by Wendy Rosnau
* * *
Chapter 7
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When Vito saw Summ come through his bedroom door carrying her teapot on a tray, along with the familiar brown cup he’d grown to hate, he said, “Not tonight, witch. I’m not drinking that bitter swill tonight.”
Undaunted by his gruff voice, she tossed her head and kept coming. Her hair was down and the scent of jasmine drifted to him where he lay on the bed. As sick as he was, his body reacted to the sight of her, the sway of her hips and the way her small breasts swelled the front of her silk robe.
She was good at reading his thoughts, he knew. She set the tray down on the table next to his bed, her robe parting to allow him a glimpse of her slender legs. “I have a letter for you,” she said. “Sip tea, okii Shujin, while you read, then I will rub your feet, and take you away from your pain. Then you will rest comfortably for the night.”
Damn he liked it when she called him “big master.” He shoved his rotund body upward, resting his back against the massive carved Asian headboard depicting a scene of fighting jaguars. Summ handed him the letter, then poured the tea. The letter was already open, but not read. Summ never overstepped her position when it came to his privacy. As he glanced at the familiar handwriting, his already ill mood took a nosedive. Not in any hurry to read what Carlo had to say, he stalled, content to watch Summ as she lit the candles that circled the room.
She had told him once that the candles would light the way on his journey. That whenever the time came, day or night, they would guide him down his chosen path. He wasn’t sure if Summ was worried that the stairway to hell would be too dark for him to find his way, or if she was afraid cloud cover would darken the pearly gates. He believed the former, though they had never discussed his fate except to acknowledge that he would be taking a journey.
“Sip tea, Shujin, it will give you strength.”
Keep him hard for longer than three minutes is what she meant. Vito wet his lips, anticipating the bitter taste, anticipating what would follow if he could manage to get down more than one cup of the sour crap. There are rewards in suffering the taste, she had once teased, and she had been right the one night he’d managed to empty the entire teapot.
He glanced at her and the smile appearing on her small wise face. Then she dropped her silk robe and walked naked to the stone steps that led to his indoor pool, where warm fragrant water awaited her surrounded by a herb and floral garden—a garden she ritually attended as dutifully as she did him.
Chansu’s perch was there, among the fragment vetiver grass and sweet-smelling jasmine. The parrot made a chirping noise, and Summ stopped to speak to him and stroke the bird’s blue head, before she entered the water with the grace of a woodland fairy.
Vito finally unfolded the letter and began to sip the Matcha and read. From time to time he would look up to watch Summ bathe. By the time he came to the bottom of the letter, he was swearing. “The bastard is threatening a nursing home,” he roared. “If I don’t die soon, he says he’s going to remove me from my house.” Vito tossed the letter into the air. “Carlo Talupa has gone too far. He needs a meat cleaver to his skinny neck.”
He wasn’t sure when Summ left the water, but suddenly she was beside him, again wrapped in her robe, handing him the brown cup. “Drink tea.”
He accepted the cup. “I’m not dead yet,” he growled.
“No, Shujin, not yet. Drink tea.”
He took a swallow. “I still have my brain,” he groused.
“More than a brain to nourish. Drink tea.”
Vito drained the cup, and when she poured it full once more, he emptied that, too, then pointed to the teapot for her to refill the cup again. “You could have waited until tomorrow to show me that damn letter, Summ. I would have slept better.”
“You will sleep,” she assured, emptying the last of the tea from the pot into his cup. “It isn’t my place to keep such things from you,” she said softly. She handed him the Matcha. “I promise you will sleep well, Shujin.”
Vito looked deeper into Summ’s eyes. “But it’s your place to get me roaring mad so that I’ll drink your damn tea, hmm?”
A slight smile curved her lovely pink lips. “As you say, you are not dead yet. Your pleasure is also mine. Our time is short together. We must make the most of it.”
She stood then and slipped out of her robe. Only this time, she was close enough for him to reach out and touch her, and for her to touch him.
“See, the tea is working already, okii Shujin.”
