Brent Sinatra: All of Me Page 5

  Makayla lifted up on top of him. Her bare breasts were exposed, and dangled in front of her, and a swath of her silky hair dropped into her face, covering one of her eyes. She looked sexy as hell to Brent. But his heart was hammering. Just because he asked didn’t mean she was going to say yes.

  And, at first, he doubted if she would say yes. Because she was staring at him now. Because she wasn’t smiling and all giddy, she looked serious. This was serious.

  “Mal?” he asked. “You’re leaving me in suspended animation here.”

  And that was when she smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll marry you, Brenton.”

  And Brent let out the grandest smile she’d ever seen on him, and he pulled her back into his arms.

  But then she sat up again. “Wait a minute. Where’s the ring, buster?”

  “Oh. I. . . I didn’t expect to be coming to town today. I planned to ask you tomorrow night. I left the ring in Jericho.”

  Makayla shook her head in pretense of umbrage. “Many ladies will not answer a proposal until they see how rich that ring looks.”

  Brent laughed.

  “You’re trying to marry me on the cheap, Sinatra?”

  Brent pulled her back into his arms. “Wait until you see the diamond on that ring,” he said. “Cheap will be the furthest thought on your mind.”

  Makayla smiled too. And relaxed into his big arms around her. It wasn’t the way she had envision it. She expected him to propose at some fancy restaurant, not naked in bed. But he proposed. That was all that mattered now. She couldn’t say she’d been waiting for this ever since they first met, because that wouldn’t be true. She didn’t want to get married any more than he did. But after seeing him at Sprig’s funeral, and realizing how much he meant to her, she changed. Suddenly her career wasn’t the shining light in her life. Brent was. And she was willing to sacrifice to keep that glow in her life. Marriage was on her mind these last few months, and although they never discussed it at any length, it was apparently on his mind too.

  She looked up, into his face. He smiled, smoothed her hair back in place, and kissed her. And she kissed him. And soon he was rubbing her bare ass, and sucking her breasts, and moving his stiff penis along her vagina until it found her opening again, and made its way inside.

  And Makayla realized, as he began making love to her all over again, that this was the best way to propose. Being alive, being with Brent, knowing that she was soon to become Mrs. Brent Sinatra, was the best engagement gift anybody could have ever given to her. She laid on top of him, and cherished the moment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By the time Makayla showered, brushed her teeth, and put on her bathrobe, she could smell the bacon. By the time she made it downstairs and saw Brent in her kitchen slaving over her hot stove, she smiled. He was fully dressed in the same suit he had worn the night before, but Brent knew how to do it: his suit looked pristine.

  “Good morning,” he said without turning around.

  She began walking toward him. “How did you know it was me?”

  “I felt warmth in my heart.”

  “Ah, how sweet!” Makayla went to him and hugged him from behind.

  “And I heard you marching down the stairs like an elephant.”

  Makayla slapped him on his behind. Brent laughed and turned toward her. When he saw that wonderful spark in her expressive eyes, he felt that deep, abiding love for her all over again. He placed an arm around her. When he kissed her, he moaned inside her mouth and turned what was to be a peck into a long, sensual tongue-to-tongue. “You taste great,” he said.

  “You taste like cinnamon,” she said.

  Brent smiled. “I taste my cooking.”

  “Nall,” Makayla said as she left his side and headed around the center island to sit down facing him, “you’re naturally sweet.”

  “If you ever say that in front of any of my men you will answer to me.”

  Makayla laughed and sat down. “Yes, sir,” she said. Then her look turned serious. “I thought it was a dream,” she said. “I thought what you said to me, your proposal, was nothing but a dream.”

  “It was a dream,” Brent said as he smiled and turned back to his pots and pans. “You’re absolutely correct. Forget everything I said last night.”

  “Fat chance,” Makayla said, and Brent laughed as he placed the bacon on two plates and sat them on the center island.

  He looked at her. “No second thoughts?”

  Makayla looked at him. “No. You?”

  “Fat chance,” he said, and she laughed.

  “But really, Brent, I still think, until we get married, I need my own place to stay.”

  She could see a disapproving look appear in his hard eyes. “You’re staying with me,” he said, and then grabbed a mitten, and pulled English muffins out of the oven. He sat the tray on the center island.

  Makayla, however, did not relent. “But I would rather have my own place,” she said.

  “Not necessary.”

  “It is necessary, Brent!”

  “And why is that? Because people might talk? Who gives a rat’s ass?”

  “It’s not about people talking. It’s about me. It’s about how I conduct my life. I’m used to having my own place. It’s what I’m used to.”

  “And after we get married?” Brent asked. “Still want your own place? Since that’s what you’re used to.”

  “It won’t be the same thing.”

  “What will be different? Tell me that. Before we get married, we’ll be sharing the same house. After we get married, we’ll be sharing the same house. What’s the difference, Makayla?”

  “Think about it, Brent. For four years we’ve lived in different towns. Different states for most of those years. Now we’re going to just live together?”

  “Yes.”

