His Dirty Promises

by Fiona Murphy

  Shit. I clench my eyes tight as I lean against the wall. Her confusion and hurt is palpable. “I’m sorry Cesare and Enzo haven’t made you feel welcome. Cesare is protective of Alicia. His first and only desire is to shield her from anything that might hurt her, family included. If you’ll remember, our introduction to you was less than positive. I think we’ve grown too used to it only being the three of us. Also, it’s our own fault, but the women we generally encounter are mercenary bitches. I think we were waiting for you to show yourself like all the rest. I’m sorry, you deserved the benefit of the doubt.”

  She’s quiet for so long I wonder if the call dropped. “Is that why you didn’t come last night?”

  Enzo was right, it hurt her feelings I didn’t go. “I apologize for not going. I wasn’t in a good mood. You would have hated me there.”

  “Alicia says you haven’t been in a good mood since you broke up with your girlfriend. Do you miss her?”

  Laughter comes without warning. “No, absolutely not. I’m nothing but relieved for it ending, even if I didn’t like the way it happened.”

  “Then why are you so miserable lately?”

  Another shrug, even though she can’t see it. “I don’t know how to say it. It sounds ridiculous to say it...”

  “Early mid-life crisis or ennui? Ennui, something only people who are too rich, with too many things handed to them so they forget the euphoria of achieving something ever experience.”

  Yeah, exactly like that. “Maybe,” I mutter.

  Her exhalation of air is almost laughter. “Maybe? Whatever. When I find a therapist I’ll give you her number. Was that a snort? How rude of you, Dante Sabatini. Therapy is the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s nice having someone you can tell everything to and not worry they’ll hold it against you the next day or week like I’m now worried you will.”

  I won’t hold it against her. I will, however, talk with Enzo and Cesare first thing tomorrow. “I’m happy therapy works for you. It’s not for me.”

  “Didn’t you have to go to therapy after what happened with your parents? I had to see a therapist and all my mom did was ditch us.”

  The question doesn’t bother me. Interesting, usually I loathe when any woman questions me about my parents. “Yes, a session a week for a year. Which is exactly why I won’t do it again. It was bullshit. How do I feel? Why do I feel it?”

  “You can’t just try it once. Finding a therapist is like finding a regular doctor. You two have to click. It always takes me three or four tries to find a doctor I like.”

  “Why?”

  “Man, guys have it so easy for you to even ask. Because some doctors are know-it-alls who won’t listen to what I have to say, while others act like everything wrong with me is because I’m fat. Allergies—lose weight; ear infection—lose weight. One doctor I went to, I swear to god she acted as if my weight was offensive to her. I went in for bronchitis and left with pamphlets for bariatric surgery.”

  What? I jackknife up off the bed. “Are you serious? That is complete bullshit. You’re sexy as fuck. Don’t fucking listen to that shit. Don’t lose a fucking ounce.” Fuck, I realize what I said. Only I don’t regret it, wouldn’t take the words back even if I could.

  Bethany is quiet for a long minute, then she laughs. “God, you are bossy. I was heavier at the time. Over the last year and a half I’ve lost almost thirty pounds because of all the healthy food Jessica made for me and made sure was in my apartment. As a health professional I knew when too much was too much. Which is why I knew what they were saying was bullshit. I am happier with the weight I lost though. Now I’m going to focus on maintaining, not like it’s any of your business if I lose another twenty pounds.”

  “I’m a man who knows what he likes and prefers natural curves to artificially created ones. If you want to lose more weight, do what makes you happy. I just think it would be a fucking shame when you’re perfect the way you are now.” Christ, my cock is hard all over again as I remember her breasts swaying with her shuddering breath. “And now before I say something really stupid, I’d better say goodnight.”

  Her breath catches in my ear. “I don’t think anything you said was stupid, unless you regret saying it.”

  My cock is leaking. I roll over, not daring to touch myself. “Fuck no. I don’t regret a thing.”

  She giggles. “Neither do I. Okay, so now to start, where are you and what are you doing right now?”

  Fuck, talk about a loaded question. “Why?”

