I grinned and brushed my thumb over Emilia’s text.

Invitations were sent today. Cake tasting when you get home, FINN. xx

Our recent name dispute was one she couldn’t win. I loved the way she said my name, so no, she wasn’t going to start calling me Finn like most people did.

“You’re whipped already, little brother.” Patrick folded his arms over his chest and stared out the window of my office. “Can you focus?”

“Can you?” I drawled. “You’re the one who’s late to sit-downs and party more than you work.” The last two weeks, he’d been short when handing over his cut to the higher-ups, so I’d had to cover for him.

It was great that he and Sarah and found one thing to bond over, but it couldn’t affect his work. Other than running in and out of clubs together, the only thing Sarah liked about my brother was his money, which he wouldn’t have much left of if this continued.

“I’m working when I go out,” he replied irritably. “You know that.”

I inclined my head and leaned back in my desk chair. Whereas I kept my business afloat down by the docks and had my office here, Patrick rarely visited his garages, and he met with associates at four in the morning when everyone was three sheets to the wind. And it’d worked until his fiancée came along and spent eight grand a month on clothes and jewelry.

It was as hard to like Sarah as it was to resent her. She was looking out for herself, and she was taking what Pat was offering. What he needed to do was set a damn limit tomorrow when we were signing the contracts with the girls. Then maybe, just maybe, make an effort to connect with Sarah.

“No one’s forcing you to get shit-faced,” I said. “But back to focus. There is one obvious solution to your problem. You gotta quit renting property. Buy the lot in Newark—”

“I can’t front the dough,” he stated.

I widened my arms, incredulous. “And what the fuck am I, shit under your shoe? You’ve never had any problems asking for a loan before.”

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sick of borrowing money from you, Finn. For fuck’s sake, I’m starting to feel like a guest in my own home.”

That wasn’t my problem. I kept telling him to set limits and stop buying cheap affection—which wasn’t even affectionate—but he wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t willing to do the legwork to go anywhere. And guess what, that’s how you got stuck. For as long as he kept a draining credit card wedged between himself and Sarah, everyone would suffer.

The only issue with working toward a good relationship was that you risked falling in love with it.

I’d fucked myself over good and proper somewhere between waking up next to Emilia every morning and watching her pick out the flowers for our wedding.

I wasn’t ready to admit I was in love with her yet…though, what we shared? What we were creating together…? I needed it more than air. The few times I came home and she wasn’t there, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

“I need a business with a bigger profit,” Pat said. “How much do you make here?” He nodded toward the door. “Can you launder enough?”

I lifted a shoulder, unwilling to discuss the details. I’d hired five new guys recently, and we were installing home security systems left and right all over Pennsylvania and Jersey. To be honest, I didn’t launder much, ’cause I had something better. I had the blueprints and the keys to the wealthy along the entire Main Line. There were no failing security systems. They simply didn’t know there were sometimes people who came and went with valuables from time to time. Especially when someone had just moved or was in the process of it.

Things went missing.

“Come on, Finn.” Patrick walked over, frustration and helplessness boiling over, and sat down in the chair across from me. “We can’t all have perfect lives, mate. I’m trying here.”

I chuckled, getting pissed. These motherfuckers loved to call me uptight and make digs about my life, yet they came crawling for help sooner or later.

“Remember our first LA Auto Show?” I asked.

He was confused by the change of topic but nodded once. “Good times.”

“Good times? It was way more than that, bro. Christ.” I reached for my smokes and lit one up. “You were innovating back then. We had one order, one window of opportunity according to the old-timers, and how many cars did we score that week?”

Our grandfather had been boss back then, and he’d told us to attend the only private event they deemed safe enough to steal at. Then Patrick had put his genius to use and found a paper trail of transactions, exhibits, and storages.

After calling in six more guys from the East Coast, we’d literally created our own crew during one of the best gigs of my life.

He’d earned the respect of Ronan that weekend.

“Nine,” Patrick answered and hung his head. “I hear you.”

It made my fingers itch to think about it. Next auto season couldn’t come fast enough.

“Has Uncle John given you any orders for this fall?” he asked.

I nodded. These days, Patrick and I ran separate crews, and we only worked together for bigger affairs. Like LA, Miami, anything in Italy, Detroit, and a few others. If it weren’t for our weddings taking place soon, we would’ve teamed up with Pop’s crew and hit Monterey this summer. Just being there for the auctions was like sex. Or almost, as I was discovering.

