Illicit Desire

by Taylor Michaels

“The Councilwoman, Rafe.”

  I growl softly at Miguel’s prompt and lead Cora into the ballroom.

  It’s a glittering display of the wealthy and beautiful, the old and established. They mill, bored and aimless and willing to spend a small fortune to keep their name in the spotlight. A small bidding war is going on in the center of the room for a Picasso.

  Cora blinks as cameras flash, and I tuck her into my side, dipping down to murmur in her ear. “I really want to take you behind one of these pillars and find out what you’re wearing under that dress.”

  She laughs, startled, as the cameras flare and people realize we’re here. Spots of color fill her cheeks, and I grin to myself. I’ve scandalized her, and I love it.

  She twists and grins up at me, and the cameras flash. “What makes you so sure I’m wearing anything?”

  I kiss her, because if I don’t, I’ll groan, and no one will take it as anything but erotic and I’m already struggling to hide my erection.

  She knows it, and her eyes are laughing when she pulls away from me and smiles at the couple approaching. I recognize the man, dimly, and Cora introduces him—the hedge fund manager who rents a block of offices on the twentieth floor.

  “Jefe,” Miguel murmurs, moving up on my left. I look up and see Councilwoman Cynthia Steele approaching me. She’s smiling, a bright gleam in her eyes, and I force myself to smile back, just short of flirting. Cora is quiet at my side, the first time I’ve ever seen her so still and watchful.

  “Raphael, we weren’t sure you were coming tonight,” Cynthia says, leaning in.

  The woman runs the Miami Small Business Association. She’s almost as ruthless as my grandfather, and she’s a necessary evil. Her eyes skim Cora, dismissive before she focuses all her attention on me. “We need to talk, Raphael.”

  I glance at Miguel, and he takes Cora’s arm. “Come with me, Cora. I’ll tell you what a hellion Rafe was when we were growing up.”

  Cora hesitates, something I want to dwell on, her eyes curious and concerned. “Go, bonita,” I say quietly. “I’ll find you in just a few minutes.”

  She allows herself to be led away and I focus on Cynthia. “What do you need, Councilwoman?”

  “Your arm candy isn’t what you usually pick, Raphael,” she says, watching Cora retreat.

  I snap my fingers and her eyes dart to me. She’s laughing at me. Mocking me, and that grates on my nerves. I give her a slow, lethal smile. The one that makes grown men think twice about crossing me.

  Cynthia snorts, a decidedly unladylike noise. "You know that shit doesn't work on me, Ortiz. So let's get down to business. Your boys are getting sloppy down by the water."

  I blank my face, and grab her arm, steering her away from the crowd, out of the ballroom and into a service hallway.

  "Get your fucking hands off me," she snarls, jerking away from me.

  "Then watch what the fuck you’re saying in places where it can be heard," I shoot back and she flushes. "What my crews do doesn’t involve you. Take your check and stay out of my way."

  "City Hall is blocking the construction on Rosa Tower."

  I go still, and look at her. She's staring at me, fascination and amusement and a little bit of fear in her eyes. I swallow my irritation and murmur. "How much will it cost to kill that block?"

  "Double my current monthly fee,” she says, licking her lips.

  Greedy bitch.

  "Done," I say. "I'll send over the new agreement this weekend. With your first check."

  Her eyes widen, and I realize she expected an argument, some kind of bargaining. I give her a slow smile and leave. She's greedy enough to not question why I capitulated so easily. And in three or four months, when she's feeling very secure—that’s when I'll move.

  They think when I buy a Councilwoman, or a police chief that I'm doing it because I have no choice. I do. Of course I do. I do it because it's easy and it's a double hook. I have my protection--and I have them. They can't stab me in the back without fallout.

  I am very fucking good at fallout.

  The ballroom is a maze of people when I reenter it, and I pluck a glass of champagne from a passing waitress, sipping as I wander the room looking for Cora.

  This Benefit is ostensibly for the underprivileged children. It's not, not really. Oh, everyone will empty out their pockets and give money to the poor. But it's a place to be seen, and to court favors. I've done what I need—no one else matters. I could leave—with Cora.

