by SM West
“Clint, nice of you to join us.”
There’s a hard edge to his tone despite the smile on his face. His displeasure is not lost on the gathering. I remain standing at the entrance perusing the occupants around the table. Tate’s seated to Bobby’s right. Her expression indecipherable, a blank sheet of paper. Yet her eyes aren’t on me, they’re pinned to the woman on my arm, Gia.
I’m unable to see what she’s wearing, but I like the little I can see. Tearing my eyes from her will be hard. Her dress is black, form fitting with long sleeves. A thin gold collar and lapel form the edging of a deep V on her chest. It dips all the way down, ending at the waist. No bra is possible in that thing. Like the yellow brick road, the tantalizing valley between her creamy cleavage is a path many would find hard to not want to travel.
I force myself to move on. Taya and Warren are among two other couples. One is Enzo De Palma, underboss of the Cavallo family, and his wife Rosa and the other couple is Richard Sach, a well-known money-launderer that no one’s ever been able to catch red-handed. To the outside world, he’s a shady yet powerful businessman. And with him is an unknown woman, who I’m guessing is his flavor of the night. Warren rises and strides toward me with his hand outstretched.
“Clint, good to see you.”
“Warren. And you. This is Nina Hale.” I bring Gia slightly forward. “Nina, this is Warren Conrad.”
Warren introduces us to the rest of the table. All the while, Bobby remains standing, even after the introductions are done. There’s an empty seat beside Tate. I attempt to sit there. Bobby’s quick to tell me there’s another guest yet to arrive.
As with me, it’s obvious he’s not pleased with their tardiness and I wonder who else is coming. I hate surprises when undercover.
Gia sits to Bobby’s left. I’m next to her and to my left is Rosa De Palma. Across from me is the vacant seat and to the right, Taya with Warren on her right. As we have our drinks and antipasto, I make polite conversation with Rosa and listen with an ear to Gia’s exchange with Bobby. She’s flirting, no big surprise. Tate remains silent, unaffected but keenly watching Gia. She doesn’t look my way once.
“Bobby, we’d love to see your yacht. I bet it’s magnificent,” Gia gushes.
Bobby laughs. He’s eating up her shit. Always the one needing his ego stroked, to be the center of attention, just like Gia.
“Nina, what is it that you do?” Tate asks, bored and disinterested.
Gia stalls for a second. Looking across the table with mild surprise and confusion as if she’d forgotten Tate was there. Both Bobby and Tate are watching closely. Bobby a little too attentively as his gaze continually drops to her chest.
“I used to model. I’m recently retired. I just wrapped my final photo shoot in Europe. I’ve been stuck in Milan and Paris missing Clint for the past four months.” Her go-to pout on for good measure. “Now I plan to fill my days with Clint, don’t I darling?” She croons, curling a hand around my forearm and resting the other on my chest.
Leaning in toward me, she emits a flirty little laugh and stares into my eyes. Given the way she’s flashing googly eyes at me, she’s trying to sell we’re madly in love. If I didn’t know any better, I’d fall for her little act. She’s a master of deception. That’s why she’s a great agent and also why I don’t trust her.
While I’m not wild about her leading this setup, she’s got me where she wants me. I’ve two options: play along, or try to shape this ‘relationship’ we’re supposed to have into what I want it to look like. My preference would have been simply a date, nothing more. She was smart. She pounced like a cat on a mouse and she has me in her claws. Fighting her on this with an audience around the table would risk raising suspicion or worse, blowing our cover.
“Yes, my love,” I reply with a light yet forceful finger tap on her nose, signaling I don’t appreciate her little games.
“Clint’s never mentioned you. He’s acted like the consummate bachelor,” Bobby’s insinuation is deliberate.
Most eyes around the table are on us. Taya looks on with the utmost interest likely recalling my evident interest in her daughter. Gia emits a flirty laugh, demonstrating she’s not perturbed by Bobby’s comment.
“Clint’s a private man,” she says. “My man can look and admire, as I do, but he’s all mine. For instance, I’d be a fool not to notice you’re a very handsome man,” She suggests with a hand on Bobby’s forearm. “And Mr. Conrad, you too. I may flirt, but that’s all it is,” she remarks with a natural laugh.