  “Because, you have to be somewhere quiet and relaxed when you’re doing therapy. Since you won’t go to therapy, I’ll be your therapist. So where are you?”

  This woman is going to be the death of me. “I’m in bed.”

  “Ah.” She lowers her voice seductively. “What are you wearing?” Then she giggles, damn it. How the hell is a giggle sexy?

  The brat deserves it. “Not a damn thing.” She gasps. “Yet another damn reason I need to stop while I still can.”

  “You do regret saying it.” Her voice is filled with doubt.

  “Bethany.” It comes out of me in a groan I can’t control. “You’re gorgeous. Your body is sexy as fuck, you’re an invitation to sin in the best damn way. I’m not ashamed to admit it. Not saying it would be the sin, for you to have any doubt about your appeal. Only it’s all I can say, anything else would be wrong. Goodnight.”

  I don’t trust myself and end the call while I still can. Damn it, my cock is demanding attention again. I give in and recall Bethany’s breasts outlined against the tight, silky black camisole, the way her nipples tightened to fine points of need. With a groan I come, fighting for air. I’m so fucked.

  ***

  Bethany

  Holy freaking crap! Dante Sabatini, manwhore extraordinaire, thinks I’m sexy. I’ve been told I’m cute, I’ve been called adorable. I don’t want to be cute—cute is for puppies and kittens. Dante thinks I’m sexy. He wants to fuck me. Me. I’ve seen the women he’s fucked—I might have spent a long weekend looking up all the Sabatini brothers when I found out my sister was falling in love with one of them. All of them dated the kind of women found on magazine covers, women with one percent body fat, women who spend their days devoted to being beautiful and almost all of them paid well for it. And he wants me. A part of me wonders if he’s telling the truth, only his sincerity was clear as a bell. I heard the desire in his voice.

  I can’t forget the way he looked at me this afternoon. My body is reacting all over again, remembering the sound of Dante’s voice in my ear, the deep rasp of desire. How his eyes roamed over me, how I wanted to know what his hands felt like on me, the taste of his mouth. Again and again my fingers swirl on my swollen clit as my other hand tugs on a tight nipple... oh god.

  As I float down from my high, I turn over what he said. How exactly is it wrong? Okay, his manwhore status is a definite negative. But that’s me; how is it wrong for him? I’m confused.

  4

  Dante

  I check my phone for the ninth time this morning. I’m flicking on my email, but it’s not what I’m looking at. No texts. Christ, I’m pathetic. She’s probably still asleep.

  “Everything okay?” Claudine takes my plate and coffee cup, her eyes concerned.

  “Yeah, fine. I invited Bethany to use my coffeemaker, in case she comes over.”

  I’m up and out the door, texting my driver I’m heading down. My eyes are on the door to Che’s condo, wanting, needing to see her again. The moment my eyes opened I was thinking of her. I checked my phone, wondering if she sent another text or called me or hell, I don’t know.

  For the first time in years I woke up before my alarm went off. Anticipation thrumming through me as I snatched up my phone, wondering if I dreamed my crazy response to the sight of her. Half a dozen times this morning I imagined taking her a cup of coffee. If it weren’t for Claudine here to see me act like an idiot, I’m pretty sure I would have.

  I’m barely in my chair when Che is openi
ng the door to my office. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “It’s eight o’clock. You sleep okay?”

  “I’m fine. I slept good. What’s with the third degree?”

  Che’s eyes are roaming over me. “It’s eight o’clock. You haven’t come into the office this early in forever. You need anything?”

  Asshole. “I’m fine. And not as in chick saying I’m fine and getting pissed if you take my word for it. I’m fine as in if you don’t drop it you’re pissing me off.”

  He smiles. “Fine, everybody’s fine. You want an espresso?”

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  Che nods, then he’s gone. I log into my computer, I can get some work on the foundation done before my client arrives at ten to continue the search for a new love nest. Gretchen isn’t due in for another half hour. I see she sent me six properties before she left yesterday based on the demands of the woman. Except one isn’t in the right area of the city. I delete it and send an email telling Gretchen I want at least three more.