  I see her before she sees me. She's smiling, a slightly strained expression. Two lawyers are talking, and I can see the tension in her shoulders. A quick scan shows me that Miguel is nowhere to be seen. I shove down my irritation, stride across the space separating me from her, and slip an arm around her waist, pulling her back against me and leaning down to drop a kiss on her hair.

  She sags with relief and leans back to smile up at me. "You're back."

  "Sorry, bonita, I'm done with business for the night,” I say and her gaze brightens, adorably. I flick a glance at the two men, who are staring at me with confusion. I manage—barely—to keep from glaring, but I don't acknowledge them anymore as I turn Cora and steer her toward the auction. "Did you see anything you wanted?" I ask, glancing at the little catalog the hostess provided when I entered earlier. She laughs, a silvery noise that makes me want her.

  Everything makes me want her.

  "I think most of this is out of my price range, babe."

  She turns away and I lean down, letting my lips tickle at her earlobe. She shivers. "Are you really naked under that dress?"

  "Guess you'll have to wait to find out,” she says, giving me a mischievous grin. I growl, and she laughs as she sways away. We circle the ballroom and Miguel appears as Cora studies a painting that makes no sense to me. He catches my gaze and I tip my head toward the door. He frowns, but nods unhappily.

  "Cora," I murmur. She looks at me and I see just how much teasing me is costing her. A slow flush is creeping up her collar, and her eyes are sleepy and glazed. I catch a breath, and move.

  She comes where I lead, her heels clicking behind me in a rapid staccato as I weave us through the crowd. The service hall is empty--most of the cater waiters busy in the ballroom. I have her against the wall before she can say a word, and her hands are in my hair, slipping and tugging. She tastes fucking divine, and I groan as I slip into her mouth, running my tongue against hers. She sucks softly, and I almost come, because I know how fucking good it will feel when she has her hot little mouth on my cock. Again.

  “Cora,” I groan, breaking from her lips to bury my head in the crook of her neck. “What the hell are you doing to me?” I demand.

  She shifts, spreading her legs a little, and my mouth goes dry. It’s an invitation, and I’m too fucking desperate to pass it up. I kiss her again, and shift so I can grip her hip. Through the thin skirt, I can feel her skin, silk and cream and peaches. I slip a hand under her skirt and her head falls back as I trace up the bare skin of her thigh and find her, smooth and wet and so fucking naked. I swallow, and go still. She whimpers as she shifts under my hand. “Cora, stay still,” I murmur hoarsely.

  “No,” she says, petulantly, shifting again. Her eyes drift closed as she grinds against my hand and I lean back, watching her as she rides my hand. She sways and I move, closer, bracing her with my body. I hear voices—cater waiters—and I lean into her, shifting so that my hand under her skirt is hidden by my body. “Quiet, bonita,” I murmur. I slip two fingers deep in her and she spasms against me, her entire body curling into me as she whimpers. Two cater waiters are coming closer and I give them a reassuring smile. “Too much wine,” I say, and one makes a sympathetic noise. I smile as the guy offers to get her a wet towel, thrust my hand deep into her cunt, and grind my thumb against her clit.

  Her climax slams into her, and I ignore the waiters, twisting back to her and holding her close as she spasms and twitches against me. I smile when she finally peers up at me. The waiters are gone, and sh
e looks rumpled and sleepy.

  “Feel better?” I ask.

  “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she says, sounding slightly grumpy.

  I laugh and lean down, kissing her quickly. “I’ll be pleased with myself when I’m fucking you and making you scream.”

  Her eyes go hot, and I grab her hand. “Let’s go, bonita.”

  Chapter 15

  Cora.

  WHEN I WAKE, the bed is empty. I stretch slowly, a delicious ache reminding me of where I am and why. There is a robe at the end of the bed, and I reach for it, slipping into the soft cotton.

  There are voices in the outer room. I crack the door, and go still.

  A man is sitting in the middle of the room. He’s an older version of Raphael, with snowy white hair, and a lazy sprawl. There is a small cup next to him, and a Scrabble board that both he and Raphael are staring at. A stack of newspapers are to one side, and they ignore them almost studiously.

  I didn’t expect Benito Ortiz to be so harmless. I expected a monster, from everything I had seen online.

