Sexual Persuasion

by Sinclair, Maryn

  “Moe’s.”

  “How did you find it?”

  “Moe’s a friend.”

  They were met at the door by a big black man with two diamond studs in his ears and a flowered shirt no straight man in his right mind would ever wear. No gay man, either, unless he was the mammoth size of Moe, because Moe was flagrantly and unequivocally gay. He bear-hugged Alex as if they were long lost brothers, forcing a grunt from deep in Alex’s belly.

  “You trying to break my ribs?”

  “Look at you, handsome, all dressed up in a tux. Where you been? I haven’t seen you or the boss man for a coon’s age.”

  Alex patted the big man’s shoulder. “Some of us have to work for a living instead of hanging around a bar every night tinkling on the piano.”

  “Dat ain’t work? Hell, it is.”

  “Charlotte Stone, meet Sweet Moe Redding. The best jazz pianist in Boston. The country, maybe.”

  “No relation to Otis, honey.” Moe looked Charlotte up and down and didn’t relax his scrutiny when he spoke. “You got yourself a pretty one, Alex. What you doing going out with this fellow? You can do better.”

  “Well, we―”

  “Don’t put ideas in her head, Moe. She’s already harboring some preconceived notions about me. I’m trying to convince her they’re all untrue, or at the very least, they don’t matter.”

  “Whatever they are, Miz Charlotte, you’re probably right. This is one complex dude.”

  Charlotte wondered what that meant. Complex how?

  “Great. Thanks a lot, Moe.” Alex turned to Charlotte. “Not complex at all. What you see is what you get.”

  Moe released a belly laugh. “You good, man. Don’t believe him, Miz. I’ve known him for years, and I haven’t a clue who he is.”

  Charlotte smirked smugly in Alex’s direction, which he ignored.

  Moe waved to the bartender. “First round on the house, Luther. Now go sit down. We do another set in a couple of minutes. Enjoy yourself, young lady.”

  “Thanks. Nice meeting you.”

  Alex scrunched his brow. “That went well.” With Charlotte in tow, he threaded his way around the tight spaces to a small corner table and arranged the chairs to face the small stage. He held out her chair. When she sat, he removed her shawl and draped it over the chair back, seizing the opportunity to nuzzle her neck. “You smell delicious. Opium’s my favorite.”

  Charlotte sucked in a quick breath. Why did this man have such an effect on her? Complex? Yes, she’d say he was all that and more. He drew his chair closer when he sat and brushed back a stray wisp of hair that had fallen over her forehead, lightly grazing her temple. The gesture seemed personal, causing a shiver to ripple through her. Alex Andros was more of an enigma with each passing minute, which only made her more curious. Who was he really?

  “So tell me more about you, Charlotte Stone.”

  “Nothing much to tell. Very ordinary, I’m afraid.”

  “Hmm, I doubt that.”

  She looked around the club. There were a few male/female couples, but most were partnered with their own sex. Men with men. Women with women. Her stomach somersaulted. “This is a gay bar.”

  Alex leaned closer. “Is it?”

  “You know it is.”

  “Is there something wrong with that? The jazz is better than any place in town, and Moe carries excellent brands of liquor and beer. The coffee’s Brazilian. What more could you want? Unless, of course, you have something against gay people.”

  “I…I don’t know. I’ve never been in a gay bar before.”

  “Then don’t judge. Sit back, have a drink, and enjoy the music.”

  “So you come in here with your boss? What’s his name? Max?”

  A flicker of annoyance crossed Alex’s face. “You’re being coy, Charlotte. You knew Max’s name. Your lawyer friend, Darcy Haven, gave you an earful, remember? The guy who controls all of Boston’s rackets?”

  “His attorney said not all, if I remember correctly.”

  Alex grinned. “You got me.” The waitress appeared. “Now what’ll you have to drink?”

  “A glass of cabernet.”

  “Glenlivet Eighteen, rocks,” he said.

  Charlotte watched the couples. Was Alex trying to tell her something by coming here? See my world? This is who I am? Or part of who I am. Or was it exactly as he said? Good music, good liquor, good coffee. Whatever his reason, it had nothing to do with her. One evening. One drink, maybe two. That would be all she wrote.

