19. Nic

19

NIC

I stare out the window at the endless white, watching another layer of snow pile onto the already deep drifts. The power outage leaves us in eerie quiet, broken only by Bella's breathing.

I’m at peace.

It makes no sense. My father is trying to kill me. I’m recuperating from a gunshot wound. There’s a blizzard outside. And now the power is out, meaning no heat. And yet, standing in the quiet with Bella pressed against me, I’m at peace. It’s a new experience. I’ve never felt it. I've never allowed myself moments like this. My whole life has been strategic moves and watching my back. Even my occasional trysts with women were calculated, emotionless encounters.

But with Bella, I want to linger in this suspended reality where I can touch her without guilt, where I can pretend we're just a man and a woman drawn together by desire rather than thrown together by attempts on our lives.

The rational part of my brain knows this calm is dangerous. We're exposed here, vulnerable. Yet I can't bring myself to feel the usual alertness that's kept me alive all these years. Something about her presence disarms me in ways that should terrify me but instead feel… right.

“I guess we should prepare for the night when there won’t be any daylight, too,” Bella says, breaking into my thoughts. Her voice pulls me back to our reality.

“We need flashlights. Check the kitchen drawers. There's bound to be emergency supplies. I’ll look in the closets.” I leave Bella going through the drawers. In the hall closet, I find a battery-powered lantern and several flashlights. A quick check reveals dead batteries in all but one flashlight. “Look for batteries,” I call down to her.

“Already collecting them.”

It’s a reminder to me that while she might be innocent and sheltered, she’s smart.

I go through the bedrooms, checking closets and drawers for whatever they might hold that we can use. In the side table of the bedroom with the queen-sized bed, I find a box of condoms. At first, I ignore them and then, I stop. I think of Bella’s soft skin. Of the way her hand jerked me off until my head nearly exploded.

No. I shouldn't be thinking of that. I need to think of survival now and once we leave here. And yet…

“Fucking pervert.” I take a strip and shove them in my sweatpants pocket.

I return to the kitchen, feeling like a teenage boy planning his first sexual encounter. I set my stash of flashlights and lantern on the dining table. “I’m going to bring in more wood. We should close up the rest of the room to concentrate the heat in the living room by the fire.”

“Look at you, all prepared and organized," Bella says, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Who knew the big, bad Mafioso was such a Boy Scout?"

I pause, giving her my best offended look. "I'll have you know I got kicked out of the Boy Scouts. Something about teaching the other kids how to pick locks."

Her laugh echoes through the dim kitchen, and for a moment I forget we're hiding from killers in a powerless cabin. The sound warms me more than any fire could.

"I bet you still earned your wilderness survival badge first," she quips, arranging emergency candles on the counter.

"Please. The only badge I earned was for creative interpretation of the rules. Though I did learn that being prepared isn't just for scouts. It's also for those of us who occasionally need to disappear or get out of scrapes."

Bella's smile fades slightly at the reminder of our situation, but she recovers quickly. "Well, Scout Master Nardone, what's next on the survival checklist?"

"That's Former Scout Nardone to you," I correct with mock seriousness. "And next we raid the cabinets for anything we can eat without cooking. Unless you want to try earning your fire-starting badge?"

She holds up matches. “Were you planning on rubbing two sticks together to start the fire in the fireplace?”

I laugh at my own ignorance. “Good point.” I’m enjoying this playful side of her. It's strange how natural it feels to joke with her, to let down my guard. In my world, levity is rare. Trust is even rarer. Yet here I am, trading barbs with this girl twenty years my junior who is technically my future stepmother, and it feels… right.

I put on the too-large coat, realizing that I probably don’t look like the big, bad Mafia underboss she always jokes about my being. I open the door, hit by a gust of wet wind. I make my way to the firebox and gather up wood, making several trips to make sure we have enough to last the night.

On the final trip, I find Bella's transformed the living room into a cozy den. Flashlights and candles create islands of light, and she's dragged every blanket and warm piece of clothing she could find onto the couch.

"I closed off all the other rooms," she says, taking some logs from my arms. "And I found more sweaters in the bedroom closet."

"Good thinking." I stack the wood by the fireplace, noting she's already laid kindling for a fire. I wonder how she learned to do that. Perhaps she was a Girl Scout.

"We've got peanut butter too. And those weird dried noodle things."

"Such a gourmet meal." The kindling catches and I carefully add smaller pieces of wood. "Though I've had worse. When I was hiding out in Vegas once?—”

"You don't have to entertain me with tough guy stories." She settles on the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs. "I already know you're dangerous."

