CHAPTER SEVEN

Later that same night, Brent Sinatra swung his big Ram truck into the driveway of his lakefront home. MaKayla’s Maserati, a gift from Brent, was parked in a crooked slant, as if she had been in a super-hurry when she made it home, which could account for the fact that she (and now he) was super-late. He hopped out of his truck and went inside.

The silence of their home hit him like a ton of bricks when he walked inside. All of the younger Sinatra children were spending their spring break with Ashley and her husband Frankie “The Monk” Paletti. Although Frankie was a major mob boss who ruled with an iron fist, everybody knew the young people would be safe with him. He was almost as feared as Mick Sinatra and Sal Gabrini. Nobody fucked with Frankie. He had zero concern that the children would ever be in danger with Monk in charge of their safety.

He went upstairs looking for MaKayla. Tony had phoned and said she hadn’t shown up yet and it was already eight, the time they were supposed to be there, so he decided to drop by the house, rather than call her, to make sure she was okay.

She was okay. By the time he got on the second-floor landing, he could hear water running. She was in the shower.

In the shower , he thought. It was already eight and she’s still in the shower ? Brent hurried into their bedroom.

Makayla, in the shower, leaned her head down and allowed the water to drain over her stiff neck. A lot was going on. Between the outright acquittal today of that rapist, and the three other high-profile cases her office unsuccessfully prosecuted last week, she was losing credibility in the community fast. What kind of District Attorney, the news media was beginning to ask, would allow her office to lose so many cases and nobody’s been fired?

The kind that followed the facts wherever they led and if those facts exonerated the defendant she always directed her attorneys to tell the judge and the defense attorneys the truth. It was their job. It didn’t endear her to the city elites and voting public that wanted criminals behind bars, even if they didn’t commit the particular crime they were accused of, but she didn’t play that game. And she slept good at night. Except with one case. The Ellison case. It did the opposite: it kept her up nights.

“Kayla?”

It was Brent. Another problem. “I’m in the bathroom!”

He went into the bathroom and slung open the shower door ready to dress her down for not being ready to go. Didn’t she realize it was after eight already and they were supposed to be there by eight?

But when he saw her gorgeous face, and those soulful eyes that always melted his heart, he softened. And when he saw her sweet, brown, and very curvaceous body that sometimes took his breath away, he got hard. So hard that although he knew they were late, he tossed off his big hat, took off every stitch of his clothing he had on, and got in that shower with her.

Makayla had no intention of going there with Brent right now. She knew they were late too. But when his hard, green eyes looked down her body, and when he undressed and that rod she called Mister Happy sprung out, there was no way she could resist.

As heavy-handed in romance as he was in his daily living, he slammed her back against the shower wall and began kissing her hard. So hard that she nearly matched his intensity. And when he moved down to her breasts and then, after doing her there, all the way down, her breath was caught in her throat and she let out a guttural sound that excited him even more as he did her. Then he placed his big hands beneath her thighs and lifted them up to his midsection, and entered her hard too, which caused her to arch.

“We’re late.” She was barely able to speak as he pumped into her. The sounds of slapping flesh and running water filled the shower stall. “We are so late.”

“Want me to stop?” he asked her. He was breathless too.

But she was already shaking her head. “No. Don’t. Hell no,” she said.

Brent grinned. But then those feelings overtook them both and they began moaning. She held both hands around his neck as he did her, and he lifted her even higher for deeper penetration.

Until neither could hold on any longer. And they came.

It was one of those quickies, something they rarely did, but it satiated them just as much as their long matings did. And when it was over, they both collapsed against each other.

For several seconds, neither could speak. They were still breathing heavily. It was MaKayla who finally spoke up. “Going in separate cars?” she asked him.

He was still attempting to settle back down. “It’s been a busy week. Those new recruits haven’t been the best. And the crime rate is off the charts. I may get a call out.” Brent, as police chief, was always on the clock. Especially now with the boom in population. But it had always been that way. A fact Makayla was so accustomed to that it stopped bothering her long ago. “I thought we already decided we were going to take separate cars anyway.”

“That’s right. I forgot. It’s been crazy in my office too.” Then she looked at him. “We are so late.”

He smiled at her. Something about her eyes soothed him. “That goes without saying at this point.”

“We’d better shower and get to it. I can see Big Daddy’s disapproving look right now.”

Brent could see it too. The one person nobody in the Sinatra nor Gabrini families wanted to ever disappoint was his father. He pulled out, they uncoupled, kissed again, and then they got to it.

They had their issues alright. But their sex life had never been one of them.