“Not to me directly, though,” I amended. “His pompous ass wouldn’t call a crew boss on our level.”

“I’m sick of that fucker,” he grunted.

I inhaled from my smoke and didn’t answer. If he were so fucking sick of our uncle, he would’ve worked harder toward the goal. Our pop had the same issue. He hated Uncle John these days, yet he allowed the motherless prick to rule.

Ma was…torn. Plenty of hatred, but this was her older brother. Who’d murdered their father…and her husband’s father. And the reason she couldn’t pick a side was because we didn’t have “evidence” that Uncle John had done it.

I called bullshit, and I didn’t look forward to seeing him at the wedding. We’d act like family who loved each other then.

“If you get your act together,” I told Patrick, “I’ll see about uniting our crews.” I needed a couple new guys anyway. Business was good, and I’d just lost Kellan temporarily because he couldn’t show his face here with Emilia around. Now he was working personal security for Alec and Nessa in Chicago. A job Kellan loathed, though it gave me a quicker heads-up when something was going down.

“We did make a lot of money together,” Patrick pointed out.

“For a few months outta the year. You know that’s not enough.” Auto shows were generally held in the fall and winter. “Now, should I get you that loan or not?”

He sighed heavily and waved a hand. “Hit me with it.”

“That’s the spirit.” With that out of the way, I could move on to my problem. “About tomorrow. Did Sarah go with any of the lawyers you recommended?”

He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, she found one herself. Why?”

“That’s what I feared.” I put out my smoke in an old coffee mug. “Emilia picked her own representation too, and I wonder if someone’s helping them.”

I’d ransacked Emilia’s phone, and I hadn’t found squat. She texted with Sarah the most, which was understandable. They attended meetings with Father O’Malley, went shopping, and planned the weddings together. Emilia had also struck up a friendship with Alec. He’d texted her last week, claiming she’d had his number for too long without using it. They’d been texting silly things to each other ever since, something I found weirdly sweet. Other than that… A handful of texts from an old classmate named Franny, who’d urged Emilia to talk to the police. In response, Emilia had asked how she’d gotten her number, and it’d led to her blocking Franny.

Approximately a million messages from my mother as well, though they were all wedding-related or her asking the next time they could meet up for lunch.

Our parents had officially moved out to the compound, or so they claimed. They were in the city often. Pop blamed it on patients and sit-downs. Ma’s excuses were the weddings and that she had to decorate their new “city flat.”

I pinched my lips together, frustrated I couldn’t figure it out. Had Emilia made friends I didn’t know about? We hadn’t introduced them to more family yet. Unless Ma had…

“Brenda,” I said as the name popped into my head. “You think she could’ve helped the girls?”

Brenda was our cousin and Aunt Viv’s eldest daughter. She was our age, the only one of Viv and Thomas’s kids who was local, and she wasn’t fond of Pat and me.

“I hope not.” Patrick made a face. “I wouldn’t worry too much, though. I check Sarah’s credit card activity, and she hasn’t paid any retainers.”

All the more reason to be concerned. Unless Emilia and Sarah showed up alone tomorrow, someone was footing the bill. Additionally, I hadn’t come this far by underestimating people, and both girls had their moments.

I hated being blindsided.

* * *

Is that Emilia?

Coming from the garage, I stepped out of the elevator to get the mail in the lobby, and I could’ve sworn I just heard her soft laugh. It was my favorite sound of hers. Possibly… The sound she made when she came was a strong competitor.

I followed the giggles and stopped short when the front desk came into view. Not only was it Emilia, but she was clad in a skimpy cotton top, pajama shorts, and another one of those disgusting face masks. The chick already had perfect skin; why she put that on her face was beyond me.

Today’s mask was stark blue and likely promised eternal youth.

“Oi. Giggle Smurf.” I passed the wall of mailboxes and aimed for Emilia.

She met my gaze with a grin and leaned against the desk where she’d apparently gotten chummy with whatshisface, Oliver something. As was becoming my new normal, my chest constricted before expanding at the sight of my girl.

“Hi!” she said. “I’m running errands.”

“As you do in pajamas.” I chuckled and dropped a kiss to her hair, which…smelled incredibly fucking good. Better than usual. Damn. “You did something here.”

