When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(113)

“You’re not mad at me?” she asks, her voice muffled against my chest.

I should be. There’s a small part inside me that wants to punish her for walking out the way she did, but I push it away and focus on what’s more important.

I’m going to be a father.

That’s not a thought I’d expected to have today, but I am thrilled. I’ve always wanted to have kids, and to have them with Gemma is a gift. A privilege.

She’s mine. All mine.

I press my lips to the crown of her head. “I forgive you.”

Her body sags with relief.

My thoughts are still racing to make sense of everything and I pull back to look at her. “Those phone calls—”

She gives me a wry smile. “If you have just picked up, it would have made my evening a lot easier.”

“Gemma.” My voice cracks at the thought of her trying to reach me and not being able to.

She shakes her head. “No, not Gemma. Call me that other thing you always say to me.”

I cup her cheek. “Peaches.”

Her lips quirk up. There’s a slight wobble in her chin. “Yeah, that. I love it when you call me that.”

I slip my hands underneath her outrageous jacket, feeling the hollow of her waist and the flare of her hips. They fit perfectly beneath my palms. “You’re mine now. I hope you know I’m never letting you go again.”

She stands up on her toes and tips her head back, her eyes shining. “I know.”

I lean down to kiss her, but she pulls back. “Wait. There’s something else I need to say.”

My hips press against hers. “Hurry.”

“I love you,” she says all in one breath.

Sparks travel across my skin. “Wait, slow down.”

A wet kind of laughter bubbles up her throat. “God, you’re so confusing. I. Loooooove. Yoooooou.”

“Say it again.”

“I lov—”

I lock my lips down on her open mouth. My tongue moves past her teeth, tasting, licking, owning every inch. She melts against me, returning the kiss with equal vigor.

A hint of cigarette smoke reaches my nostrils. That fucking jacket. I push it off her shoulders to the floor and kick it aside before burrowing my face in the crook of her neck.

There you are. Her sweet scent is strongest there.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” I mutter against her skin, my eyes shutting from the sheer pleasure of having her in my arms again. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Why did you return to New York?” she asks, her voice coming out breathy.

“Why do you think?” I pull back to look her in the eyes. “I couldn’t leave you. As soon as you got on that plane, I knew I needed to come back too. I didn’t have a plan. I just had to be in the same city as you.”

“If I’d known you were so close, maybe I’d have come earlier.”

“You have no idea how close I got. I saw you going to Pilates. I tried to follow you whenever I could.”

Her lips part in surprise. “Did you really?”

“I’m a masochist. It was torture to see you and not be able to touch you.”

Unshed tears wet her eyes. “Ras…”

“I know. But that’s done now. You’re back where you belong—in my arms.”

She stands on her toes and kisses me again, promising me everything.





We spend hours in bed tangled in each other until the bed frame decides to give us the middle finger and breaks beneath us with a sharp crack.

Gemma and I slide off the mattress, my cock still wet from being sheathed inside of her moments earlier. She laughs, her hair spilling over the hardwood floor. “Damn it, I was so close.”

There’s a wide grin on my face. It’s fucking weird being this happy after being nothing but miserable for the past week. I pull her to me, throw her legs over my shoulders, and press my lips against her pussy. “I don’t like leaving a job unfinished.”

She moans as I lick and tease and suck on her clit until I make her break apart.

Her fingers tighten in my hair as she rides her release. “You’re an animal,” she says, panting from exertion. “I can’t feel my legs.”

I crawl up her body and give her a deep kiss. “I’m ravenous for you.”

She laughs as I flip us and tuck her under my arm. “I can see that,” she says, nuzzling against my chest. “I missed you too.”

We lie like that for a while until Gemma insists she needs to use the bathroom. I help her up and glance down at the bed. It’s a sad sight. I should at least attempt to fix it. First, I move the mattress off and then do what I can to adjust the frame. It just needs to last us the rest of the night. Tomorrow, we’re getting out of this place. I’m not having the future mother of my child sleeping in this shithole.

But where do we go?

Something tells me Gemma won’t be too attached to the idea of staying in New York. It’s a place filled with bad memories.

I want to take her back home with me to Italy.

I want to marry her under the lemon tree in my parent’s backyard at sunset and then take her to the house I bought in Casale when Dem became the don. It’s an old building that needs to be restored, but we’d make it into a home. I’ll build her that art studio.