by Ian Harwood
“She’s staff, household staff, Joe. Why would she know anything?”
“People are arrogant. Cass’ parents worked for our boss; she said to me once that people don’t see or hear the staff. And we’re talking about the mafia. They think they’re gods on earth. That they can do whatever they want and damn the consequences.”
“I doubt she’ll have overheard enough to help us.”
“You don’t know until you look. I want you to start a full scale background check on her and Marco. There’s something distinctly odd about the pair of them and these last couple of weeks, she’s been looking peaky. Almost as though she’s ill. Maybe things are hotting up in the background.
“If I’m on the factory floor and I come across one of the undercover cops posing as a factory worker, I immediately know them and that isn’t because they were introduced to me. They stick out like a sore thumb! Why shouldn’t they to the mafia too?” The more I talk, the more sense it makes. Where once they’d had free reign to do whatever they wanted to where the factory floor was concerned, now, it’s the opposite!
They’re having to work in the shadows. Having to hide their operations.
That would cause a lot of stress. A lot of strain.
‘Who knows she could be the boss behind it all.” I chuckle to myself but shake my head as Monica stares at me as though I’ve lost my mind. “I’m teasing, Monica. I’m teasing. But still, I think she has something to do with this; in some way. Because if she didn’t, if she wasn’t utterly trustworthy, then why would anyone keep her on as a housekeeper when she comes with her stinkball of a husband?” Sitting up and leaning back against the bench, I grip the edge with my fingers and squeeze slightly. “No, she’ll have answers. Whether they’re to the questions we want answering, I don’t know. But it’s worth a shot. I want a report on her within forty-eight hours. Can you get on to that?”
“Of course.”
As she digs out her mobile phone, her breasts dancing slightly as she leans over her bag, my own begins to peal. Spotting the caller ID, I wonder if Fate is being kind to me. Reminding me of why I’m resisting temptation and why I shouldn’t be looking at Monica’s ripe curves.
“Juliet.” Even I can hear the relief in my tone. It’s no wonder her confusion diffuses the line and she asks:
“Joe? Are you okay?”
“I am now. You’ve no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”
“Really? You mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it, honey, if I didn’t mean it.”
“That’s good to know,” she murmurs and I can hear the smile in her voice. “I thought you’d been pulling away from me of late. You’ve not been very forthcoming on the phone.”
“No. I know. I’m sorry about that; I shouldn’t take the shit that’s happening on this end out on you.”
“You sound tired?”
“I am. I really am.” With a sigh, I stand and move away from Monica. While she’s on the phone to whoever is going to look into Brigida’s background, her eyes are on me. She’s never heard me talk this way to anyone; my tone is usually either business-like or brisk. I’m fully aware of the warmth in my voice. It must be unusual for her; must raise flags, but I don’t care. It feels too damned good to talk to Juliet.
“What’s going on over there? Dad says things have become complicated.”
“That’s an understatement of the year. I’m thinking about coming back to the UK next weekend. Fancy spending those few days with me?”
“I’d love it!”
“Good. You’re the only reason I’d be going back anyway, so the weekend would be pretty much a waste of time if you had plans.”
She laughs; the sound is like music over the airwaves.
As that thought dissolves in my mind, I wonder when the sap took the place of Joe Steel. Christ Almighty. Since when was a single sound able to sound like music?
I’m well gone and I can’t really find it in me to be upset about that.
“Well, what are you up to? It’s early back home. I thought students slept in a lot.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve finished my finals, haven’t I? So I’m just awaiting the results and I’ll no longer be a student.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean it as an insult.”
“No. I know. I’m just nervous.”
Her admission has me frowning. “Nervous? You’re nervous talking to me?”
She sighs. “No. But I’m nervous about telling you something.”
“What is it? To do with uni?”
“No! Of course not. It’s just well, I was nervous that you were pulling away from me. You’ve been gone a long time and I figured, I’d come and see you.”
It’s my turn to sigh. “Let me guess, you’re here already? What do you want? A lift from the airport.” A part of me is annoyed and that part is reflected in my tone. Every other part of me is dancing to a jig only I can hear.
“Please.” Her voice is small.
“I’ll get a driver to come and collect you.”
“No driver. I want you to come and pick me up.”
“I can’t. I have to work. I wish you’d told me. I didn’t want you over here; not with things the way they are.”
“Well, thanks for that, Joe!”
The sound of her exasperated hurt has me wincing. “I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart. Honestly. It’s dangerous over here.”
“Dangerous?” she scoffs.
“Yeah. It’s like something out of a third rate gangster movie. You know what package we received on our first morning here. It’s hardly a welcome pack of fruit and wine!” Lifting my wrist, I check the time. I need to be at the office, but Christ, even though she irritates the fuck out of me sometimes, I need to see Juliet more.
Can I really be angry with her, when she’s the answer to my silent prayers?
A part of me is relieved; another concerned. I don’t want anything to happen to her and if it did, if it happened because she was here with me, then I don’t think I’d be able to live with the guilt.
