The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  It took me a good half hour to clean the kitchen. I chucked the bird into the pail and squirted half a bottle of dish soap in the charred pan and let it soak. Lacey bounded down the stairs fifteen minutes later, dressed in clothes that hugged the body I worshipped and we took to my bike. She wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her body against my back as we hit the road.

  She might be Jack Parrish’s daughter but the girl never took a ride on a bike until she took a gamble on me. She loves the road, almost as much as I do, and jumps at any chance to go for a ride.

  When we arrive at the restaurant, we are quickly seated and don’t bother looking at the menu, ordering our usual. We share our day with one another. I tell her about the NA meeting I attended and she hangs onto my every word, finding it fascinating as any student majoring in social work would. She’s got a year or so left before she graduates college and that’s when I plan on putting a ring on her finger.

  After dinner, I take her into the mall and we walk in circles because I didn’t want to let her in on where I planned on taking her. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve actually shopped in the mall so I had no fucking idea where Victoria’s Secret was located. After we walked the entire mall, I finally found the fucking place and dragged her inside.

  “What’re we doing here?”

  “What do you think we’re doing here, girl,” I reply, wrapping one arm around her, sliding my hand into the back pocket of her jeans as we walk side by side into the store.

  “Is that your plan for tonight? A live Victoria’s Secret fashion show?” she asks, lifting up a black lace thong and twirling it around her finger.

  I lean into her, breathe in the scent I’ve come to love—vanilla and honeysuckle.

  “Who said I’m waiting for tonight?” I whisper huskily against her ear.

  On top of everything else that Lacey has given me she’s given me something I hold sacred—her body. I’m the only man who’s been inside her, the man that helps her explore her sexuality. I’ve introduced her to pleasure and pain, showed her how the two become one. She’s discovered what she likes, what gets her off, and is very inquisitive to try new things in-between the sheets. Every new experience for her is a rewrite for me—it’s the fucking icing on the cake.

  She turns her head, brushing her lips against mine before she whispers.

  “I like where you’re going with this.”

  She turns around, eyes on mine as she walks backward and lifts her hand holding the thong, crushing it in her fist, crooking her finger with her other hand, beckoning me to follow her.

  Damn, girl.

  Ignoring the eyes of the associates following us around the store, Lacey picks things out, filling my arms with lingerie as she sifts through the tables finding her sizes.

  Told you we’d turn heads, girl.

  “Can I start you off in a fitting room?”

  I raise an eyebrow at the woman questioning me, forcing a blush out of her.

  “I mean—”

  “That would be great,” Lacey interrupts, smiling wide at her as she shuffles the lingerie from my arms to the associate’s.

  “Are you looking for something specific?”

  Lacey turns, her eyes gleaming mischievously, as she gives me a smile.

  “I’m looking to bring this big brute to his knees,” she says, turning back to the associate. “You got something that might do the trick?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek as my eyes burn into her.

  You want me on my knees, girl, you got it.

  “I think we can find something,” said the associate responds, her face redder than a fucking apple.

  “I don’t know, he’s a tough nut to crack,” Lacey teases.

  Brazen, girl.

  “Let’s get you into a fitting room and take your measurements. I think I have something perfect for you,” the associate suggests.

  “Go on girl, give it your best shot,” I encourage, tipping my chin for Lacey to follow the associate.

  Lacey spins around on her heel, sashaying her hips as she makes her way toward the dressing room, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she has my attention.

  You got me, girl.

  I wink at her, crossing my arms against my chest, the worn leather of my jacket straining against my biceps. She disappears into the dressing room with the sales lady as I walk around the store picking out things I want to see on Lacey. The sales person emerges, walking over to a rack and grabbing a few more things for my girl. I glance down at the clothes in my hand and decide it’s time for the sales lady to step out of the dressing room and for me to step in.

  “Excuse me,” I call, lifting my full arms. “Can you find her sizes in these too?”

  “Sure just let me get this to her and I’ll grab those from you,” she says, hurrying back to the fitting room. I sigh, glancing around at the people staring at me.

  Yeah, I was a sight.

  Cloaked in leather, covered in tattoos, with an arm full of lace.

  Story of my life.

  The sales lady returns a moment later.

  “Let me take that from you.” She holds out her arms and takes the Lace from mine. “You want all of this?”

  “Everything,” I confirm. “And whatever else you think she might like,” I add, striding toward the dressing room. She stares after me, her mouth agape causing me to chuckle as I rap my knuckles against the fitting room door.

  “I don’t think this fits,” Lacey says, not knowing that it was me she was talking to and not her lingerie fairy godmother.

  “Open the door, Lace,” I demand, bracing my arms over the frame. “C’mon girl,” I probe.

  She was quiet for a moment before she replied.

  “It’s unlocked.”

  Dropping my hand to the door knob, I glance over my shoulder. Fuck it, I turn the knob and push my way inside. I kick closed the door and twist the lock before I turn around and lay eyes on the sexiest woman I’ve ever had.

  Legs for days.