* * *
It was late when Joey returned to the penthouse. After Rhea had eluded his guard for over two hours, he’d spent the rest of the day tightening security.
The living room was dark, except for the night-lights Rhea had strategically positioned along the walls. As he made his way down the hall noticing more night-lights, he stripped off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.
He went room to room, starting with Niccolo’s bedroom first, before he found Rhea and his son asleep on his bed in front of the window, the drapes open, their bodies positioned as if they had been surveying the city lights. The sight of them there, on his bed, stopped him. He had always liked kids, but to have one of his own, to have created a child with Rhea… It was an overwhelming feeling he couldn’t put into words, and the mix of emotions made him feel more possessive and more resolute in his need to right the wrong that had been done to his family.
He was careful not to make any noise as he removed his suit jacket, but suddenly Niccolo sat up and looked at him. Quickly, Joey brought his finger to his lips, and his son grinned, slipped out from under a soft red blanket and crawled off the bed.
The boy was wearing his pajamas, and he carefully took the steps one at a time, his teddy bear in his hand. He toddled to Joey, who then scooped him up. Niccolo openly kissed Joey’s cheek, then whispered, “Mama seeping Daddy? Shhh…”
“You should be sleeping, too,” Joey acknowledged quietly.
“Me hunwey, Daddy.”
Joey carried Niccolo into the hall, leaving the door open slightly. “I’m hungry, too. Let’s go see what we can find in the kitchen. Should we?”
Niccolo’s brown eyes widened, and he happily nodded in agreement. “Otay. Papa gives me piggy wides. Do you know how ta do dat, Daddy?”
Niccolo’s question surprised Joey. Frank had never been interested in crazy fun. The Masado boys had grown up with a father who seldom smiled and who had never made a joke. Not that Joey remembered.
”Dats otay if you don’t know how, Daddy.”
Joey blinked out of his musing, then carefully slid his son onto his back, making sure that his arms remained secure around his neck. “You hanging on tight?”
”Weally tight, Daddy. Papa says I hafta.”
They left the hall and entered the kitchen, then took a long route around the living room twice and into the dining room, then through the kitchen and into the breakfast nook, than back into the kitchen.
While Nicci was still giggling, Joey eased him off his back and onto the counter, then started raiding the refrigerator and the cupboards.
It was an hour later, while they were in the midst of eating peanut butter and jelly on crackers and drinking chocolate milk—Joey seated beside his son on the counter, shirtless—that Rhea entered the kitchen.
She was sleepy-eyed, her hair tousled, in her black satin robe, the one that made her look exotic and made Joey think of hot sex.
“Hi, darlin’,” he said, then raised his cracker, dripping with raspberry jam. “Hungry?”
She studied the cracker, then Niccolo. “How many of those has he eaten, Joey?”
Joey shrugged, glanced at his son. “What are we up to, figlio?”
Grinning, Niccolo held up two fingers.
Joey glanced at the empty box of crackers, then the newly opened one. “I guess we had a late-night craving.” He shifted his gaze back to Rhea, and he let his eyes travel over her breasts to her narrow waist where she’d belted
the black robe. “Niccolo has discovered peanut butter.”
She studied the jars on the counter. The jam jar was lying on its side. “I hope that jar wasn’t full.”
“That one was.” Joey pointed to the cupboard that held the garbage. “But the one in there was only half full.”
“A jar and a half of jam, plus peanut butter? You fed all of that to a two-year-old?”
“I had some.” Joey checked his wristwatch. It was after eleven o’clock. “We’ve only been at it for a little over an hour. A good thing we didn’t start any earlier or we would have had to send Gates to the grocery store.”
Niccolo suddenly reached out, swiped the cracker out of Joey’s hand and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. Throwing his head back, he laughed wildly, spewing cracker crumbs across the room in his mother’s direction.
“Nicci! That’s enough.” Rhea left the doorway and started toward them. “That is not the way we eat. And you know sugar isn’t a legal bedtime snack.”