“Yes.” She straightened, and her smile grew larger. She donned the worst Southern accent and said, “I got mah hair did.” The girl drew a laugh from me that echoed off the marbled walls. “Olivier’s husband did it. He cut, like, six or seven inches, layered it, and then he gave me highlights.” With her hair in its usual untidy bun at the top of her head, it was difficult to see its new length. As for highlights…okay, yeah, maybe…? I thought she’d had them before. “Anyway,” she went on, “Gavin asked me to pass along a love note—”

“It’s not a love note,” Olivier argued. I was quickly losing interest in this part. “It’s an apology for shrinking my favorite shirt.”

“Whatever, dude. All he did was talk about you during my appointment,” Emilia told him. “He’s so precious.”

I checked my watch. Emilia had started cooking these past few weeks, and I was starving. For claiming she was only half decent at it, she’d quickly gotten me hooked on her food. Furthermore, cake tasting topped standing around for this shit.

“I think the hubby’s impatient,” Olivier stage-whispered.

I smiled politely.

Emilia snorted. “It’s past five. He’s approaching hangry mode.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Lastly,” she said, “I came down here to get the mail, and you have a delivery I can’t sign for.”

“All right.” I stepped closer to the desk, and Olivier jumped into action to get me a relatively small box. From Chicago. Interesting. I signed for it.

Probably sensing my mood, Emilia wrapped up their chitchat, and we headed for the elevators.

I was gonna have to work on my patience at some point. I did often come home grumpy as fuck, and her face being covered in paste so I couldn’t kiss her silly wasn’t improving the situation.

On the way up, I began opening the box from Chicago. “So I know you don’t really wanna be near your old neck of the woods, but would you mind spending the weekend at the house?”

“Need a break?” she guessed. I nodded once. “No, of course. We can do that. We’ll be there next Thursday anyway.”

“Oh?” I dug through some packing material and found an envelope. I recognized Aunt Anne’s elegant handwriting, so this must be the engagement present from her and Uncle John.

“Grace, Sarah, and I finished planning the engagement party slash bachelor and bachelorette parties,” Emilia explained. “If we do it out there, we’ll have more space to be separated without driving back and forth to meet up again.”

That was a good idea, actually. We were already pushing it with two weddings, two packed churches, the first one a little over a month away. Friends and family had to show up, and associates didn’t dare decline. So to save everyone time, we’d decided to do it up big for one weekend, including our stag nights. I’d stayed out of it, assuming we’d celebrate in the city, but this was good.

“When’s the engagement party?” I asked, scanning my aunt’s note. I smirked a little. The felicitations were sweet, and the gifts were a way of showing how loaded they were. Blah. Now I’d have to come up with a new wedding gift for Emilia.

“Friday,” Emilia replied. “Bachelor and bachelorette shenanigans on Saturday, and you can’t get too drunk during the day.”

I lifted a brow at her, and the elevator stopped. “Uh, why?”

“Because Grace rented us that pub for the night. The one your friend Mick owns?” That was here in the city. “A car service will take us back to Philly after dinner, and then we’ll have a wild pub night together.” She finished with a proud grin, and fuck me, maybe I did love her. No—fuck. Too soon. Not according to my plan. God-fucking-dammit. “We’re talking all the stout you can drink, live music, dancing, and a pub quiz.”

That sounded fantastic to me. I couldn’t picture a better stag night, and I knew the activities Pop was planning for us during the day wouldn’t exactly blow our minds. Pat and I were betting on golf or whiskey tasting.

“My mother would never plan a pub night,” I said, ushering her out of the elevator. “Did you do this?”

“Yes, I did. Pat me on the head.”

I chuckled and patted her on the head. “You rock, baby.” As we entered our place, I handed her the box. “By the way, Uncle John sends his best, and he’s giving you a car.”

I shrugged out of my suit jacket and loosened my tie. Behind me, Emilia was spluttering something. I was more focused on the two cake boxes on the kitchen table. Fuckin’ A. My day was already looking better.

“Oh my God… Finnegan! Listen to this, ‘…and we can’t wait to welcome you into our family with open arms, Emilia. Until then, please enjoy our gift to you.’ And there’s a key in here!”

I knew that. I’d just read the note. My uncle and his wife were giving her the latest Porsche Cayenne.