  Wearing a white, lace thong, paired with a garter belt clipped to sheer thigh-high stockings, with matching lace trim, she was a fucking dream. The bra she wore lifted her already perky tits and pushed them over the sheer material so they appeared to be spilling from the cups. I was a lucky man.

  “Girl,” I hiss, my eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

  “So, you think it’s time I trade in your t-shirts and parade around the house in this kind of get-up?” She laughs, obviously nervous as she bites her lip.

  I didn’t answer her with words.

  Gave her my eyes and let them answer for me.

  Yes.

  Fuck yes.

  “Turn around,” I order, taking a step closer, swallowing up the space between us.

  “Blackie,” she whispers, turning around and locking her eyes with mine.

  “You wanted me on my knees, girl,” I growl, dropping on one knee. I press my palms against her thighs, forcing them apart before dropping my other knee down on the floor. “Got me right where you want, right where I belong.”

  I brush my hair away from my face before palming her pussy over the lace and inching my index finger beneath the material.

  “What if she comes back?”

  “Then she’ll know she did her job properly,” I tell her, shoving the lace away from her pussy and reaching behind her with my free hand. Squeezing her ass, I bring her sweet cunt to my mouth and run my tongue down her center.

  “My Lace, so fucking good, so fucking pretty,” I mutter in-between slow laps of my tongue. She grabs onto my shoulders, fisting the leather in her hands as I peel back her lace and take my fix.

  Leather and Lace.

  A temptation so sweet—a man drops to his knees just to survive.

  Chapter Seven

  Juggling the groceries in one hand, I open the door and disarm the alarm, turning around to face the quiet house.

  “Gina? Bert? Ma?” I call out into the silence.

  I drop my
keys on the console table in the hallway and make my way into the kitchen, setting the brown paper bag, full of groceries, on the counter. Robotically I unpack the bag, waiting for the boisterous voices of my in-laws.

  After I returned from my visit with Vic, I found Michael and Nikki on my doorstep with my in-laws in tow. Vic’s sister, her ‘companion’ Bert, and my ninety-four-year-old mother-in-law were staying with me for the time being. They drove up from Florida after finding out Michael had proposed to Nikki. I think they’re disappointed we’re not throwing the happy couple an engagement party. Nikki is having a hard enough time planning a wedding without her father to even think about planning an engagement party.

  I grab the colander and toss the fresh string beans into it before running the water over the vegetables. I break the ends of the string beans, discarding the tips into a bowl as I go.

  “Whatcha got there Gracie?”

  Victor’s arms circled my waist as I leaned over the sink and cleaned vegetables—fresh from the garden I planted in our yard.

  “String beans,” I said as he leaned over me and turned off the faucet, spinning me around in his arms. “What are you up to Mr. Pastore?”

  “Does a man have to have an agenda to want a moment with his wife?”

  “Victor…” I admonished.

  “Fine,” he relented, smiling sheepishly at me. “I have a surprise for you,” he admitted, leaning down to press his lips to mine. “C’mon, we’re going for a ride, Gracie.”

  I stop cleaning the string beans as the memories work their way to the surface. Since my visit with Vic I haven’t had a moment alone. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I’ve been begging God for a moment of quiet, just a sliver of silence, which is ironic, since my husband turned himself in all I have left is silence. It drives me mad, sitting here, day after day, alone in this big house with nothing but the memories of the life we shared, the life we made that was cut short.

  I felt the car stop rolling and Victor’s hands on my shoulders.

  “Can I take the blindfold off now?”

  “Not yet,” he replied and even with my eyes shielded I knew my husband was smiling at me. I felt it in my bones, I heard it in his voice. Vic’s smile, his happiness, it was just as contagious as everything else about him. I grinned as he opened my door and helped me out of the car.

  “Just a few more steps, Gracie,” he crooned, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Right there. Stop. Are you ready, sweetheart?”

  “I’m ready, Victor,” I whispered nervously. I never knew what to expect with Victor and usually I rolled with the punches. After all, I was the wife of the most notorious mobster in New York. What other choice did I have?

  He lifted the blindfold and slowly I opened my eyes blinking against the sunlight as I stared at the brick mansion that took up more than half of a block. It was a corner property, a house we had passed a bunch of times, one I always stopped to look at.

  “Welcome home, love,” Victor whispered against my ear.

  Victor thought I used to stare at this house with envy but the truth was I’d look at it and wonder what kind of people lived in a house like this. I assumed the previous owners had a big family to need a house of this size to call home. And then the monstrosity became ours and I had the answer to my question.

  The little, semi-detached, two family we were living in since we first got married wasn’t big enough, no, it wasn’t grand enough for Victor Pastore and his family. Victor had risen to the top, and every king needed a castle. Our house wasn’t a home but a statement to the rest of the world.

  I want to scream; I want to cry. I want to wake up from the nightmare. I swipe my hand across the counter, sending the fancy canisters lining the granite counter top shattering against the floor. Flour and sugar splatter everywhere, and I don’t give a damn.

  It feels good.