“Legal?” Joey schooled his grin, but when he saw his son start to hang his head, he realized Rhea was dead serious. Feeling responsible and wanting to rescue Niccolo, he nudged him with his arm, then leaned over and whispered in the boy’s ear. When Niccolo started to laugh, Joey angled his head to see that Rhea had stopped and now stood with her hands planted on her hips.
“I think it’s time for bed, mister.”
Joey could no longer keep a straight face. Grinning, he said, “Whatever you say, darlin’.
Niccolo said, “Bed suuucks.”
“Nicci that isn’t a nice word. Don’t use it again.”
“Uncle Yucky says it all the time, Mama. He says shudup, too.”
Rhea crossed the room and scooped Niccolo off the counter, then gave Joey a glare, daring him to intervene this time. Niccolo pushed back and tried to wiggle out of her arms.
“I want Daddy.”
“Nicci, stop it.”
“I want anover piggy wide.”
Niccolo threw himself back and reached for Joey’s neck. The action tipped Rhea off balance, and Joey instinctively grabbed her and pulled her between his legs to steady her, his hands slipping around her waist. To Niccolo, he said, “No more, figlio. You could have made Mama fall.”
Niccolo looked contrite, but still he hung onto Joey’s neck, keeping the three of them close. Suddenly, he grinned, mischief in his dark eyes. “Feed Mama, Daddy.”
“Nicci, no. I don’t want—”
”Peeeease…”
Joey studied Rhea’s set jaw. “Come on, darlin’. Just one.” When Niccolo let go of his neck, Joey reached into the box for a cracker.
“This is silly, Joey. I’m not hungry,” Rhea protested.
Joey smeared the cracker with peanut butter, then drizzled jam on top, all the while keeping Rhea pinned between his legs.
“I mean it, Joey. I don’t want any.”
Joey studied Rhea’s pretty mouth, and as Niccolo looked on and Rhea continued to reject the idea, he steered the cracker toward her.
“Joey…”
“Open up, darlin’.”
”Peeeease, Mama.”
With a sigh, she opened her mouth and Joey slid the cracker halfway in. She bit down, and as she munched on the cracker she took hold of his wrist and directed the other half into Niccolo’s mouth.
Moments later, she said, “You realize, don’t you, he’s not going to fall asleep for hours?”
”Da-gon story. Da-gon story. Peeeease, Mama.”
She arched a beautiful brow at Joey and gave him an I-told-you-so look. “We’re going to be up all night. Good going … Daddy.”
* * *
As it turned out, they were up only half the night. Nicci fell asleep three hours later. Joey had managed to hang in there with her, but Rhea had told him it wasn’t necessary. As she closed the door, he clasped her hand and started to pull her down the hall.
Rhea pulled back. “Joey, it’s late.”
“Up all night, remember? I’m game.”
“You know what I meant,” she protested.
His sexy dark eyes swept over her. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll let you go if I can’t convince you it’ll be worth it in—” he glanced at his watch “—three minutes.” He punctuated the offer with a lazy kiss.
Rhea didn’t remember how she’d gotten from the hall into his bedroom after that. The next thing she knew, her back was against the door and Joey was leaning forward to kiss her again.
“Joey, wait.”
Softly, against her lips, he whispered, “I’m sorry about feeding Niccolo too much sugar.” He reached for the ties to her robe and slipped the knot free. Sliding his hands inside, he said, “I’ve been wanting you to touch me for hours. Put your hands on me, darlin’. Touch me like you did this afternoon.”
“Joey, it’s late.”
”Nicci will sleep until noon. We can, too.”
Rhea had been avoiding his eyes ever since they left the kitchen, but now she could no longer keep her eyes, or her hands, off him. Reaching out, she pressed her palms against his flat abdomen and slid them upward.
“About this afternoon. You were right,” she whispered.
“What was I right about?”
Rhea angled her head as he began to kiss his way down her neck. “It was a reckless thing to do,” she managed to say. “Ah … making your staff turn the Towers upside down looking for me.”
“Si, it was reckless.” He peeled the robe off her shoulder. “It did have a happy ending, though. I was happy. You?”
