Illicit Desire

by Taylor Michaels

  What bothers me isn't his harsh beauty. It's the detached stare. The way he considers something—Raphael, me, even his wife—with uninterested eyes. It's almost as if he's weighing us and deciding how best to proceed to reach the outcome he wants. It's precise and analytical and cold.

  I shiver and something flickers in his dead eyes, and then he looks back to Raphael. "You've had some shortages, in product."

  I blink. I want to ask what they're talking about, what this has to do with me, but when I move, Lou's grip tightens again. I'll have bruises in the shape of his hand, tomorrow. I swallow my irritation and lean back. Again.

  "We can discuss that later," Raphael says coolly. "You wanted to see my new executive officer."

  "I wanted to see your new whore," Carlita says, her voice dripping false sweetness.

  Raphael ignores her and turns slightly to me. He holds out a hand and I don't need Lou to release his grip to understand the summons. I stand and slip over to him, taking a quiet place at his side.

  "Cora Milan, I'd like you to meet Jorge and Carlita Rojas, business partners in Columbia."

  Their eyes are heavy on me, and I lock my knees to keep them from trembling. His hand rests on the back of my thigh, his thumb stroking slowly over my jean-clad leg, soothing me.

  "It's so good to meet you,” I say, smiling brightly. "Raphael didn't tell me we had Columbian business partners. What do you import?"

  There's a beat of silence, and then Carlita leans over to meet Raphael's eyes. "Is she loca?"

  "That's the second time, Lita. Don't fucking push me," Raphael snarls. Jorge's eyes widen, and the bodyguards all tense. Carlita stares in surprised silence for a moment, and then she leans back, thoughtfully.

  She doesn't take her eyes from me, and I rub my hands together awkwardly and take a step back.

  This time, it's Raphael whose grip goes tight and unforgiving.

  “You are seriously breaching etiquette, demanding to see her,” Raphael says. “This is your one pass. She’s here. Do you understand? She’s untouchable from now on.”

  Carlita laughs. “Or what?”

  I shiver, because there is a lot of hatred and loathing in her voice—and it’s directed at me. Raphael nods at Miguel, and he slides a closed file across the table to Jorge. The Columbian picks it up and flips it open. His eyes narrow and his face goes tight. Raphael leans back, his hand lazy on my leg now. I want to know what put that look on the other man’s face. He flicks a look at Raphael and then silently passes the file to his wife.

  She isn’t silent at all. Her eyes flash and she tosses the file on the table. “What the fuck is this?” she hisses, furiously.

  “You tell me,” Raphael says, quietly. “Why the hell do you care about my boys working over a street thug?”

  She starts to say something, and her lips clamp shut. Jorge leans forward. “Is this a threat, Ortiz? Because threats aren’t good for business.”

  Raphael gives him a surprised look. “Threat? No. That’s what happened to the last cabron who touched her.”

  He lets the words hang there, and I look at the photos.

  Upside down, they make no sense. Just a mess of black and red and pink and grey. I feel my stomach lurch as it resolves into something that makes sense.

  It’s a person. A man. The man who stole my purse. He’s been beaten, savagely, and is lying on a dirty concrete floor, his face a mess of blood and cuts and spit. His eyes are blank, and my teeth are chattering as I stare at that picture.

  I had theories. I knew what the stories said. But this—what I thought I knew about him is nothing compared to the truth, staring at me with sightless eyes.

  “Cora Milan is under my personal protection.”

  If this is what that means, I’m not sure I want it.

  Except that a small part of me does. Because if this is what’s waiting for Graham when he comes looking for me, maybe I won’t have to leave. Even he would think twice before taking on a cartel for me.

  And there it is—the ugly truth I’ve been shoving aside since I sat at my desk and did the research my secretary told me to do. The whispered secret that I managed to convince myself was untrue. But if it weren’t, why would he close the office down on a Friday, to have a private meeting with a Columbian couple? I shiver and jerk away from him, stalking toward the door.