“Please, Joe? Come and pick me up. I want to see you. I’ve been buzzing ever since I booked the ticket last night.”
“Bloody hell, this is a last-minute trip, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. You sounded down last night on the phone and I was concerned. I figured if I dropped in on you, it might cheer you up.”
Even though I’m loaded down with work; even though my schedule is jam-packed, even though I’m tired, angry and annoyed at the situation I find myself in with the police, she isn’t wrong.
The sound of her voice has cheered me up.
And knowing we’re on the same continent does wonderful things to my spirit.
Never mind my cock.
Chapter Nine
I wouldn’t say that I broke any laws when driving to Milan to collect Juliet. That’s to say, I didn’t pass any coppers who caught me at twenty or so kilometres over the legal limit.
Such speed wasn’t entirely necessary; but at the same time, it was. I’ve a burning need to see Juliet and no amount of motorway or country roads filled with morons on tractors is going to get in my way.
Maybe because of that need to see her, fate has been pissing around with me. Knocking idiots on to my side of the road, urging tits into driving up my arse or taking an age to make a turning and generally making me concentrate on the streets rather than Juliet, which is something I don’t want to do.
I know I’m reacting like a teenage kid with his first girl and his first hard-on, but Christ, what the woman does to me beggars belief. In a way, it’s all the more astounding, because not only is she not my type, neither am I hers. On top of that, she’s complicated. Complex. Filled with puzzles and riddles that I feel compelled to solve.
I take full responsibility over my past and can honestly make the admission that I’ve been a womanizer for most of my adult years. No woman has meant more than the relief she could provide me. I’ve never wanted the extra appendage of her clinging to my a
rm at functions. Even though that meant I, once again, stood out from the crowd. Not only was I school tie-less and sans degree, I wasn’t unhappily married with three brats whose school fees crippled me every term, because they’d have to go to an exclusive public school or forever be shamed in the eyes of my colleagues.
My life has been a round of different women; each there for sex. Nothing more, nothing less. So, to feel this way about Juliet is rare. Unique, even. I dislike the word need, because I don’t appreciate the connotations that come with it. But I have a nasty feeling that I do need Juliet. For someone who has never needed anyone; who has always been insular and self-assured, that’s a huge admission in itself.
In a way, the fact that my eyes can be glued to Monica’s tits but my cock is limper than the pasta Brigida has been force-feeding me over the last few weeks is a declaration of intent in itself.
It’s pathetic, but as I drive into the terminal parking area, my heart is pumping like I’ve just jogged all the way to the Malpensa airport. I want to grimace, chide myself for being a bloody fool, but I can’t. Knowing that she’s within yards of me is a relief.
This surprise visit couldn’t have come at a worse time; both because of my workload and the gangsters strutting around the town like cockerels at dawn, but now she’s here, I’m just glad that I’ll be with her for however long she wants to stay.
Will I be selfless and persuade her to return home?
For her safety, yes.
A part of me wants to be selfish and to do what the hell I want and have her at my side, in my bed and at the desk/ dining table with me until I can return to the UK. But if her life is in danger, then she’ll be on the next flight home.
Even though money’s no object to me nowadays, I wince at the car parking fees as I let the heat of the Italian sun bleed through my shirt and warm my back, shoulders and head. Even with my sunglasses, I squint in the brightness of the light as I lock up the car and make my way to the airport proper.
It’s jam-packed. All around me are screaming kids, Italians shouting at each other with love, happiness, sadness and anger. The whole gamut of emotions seem to be running through the crowd but I ignore it all and push through the masses on the hunt for the only dark-haired woman I’m interested in; as I’m surrounded by brunettes but not a one of them is mine.
And if that sounds possessive, then why not?
In that split second, I make a decision.
It’s time Juliet knew who she belonged to and vice versa.
I’m almost amused at the thought; I sound so Italian. So melodramatic. But such is life and that’s the way I feel. Dare I say it? For better or worse.
I don’t even wince at the expression, but then again, I don’t have time to do anything. One minute, I’m trying to make headway through a mass of people and the next, I’m being attacked.
Okay, attacked is too strong a word. I mean it in the nicest way possible.
Someone launches themselves at me. Shapely legs grip me by the hips and long, lithe arms cling to my shoulders as a mouth presses against mine and a tongue slips between my lips. The sounds of bags colliding with the floor intrude upon my consciousness but I ignore them, uncaring if her luggage is damaged or not.
My entire world revolves around this woman for this moment in time and I don’t want my attention to be anywhere else but here.
“Juliet,” I mumble as she continues to attack me with teeth, tongue and lips. Her entire body wrapped around mine like prosciutto entwines itself around a juicy date.
“Joe,” she whispers, my name mangled by her exuberance.
For a few moments, I feel like I’m in a parallel universe. The woman I left seven weeks ago didn’t do public displays of affection; nor had she done more than pecked me on the lips.
This is completely out of character. And fuck me, I like it.
My stunned stupor disintegrates as she wriggles against me. The notch of her sex is wide open and brushing against my dick as she urges herself closer to me and it feels like heaven and hell. Christ, we’re in a public place, but do I or my cock give a damn?