“Yes.”
Rhea sucked in her breath when his hand slid over her flat stomach and between her legs. “I didn’t hurt you this afternoon, did I?”
“No.”
He lowered his head and sniffed at the side of her neck. “My home is starting to smell like you, darlin’. Sweet and spicy. I like that.”
He was wrong about that. His home, at least this room, smelled like him. That’s why when Nicci had begged to fall asleep on Daddy’s bed, she had given in to him. Secretly, she’d been aching to lie on Joey’s bed and soak up his scent. To stare out the window and experience what he experienced, night after night as the city lights danced on the ceiling.
“Joey … what did you whisper to Nicci in the kitchen?”
“I told him his madre was pretty, even when she was mad and breathing fire like Purple Pete.”
“Purple Pete?” Rhea shoved at his shoulders and he stopped kissing her neck and raised his head. “Who’s Purple Pete?”
“The dragon in my bedtime story.” He kissed her gently. “Sleep with me?”
Rhea’s gaze traveled to the bed. “I—”
He pulled her away from the door and into his arms. As he kissed her with more assertion, Rhea gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck. The minute she offered him her open mouth, he groaned out his approval, then lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the bed. In front of the window, he let her slide down his body, then kissed her once more. Too weak to move when he stepped away from her, Rhea watched as he drew back the black velvet coverlet to reveal dark red satin sheets.
The image of Joey lying naked on the satin sheet surfaced in a flood of desire. The vision that followed was of Rhea joining him. Their naked bodies entwined together jolted her, and she instinctively pulled her robe around herself and turned away. As she stared out the window, she felt Joey wrap his arms around her and draw her against him. Gently, he nudged her head to the side, his mouth trailing kisses down her neck. She felt his hands slide over her hips. Felt his fingers curl around hers and slowly wrest her fingers from the robe’s edges.
“Joey…”
”Shh…” His hands parted her robe and slipped inside. “I want to touch you, darlin’.”
His hands were gentle and unhurried as they drifted over the black chemise, then slid underneath. He caressed and stroked her rib cage, then started upward. One hand took the lead and slid between her breasts, then across the swel
l of her right breast.
He said, “You have to tell me if there’s a possibility that I could hurt you. If there’s pain or something I need to know.”
There was concern in his voice, and Rhea knew that if she turned to look at him, she would see that same concern in his eyes. She said, “There’s no pain, Joey. Just a terrible scar. A scar I don’t want you to see. Please, Joey.”
“It’s all right, darlin’. I’ve seen lots of scars.”
“I don’t want you to see this one,” she insisted.
She was almost ready to pull away, when he said, “Okay.”
Rhea let out a relieved sigh. Then just as quickly tensed as both of his hands moved over her breasts, raising the satin by half. His hands rolled over her fullness, his thumbs finding her nipples.
“I always wanted to touch you here,” he whispered against her ear. “The bandages prevented that. I used to imagine what you would feel like when they came off.”
His admission, and the way he was touching her as if she were made of glass, had Rhea arching into his hands and closing her eyes. “Do I feel like you imagined?”
”Mmm … better.”
His voice had turned husky, and Rhea suddenly held her breath as his fingers followed the line that marred her flesh. The scar started next to her nipple and moved outward across the swell of her breast. Once it reached her rib cage, it curved upward and followed the entire outer width.
She had worked with special creams to diminish the scar’s redness. Now all that remained was a vivid white line.
His hot breath on her neck sent another wave of longing between Rhea’s legs, made her nipples ache. Shivering, heart pounding, she again arched her back.
“You like me touching you, don’t you? After you left town, I thought I had imagined that.”
While his right hand divided its time between her breasts, his left hand slid over her belly and into her panties. Cupping her silky triangle, he curved his fingers and delved into her moist heat.
“Spread your legs,” he whispered. “I want to feel how wet you are.”
He stroked and fondled her until Rhea’s heart was racing and she was panting. Suddenly, he swept her robe off her shoulders and turned her to face him. Fully aroused now, Rhea curled into him, anxious to know his body again.