Again, she’s good. I bought her explanation and I’m her worst critic. Gia takes the opportunity to place her hand on the side of my face and angles her head, moving in for a kiss. Her bright red lips cover mine.
Fortunately, the kiss is brief and chaste. As much as Gia infuriates me, I understand what she’s doing. It’s not a desperate play, more staking her claim. Laying to rest Bobby’s implication. Tate still won’t look at me. If I thought she was stoic and cold before, she’s now ice-age glacial.
Satisfied with Gia’s response, Bobby looks away. Taking Tate’s hand, he brings it to his lips. Tate’s watchful eyes turn to him, as he kisses her hand. A small, forged smile graces her pretty face. Her eyes hollow. He doesn’t notice or, more likely, care.
Forcefully holding her chin, his fingers dig into her pale, silky skin. Rage boils low in my belly at the sight of his hands on her. A maddening red haze clouds my vision. Bobby aggressively plants his lips on hers, devouring her whole.
Stock still, eyes open and dull, not even a flinch. She’s gone into herself, a mannequin. It takes all of my willpower to not rip his fucking lips off her and shove them down his throat before I beat the shit out of him.
The red haze thickens, I’m two seconds away from prying him off her, consequences be damned, when the door bursts open. An unknown man although he seems familiar, strides quickly toward Tate.
She’s out of her seat, launching into his arms. Wrapping his arms around her, he gently kisses her neck. My control is hanging on by a thread. First Bobby, now this guy. The sight of another man’s hands on my woman drives me to destruction. My woman? Where’d that come from?
It’s then I notice reddish-pink marks like fingers on her cheeks, where Bobby had her face in his iron grip.
“God, I’ve missed you,” his words are laced with melancholy.
She’s smiling, no fuck that, Tate’s beaming, kissing him all over his cheeks as she giggles like a school girl. Unable to watch them any longer, I need a distraction before I do something I’ll regret. My gaze travels down the length of her body.
Her dress is finally in full view. The shiny, form-fitting black material ends mid-thigh, hugging every curve of her sinful body.
“You’re here now, that’s all that matters. I’m so glad you came.”
Who is this asshole? And her smile, the blinding joy radiating from Tate is welcomed and also seriously unsettling. His hands are all over her. I clench my fists and grind my teeth so hard I’m surprised my molars aren’t dust.
Gia firmly clamps her hand around my forearm, sinking her nails into my jacket. While hardly noticeable and certainly not painful, the trivial sensation focuses my attention, for the briefest moment, on something else.
Still too occupied with the scene unfolding in front of me, I don’t notice Bobby. Only when he bounds out of his seat and in one giant leap, pries the two apart, I recognize he’s as jealous as I am. A crazed lunatic. Join the fucking club, asshole.
In a flurry of moves, too rapid to detect, he has the man’s wrist in a stronghold. With the unnatural angle at which he’s gripping the man’s appendage, it doesn’t matter the size or muscle of the man, it’s obvious with one push down his wrist will snap. It’s actually quite easy to snap a human wrist.
The man grimaces and growls for Bobby to release him. At the same time, a sob escapes Tate’s mouth.
“Bobby, let him go,” she frantically pleads.
Her back is to me, but her
shaking is unmissable. Bobby glares at her, turning his attention back to the man. With one look from the blond guy, Tate’s tremors immediately stop. She’s back to the cold, marble statue she portrays so well.
“First, you have the audacity to show up over an hour late and then you’re all over my wife without so much as an apology or show of respect for me,” Bobby sneers.
The stranger’s face is a mixture of pain and anger, as he stabs Bobby with incensed green eyes. Despite not knowing the man, there’s no mistaking he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Bobby.
“Bobby, stop NOW. Or you’ll regret it,” Warren warns.
Bobby barely acknowledges his father-in-law, reluctantly releasing the man’s wrist and marches out. Tate clings to the stranger as he gently rubs her back and whispers soothingly in her ear. Itching to go to her, my hands curl and uncurl in an effort to curb the compulsion.
Bobby had the right idea in prying those two apart. I want to finish what he started. Her father speaks quietly to the two of them, both nodding their heads.
Warren pivots toward Gia and me, acting like nothing happened. He introduces the man to us, as it appears everyone else already knows him, as his son. Tate’s twin, Maximillian Conrad. Of course, my shoulders deflate and the red haze evaporates.