  “It would appear your waif doesn’t want your protection, Raphael,” Carlita says, and her voice is pure venom.

  I want to slap the smug look off her face. I want to crawl into his lap and fuck him, so she is very sure who he belongs to now. I want to run from the appraising stare in her husband’s eyes and the hateful gleam in hers.

  “I’m not a fucking waif,” I say, and somehow, my voice doesn’t shake. “And if you think you know anything about me, you’re even stupider than I thought.”

  Carlita’s eyes widen, and the two men behind her lurch forward. A sharp order from Jorge has them leaning back. Raphael reaches out and taps the picture with one finger.

  “This isn’t what will happen to whoever is stealing from me,” he says quietly. “But I would suggest you remember that I grew up being taught by Benni Ortiz.”

  I don’t know what that means. But Jorge’s narrow eyes are thoughtful and he nods once. “Thank you for your time, Ortiz. We’ll see what can be done on our end about the shortages.”

  “Fix it,” Raphael says, softly. “Or I will.”

  Carlita’s eyes are wild and furious, and she spits a string of Spanish as Jorge takes her by the elbow and pulls her away from the table. “We’ll be in touch, Ortiz.”

  I wait, not moving, until I hear the ding of the elevator. As soon it comes, my knees give out and I drop into a chair, letting my head fall into my hands.

  “Bonita?” he asks, his voice familiar again. Its warmer, not the cold tone he used with the Rojas. “Guys, give us the room.”

  I stare at my hands as they beat a quick retreat. Lou pauses and hits a button on the wall, obscuring the window into the main office. Then the door closes with a soft click and we’re alone. He lets a breath out and crouches in front of me. “Want to tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs.

  “How dangerous are you?” I ask, abruptly.

  His eyes flash with pain. “To the world, or to you?” I don’t specify and Raphael curses. “I would never hurt you, Cora. You should know that by now.”

  Should I? I feel like I don’t know anything—like the ground has just shifted out from under me, and I don’t know how to put him in this new context.

  “You’re scaring me,” he says, softly.

  I laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

  His eyes flash with acknowledged amusement, but he sobers quickly, his gaze piercing and speculative. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” I say immediately. A frown forms on his face, and I amend my demand. “Everything you can tell me safely. If you can’t tell me safely, then don’t.”

  Raphael stares at me, his gaze bright with naked hope, and I shift uneasily. I don’t expect that. I don’t want him getting too attached to me.

  What an idiotic thing. Of course he’s fucking attached. I know he is—if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have been introduced to the Rojas. I wouldn’t have been placed under his protection. It’s far too fucking late to decide that being unattached is the way to go. We both passed that particular milestone without ever realizing it.

  “Do you want to go upstairs? We can talk there.”

  It’s tempting. After the meeting with his Columbians and a nervous day of distance, I’m aching to be held by him, to have his hands on me. I stare at him, and his eyes heat. “We need to talk,” he murmurs. “Before I fuck you. This will be hard enough without that distraction.”

  There’s a sharp tap on the door, and Raphael blinks, angry suddenly. I touch his hand softly and he releases a breath, letting out his anger. He stands and takes my hand. “Come.”

  Miguel is standing at the door, an apologetic scowl on
his face. “Sorry, Jefe. I know you didn’t want to be disturbed. We couldn’t stop him.”

  “Who is it?”

  His gaze drifts past Raphael and settles on me. “Your brother, Senorita.”

  Chapter 17

  Raphael

  I STAND BACK, my hands in my pockets, and watch as Paul approaches us. That he’s furious is evident. That he’s dangerous and well-armed, despite my boys, is a little less so. It makes me grin, and his eyes narrow as he stares at me. “Cora, let’s go.” he says, not looking away from me.

  “Paul,” she says, and my gaze swings to her, because I’ve never heard her whine like that, petulant and sounding incredibly young.

  Her brother brings out another side of her, one I want to explore. I want to know everything about her. I want to know why Paul brings out petulance and why she lashed out at Carlita, and why she isn’t running screaming.

