by Jen Talty
“It’s for a ten-minute piece I did on the show about crime families in the city.”
She coughed, glancing over her shoulder, wondering what the hell Thompson was doing at the Marriott. Especially on a night someone was being honored for exposing things about the very organization Thompson worked for.
“Do you know those men?”
“I don’t think so, why?” She swallowed, trying to calm her insides from rattling the floor she walked on. The last thing she needed was Xavier to be suspicious of anything.
“You were very relaxed in the limo, but now you’re a bottle of nerves.”
“I’m a fish out of water. Of course I’m going to anxious.”
“Good point,” he said.
She sucked in a deep breath. She was going to need a stiff drink to get through this night.
3
One week later…
The only way Xavier thought he’d be able to get Cali out of his mind had been to take a business trip. After the awards ceremony, he sent her back in the limo, telling her something came up, and he had to cover a story. It wasn’t a total lie, but he didn’t trust himself around her, and after seeing her reaction to Thompson, going to bed with her seemed wrong.
No matter how much he wanted it.
He’d spent almost five days hiding out in the city, researching Thompson and finding a few things he didn’t like.
Specifically, more images of him and Cali together, so she’d lied about knowing him.
Both pictures had been taken at the family restaurant. One was of her and her parents with Thompson and a man named Lewis Valle who also worked for the Carluccis in their legal department. That sparked a different kind of interest in Cali’s choice of careers and how she planned on using her degree as a criminal lawyer.
Or how the Carluccis planned on using her expertise.
One past employee of Nightshade, who had been terminated after the respective client had decided they weren’t compatible, had been Valle’s niece, who also had ties to the Carlucci family. Xavier had stumbled onto that information, but the ex-employee was nowhere to be found, and the client was in a relationship, which Xavier suspected had been arranged by Nightshade.
It all came back to what the hell was a mob family using a dating service for? Most likely it had been to launder money, but Xavier didn’t think that was the only reason.
Inserting the key into the house in Montauk, he stepped into the foyer. “Cali?” he called.
“In the kitchen.” Her voice floated across the room like hot fudge dripping off a spoon, all sweet and gooey.
He inhaled, catching the thick scent of meat sizzling under the broiler. “Smells great in here.” He set his backpack on the breakfast bar.
“You said you’d be home at six, so I thought I’d cook you dinner.” She pointed to a carafe of red wine. “I hope you don’t mind, I’ve been helping myself.”
“Of course not. Did I leave you enough money while I was gone?”
“Plenty,” she said with a smile as wide as the sun.
“I hope you used my car to get out of the house. The weather was unseasonably warm this last week.”
“I went to visit my parents for a day. Hope that was okay.”
“Of course,” he said with a frown. “We have an agreement for companionship, not for me to hold you hostage.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” She raised her glass, her rosy lips curling over the edge as the wine flowed into her mouth like the soft movement of the river on a still day. “But the people at Nightshade made it clear that we are to always make sure we are within the agreement, so for anything else, we need to ask. You weren’t here to ask.”
“I’m sorry I was gone so long, but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t make yourself at home.” He stepped around the counter, taking the glass from her hand, inhaling both her fresh, ocean-breeze scent mixed with the full-bodied cabernet. Staring deep into her ocean colored eyes, they held him captive in a world he had no idea existed. It was if she’d cast a spell on him, and he couldn’t turn away even if he wanted to.
Setting the glass on the counter, he tipped her chin with his thumb. “I missed you.”
“Really?”
He nodded, pressing his thumb over her lower lip. “I’m sorry I had to send you home alone. I was really looking forward to that limo ride.” Looping his free arm around her waist, he heaved her to his chest, pressing his knee between her legs. His thigh took the brunt of her heat, and it blinded him with lust.
“I thought about you every morning when I woke up and every night before I went to bed.” His body demanded her naked skin. His mind wanted to understand her dealings with a mob family. His heart wanted to turn his brain off and open up to something new and exciting. Something that went beyond companionship and waffled on true love.
He decided for this moment in time, his body would win, closing off the rest. They were two grown-ups who’d entered into an agreement knowing that sex, if they were indeed compatible, would most likely be part of the equation. If he wasn’t using her for a story, that would ease his conscience.
But it didn’t stop him from tracing a finger from her cute chin, down her soft neck, to the top button of her blouse.
“Your text messages made that clear,” she whispered, licking her lips.
Quickly, he unfastened the first three buttons, her chest heaving with every choppy breath she took. Her areola peeked out of the top of her bra. He traced a finger over the top, his muscles tightening as goosebumps lined her skin. The heat in the kitchen no longer belonged to the food in the oven, but the woman in his arms.
“Perfect,” he murmured, kneading her breasts until both nipples pushed out of the top of her lacy bra.
Her back arched, raising the tight nubs as he lowered his head, his tongue meeting her flesh, causing an electric pulse.
She moaned as he sucked her into his mouth, his other finger toying, twisting, plucking, and pinching. Her body writhing underneath his, grinding against his thigh, burning him through the fabric of their clothes.