The answer’s a resounding no.
It’s my turn to reciprocate. Instead of letting her take charge, my mouth bites back. My lips sucking and pressing against hers, taking control of the kiss and revelling in the slow pulse of her hips as her own excitement ricochets. The silent duel has my blood pumping and my heart close to exploding.
And she isn’t making the situation any easier to handle.
With one hand, her fingers are clawing my shirt. They’ve gripped the fabric in a chokehold and through the fine silk-cotton blend; I can feel the bite of her nails. Her other hand is raking through my hair. Those nimble fingertips of hers massaging sensitive flesh and sending showers of goose bumps up and down my length.
In contrast, my hands are staying strictly at her waist. Any movement from me will cause the pair of us to be arrested on public indecency charges. And after this greeting, a prison cell isn’t where I want to spend my evening.
Her breasts are like ripe pieces of fruit pushing against my chest; urging and pleading with me for attention. And almost as though they were ripe and juicy peaches, my mouth starts to water.
A sound penetrates our embrace and has both of us simultaneously pulling away from each other.
The roar of laughter and applause.
That we’re at the centre of the crowd’s attention has me grinning. Juliet immediately ducks her head and turns a gentle shade of rose.
Of course, that has the applause reaching another decibel entirely. Her modesty and her passion have men studying me with envy and respect. As well as eying Juliet with a rather unnerving gleam in their gaze. The bloody cheek.
Reaching down, I collect her on-flight suitcase and her handbag both of which had provided the bumping noises as they fell to the ground in the middle of Juliet’s embrace. Handing her the bag, I lift the suitcase, wrap an arm about her shoulders and guide her out of the entryway of the Arrivals terminal. Beneath my arm, she’s shaking a little and knowing her as I do, I know she’s part mortified and part turned on.
I say nothing as we traverse through the crowd, winding our way through the masses of people towards the piping heat of Milan. The air is as clogged as London in a heat wave and when leaving the air-conditioned comfort of the airport, it’s doubly uncomfortable. My pace increases and Juliet joins in, her brow already dotted with sweat as we near the car. I move away from her as I unlock the doors with the remote; let her climb in and then I stow away her luggage. Seeking inner calm and not getting any, I move around to the driver’s seat, sit down and start both the engine and the air con.
Moving away from the airport grounds and heading towards Bergamo occurs in silence. Of the mortified variety on Juliet’s part and the at peace sort on mine.
It might seem heartless, but having Juliet on the back pedal is never a bad thing. She’s too smart for her own good and usually lets me know it.
Allowing her to stew in her own arousal as well as her shock at what she just did will work to my favour.
Because before she leaves, this relationship of ours will be set in stone. One way or another, she won’t be leaving without knowing that she’s mine.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Juliet’s voice breaks into my pleasant musings of what tonight will bring. “What would you like me to say? Hello?” I smile at such triteness. “I think we did that back at the airport.”
“And a lot more beside!” she mutters and finally stops staring at her knees to turn her head and stare out of the window.
It’s pretty but boring. Green everywhere, but we’re British. Accustomed to too much green and too much rain. It’s difficult to get excited about trees.
“Want me to say it’s wonderful to see you?”
Her head slowly turns towards me and there’s a pout on her lips as she replies, “Only if you mean it.”
A part of me wants to be really coarse and cra
ss. I want to grab her hand and have her cup my dick, want to slide mine along the length of exposed thigh thanks to those mid-length shorts that show and hide too much of her legs and down towards the apex.
With an inch of control left, I urge myself away from such a destructive path and back towards the conversation.
Destructive because I’d probably crash the damned car if she touched me or if I touched her. And because Juliet is no longer in the frame of mind to appreciate such a move.
The last thing I want is to start an argument.
Even though I urge myself to sound controlled and calm, to me, my voice sounds anything but. But apparently not to Juliet. Thank Christ.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
Her pout sticks out a little more at my lack of a gushing answer. I’ve never seen this side to Juliet before; but then, we’ve never kissed like that before. A kiss of that power, of that magnitude, changes things. It’s a catalyst and I, for one, am ready for explosion! Or implosion. Whichever Juliet’s up for.
“You weren’t happy on the phone. You were mad.”
I won’t lie to her; even if it means playing rough with the truth for a few minutes. “No, I wasn’t mad. I was concerned. There’s a difference. And did I look mad when I was in the airport?”
The reminder has her flushing. If I could have done, I’d have cupped her cheek and chided her for her embarrassment. The involuntary reaction is revealing in itself and I want to tell her that she should never be ashamed of her body and its capabilities, but I don’t. She’s not ready for such honesty from me yet. Time will change that.
It’s strange; I’ve never been one for younger women. I’ve always preferred those my age or a little older. Experience, after all, makes a fuck more pleasurable.
But with Juliet, I’m aware that she’s relatively inexperienced. Her reaction to my collecting her was immature; not her, at all, really. And yet, I revelled in the honesty of her gesture. That freedom to launch herself at me and show me, physically, how glad she is to see me.