  There is that, though. All I had read that made me want to be anywhere but where he is. I shift and his eyes dart to me, assessing and cool. Raphael plays his tiles, a soft click click click of wooden letters on the game board. His grandfather’s eyes flick back to the table and the terrifying blankness eases a little.

  “The Rojas are coming to Miami.”

  I don’t know what that means, but it gets a reaction from Raphael. His next tile hits the board with a clatter and he hisses out a curse.

  “I am dealing with that,” he snaps. “You didn’t need to get involved.”

  “Is that what you think I did? I took a phone call, Raphael. I listened. You have been too busy with your distraction to be concerned with our neighbors.” His gaze skates over the papers. “But you had to know she would react to this.”

  There is something admonishing in Benito’s tone, a hint of warning and displeasure.

  “You left the family to my devices, Abuelo. Let me work,” Raphael answers coldly.

  “What is it?” I ask, stepping into the room. Benito’s gaze darts to me, and I go still, wishing I had something else on, something a bit more substantial than a robe.

  A bullet proof vest might do the trick.

  Raphael doesn’t look at me. “Go back to bed, Cora.”

  I take a step closer, and see the papers.

  For a moment, there’s the complete lack of comprehension. It doesn’t make sense. Raphael is kissing a girl, lovely and pale and wearing my dress.

  It takes a long breathless moment before I realize he’s kissing me. The photo is us, last night, when he kissed me just as we enter the ballroom.

  The caption says it all.

  Notorious bad boy bachelor’s newest heartbreak.

  I gag, white spots spinning in my vision, and I spin away. I feel sick. A sudden grip of panic claws at me and I jerk back around. “My name. Do they use my name, Raphael?”

  He blinks, and I see the understanding cascade across his face. “Fuck.”

  My legs buckle, and it isn’t Raphael who catches me, but Benito, who has moved while I’m having a private meltdown. His arms clamp down around me and support me as I crumple, the only thing that keeps me from hitting the ground. All of my instincts are rioting, and at the feel of his unfamiliar grip, I lose what little control I have left.

  “Let me go!” I scream, clawing at him. Benito’s grip tightens and he barks something to Raphael in Spanish, a harsh question I don’t understand. Then he sweeps me up and dumps me on the couch next to his grandson.

  I bounce up and scramble away from them. “I have to go. I have to get the fuck out of Miami.”

  “Cora, calm down. There is no danger yet,” Raphael says, following me as I dart toward the door. “You’re in a fucking robe—you can’t leave in that.”

  I glance down, and the lack of clothing penetrates the fog of fear. “Raphael,” I whisper, “I have to go.”

  “You don’t. Let me fix this.”

  I laugh, a desperate, broken noise. “You can’t. This isn’t fixable, Raphael. This is my life, and it’s not going to go away just because you snap your fingers.”

  His eyes go dark and Benni laughs. “You have not told her.”

  “Shut up, old man,” Raphael snaps. Anger flares in Benni’s eyes before they go blank and flat, and I shudder.

  “Please. I’m not disappearing without telling you. But this—I can’t do this. I can’t stay here.”

  “You can’t leave, either,” Benni says, and my eyes dart to him, furious and terrified. He smiles, and I forget that I’m supposed to be afraid of Graham. That he’s the threat. Because staring into Benni’s lifeless eyes, I can’t believe there is anything more terrifying.

  “Rojas are coming, mijo. And they are demanding to see her.”

  Chapter 16

  Raphael

  “THEY’RE HERE.”

  It’s been twenty-four hours since Benni made his announcement. Twenty-four tense hours of preparing to face our sometimes allies while ignoring the meddlesome presence of my grandfather. I ignore him again as Lou straightens near the door. The only one who hasn’t moved is Cora, and she’s busy glaring holes into the wall.

  I motion the others ahead of me, and Miguel lets out an annoyed sigh. I ignore him, and wait for them to leave before I crouch in front of her. I haven’t touched her since the night of the party. Since she woke up and realized just how badly I’d fucked up. I still can’t believe that I did—that I let her down that badly.

  “Bonita, I need you to come with me,” I say, softly.

  “I want to go home, Raphael,” she says.