  Moe and two other men stepped up on the tiny stage: a bassist and a small guy on vibes. Even though no one smoked, a haze floated across the spotlights, giving the place the feel of an old black-and-white movie. She expected Bogart drinking at the next table with Bacall, Sidney Greenstreet and Peter Lorie huddled in the back room.

  Charlotte did what Alex suggested. She sat back and listened to the music of Count Basie, Duke Ellington, and a few progressive jazz artists. A heavyset black woman came out to cheers and whistles and went into renditions of familiar songs made famous by Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, and other song stylists of by-gone days. Her voice smoldered husky and bluesy. The woman caught Alex’s gaze a couple of times and smiled as if they were old friends. Charlotte liked her singing a lot.

  Enthralled by the music, Charlotte didn’t realize her wineglass had been refilled until she picked it up. Maybe they traded her glass more than once, because she felt light-headed and mellow. After an hour and a half, the group took a break.

  “We can stay for the next set, if you want,” Alex said.

  “We’d better go. Not because I’m bored, but I’m tired. Six days is a long week.”

  “Too long. You should talk to your boss about another day off.”

  Moe came over to the table as they were getting up. “Don’t be a stranger, Alex. And bring the pretty lady with you again.” He leaned down and kissed Charlotte’s hand. “Hope you enjoyed our little club. Come again, even if you don’t bring this guy.”

  “You’re on my list of favorite places now,” Charlotte said. “Thanks.”

  Alex and Moe shook hands. Alex waved to someone at the entrance, stuffed a bill in the hand of the waitress, and ushered Charlotte to the door. His car waited. Another bill in the valet’s hand, and they were inside. He leaned across the car, his right arm hugging the back of her seat, almost touching her but not quite. She was conscious of his proximity, of his mixture of scents: scotch, cologne, and maleness.

  “What did you really think about Moe’s?” he asked.

  She had to control the urge to move closer. Could she tempt him if she did? “Great place,” she managed to say. “Thanks for introducing me to it.”

  He returned a thoughtful nod. “Good. Now, where do you live?”

  “Above the store.” She thought he’d ask more about that arrangement, but he didn’t. And he didn’t talk on the drive home. She wondered if he had found out all he wanted to know about her, and now his curiosity had been satisfied.

  He double parked in front of her building, pulled out his card holder, and extracted a card. “Before we get out, here’s my card. If Jack Davidson bothers you again, call me.”

  “Why? What can you do about it?”

  “Just call.”

  She took the card, sure she’d never need it. When she started to get out, he put a hand across without touching her. “A lady should always wait if she’s with a gentleman.” He got out and opened her door. Then, as they walked to the entrance, he took the key from her hand and slipped it into the lock. “I’m glad you decided to join me for a drink.”

  “So am I.”

  As he handed back the key, he said, “Anyone else have this?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good.” He maneuvered her to the wall of the small entry and captured both her wrists, holding them above her head. She didn’t feel threatened, not even when he moved closer, his lips within a hairbreadth of hers. He lingered there, his eyes taking in her eve
ry feature. She could almost taste the mellow, smoky scotch he’d drunk. He pressed against her body, forcing her breasts to swell over her plunging neckline. His erection drove hard into her belly. He looked down, but he didn’t touch her. His gaze rose and met hers.

  Could he see the pounding beat of her heart through her skin? The quickened pulse throbbing in her neck? Could he smell her arousal? She was wet, dammit. He stayed against her, saying nothing.

  He whispered in her ear, “Good night, Charlotte Stone.” Then he released her wrists, and with a flick of his finger under her nose, turned, got into his car, and drove away.

  Charlotte stood there, frozen to the spot, wrists still hot from his hold, heart thundering. She thought he was going to kiss her. She didn’t want him to, but she did. What just happened? Who was this man who brought her desire to the edge and left her wanting more?