  “There has to be a transition period. Let me move to Jericho, get my own place, and we can gradually work this out.” She could tell he didn’t like what she was saying. But that didn’t stop her from speaking her mind. “I’ve had my own all of my adult life. When I was a kid and was forced to live with people who didn’t want me there, I promised myself to always have my own. Now you expect me to just give that all up?”

  “That’s what you’re going to have to do. You’re mine now.”

  That sounded strange to Makayla. “We’ve been dating for four years, Brent. I thought I was yours before.”

  “You’re moving to Jericho. You’re going to be my wife. It’s different now. It’s no longer you doing your thing and me doing mine. We’re going to be a family, you and I, and I’m going to be the head of that family. It’s no longer you out here on your own making all of your own decisions. You’re going to have to get used to that.”

  “And shacking up with you is the answer?”

  “Yes,” Brent said bluntly. “We need to get on with it.” He placed a muffin on her plate and pushed the plate in front of her. “Now eat,” he said with a smile.

  Makayla smiled and accepted her plate. After he sat down and they held hands and said a prayer, they did eat. But Makayla couldn’t stop thinking about the move, and the idea that he wanted her to live with him. But shacking up always felt like a dress rehearsal to her. It felt as if he wanted a trial run first, and if it didn’t work out he wouldn’t take their relationship to marriage or any other level. Some people thought it was wise to try it on for size first. She thought it was a copout. She thought it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. She thought it was a graveyard for commitment-phobic people who couldn’t be satisfied until the person they loved passed some rigorous test that even they couldn’t pass. The same kind of test she was unable to pass as she went from foster care home to foster care home and she swore not to let it happen again. Nobody was going to test her ever again. Not even Brent. She was getting her own place.

  Brent looked at her as she ate. He knew she was going to be a handful. He knew he was going to have to break down all kinds of walls to win Makayla’s complete trust.
That was why he felt it imperative that she move in with him, and depend on him, and realize that she was no longer in this fight alone.

  “What are you planning on doing today?” he asked her. “Resting?”

  “I wish. I’ve got to be in court today. I’ve got to get to the office and review my opening arguments.”

  But Brent was concerned. “Couldn’t you do that from home? You went through a very traumatic event at that office yesterday, Mal.”

  “It was a terrible thing to happen. It was bad. But as you know, life don’t wait for the weather to break. That trial starts today whether I’m there or not. I’m going to be there.”

  “Couldn’t the judge postpone it until next week at least?”

  Makayla shook her head. “No. I mean, he could if I requested it. But that wouldn’t be fair to the victim’s family. They came all the way from the U.K. for justice for their little girl. The trial must go on and go on today.”

  Brent understood, and he loved her sense of fairness. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m not heading back to Jericho until I’m certain you’re okay returning to that office.”

  Makayla smiled. “And how in the world are you going to make certain of that?” she asked.

  An hour later, she found out exactly how because Brent not only followed her to the state capital building, but escorted her upstairs, to her office.

  Brent held his hand in the small of her back the entire time, as if he wanted to serve notice to anybody watching that she was his, as they walked past rows and rows of desks on their way to her office. Makayla found it amusing the way her coworkers were smiling and elbowing each other as they walked past. They all knew of Brent, but he had never been to her office before. This was a treat for them.

  And some of them couldn’t contain themselves. “Wow,” she heard one female staffer utter when Brent walked by her desk.

  “I want some of that,” said another one as Brent walked past.

  Brent and Makayla laughed at the last comment, and looked back at the staffer. She covered her mouth, surprised that her whisper had been heard, but quickly realized they weren’t offended in the least. She sighed relief as the couple continued to head toward Makayla’s small, corner office.

  Until Judy Fifer, a tall, beautiful red head, cornered them just as they were approaching the door. “What are you doing here, Makayla?”

  “I have opening arguments this morning. Remember?”

  “Call Judge Beckmann. He’ll postpone.”

  “I know. But no. The victim’s family came all the way from the U.K. We have to get started.”

  Judy nodded. Brent could tell she appreciated Makayla’s sense of duty too. “Okay. But are you okay?”

  Makayla nodded. “I’m good.”

  Then Judy looked at Brent. “Judy Fifer,” she said, and extended her hand.

  “This is Brent Sinatra, Jude,” Makayla said.

  “Oh,” Judy said with a smile as he shook her hand. “So you’re Brent.”

  Brent smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

  “She’s my supervisor,” Makayla said.

  “The best one she’s ever had,” Judy said.

  “If you may say so yourself,” Brent said with a smile.

  Judy laughed. “Right.”

  “Any word on Neal’s condition?” Makayla asked her.

  “He’ll live. The creep.”

  Makayla laughed. “Come on now, Jude!”

  “Well it’s true! Bringing that craziness to my department. I don’t like it. But he was always a bastard like that. Did you know the F.B.I. plan to issue an arrest warrant on him today?”

  That surprised Makayla. “This soon?”

  “Today. So if he thought putting a bullet through his brain would get him sympathy from the Feds, he was dreaming.”

  “They’re probably more determined than ever now,” Makayla said.

  “That’s how I see it too,” Judy agreed. Then she squeezed Makayla’s arm. “If you can’t cut it today,” she said, “we’ll understand.” And then she looked at Brent. “Nice meeting you, Brent.”