  I nod, and it takes all my willpower to not squeeze her hand in mine. “I know. If you can do this for me, it’ll be over. You can go.”

  Her eyes swing to mine, startled. She pushes some of her black hair back and frowns at me. “You’ll let me go? No questions asked?”

  I grit my teeth but nod. I will hate it, but if that’s what she needs. “I want to explain. Everything. This. But I’ll let you decide if you want to hear it.”

  She opens her mouth, and then snaps it closed, her lips compressed into a thin line. Nods sharply and stands. She’s in a pair of black heels, skinny jeans, and an electric purple top that hangs on her perfectly. There is something sexy and innocent about the high square collar and flowing silk as it falls down her body. She turns, and I see the tips of her tattooed wings.

  Innocence and beauty, and fierce determination. All of it combine to make my girl who she is.

  I catch her hand, and I feel her shudder, the moment of hesitation before she lets herself be drawn against me. She feels right, in my arms, like the missing piece. “Whatever you hear in there, trust me. Do you promise?”

  She nods, and I lean down, kissing her quickly. Then I straighten and step away, too quickly. Hurt flashes in her gaze for a moment, before she goes makes her expression smooth. Not quite blank—but hiding the many expressions I’m used to from her.

  It will have to do. I nod once, to myself, and turn to lead her out of my office. There is a quiet commotion in the hall, my men facing off against the enforcers Jorge brought. It’s expected, but seeing them here, in my tower, without bothering to hide their weapons—it pisses me off. I lift a hand, forestalling the argument I can see brewing.

  There is nothing about this day that will be easy, but avoiding bloodshed is still possible.

  “Two lieutenants. Everyone else, go to the lobby.”

  One of the Columbians glares. “We don’t follow your orders, puto.”

  “But you follow your Jefe and that is the agreement he made. Would you like to question him on it, here?” I ask, my voice deceptively light. The man scowls, but he snaps at his companions and they stalk away from the conference room. I glance at Cora, standing wide-eyed and startled at my side.

  “Remember, I’ll explain everything.”

  She nods, and I lean down, k
issing her forehead, and then I turn away. Miguel flanks me as we enter, Cora a step or two behind me with Lou at her elbow. And I stare at the woman I thought was the love of my life. And her husband.

  Cora

  The couple across the table is exotic. There is no other word for them. Exotic and gorgeous and vaguely terrifying.

  Raphael strides into the room, ignoring me so completely I wonder if he’s forgotten me. Lou pulls me to the side and tucks me into a chair, away from them and the two bodyguards—lieutenants, Raphael called them.

  “Jorge. It’s good of you to come to us.”

  “You must visit next, amigo,” Jorge answers, and there is a hint of command in the tone that stiffens Raphael’s back before he turns his gaze on the woman.

  Lou puts a hand on my arm and I shift. His grip tightens.

  “Carlita,” Raphael says, his voice perfectly polite and horrifyingly blank. “Marriage agrees with you.”

  Carlita. The Spanish Ladies are named Carlita and Rosa Tower.

  He named his fucking tower for her.

  She’s saying something to him in Spanish, and Lou makes a noise of disgust.

  Raphael doesn’t react. “It’s been a busy time—and flying to Columbia too often is a good way to get unwanted attention. None of us wanted that. I believe I sent a gift.”

  He moves, and I watch, fascinated as everyone in the room reacts to that small change, adjusting and shifting position to mirror him. Whatever else they are, they don’t trust each other and it’s reflected in every word and move they make.

  “Sit, sit. We’ll talk. Do you want anything to drink? Carlita, I think we have some tea.”

  “I don’t drink tea anymore, Rafe.”

  I hate his name on her lips, so intimate and familiar. I move, slightly, and Lou’s grip on me tightens to painful. I glare at him and he lifts a silent eyebrow.

  Whatever else he is, Lou is loyal to a fault, and wouldn’t be this insistent if it weren’t important to Raphael for me to stay in the background.

  I lean back, and it draws Jorge’s attention, his dark gaze flicking over me in lazy appreciation. I can see where some would find him good-looking. He’s a tall, dark and deadly type, with thick short black hair, and piercing black eyes. His lips are soft, full and sensual and odd in his otherwise harsh, too perfect features.