  Not the time for that. She’s got her arms crossed, glaring at him. “Dude. You can’t just show up at my office and drag me home. We’re not in the fifties anymore, thank god.”

  He gives a snort, looking around the darkened office. I’m glad the Rojas are already gone—this will be difficult enough without adding to it my business associates. “You aren’t working. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but you can explain it on the road. We’re already packed.”

  Miguel’s head swings around. He and Lou are pretending they aren’t hanging on every word but this gives him away, rather decidedly.

  “I’m not leaving,” she says softly, and I want to scream my triumph. I want to grab her and carry her to my bed and fuck her until she can’t remember what it feels like to be fucked by someone else, what it feels like to not have my cock in her.

  Paul tosses something, and Cora grabs it, reflexively catching the paper against her body. She doesn’t look at it, but I do, and I feel that familiar swoop of fear and disgust. The same one I felt when Benni arrived at my hotel room with a Scrabble board and a pile of newspapers and two questions:

  Who is she and how far will you go to keep her?

  The answer on the tip of my tongue scared me. I had swallowed it down, and played his game, and stared at that damn picture.

  “Graham will find you. Plastered on the cover of the Miami Herald, it’s only a matter of time. We need to disappear.”

  “Who is Graham and why is he worrying you?”

  Paul glances at my cousin, and then me. Back to Miguel. “He’s the bastard who beat her. Who stalked her and kidnapped two girls to get her—who held her for a week and brutalized her. That’s who he fucking is. And I will do anything it takes to keep her safe from him.”

  Miguel glances at me, his gaze furious and questioning. I nod once. His lips tighten, and he looks back to Paul. “She’s under our protection.”

  “Your boss exposed her to danger in the first place,” Paul snaps.

  Miguel doesn’t rise to the bait, and I know how much that costs him. “True. Which is why we’ll protect her now.”

  “Enough. You two”—Cora points at my cousin and Lou—“get out.”

  Miguel inclines his head slightly, and walks away. I think Cora is more startled than anything else, and I make a mental note to explain that to her, later. She handles it well, not commenting on his sudden change in behavior. She refocuses on Paul. “I need you to give me a little space, Paul. I’m fine for now. Raphael needs to talk to me for a little while—afterward, we can discuss our options. But Graham is still in prison—we don’t have to disappear right this very second.”

  Paul stares at her, and I see something in his eyes—worry and fear—before it’s gone. It’s more than should be there for a brother. I want to corner him, ask him what he knows, because every instinct I have is telling me he knows something he isn’t sharing.

  Cora faces me, her brother dismissed entirely. He’s staring, and Miguel grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him along. It’s not a friendly grip—but it’s not hostile either. “Come on, mi amigo. Let Senorita have her moment.”

  “Your office,” she says abruptly, and swings into action, leaving the room. I follow a little slower, pausing to murmur to Lou, “Watch the brother. He’s not telling us something.”

  He nods.

  Cora is perched in the chair across from my desk, her back to me as I enter. Her shoulders are bowed, and her head is down, that unruly long lock of black hair hanging in her eyes. She looks very defeated, and tired.

  “Bonita, you need rest,” I say, coming to her side. “You haven’t slept since the news.”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind.” She fidgets, her fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt. “Why did that man look like he’d been beaten to a pulp, Raphael?”

  I release a sigh. There is no way to avoid this—something I realized when Benni asked me who she was, and what I would do to keep her.

  Somehow, between morning meetings and walks on the beach, she’s slipped into my life and I don’t want to let her go.

  And that means honesty, even if that is the hardest thing I can do—and the most likely the thing that will drive her away.

  “Because he attacked you—stole from you. In front of the Carlita, which is my territory. And because he touched you. A woman I had already seen, someone I wanted, even without knowing who you were. I saw you in front of my building, and I wanted you, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him from stealing from you, or hurting you.”

  She’s staring at me, her eyes wide and searching. “What do you mean by territory?”

  I shift, standing and putting some space between her and me. Because all I want is to hold her, and I can’t. Not while I tell her this. I would never let her go, and she needs that option.