  “Here you go.” Che hands me a cup with the steam still wafting over it.

  “Thanks.” I take a sip. “I wanted to talk to you. Did you know Bethany doesn’t feel comfortable with you and Enzo? One minute you’re cool, the next she’s watching her words, worried she might annoy you. Enzo is doing his soldier boy impression, studying her like she’s under a microscope. She says the only people she’s comfortable with are Uncle Tony and Dom.”

  His head goes back as if I slapped him. Relief hits me, he didn’t realize it. “Are you serious?” He sits down, shaking his head. I see him flicking through his encounters with Bethany, wondering where he went wrong. He sighs. “Fuck, man. I—” He shakes his head again. “No, I’m not going to try and defend myself. At the end of the day, it’s bullshit she doesn’t feel a part of our family. I’ll apologize to her and I’ll talk to Enzo.”

  “Don’t apologize, she won’t be happy I told you. And it would embarrass her.”

  “Thanks for telling me. I’m surprised she confided in you. I take it you don’t think she’s a pain in the ass?”

  I think about the coffee dripping down my face. “No, she’s definitely a pain in the ass. I’m also thinking high-maintenance.” I shrug. “It’s all good. I’ll figure it out.”

  My phone beeps. Unlike Che, I have to answer for the speaker phone to come on. “Yeah?”

  “It’s Hannah. Cesare, Alan Duncan is calling. Are you available?”

  “Yeah, give me a minute to get back to my desk.” With a nod he’s gone.

  A knot is unfurling in my chest as I turn to the foundation paperwork. I wonder where it even came from, and why it’s gone.

  ***

  Bethany

  Oh my god, can he see me? I pull back from the peephole which I’ve been pressed up against for almost fifteen minutes. Open the door, open the fucking door, I’m screaming at myself, but I don’t move. I hear the ding of the elevator and I’m still frozen. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Okay, what was the point of the last half hour? Why the hell am I dressed in silky short shorts with a tight-ass, very thin pink camisole without a bra? I thought it would look like I was in my sleeping clothes, only no way would I sleep in them on account of my breasts would make a hammock out of the camisole in the middle of the night, and these shorts are already riding up my ass. Why is my hair in a long, smooth braid that took three tries to get right? I set my alarm for this, damn it.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. It happened again. I saw him and my brain went haywire and fizzled out. The plan was simple: catch him as he was leaving to take him up on the invitation of making a cup of coffee at his place. I could take the opportunity to drink him in and find out if he really meant what he said. Maybe once he woke up he and saw me again, he would wonder what he was thinking.

  This is nuts. Completely nuts. My head goes back against the door. And what would I have done exactly if he’d cocked his head toward his bedroom and asked if I wanted a ride? Holy crap! Wet heat floods me at the thought of it. Okay, that answers that question.

  Only I’m thinking it’s probably a bad idea. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt he would get freaked out I’m a virgin, after the way Cesare acted about Alicia being a virgin, and they were raised hella old-fashioned. I’m not looking for anything serious. All I want to do is have some fun, which Dante is usually all about too, at least that was his M.O. until the ex-girlfriend. Except he’s eons ahead of me in experience. For the sex part it’s awesome, but for the whole navigating a fling I’m pretty sure I would be the equivalent of a bug on his windshield. I have no desire to end up flattened and crushed because of him.

  Crap, I need coffee. This kind of thinking should not be done without caffeine.

  After I change into soft black lounge pants and a loose white T-shirt, I go over to Dante’s for my caffeine fix. I knock, sure Claudine is here. She answers the door with a smile.

  “Bethany, good morning. How are you doing?”

  “In desperate need of caffeine. Yourself?”

  “Already caffeinated. I’ll get you a cup. Espresso?”

  “You don’t have to, I can do it.”

  “It’s no bother. While I get it going, have you had breakfast?” I don’t bother arguing as I shake my head. “You like your eggs over medium, right?” I nod, not surprised in the least she remembers. “Dante doesn’t have bacon, he prefers pancetta. Okay?”