“I can’t accept this. This is mental.” She gave me a nearly horrified look. “That’s too much money.”

She was too fucking cute. Emilia and Sarah were like sisters, yet they couldn’t be more different where money was concerned. Emilia didn’t shy away from everyday purchases anymore, though she gave herself the biggest guilt trips if something was over a few hundred bucks. And it was stupid, ’cause she mostly bought shit for us. Not a whole lot was for herself, aside from some clothes and beauty treatments.

It was a good thing my parents were paying for the wedding. Ma was making a conscious effort never to show Emilia any price tags.

“You can and you will,” I told her. “What do you wanna do for dinner?”

“I, uh…” She was flustered about the car. “I’m sorry, I had a full day. Can we order in? Christ, how do I thank someone for a friggin’ luxury car?”

“We’ll send them thank-you notes, I reckon…” I aimed for the kitchen where we had our takeout menus.

“Wait, what’s this about a charter jet?” She held up the note.

“The engagement gift for both of us,” I replied. “They’ll charter a plane for us when we go on our honeymoon.”

“Mental!” she repeated.

It wasn’t, really. She understandably thought it involved a ton of cash. In reality, John would call in a few favors. He had his hands in a lot of pockets in Chicago, and he was part owner in a company that rented out private jets. Given how paranoid my uncle was, it was his preferred way to travel.

“Right. You wanna do pizza?”

“Sure. Sorry I didn’t make any—”

“Shut your mouth. You’re not obligated to cook for me, princess. I’m just spoiled.” Most of all, I wanted that paste off her face and then some couch time. I was wound up tight and had a short fuse. “How long’s that face mask gonna be in my way?”

She joined me in the kitchen and puckered her lips. Great, she gave me a small peck. “Five more minutes. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll order us more than one pie.” At least she’d learned from the night she’d gotten us only one.

No one fucking shared a pizza.

* * *

The hot shower that was supposed to reenergize me only made me sleepy. I wrapped a towel around my hips and left the bathroom, and I yawned as I entered our closet. After I grabbed a pair of sweats, the bed looked too inviting. I slumped down on the foot of it, and a beat later, I fell back against the mattress. Now we’re talking. My stomach growled in hunger, and if the pizza didn’t arrive soon, I’d start with dessert.

“You out, hon?” Emilia called.

“Yeah.” I scrubbed my hands over my face and yawned again. My eyes refused to stay open.

The quietest thuds of her bare feet let me know she was climbing the stairs.

“Long day?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, I guess.” Not longer than usual, just…not the same either. I was difficult that way. It was almost impossible to find a balance. Either I was stressed out and irritable, or I was bored and restless. “When will the pizza be here?”

“Hmm, should be about ten minutes now.” The bed dipped with her knees landing on the mattress, and she placed a kiss on my stomach. “Want me to make you feel better?”

God yes.

“You never have to ask,” I chuckled tiredly. My blood started pumping immediately, and I released a long breath as she ghosted more kisses along my abs. Farther down… She loosened the towel around me. “Fuck…” I kept my eyes closed and breathed deeply while she stroked my thighs, slowly inching toward my cock.

Having these past few weeks to explore each other most nights had awakened something in me. I thirsted for her. I could kiss her for hours and roll around in bed with her until—holy fuck.

“Emilia.” I almost choked on my tongue, and my eyes couldn’t fly open fast enough. Lifting my head, I stared at her in disbelief. Her soft, perfect lips wrapped around the head of my cock was new. I groaned and let my head fall back again, and I fisted my hair. Her tongue swirled around me. She took me deeper as I quickly grew hard. “Goddamn…”

I had to see. No matter how much I wanted to just let go and focus on feeling this, I had to watch. My mouth went dry. Part of me couldn’t believe it. I thought we’d shared a silent agreement on not going further until the wedding.

“Jesus Christ.” I shuddered. Fully hard and throbbing, sinking in and out of her wet mouth… She was a bloody sin, one I’d never even try to resist. She’d closed her eyes, and she was using her hand expertly to play with what she couldn’t fit in her mouth, though that didn’t stop her from trying to take more. I hit the back of her throat and felt my balls drawing up. “I won’t last long, princess,” I warned, already short of breath. “Fuck, that feels—unbelievable. Incredible. Oh, fuck.”