The way she says it, more teasing than fearful, makes me realize she accepts who I am. “I was hiding from danger. I had to live on canned water chestnuts and cold corned beef hash.”

She makes a face. “Peanut butter is better.”

“Peanut butter is better,” I agree, standing back to watch the fire crackle, casting dancing shadows across the cabin walls.

“I also found stuff to do unless you want me to read Sense and Sensibility again.”

“Will Willoughby and Brandon still be putzes?”

“They are every time I read it.” She holds up a deck of cards. “I found cards and some board games. Have you ever played games, Former Scoutmaster Nardone?”

“Not that I can remember.”

She takes the cards out of the box and begins to shuffle them. "When's the last time you played a game just for fun?"

I lean back against the couch, considering. "Define fun."

"Not for money. Not for business. Just… playing."

"Then never… oh, wait, I taught Gia's twins poker last month."

“Poker? Not Go Fish or?—”

“Poker is the only card game I know, except blackjack, and they’re not so good at math yet.”

“So you never do anything just for fun.”

I think of the condoms in my pocket as I tilt my head back to look at her. “I didn’t say that. I know other types of games.” I hold back being explicit in my meaning. The pink flush on her cheeks tells me she understands without my saying the words.

She clears her throat. “Yes, well…” She recovers. "The great Niccolo Nardone, master strategist, doesn't know how to play Crazy Eights?"

"I know how to launder millions through offshore accounts. That's basically Crazy Eights, right?"

"Not even close." She deals cards on the coffee table with fluid grace. "The last time I was here with my friend, we played cards when it rained. Sometimes, we'd bet with M&Ms."

"Hardcore gambling."

"Hey, those peanut M&Ms were serious currency." Her eyes go distant with memory. "Tara always ended up eating her betting chips. And her sister Jenny would cry when she lost all her green ones because they were her favorite."

The image of a young Bella, playing innocent games with candy, creates an odd ache in my chest. My childhood memories all involve learning to fight, to shoot, to survive. Even card games were lessons in reading tells and manipulating opponents.

"Well," I say, picking up my cards, "I suppose it's never too late to learn."

Bella slides off the couch to the floor next to me. "One time, we snuck up here with friends after graduation. We played poker and every time someone lost, they had to drink."

"Sounds like a recipe for disaster. Let me guess, someone ended up puking in the bushes?"

"Tara. She's such a lightweight." Bella laughs, the candlelight catching the mischievous glint in her eyes. "We were supposed to be at a sleepover at my friend Maria's house. My father would have killed me if he knew I was here."

"Rebellious streak, huh? I wouldn't have guessed." I wink, because I can see it as clear as day.

"Please. I was the perfect Mafia princess." She arranges her cards, not meeting my eyes. "That was my one act of rebellion. Well, until now, I suppose."

The reminder of our situation hangs between us for a moment. I clear my throat. "You know, there's vodka in the freezer. If you want to make this interesting." Then I question it. She’s only nineteen. But if she’s old enough for sex and marriage, she’s old enough to drink, right?

Her eyes widen. "How do you know that?"

"I did a thorough search when we got here. Always know your resources." I push myself up. "Want me to grab it?"

"I thought you were all about staying alert and being ready for anything?"

"One drink won't hurt. Besides." I gesture to the window where we can see that snow continues to fall heavily. "We're not going anywhere tonight, and no one is getting here."

She gives me a flirty smile. "Okay."

I head to the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to move. Being this close to her, watching her reminisce about innocent times, stirs up feelings I'm not ready to examine. I also need to rethink the booze, the condoms… all of it. I’m practically old enough to be her father. We’re in a unique situation that automatically requires us to rely on each other. This attraction… this pull or whatever it is, it isn’t real, right? It’s just a consequence of our situation.

Oh, who am I kidding as I grab the vodka from the freezer and get two juice glasses and bring them back to the living room?

She’s sitting on the floor, her gaze lost in the flames of the fire. She looks relaxed.

She turns to me and picks up the cards to shuffle again. “Ready to play some poker?”

“Deal the cards.”

We play several hands, and while she’s not bad, she’s had to take more drinks of the vodka than I have.

“I win,” she says gleefully, laying down an inside straight.

“Nice. But we should probably stop. I should keep a clear head.”

She arches a brow. “You said we’re safe.”

“From gangsters, yes. But the weather could turn. Or you might get drunk, and who’d take care of you?”

She rolls her eyes. "Fine, then you have to pay another way.”

“Okay.”

“Take something off. Strip poker."

I don’t know what I was thinking she’d say, but that’s not it. “We have no heat and we’re in a blizzard.”

She smirks. “Who’d have thought big, bad underboss Nardone would be so shy?”