  “Fabulous, although with how thin pancetta is, I think the pancetta cut up and mixed with scrambled eggs sounds yummy.” I sit down at the counter on the side of the living area. Leaning on the warm butcher block, I run my finger over a deep split in the wood. “This place is so different from Cesare’s condo. It’s like a house in the ’burbs. I like it.” I noticed the difference the moment I was inside when I spent a Thanksgiving weekend here, as there was no extra bed in Cesare’s condo and Dante was out of town with the ex-girlfriend. This place is out of a Pottery Barn catalog with the two point four kids and the golden retriever on the carpet.

  While it starts with the same foyer and long hallway just like Cesare’s condo, unlike Cesare’s place that opens into a massive living room, kitchen, and dining area that feels cavernous, here the hallway ends with a large library which also contains a piano. To the left are the same rooms of a gym, office, and guest room and the hallway ending with the master bedroom. To the right are the same living room, dining room, and kitchen, but because of the large library it cuts into the open plan and doesn’t feel quite as empty. There is also chair railing, paint on the walls in soft blues and muted reds, and soft, cozy furniture everywhere. The kitchen is farm style with white cabinets and butcher block compared to the heavy dark brown cabinets and marble countertops in Cesare’s place. I prefer Dante’s place over Cesare’s any day.

  Claudine nods. “A lot of work went into this place. It was a mirror image of Cesare’s. I started two days after they moved in and a day after the designers were called in. I’ll admit I was surprised by his choices. Enzo shared with me this place looks much like the home they grew up in. Especially this space with the kitchen, dining room and living room all open as one.”

  A pang of sadness hits me. “I could never imagine what they went through.” The words slip out of me unheeded.

  I look up to find Claudine studying me. Crap, why am I blushing? “I don’t think anyone could. They are strong men, though. They wouldn’t welcome tears for them or a post-mortem on the event.”

  “I’m not an idiot, I would never ask him.”

  Her smile is kind. “A warning, dear. It’s easy to want to coddle him, with those dimples of his and his big brown eyes he uses without any repentance. He wraps a woman around his little finger without breaking a sweat. The only problem is, as soon as he’s done it, he gets bored. I think, like Cesare, he needs someone with a spine who doesn’t let him get away with anything, but a soft heart to accept his failings of which he’s sure he has none, only the things he thinks are not ar
e the most trying.”

  “Like what?”

  “The tendency they all have to be overprotective, old-fashioned thoughts on a woman’s and a man’s role in a relationship, and the most annoying of all, the way he uses money to paper over problems.”

  “Hmm, he’s a lot like Cesare.”

  “Very much so, yes.”

  I consider her words as I eat and sip the heavenly espresso. When I try to clean up after myself, I get a gentle push out of the kitchen. “Okay, fine. Thank you for breakfast and my yummy espresso. I need your help for something else. I ruined Dante’s suit yesterday. Now I need to replace it. Would you please order one and when it’s ready let me know so I can pick it up and pay for it?”

  “You ruined his suit? How?”

  “I, um, threw my coffee at him after he yelled at me.” Her eyes go wide. “He scared the crap out of me. I don’t regret it, he deserved it. He admitted as much when I offered to replace it and he turned me down. But I pay my bills so I want to pay for a new one.”

  Claudine laughs. “Let me go take a look at the suit, you’d be surprised at the miracles his cleaner can do.”

  Staying put isn’t easy, I really want to go into Dante’s room. Only I don’t trust myself to act normal in front of Claudine when all I want to do is climb into his bed. I might have climbed onto his huge-ass bed when I stayed here at Thanksgiving. I might have inhaled and fallen in love with the scent of grass, and rain, and leather, and something else I couldn’t define.

  “Oh my goodness, yes, the suit is a goner. I’ll order one today. A suit can take anywhere from three days to a week. Would you like me to order a new shirt as well? Those are quicker for them to make and only take a day, sometimes two.”

  “His shirt is handmade to fit as well?” The idea boggles my tiny plebian mind.

  “Yes, as well as his jeans and shoes. I do buy him off the rack for his polos and khakis though.”