  She trudged up the stairs, reeling from the evening’s events. The nasty confrontation with Jack. Alex’s affectionate touch and his almost-kiss. She shook them both off with a mental slap, remembering her new vow. She didn’t need a man to complicate her life. In the past, she’d let men walk all over her. Well, that wouldn’t happen again. People had always told her how smart she was. In school, in college, even in business. But she lost every drop of common sense when it came to men. She believed their lies, one after the other, and she wound up hurt every time. Not anymore. All she needed now was a good night’s sleep.

  Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t see the form sprawled on her sofa until after she closed and locked the door. She audibly gasped.

  “How was the evening with your new lover?” Jack Davidson asked.

  Chapter Three

  And the Walls Begin to Tumble

  Alex couldn’t sleep now if he tried. He ran on adrenaline, stimulated by the closeness of Charlotte Stone. Her fragrance. The touch of her skin. She wasn’t beautiful. Not in the classical definition. Her jaw was too strong and her nose a little too big, with a definite bump across the bridge. But somehow those flaws, if they could be called that, set her apart from a conventionally beautiful woman. Only one other person had ever affected him in such an instant, captivating way, and the elusive perfection had stopped him cold.

  It had been years ago, but the experience taught him a life lesson that shaped every minute of his existence since. You couldn’t own another person. You owned things―a house or a car. A woman, or man, was not a possession.

  Yet tonight he ached to possess Charlotte Stone in a way that contradicted all he believed. When he forced her breasts inches from his mouth, taunting her, she had to feel his need pressed against her. He wanted to fuck her like he’d never fucked a woman, or man, and it took every strand of willpower to pull away. His reaction to her was instant and so familiar it took Alex back in time―to that night seventeen years ago―and the experience that changed his life forever.

  ~~~~~

  He was one of the most handsome men Alex had ever seen, with hair as dark as his own and mysterious, deep-set eyes, an odd shade of green. He wore jeans and a burgundy sweater that showed the contours of his muscles, his trim waist. There was nothing effeminate about him, yet the intense focus he showered on Alex was so sexual that he felt it in his groin and had to look away.

  The affair started as an adventure, an experiment. He’d grown up with Max, knew his sexual proclivities. He’d even laughed off the umpteen million times Max had joked about the two of them getting it on. But Alex had never been turned on by men. He didn’t think anything was wrong with being gay or bisexual, because Max was his friend, and thinking otherwise would mean something was wrong with Max. Quite simply, men had never been Alex’s thing. Until that night, when the stranger’s hand on his shoulder and the timbre of his voice―deep and sexy and somehow familiar―awakened some dormant lust.

  “Did you feel what I felt?”

  Alex turned to face him. He swallowed, taken by the man’s closeness, his aura. Never had his senses been so acute.

  Yes, he’d felt it. That instant connection. But he wasn’t like Max, he rationalized. He was straight. He’d experienced sex only with women, relished it, though he’d never fallen in love. Yet he couldn’t deny the sexual feelings that coursed through him at the closeness of the stranger beside him.

  “I don’t understand it,” he said, “but I felt it.”

  “You’re straight?”

  “Yes.”

  “It happens. My name’s Gianni. Gianni Caravelli.” He put out his hand.

  Alex reached for it. “Alex Andros.”

  ~~~~~

  That surrealistic moment felt like something out of a movie where two people see each other across a crowded room, and every person in the theater knows immediately that sparks would fly between them.

  He’d grown to care about the young architect more than he’d cared for anyone before or since, but Gianni was the reason he pulled away from Charlotte tonight, though every molecule in his body fought against it. Being in love had disastrous consequences, and he couldn’t―wouldn’t―tempt fate again.

  Chapter Four

  Hold the Nuts

  Caught by surprise, Charlotte sucked in an audible breath. “How did you get in here?”

  He reeked of alcohol; his words slurred. “I’ve had a key since we first started dating.” He tossed it in the air and caught it in his fist. “I like to be in control, Charlotte. I want access to my women when I want them. After seeing you at the auction tonight, I knew I had to have you again. Then I saw you take off with Andros, so I decided to wait. And here we are.”