  Next to go flying across the kitchen is a ceramic bowl full of fruit and after that I pull the pots and pans off the rack hanging above the island. Tears stream down my cheeks as I wreck my kitchen and grieve for the man I loved and lost, the life we made and the future we no longer have.

  Grabbing things out of the drawers, I fling them over my shoulder with no regard until I hear my name.

  “Grace!”

  I freeze, dropping the wooden spoons to the floor as I slowly turn around and stare back at my sister-in-law. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as my body quivers. I open my mouth to speak but can’t find the words.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she asks calmly, stepping over the debris as she walks further into the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” I sob, shaking my head as I take in the destruction. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Shamefully, I peel my eyes from her and bend down to pick up the pieces of the shattered canisters and ceramic bowl. Gina closes her hand over my wrist and cups my chin with her other hand, forcing my eyes back to hers.

  “Grace,” she soothes.

  “Where is your mother?”

  “Bert took her upstairs when we heard the commotion,” she replies.

  “Good, I don’t want her to see this,” I mutter, taking a deep breath as I lean back on my haunches.

  “We went to see Victor,” she reveals.

  “Oh,” I say, turning away from her.

  “He told me, Grace,” she whispers.

  I drag my eyes back to hers, seeing they’re full of unshed tears. I had thirty years of training under my belt and before I volunteered any information, I knew to ask first.

  “He told you what?”

  “I’m not a fed or some lawyer looking for you to give up Victor’s secrets, I’m your sister-in-law, and I’m telling you I know the truth, but if you want me to say it, fine.”

  It was force of habit, not admitting the truth about anything, never being the one to start a conversation for fear of giving up too much information. But it wasn’t the habit that stopped me from speaking my truth, it was fear. Since my last visit with Vic I haven’t uttered the one word that would truly end us.

  I used to think it was prison.

  Then he said the word.

  “Cancer,” the same word Gina just uttered.

  One word was all it took to destroy a lifetime. One word that opened the flood gates to my tears.

  It was one thing to accept that he was in jail, that for the rest of our lives he would be behind bars and I would be behind the brick walls of our home. I accepted we’d never share a bed again, or wake up to the dawn of a new day together. I accepted that every milestone we should have experienced together in our golden years, I’d experience by myself. I’d walk our daughter down the aisle and when the priest asked who gave this woman’s hand in marriage, I will dutifully reply—her father and I do. I would sign all our cards love Victor and Grace, and tell our grandchildren, ‘grandpa sends his love’ or ‘grandpa picked out your present’ ensuring Vic remained part of our lives.

  However, now God was testing me again and my husband was dying.

  I can’t accept that.

  I can’t accept that he refuses treatment.

  I can’t accept I won’t be by his side as he draws his final breath.

  I can’t accept that I’ll get a phone call from the warden telling me my husband died surrounded by bars instead of the family we created.

  I can’t.

  “Grace,” Gina coaxes. “He’s worried about you, and quite frankly so am I.”

  “He’s worried about me?” shaking my head, I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hands. “Always worried about me when he should be worried about himself. I’m fine. I’m not the one who is rotting away in a jail cell.”

  “You might not be in jail, sweetie, but you’re wasting away just like your husband.”

  “I’m fine! I’m not the one who is sick. I’m not the one who is dying,” I cry.

  “Don’t kid yourself, Grace. Vic is dying but so are you. You’re dying inside and you can smile and try to pretend li
ke it's okay but he sees it. Every time you visit him he looks into your eyes and sees that the light has gone out. Even if the man didn’t have cancer, he’d wish for it because watching your spirit die is too much for him to take.”

  “What am I supposed to do, Gina? How am I supposed to act? Tell me! Tell me how I’m supposed to feel?”

  “Stop hiding how you feel. Stop fucking smiling when you want to cry. Stop pretending,” she orders. “Let it out, Grace, because keeping it bottled up is killing you too.”

  “My girls…” I whisper.

  “Need their mother,” she replies.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” I seethe. “Don’t you think I know this will break their hearts? Why do you think I haven’t told them yet? I don’t even know where to begin, I’m so angry. I’m so mad at him. I feel guilty for being angry because he didn’t ask to be sick but like everything else, I’m the one left here to deal with it. I’m the one who has to tell our daughters their father has a few months to live. I’m the one who has to tell them he’s being transferred to a prison down south so he can follow through with some sick vendetta. I’m so angry that he’s being transferred, robbing us of the visits we can have before he dies.”

  “He’s doing it on purpose, Grace. It’s not only about the promise he made that biker and his club but it’s because he doesn’t want you and his girls to see him deteriorate. He wants you to remember him the way he’s always been.”

  “What about what I want? What about what the girls want? We never had a say in much but we’re the ones who will suffer when he leaves this world. —We should have a say! I vowed to love him through sickness and health and I thought when the time came that one of us became sick we would be there for one another. I’ve been robbed of my vows. I should be there taking care of him. I should be holding his hand when he takes his final breath! I should be able to say goodbye…”

  I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself as I stand, bracing my hands on the counter and bow my head.

  “How am I going to live without him?” I sob.

  “You already are,” Gina replies.