Max has been out of the country for most of the case and has nothing to do with the business. I’ve seen pictures of him, they were a few years old. I’ve never seen him in person. Having been assigned to Bobby and now seeing he’s Bobby’s least favorite person, his absence makes sense.
Now that my judgment is no longer clouded, the resemblance is obvious. Both have the same honeyed blond hair, fair skin, sparkling green eyes, high cheekbones, full lips and a slightly upturned nose. Fuck me, what the hell is Tate doing to me?
Servers enter the room with our meal and Bobby saunters in, spending the remainder of the evening shooting daggers at his brother-in-law. Max pays him no mind. He only has eyes for his sister.
It would take a moron not to notice the obvious shift in Tate’s demeanor with Max’s presence. It’s comforting to see her happy.
She’s still not looked my way. I might as well not be here. And while I know it’s smart given where we are, it’s seriously ticking me off. Gia doesn’t miss a beat. Her hand covers my fist. She leans in, softly rubbing my shirt with her other hand, the soft, cotton fabric caressing my pecs.
“Relax,” she whispers in my ear so only I can hear. “Does she know you have the hots for her?”
Her lips graze my outer ear, her fingers curling into my shirt, nails lightly scoring my chest. “Knock it off,” I sharply whisper in return. “I could say the same,” she quips with a smirk. Tate stiffens. She may not look at me, yet it’s obvious she’s perceptibly aware of Gia’s proximity to me. I’m learning to read her. While I caught her sudden rigidity, most aren’t aware of her subtle body shift.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one to notice, Max has. Glancing at me and then Gia, Max takes us in. His look gives nothing away. Giving Gia my full attention, my hands firmly grip her upper arms. She draws nearer with a bright, satisfied smile. She thinks I’ve ceded. Bringing her nearer, I whisper, “Knock it off now or we leave,” she shivers. My tone brooks no room for misinterpretation. If she cares for her interests, she’ll harness her crafty ways. Releasing a flirtatious chuckle, she pats my chest and kisses my cheek. She complies by pulling away, hands folded in her lap and eyes cast downward. She’s going a bit far with the instant submissive, but I’ll take what I can get. Max and Tate watch. I finally have her verdant orbs on me. Shit, she watched the entire exchange with Gia unfold. I may be learning to read her body language more easily, but her face’s a different story. It’s a blank canvas.
AFTER DINNER, BOBBY INSISTS ON dancing at a club in the East Village. Gia’s giddy at the prospect. I’d rather head home even though it’s an opportunity to gain intel on Bobby. Warren, Taya, Enzo and Rosa readily decline. It’s well after midnight when we arrive at the nightclub. A line winds around the building. A nod from Bobby and we’re escorted to the VIP area. It’s dark and loud, the beat vibrating in my chest. Bobby’s in his element. Several men and scantily clad women flock to him like he’s a superstar.
Tate and Max take the first chance to flee downstairs to dance. Bobby looks irritated as he watches Max lead his wife away. I order a drink and pay close attention to everyone. While I’d prefer to be near Tate, something tells me Max would rather die than have harm come her way. Gia’s made her way into the inner circle, listening for anything of interest. It doesn’t take us long to realize there’s no one of importance here, only Bobby’s groupies and men who work for him. Gia’s bored and begs me to dance. I’d rather not, but I’m grateful for an excuse to check on Tate. I guess Gia has the same idea, making a beeline for Max and Tate. Max nods in acknowledgment. Tate ignores us. Although, her slight shoulder tensing and the fisting of her hands give her away.
If it’s even possible, she’s sexier than ever. In Max’s presence, she’s carefree. She sensually moves her body to the beat of the music. Like a lighthouse on the shoreline, she’s hard to miss with her swaying golden hair, sexy-as-fuck body with her mesmerizing breasts, ass and fuck me legs. I want her legs wrapped around my waist.
It’s also hard to miss the horny men ogling her. Fuck, I should be dancing with her. I’d be plastered to her sweet, sinful body. My hands all over her. Staking my claim. Mine. It may be her brother dancing with her, but I hate it. Switching dance partners crosses my mind and then is immediately dismissed. It’s not possible. While it’s a fast beat, with Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines featuring T.I. and Pharrell pulsing through the air, Gia’s dancing like it’s a slow song. Pressed to me, her hands in my hair. She’s grinding against me like she wants to be inside me or more likely, me inside her. Fuck, so much for her cooling it.