I toe off my shoe.

“Oh, my God, really? I bared it all for you and that’s all I get?” She tilts her head to the side. “Or are you worried your middle-aged bod won’t stack up to my nubile physique?”

She likes to play dirty. I keep my eyes on her face as I take off my shirt. She’s right in that I’ve seen her nubile body, touched it, and I’d crawl over broken glass to touch it again. No, I want to taste her, drink from that sweet pussy of hers.

But she didn’t see much of me. My dick, yes, but that was it. I tug off my shirt, and my breath holds as I wait to see her reaction. It’s ridiculous how nervous I am. I don’t want her to see a middle-aged man. I want her to see a man she desires.

Her gaze rakes down my chest to my abs. She drags her tongue over her lower lip, and my dick twitches, wishing she’d lick me again.

When her gaze lifts to my face, she shrugs, but I can tell she likes what she sees. Thank fuck.

“Not bad, old man.”

“Deal the cards, Bambina.”

She shuffles the cards, looking pleased with herself.

“We play by standard rules. Lose a hand, lose a piece of clothing."

"I know how strip poker works," she says, dealing the cards.

I feel ridiculous, like I'm too old for this kind of game. Maybe it's the vodka, or maybe it's just her effect on me, but I’m quite content at this moment.

"Full house," she announces triumphantly.

I lay down my pair of kings. "Looks like I'm first." I toe off my other shoe, knowing it will irk her.

“Strip, old man.”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure you can handle all this.” I motion to my body.

She stares me straight in the eyes. “You never know unless you let me try.”

Fuck. Are we talking about strip poker or sex?

“Just deal.” I want to strip bare, but that stupid conscience I’ve grown since meeting her is making me doubt all this. Yes, I gave her what she wanted earlier, but it was supposed to be a one-off thing.

She shakes her head but shuffles and deals. I have shit cards. I reach over to the deck and sort through them until I find better ones.

Her eyes narrow at my blatant cheating. "Really? You're not even trying to hide it?"

I shrug. “Just trying to even things up.”

She laughs. “Fine, show me what you’ve got, cheater.” She fans out her cards, revealing a pair of tens.

I lay down my hand. “Four aces. What are the odds?"

"You're impossible." She shakes her head but reaches for the hem of her sweater. "I hope you're happy with yourself."

"Like I said, just evening the playing field."

My smug satisfaction evaporates as she pulls the sweater over her head. No bra. Just smooth, pale skin and perfect tits. And by perfect I mean high, round, soft looking. Her nipples pucker as the cool air of the room hits them. My mouth goes dry.

“Yoo-hoo.” She waves the cards in my face. “Don’t be distracted by the girls.”

Why the fuck not?

"You deal this time,” she says, seemingly unfazed by her partial nudity.

I try to collect the cards but my fingers feel clumsy. The deck scatters across the coffee table. "Shit, sorry."

"Having trouble focusing?" Her innocent tone doesn't match the knowing look in her eyes.

"You're playing with fire."

"You started it," she counters. "You're the one who cheated."

"To get your sweater off. I didn't expect…" But who am I kidding? I expected a shirt and/or a bra, but the end goal was this. To see her soft curves again.

“Yes?” She arches a brow.

“I thought I’d have to cheat a few more games before I got to see your tits again.” I can’t stop myself. I reach out, cupping her breast, feeling its weight in my hand. I brush my thumb over a nipple, loving the sound of her quick intake of breath.

I look into her eyes, desperate to see desire. I do see it, but also something else. Hesitation. Doubt?

I pull my hand away. “Sorry.”

She takes my hand and presses it over her tit. “You can touch, but you have to do more than that.”

I shouldn’t. That fucking conscience of mine gives me a million reasons not to fuck her. “Bella… that’s a big decision. You should?—”

“I decided not to kill you when I could have. I decided not to leave you on the side of the road when I could have. I decide to give you my phone when I didn’t have to. I think it’s safe to say that I’m able to make my own decisions.”

I can’t argue with that. Or I don’t want to argue. I want her so fucking bad. My dick is already tenting the sweatpants, about to peek over the top of the waistband.

“The first time isn’t always rainbows and unicorns,” I say.

She snorts. “It will still be better than whatever my mom gets from my dad.”

My hand cups her cheek, my thumb brushing across her bottom lip. The knowledge that she wants this, wants me, is a heady feeling. I still feel like I should turn her down. Someday, she’ll meet someone who is worthy of her. Someone she’ll love and who’ll love her. Together, they’ll make a family.

Envy toward that man heats my gut. I let my selfish self take over. I want her. I will have her. And I’ll show her just how good things can be between a man and a woman.