop and typed in the password so I could take a look at the screen. “It’s going live tomorrow. Gray messaged this morning.”
Shit, was it finally time to end this? Another thirty-seven insiders, including the governor of Virginia, two higher-ups at the NSA, and the former CIA director from twenty years ago had been detained. Not to mention three more “hands” on the clock that made up The Collective had been eliminated. One happened to be a billionaire philanthropist. Yeah, philanthropy my ass.
We were down to three now, and those three marks were elected officials. Not American, but allied nations. With any luck, and quite a few prayers, the article would change the tide and bring them down by the will of the people.
“You hear me?” She waved a hand in front of my face, and I blinked, pulling myself back.
“I did.” Standing behind her, I held her shoulders, looking at her screen. I’d read the article several times. Not that I could offer anything other than compliments, because it’d been perfectly written as far as I was concerned. “That’s new,” I said, catching the last line of her article.
“Nelson Mandela. ‘May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.’”
“About sums everything up right there with what’s happened with us, huh?”
She leaned back against me, and I pinned her closer, resting my chin on her head. “Your name only says Mya for the byline.”
“Still undecided on what last name to use. I feel like a fake if I use Vanzetti anymore.”
She’d spoken to Tony from where he was living courtesy of WITSEC a few times in the last couple of weeks. Given his ties to The Collective, along with Alyssa Soren and her kids, they were all under witness protection.
There’d been concerns Meryl, or any number of people in The Collective, might attempt retribution, even from inside their cells with their assets frozen.
As for Meryl, Mya had only spoken to her once, and that’d been to rip into her. Other than that, as far as I could tell, Meryl was dead to her. The Cattaneos had a few choice words for Meryl in both Italian and English, almost nightly after a lot of wine had flowed.
Adelina had slipped away to the States for two nights last week, and we learned after the fact it was to use her FBI badge to pay Meryl a visit in prison. Bold and risky to connect herself to that woman, even as an official-non-official visit. And exactly what Mya would’ve done in her shoes.
“I had to speak my piece,” Adelina had said with a shrug before downing a glass of wine, acting casual about the whole thing.
“I can’t use my real last name.” Mya faced me and looped her arms over my shoulders. “I don’t want to endanger my family.”
I closed one eye, thinking for a moment. “Mind if I make a tweak to the article?”
I removed her arms from my body and blocked her view of the screen while I quickly typed five letters. “How about this?” I stood tall, stepping back so she could see.
“Mya Lucas, huh?” She twisted around to look at me while laughing, assuming it was a joke.
Yeah, not at all. “What do you say?” I arched my brow, my heart now thundering out of control. I hadn’t expected to drop the proposal on her like this, but I had no plans to leave Italy before doing it. “Your father loves me, by the way. Already said yes.” I thought back to the other conversation I’d had a few days earlier. “I talked to Tony, too. Felt weird not to. Hard to hate him when he’s not really evil and took good care of you over the years.”
“And here I didn’t think I could possibly love you anymore than I do now,” she said, her voice soft, a little breathy.
“I feel like my chances of a yes just went up with that response.” My heart rate had yet to dial back, though.
“Mmm, I feel like your chances are pretty damn good, Mr. Lucas.” Arms slung back over my shoulders, she brought herself closer. “But no apple-tree thing when it comes to our wedding.” It took me a second to process her words, then she clarified, “We’re not eloping like your dad and Cindy. I want my family there. My sister as my maid of honor, and my dad walking me down the aisle. My real dad.” One shoulder hiked up as she closed an eye. “Tony can come, though.”
That was one hell of a vision. The love of my life marrying me with everyone there with us.
Her brows tightened, and she brought her mouth closer to mine, growing more serious. “Mya Lucas it is, then.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said before dropping my lips over hers to kiss the hell out of my future wife.