  “Same here,” Brent responded and she left. Brent looked as she walked away.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Makayla said with a smile.

  “With that lesbian?” Brent asked. “Why would I?”

  Makayla looked at him. There was nothing butch about Judy. But he was right. She was a lesbian. “How could you tell?” she asked him.

  “A man always knows,” Brent responded.

  Makayla laughed, opened her office door, and she and Brent walked inside.

  But as soon as she walked in, it hit her. The sight of Neal hurrying toward that same desk, with his gun drawn. The sound of that gunfire that she was certain had hit her. The strong smell of ammonia where his blood had been wiped clean by the janitorial staff. It all caused her to shudder. And she fell back into Brent.

  She wasn’t as strong, as okay, as she thought she was.

  “Get what you need out of here,” he said to her, “but work in a different office.”

  Makayla agreed. And did as he suggested.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mark Stravinsky smiled and kissed the babies and worked the rope line like a man in full command of his surroundings. His wife, Denise Donahue-Stravinsky, followed him. She shook hands and kissed babies too. She was willing to do, and had done anything and everything to get Mark elected. But Election Day was only a couple of months away, and they were trailing badly in the polls. If the pollsters were right, and the pundits on statewide TV weren’t just talking smack, Denise knew they were going to have a very bad election night. They were going to lose, and lose by a landslide. And that defeat would defeat everything for Denise.

  That was why, later that night after they returned to the hotel, she began to plot. Mark was still up front in their suite, talking to the governor’s campaign manager about what in the world could they possibly do to turn those numbers around. She got a glass of wine, undressed and got in the tub, and leaned back in the calming warm waters and started thinking more than one way. For four years she had been at the pinnacle of power in Massachusetts. Mark became the Lieutenant Governor of the state, his wealth was increasing with that new exposure, and things were going their way. Then a year ago he decided, with great encouragement from Denise, to run for a vacated U.S. Senate seat. And he was polling very well.

  Until news reporters started printing stories accusing him of accepting bribes and kickbacks in his various businesses. Until the Governor himself began to distance himself from him. The bottom fell out and his nice poll numbers began to sink. Now, instead of being an odds on favorite to win, he was a shoo-in to lose. And Denise was no fool. He could not only lose the election, but he could end up in prison and lose every business he owned. She didn’t ride with losers. It was her time to jump ship too.

  But as soon as she began to move her thoughts from the ship she was going to abandon, to the ship she wanted to board, the bathroom door swung open and Mark, looking drained, walked in.

  She sat up in the tub as her heart began to pound. “How did it go?” she asked him quickly. “What did the Governor suggest?”

  “What he always suggests,” Mark said as he walked toward the tub.

  “Stay the course?”

  “Yep.” He took the glass of wine from her hand and took a sip.

  “That’s what we have to do, baby.” She was his appeaser. She hated the role almost as much as he hated her in that role, but it was the only way she knew to keep him calm. “Just like your poll numbers went down, they can come back up,” she continued. “We still have a couple months to turn things around. That’s forever in politics.”

  “And the people of this great state won’t believe the press?”

  “They won’t.”

  “They will totally disregard all stories about my shady business dealings and see the man not the myth?”

  Denise smiled an uncomfortable smile. “That’s exactly what they will do.”
>
  “And that’s exactly why you’re full of shit!” Mark took the wine glass and threw it against the bathroom wall, shattering it. “My political career is dead and you know it! Everything I worked for, everything I am is going down a gotdamn toilet, and you want me to believe everything’s coming up roses!”

  Denise tried to stand up, as he was towering over her, but he pushed her back into the tub, placed his hands around her neck, and began to choke the life out of her.

  He’d done it to her before. Many times before. And she knew the drill. She grabbed his hands and kicked her feet and fought with all she had to get away from him. But all she was doing was treading water. He was too strong. And too angry. And her head was already underwater.

  “You wanted it so badly,” Mark said as he choked her. His big blue eyes were wide with excitement, as he stared into her face. “You could taste that power. The wife of a United States Senator. Washington here we come! But the bigger the light, the more the scrutiny. You should have known that. When you told me to run, when you all but pushed me onto that stage, you should have seen how bright that light was and what it would do to me! You should have looked out for me!”

  But Denise couldn’t respond. She was underwater and too busy fighting for her life. He kept pushing her head down further and further as he talked, until the back of her head hit the bottom of the tub.

  That hit seemed to bring him back to himself and he pulled her back up. She was nearly passed out when he pulled her back up.

  But instead of apologizing for his madness; instead of giving her a chance to get her breath and bearings back, he dragged her out of the tub, into the bedroom, and threw her, on her stomach, onto the bed. She tried to get away from him, because she knew what was coming, but he still managed to keep her on that bed and remove his belt.

  As she struggled to break free, as she wiggled and twisted to get away from him, he beat her like a dog across her back, and her buttocks, and her thighs. He beat her until her skin began to peel. The old scars had barely healed, and now new ones were appearing. And when she couldn’t bear it any longer and began to scream out, even though she knew what a scream would get her, he took that same belt and wrapped it around her mouth, tying it tightly in back, and silenced her voice.