She hummed and went faster. She cupped my balls the way she’d learned I liked it, and her grip at the base of my cock tightened.

“Perfect,” I whispered. “So perfect.” Needing to touch her, I stroked her cheek, brushed my thumb at the corner of her mouth, and threaded my fingers through her hair. “That’s it. Keep sucking me.” I tensed up, my chest heaving. I wasn’t fucking ready to blow it yet. I needed more time. It was so warm, wet, and tight. She sucked me hard. “Too good,” I groaned. “I’m gonna come—back off now or—” I hauled in a breath, and she shook her head minutely, with my cock in her mouth, then took me as deep as she could.

It was sensory overload. Everything coiled up inside of me right before I exploded and released. Spurts of come flooded her mouth. She gagged, and shit, sorry, but that felt amazing. Motherfucking hell, she didn’t move away either. She sucked my cock until she’d milked me dry.

I melted into the mattress and panted as if I’d just come back from a morning run. Shivers ran through me continuously, and I couldn’t lift my head to check in on her as she darted into the bathroom.

“Baby?” I whispered raggedly.

“Phew!” She reemerged quickly and blushed furiously. “Good for a first time, right? I’ll practice on the swallowing.”

I coughed around a laugh and waved her to me. “Get over here.”

Once she was in my arms, I curled around her and used her as my body pillow. “You don’t have to practice a goddamn thing. Where the fuck did that come from?”

She shrugged a little and kissed my chin. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I wanted to try it.”

There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d thought about it as much as I had. That was what morning showers were for. Or when we got each other off with hands and fingers and slipping and sliding together. I shuddered again and held her tighter.

“You’ve made me one lucky bastard, Emilia Porter.”

She laughed softly and stupidly squirmed out of my hold. “Keep that in mind at the meeting tomorrow.”

“Hey, where’re you going?” I grunted. “This means I can finally get my mouth on your pussy. That’s how it goes.”

A few minutes ago, she was sucking my cock, yet my talking about eating her out made her flush a new level of scarlet.

“Another time,” she insisted. “Pizza will be here soon.”

I let out a hmph and watched her disappear down the stairs.

Keep that in mind at the meeting tomorrow.

Oh, I would.

I needed more than three years. No one could deny what a perfect match we made. Not even Emilia.

“I guess you still don’t feel like telling me who your lawyer is?” I hollered.

She laughed.

* * *

I joined her downstairs when the smell of melted cheese, garlic, oregano, and pepperoni invaded my senses.

She set the pies on the coffee table along with a beer for me and a glass of juice for herself. If she was in a Netflix mood, I was game. Another thing I’d gotten attached to, movie marathons with Emilia. We had similar tastes.

Tightening the drawstrings, I took my seat and waited for her.

“I found out something interesting today,” she said from the kitchen.

“Yeah?” I took a swig of my beer and turned on the TV.

“Yeah. You made yourself sound almost modest when you told me about this place and how your brother had an entire floor to himself.” She returned with napkins and two coasters. “What you forgot to mention was the small detail that you own the whole building.”

I hadn’t forgotten to mention it, technically. “It’s listed as an asset in the file my lawyer sent you, so… If anything, you haven’t paid attention to me.”

“I swear, Finn.”

“Finnegan,” I barked.

“Fi-nn,” she sang. “Why did you buy the building? And don’t give me a spiel about it being a good investment. According to my lawyer, you’re not making a profit here.”

Fuck, she was sexy when she talked like that.

“You’ve been looking into me?” It made my crotch tingle. “It’s not some big secret. I didn’t like how lax things were around here before I moved in. I used to stay with Patrick upstairs, and people could come and go as they pleased. So when I decided to get my own place…” I lifted a shoulder. “Now there’s a manned reception desk all hours of the day, upgraded security in the garage, and an empty condo on the seventh floor acts as a panic room.”

She pursed her lips, studying me. The girl was getting smarter, more naturally suspicious.

“That’s why you’re not making any profit?” she asked dubiously.

“For the most part,” I lied. Look, I lived in a world where a lot of favors were exchanged. Some of the residents hadn’t paid for their places. It was a way to grease someone’s pocket without losing any money. What I gained was control and a shitload of favors to cash in. “Can we eat now? And for future reference, I prefer we’re naked when you interrogate me.”

She snorted.