  I stare out at the ocean, and force out the words.

  “Benni came to America fifty-six years ago. He was a kid. He turned fifteen and decided that he was done in Mexico—that he would never find what he wanted for his family there. So he came here. And he didn’t find it here either. Miami wasn’t a friendly place to a poor Mexican with no English. And Benni had no desire to live in poverty in America—not when he’d left behind everything he knew to make something more.”

  I take a deep breath. “Benni wasn’t ever going to make it here legally. He was never going to have the life he wanted. And when he met Abuela, failing wasn’t an option. She was the daughter of a rich man—someone who could afford to forbid their relationship. He was desperate. And desperate men will do anything. He got work with some men who weren’t exactly into legal shit. And he built our family.”

  She’s staring at me, a look of speculative curiosity on her face. She knows. She’s not so stupid or reckless that she got involved with someone she hadn’t at least Googled.

  “What do you know?” I murmur.

  She doesn’t bother deflecting. “He was indicted for drug trafficking. The people in Ortiz Corphave been charged with racketeering, assault, bribery, and trafficking in stolen goods. There was speculation about some of the women who worked in his clubs.”

  She’s hitting the highlights, and I nod. “What else?”

  “None of the charges ever stuck. Witnesses recanted or vanished, or the evidence was fucked and the cases were dropped. Benni Ortiz might be a gangster, but nothing touched him and he retired from Ortiz Corp tenyears ago, leaving it to his only grandson.” She hesitates, and I stare hard. Cora licks her lips nervously. “Since you took over, Ortiz Corp has become a legit powerhouse in Miami, most obviously in the real estate you’ve taken over and the Spanish Ladies. But you’ve gotten more deeply involved in drugs. Allegedly.”

  I shrug. “There’s nothing alleged about it, Cora.”

  And there it is. That look of shock and fear and the subtle way she withdraws—pulling away from me. She’s afraid. I’ve frightened her, and I don’t want to do that.

  “I’ve never regretted who or what I am. I’m not a good guy. I deal vice and death and I’m fucking good at it—my grandfather came to this country with nothin
g and within a generation, we’ve risen to be the most powerful criminal organization in the city. The fucking mayor courts my attention, because he can’t afford not to. I’m on top of the world and untouchable. I’ve never wanted to be anything but who and what I am. But the way you’re looking at me right now—that makes me regret a lot of things.”

  She stares, and when she finally speaks, it is the very last thing I expect her to say.

  “What does Miguel mean, I’m under your protection?”

  I shrug, forcing myself to not overreact to this unexpected hope. “The cartel is protecting you—even from our allies. If anyone touches you, they would answer to me.”

  “Miguel doesn’t like me,” she points out.

  “Miguel is loyal to me and the cartel, bonita. He may despise you—he doesn’t, but if he did—he would still protect you if the cartel claimed you.”

  She looks at me through the fall of her hair. “Would you protect me from Graham?”

  My heart twists, because she isn’t asking what I think she is. She can’t be. I swallow hard. “Why?”

  “Because I’m tired of running from him. Because if I’m going to stay with you, I need to know you will keep me safe.”

  “Cora…” I shake my head, slowly. “Graham doesn’t worry me. But staying with me—you have no idea how dangerous that could be.”

  “Do you want me to stay?” she asks, and I nod, unable to stop myself. She smiles, a tight little twist of her lips, and stands. “I’ll meet you upstairs. I need to talk to Paul.”

  I watch her walk out of the room, and I don’t understand what the hell just happened. But I’m pretty sure I just had the entire fucking world handed to me on a silver platter.

  Chapter 18

  Cora.

  I STEP INTO THE ELEVATOR, and some of the tension in my shoulders eases. I didn’t think Paul would be willing to let me go, and every bit of logic is telling me this is a bad fucking idea. But logic hasn’t gotten me far, and I’m tired of running from my past, of being too scared to get close to someone because of how Graham would react when he found out—and he always did.