Every time I push back, she inches closer. My eyes intently bore into hers, shouting Quit it. I don’t want Gia. I’d like nothing more than to walk away. I can’t. Despite my mind being angry as fuck, my dick has other plans. With my eyes locked on Tate and the rhythmic stroking of Gia’s hip on my groin, my cock thickens. Focusing on how much Gia doesn’t do it for me, I will it to deflate. While I struggle to calm my manhood, Max is blatantly observing us.
I glare at my conniving dance partner, expressing my anger at her little game. And then look to Tate, attempting to catch her eye. It’s at that moment she whispers to Max and they leave without even a backward glance. The second they’re out of view; I harshly push Gia away.
“You’ll regret that stunt, Gia. One phone call and you’re off this case. Cut the bullshit.”
Before she can even rebut, I storm through the club and start back up to the VIP lounge. I’m done. I won’t be leaving with her tonight. I’m not concerned about how it’ll look. I’ll come up with some reason if Bobby ever questions it. Tate and Max pass me on the staircase, on their way back down. Her intoxicating scent invades my senses. It’s fucking reckless but never one to pass up the chance to touch her, my hand deliberately brushes hers. The night’s been torture, being so near to her yet so far. My eyes lock on hers as my fingers enclose her delicate hand. Her stare crushes me. It’s not stoic like I expected. Rather, it is a mixture of disdain and torment. Her eyes, glassy and dim. Violently yanking her fingers from mine, she picks up speed. Max is right on her tail, steadying her down the stairs as she bolts. I chance a look at him. Yup, he saw what went down. His eyes are fixed on where our hands were joined, his jaw tight. I should let her go, talk to her at our next meet. Now’s not the time or the place. I don’t fucking care right now. I’m unable to walk away. Despite all the risks, how many ways from Sunday this is foolish, I follow them down the stairs. Fighting the sinking, heavy weight in my gut, I pick up my pace.
Tate’s booting it. They’re several paces ahead. I’m not worried, I’ll catch up. They swing a right down a dark hallway. Suddenly, it’s noticeably quieter. Muted thumping of the music still vibrates i
n my chest, yet I can now hear the clicking of her heels and Max’s command to slow down.
Tate opens a door with Max directly behind her. He’s asking what’s wrong. She remains mute and enters the room. By then I’m on them. With the element of surprise, I easily push Max out of the way, following Tate in. Attempting to shut the door, Max wedges his hands in the way without any regard for his digits. He forcefully pushes back on the door while shouting obscenities. I let up a little, so Tate’s in his view, and because my intent isn’t to harm him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tate’s incredulously yells.
Max shouts, “Listen, asshole, I don’t know what your deal is but fuck off. Leave her alone.” “Gimme ten minutes,” I say, cringing at the plea in my voice. Shit, since when did I become a pussy?
“No fucking way,” Max vehemently roars. Tate echoes his protest with a strong no. Dual sets of piercing green eyes nail me.
“Ten minutes and then I’ll go. Promise.”
Surprisingly, Tate nods, saying to Max, “It’s okay. I’ll be out in ten.”
“Seriously? Who the fuck is this guy? I’ll end this asshole if you say the word.” A big smirk breaks out on my lips at his bravado. He’d like to think he could lay me out. Not a chance in hell. As much as I’d like to show him how wrong he is, talking to his sister is more important. Keeping my mouth shut, Tate reassures him and finally shuts the door.
We’re alone. At last. Still facing the door, her back to me, she rests her head on the wood. Gently grasping her upper arms, I twirl her to face me, her back now against the door. She sucks in her breath and her eyes widen in surprise.
“Let go of me,” she hisses. My hold’s not hard or painful, but firm. No matter how hard she tries, she isn’t going anywhere. Her futile attempts unleash a deep pink along her neck and cheeks, matching the natural hue of her pretty lips. Her flushed agitation ratchets my desire.
My arousal lengthens and hardens, as I lift both her arms above her head, gently clamping her wrists with my left hand. I brace my hips against hers. The slight ‘O’ of her lips signals her awareness of my erection, right where it counts. I’ve got her attention. She will hear me out.