He inched back, making just enough room for him to rip open her jeans and yank them over her hips, cupping her, feeling her wet heat against his palm, his finger finding her hard nub.
“What about dinner?” she said behind a breathy moan.
“I want dessert first.” He lifted her, planting her bare ass on the counter as he tossed her jeans and panties across the kitchen. His gaze roamed between his fingers disappearing inside her and her sweet face as she bit down on her lip. Her eyelids lowered over her desire-filled gaze.
She rested her heels on his shoulders, letting her legs fall open, exposing her glistening womanhood. Her hands clasped her breasts, nipples between her forefingers and thumbs, her hips jaunting upward, catching the tip of his tongue, her sweet juices coating him like butter melting in a skillet.
Burying his head between her legs, he licked, kissed, and touched in a frenzy, anxious to make her climax with his mouth. Never before had a woman’s orgasm meant so much to him. Not that they didn’t, but he could never be satisfied unless she was first.
“Oh…yes…” she ran her hand over his buzzed head, pushing gently and spreading her legs wider.
He dove deeper.
Harder.
Faster.
His tongue circled over her, his teeth nipping. His mouth sucked, while his fingers glided in, twisting and curling inside her, finding that exact spot that made her heels push against him and her hips roll.
Her thighs crashed into his cheeks as her body jerked.
“Xavier,” she yelled, moaning and groaning as her body pitched back and forth, shuddering from the purest delight.
He couldn’t help but be proud of how she’d reacted to his touch. How she tasted on his tongue. How she continued to roll her hips, demanding more.
Sliding her off the counter, he turned her around, bending her over while he found his wallet, a condom, and kicked his pants to the
side.
“Again,” she whispered, wiggling against him, her white blouse dangling off her shoulders. “Now.” She reached behind her, grabbing his hip with one hand, tugging him forward. “Please. Now.”
He groaned as he slowly entered her with one tight stroke, stretching her, watching her lure him deep inside.
“Cali,” he said as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, her body clenching over his length, and her hips rocking back into him.
She gripped the counter with one hand, while the other reached between them, gliding between his shaft and herself as he dove in and out with controlled motion, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the pace deliberate much longer. His resolve was about to snap into a frenzy of blinding passion. He grit his teeth. His muscles tensed, and his toes curled.
Unable to restrain himself any longer, he slammed into her so hard their bodies smacked against the counter.
She groaned.
“Did I hurt you?”
“God, no,” she said with a throaty moan. “I’m right on the edge. Take me there.”
“I want to see your face when I do this time.” He also needed a few minutes to collect himself and maybe make it last a few seconds longer. Turning her, he lifted her off the floor and carried her to the kitchen table where he sat down, letting her straddle him.
She wasted no time taking him, squeezing her insides tight as she swayed back and forth on his lap. With her hands on his shoulders, she arched her back. “Oh…ahh….yes!” She jerked forward, dropping her head to his shoulder as he pumped himself inside her with no control at all.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered in his ear, her hot juices coating him like warm suntan oil.
He stretched his legs out, his toes pointing down as he held her hips while he spilled out violently into her body, the chair shaking with their combined climax.
“Jesus,” he said, trying to catch his breath, but the air scorched his lungs. He blinked, but nothing in the room came into focus. “You’ve blinded me.”
She laughed into his neck. “I hope it’s temporary so maybe we can do this again.”
“Me too. On both accounts. I like watching your face when you call out my name.”
She relaxed into his body as he ran his hands up and down her back. Mind-blowing sex was one thing, but this had stolen his ability to think, and he’d never want another woman again.
God, she was going to hate him when this was all said and done.
4
The next morning…
Cali slipped from Xavier’s bed, putting on a pair of sweats and a long-sleeve shirt as she padded downstairs to start a pot of coffee and to check her bank account since another paycheck should have come through yesterday. She’d taken almost every penny he’d given her when he’d been on his trip and deposited it, only using what was absolutely necessary for the few fresh food items she’d needed.
She’d also returned two of the dresses and five of them she dropped off at a high-end secondhand store near the city, shocked that she could probably get a thousand dollars for each one. Doing a mental calculation, that meant she had sixty-five thousand and nine months to go. What she really wanted to do was pay off Thompson early, giving her time to relax and enjoy Xavier’s company, and hopefully enough time and space so that he’d never find out what she’d done. She’d walk away and never look back. She told herself it would be easy. He wanted companionship, nothing more, nothing less.
That made her a high-priced hooker.
The sound of footsteps bouncing off the stairs lulled her from the insanity that stirred in her brain. Whatever it took to get her parents out of the grip of the Carluccis would be well worth the shame.
“There you are,” Xavier said as he waltzed into the kitchen wearing nothing but flannel pajama bottoms with snowflakes. His defined muscles flexed as he curled his arm around her middle, giving her a quick, but deep kiss. “Want some eggs or something?”