  Charlotte seethed. What else had Jack been into? Had he rummaged through her underwear drawer? Hacked into her computer? She felt violated, also scared. Jack had been drinking, and he didn’t like being turned down. No telling what he’d do. She needed to be calm but firm.

  “Yes, I found out about your control the hard way, and I’m not your woman. I want you out of my house. You’re drunk. Now leave, or I’ll call the police.”

  Jack squinted. His lips curled into a sneer. He grunted as he swung his legs onto the floor and pushed himself into a sitting position. “You must be desperate to go out with Andros.”

  Rising, he wobbled toward her. She backed up, hoping to get to the door and chance beating him down the stairs. But he reached her in three giant steps and pinned her to the door.

  “Bet your new boyfriend doesn’t appreciate what a delectable tidbit you are. But I know.”

  Charlotte thrust against him, but he didn’t budge. “Let go of me. You don’t want to do this.”

  “Don’t I?” He pulled something from his tux pocket. “See this?”

  He pushed a photograph in her face. It took a few seconds to focus, but she recognized Jack’s attic room, where she woke up bound to the bed after passing out on their last date. They’d played a few sex games, a little light bondage, but nothing like what she saw. Not only were her wrists cuffed, but her legs were forced open with a spreader. Some kind of torturous contraption clamped both breasts. Charlotte gasped; her stomach cartwheeled. “I…I didn’t do this willingly, you son of a bitch. You drugged me.”

  “Now, now, such foul language from a classy lady. You wouldn’t have let me do this to you while you were awake, would you?”

  Tears filled Charlotte’s eyes, and they trickled down her cheeks. “You’re despicable. What kind of animal does something like this?” She shoved him away, but he pressed her harder against the door, exactly as he had earlier at the museum. But Alex wasn’t here to save her now. She was on her own.

  “Just relax,” he said. “It’s no use fighting me. You might as well enjoy it.” He moved his hand to her breast and pinched her nipple. “You used to like this. Did you let Andros get a handful?” He sniggered. “No, I doubt that’s his style. If it were, he’d be up here right now with his hands all over you. I admit, I worried about that. Then I thought, no, Andros didn’t want to get into a woman’s pants. Not with a limp dick. He wanted a man’s coc
k in his ass.”

  The ugly words churned in Charlotte’s stomach. She wanted him out of her apartment, out of her life. She shoved against him to break free, but he grabbed both wrists and held them above her head, the same way Alex had moments before. Only Alex’s grasp was gentle. Jack’s one-handed grip hurt, while he tore off her shawl with his other.

  She started to scream, but he clamped his hand over her mouth. “Scream, and I’ll make sure this photo winds up on the front pages of the sleaziest scandal sheets. What will the heading be? OWNER OF HIGH-END STORE A SEX SLAVE? Or how about, ENDOWED BEAUTY CAUGHT IN BDSM PHOTOS? Won’t your straitlaced Boston Brahmin customers love that? You’ll be ruined.” He breathed into her ear. “Now relax. Enjoy. Pleading won’t help. I get off on inflicting pain. You’d enjoy how I can make you feel if you gave it a chance.”

  Wriggling did nothing to free her from his strong grip. She screamed in her throat, making no sound that would carry anywhere outside the room. Even if it did, no one would hear. Her building attached to other buildings, stores and boutiques, long closed.

  Within a few seconds Jack had unzipped her dress and tugged it down. “Now shhh. I’m going to undo this harness you’re wearing. Keep your mouth shut while I get you in the mood to fuck.”

  He didn’t mean fuck. He meant to get her ready to be raped. She couldn’t let Jack do this to her. But she couldn’t extricate herself from the viselike hold he had on her wrists. He had long mastered undoing bras with one hand, and when he unhooked hers, he lifted it to expose her breasts to his salacious glare.

  “Being a breast man, I have to say yours are magnificent. For such a tiny woman to have knockers like these is one in a million.”

  She struggled harder, found purchase on his hand, and bit into the hard flesh, then tasted blood. He yelped, withdrawing his hand long enough for her to let out a loud, desperate scream. It wouldn’t matter, but she didn’t care. He smacked her hard across the face.