“If you’re making them,” she said, pushing down the lid to the Keurig. “Over easy with toast and bacon.”
He laughed as he pulled out the eggs from the fridge. “Any other specifications?”
“Pinch of salt and a dash of pepper. And I like my bacon crispy.” She slipped behind the breakfast bar, flipping open her laptop.
“Good, I tend to burn bacon.”
Satisfied with the money in her bank account, she opened one of her study guides on tort law, an area she felt like she knew well but still needed to study.
“What are you doing on that thing?”
She flipped the screen around. “Studying. I suck at taking these kinds of tests, and since I took a couple years off, I need to put that time to good use and make sure I hit it out of the park.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
She stared at his naked back. “Easy for to say. You don’t have to take the test.”
“Can I ask why criminal law?” he asked as he tossed some bacon on a cookie sheet and slid it in the oven.
“I’m fascinated with the darker side of human nature and motivations of people. Why they will commit one crime, but not another.”
“Do you want to defend the criminals? Or put them away?”
“Good question. I haven’t decided yet.” A year ago, she would have said defend. Everyone has the right to a fair trial. No one should be denied counsel, so she’d even consider being a public defender. “I think our criminal system doesn’t help those first-time offenders who are dirt poor, who just need a break. Instead, we give them probation, or put them in jail after a plea bargain, and set them up to fail.”
“I’ll agree with that. I did a story on two kids who were charged with the same crime. One was white, from a privileged background, whose parents hired him a good lawyer. The other couldn’t afford one.”
“I know where you are going with that, and I’m sure the white kid got off, no record, and the black kid didn’t and struggled for the rest of his life.”
“Not really. The white kid turned out to be a cold-blooded killer. Murdered his girlfriend and their three-month-old infant.”
“That’s fucked up,” she said, lowering the top of her computer.
“You’re right in the sense that he got a slap on the wrist, but he got five of them, and with each arrest, his parents managed to buy him out of trouble. The black man I speak of ended up in jail three times for petty crimes. He works now as a mechanic, trying to make ends meet, bitter over the way the system treated him. Oddly enough, he was arrested the first time at the same party as the white kid. Only, the white boy was arrested for vandalism, and the black kid for stealing jewelry he says he intended to pawn off to help his parents with rent.”
“Wait.” She held up her finger. “You’re talking about Clyde Raymond and Jasper Kirkpatrick. I saw…well, shit. That was your story.”
“It was my very first story when I joined Crime Coast Investigations. I did the grunt work but didn’t get to report it.”
“That was a fascinating case study and not just from a socio-economic position. The assumptions made about Jasper and the fact that his crimes were seen as normal teenage boy issues when in reality, he was a psychopath.”
The smell of bacon filled the room as the eggs sizzled in the pan. Xavier waved the spatula. “Clyde was seen as a boy who would become a career criminal when all three times he was stealing, according to him, to help his family. Not that that is an excuse or anything, but his punishments were always stiffer than his rich, white counterpart.”
“Who did become a career criminal but got away with it until he killed someone,” she added.
“Would you defend someone like Jasper if you were a criminal attorney?” he asked, pushing a plate of steaming hot food across the counter.
She tucked her hair behind her ears, holding the fork in her hand, contemplating her answer. “He deserves good counsel.”
“But does he deserve to get off because he had a lawyer who knew how to work the system?” Xavier hel
d up a piece of perfectly cooked bacon, running it across her mouth.
She curled her lips over the tantalizing strip, chomping it between her teeth. “It’s an interesting question, but you’re innocent until proven guilty, and the emphasis is on proven. That is unless you confess, but we both know a confession can be tossed out as evidence, especially if it appears to be coerced.”
“You still haven’t answered if you would defend Jasper.” He stabbed his eggs with a fork and shoved them into his mouth.
“If I were that kind of an attorney, I would take the case and give him the best counsel possible, but I would also recommend he did whatever it took to stay out of court, and that was his mistake and why he’s sitting on death row.”
“So, you would have just tried for life without parole.”
“If the D.A. offered it, yeah,” she said, the eggs melting into her taste buds. She could get used to Xavier’s cooking.
She could get used to a lot of things when it came to him.
“If you were the D.A., what would you consider for a plea?”
She laughed. “That’s an entirely different question. But I wouldn’t take anything less than life plus fifty years and no hope of parole; otherwise, I’d be taking that sucker to court, knowing I’d get the death penalty.”
“What about a high-price defense attorney, say for the mafia? Would you consider them for clientele?”
She choked on her last bite of eggs. Last week, she’d worried Xavier sensed her anxiety over being around Thompson and his colleagues at the Marriott in the city. That anxiety had disappeared like the snow melting.
Now it was back ten-fold.
She swallowed. It was just the topic that was making her damned uncomfortable. “If I were to be a defense attorney outside of the public sector, I could choose my clientele, so it would depend on the case.” She pushed her plate aside. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered up to her throat. “Again, everyone accused of a crime has a right to counsel, and it would be my job to give them the best defense possible.”
