Cara
He wasn't kidding about the suite. It's at the top of the Drake. Two huge rooms, one sitting area and one sleeping area. Couches, tables, a full bar, all of it sleek, shining, and obscenely expensive. He gives me a quick tour. "All yours for tonight," he says. "I'll pay through the morning. There's no rush to leave." "I'll be gone early, don't worry." He shrugs as if it doesn't matter to him. "I have an early meeting in the dining room tomorrow morning, but I don't plan on sleeping here tonight. If you need something, call down to the front desk and have them put it on my tab." "Just tell them Eros Kahzan said it's okay?" "That'll work." "Why are you doing this?" He hesitates near the door. "I already told you." "If this is some spiritual atonement, I'm not really sure that's how it works." He chuckles softly. "Maybe not. Goodnight, Cara. And good luck." He reaches for the doorknob and opens it. Something bubbles up in my throat. Some desire, some need. "Wait. Hold on." He looks back at me, eyebrows raised. "One drink. If you're interested." "But it won't be a date." "No, it won't be a date," I confirm. "Then I'll stay for a little while." He steps back into the room, walks to the bar, and pours two glasses of champagne. We sit on the couch, thighs touching, and I shift myself so I'm facing him. Eros watches me curiously, sipping his drink. "You said you have a meeting," I prompt, desperate to fill the sexually charged silence. This man is a beast, and we both know why he's still sitting here close to me. The sick thing is I want it, but I'm afraid. "An important meeting," he confirms. "Whenever possible, I like to scout out the location for something like this in advance. Get familiar with the surroundings so there are no surprises." "Sounds like you're planning for a war." He grunts, head tilting to the side. "Something like that, actually." "What do you do for work?" "I'm in consulting." His eyes sparkle with some joke I don't understand. "That must be, uh, fun?" "It has its moments. What about you? Did you have a job before—" He leaves that unfinished. "No job," I say. "No degree, no prospects." "Any plans beyond tonight?" "None," I admit, feeling desperate and vulnerable in a way I hadn't until this moment. I'm tired and scared, but my heart's beating fast. He puts a hand on my leg. "If I overplan and obsess over every detail, it seems as though you're the total opposite." "What can I say? I'm very spontaneous." "How spontaneous exactly are you, Cara?" He leans closer to me, eyebrows raised, and I hear the real question in his tone. I finish my glass of champagne. "Honestly? Right now, all I want to do is forget." "Is that why you asked me to stay?" I pause for a long moment before slowly nodding, holding his gaze. What the hell am I doing right now? Am I really trying to seduce this guy? I must've gone insane. But Eros reaches out and strokes a thumb down my chin. I suck in a breath, moving closer to him, every pore and nerve tingling with excitement. He leans forward, his lips finally brushing against mine, and I can't take it anymore. I want this. I want him to kiss me. I have to feel him kiss me, right now, right this second, or I'm going to lose my mind. I need to know—I need to find out. I have to feel what it's like to kiss another man. Because I'm terrified I'll never get another chance. The pressure's too much—maybe it's my desperation, maybe my fear, maybe I just want to feel good for once in my pitiful life. Maybe it's just this guy's stupid sexy forearms and his low, growling voice. Whatever it is, I want him. "Would you be upset if it was?" I whisper. "Not even a little bit," he says. And he kisses me like he's trying to save my life. His taste assaults me. Grass and whiskey and champagne. His purr of pleasure as our tongues dance drives a spike of need deep into my core. His lips are both firm and soft, and there's nothing tentative about him, nothing probing or uncertain. He wants this kiss. He's taking this kiss. God, it feels so good, a shiver rolling down into my spine. We hold that kiss for seconds, hours, a lifetime— Until he pulls me into his lap, my legs spread and straddling him. I blink rapidly in surprise and can feel something thick and stiff between my legs and—holy shit, that's him. His eyes burn into mine as he kisses me. I throw myself into the moment, pushing back all my worries and fears. I've lived a life of suffering for a long time now, and this glimpse of pleasure is like an oasis. This is my one night to feel something better, and although I know it's a huge risk, I can't stop myself. After a long, sensual kiss, he pulls back and lifts the bottle of champagne to his mouth. He takes a pull then tilts my chin back and pours some into my mouth. I swallow the bubbles and he kisses me again. I taste the tingling champagne on his tongue as I slowly grind my hips against him. "That's good," he whispers and feeds me more. I feel tipsy and happy, and there's a perfect intense build between my legs. "Nice and slow." "I fully expected to kick you out," I say and take the champagne from him, this time pouring some into his mouth. He swallows and leans back, hands behind his head as I grind harder and faster, panting softly, trying not to make whimpering moaning noises as pleasure blooms inside my skull. All the voices telling me to stop, to get out, to run away, are silenced the second he reaches out and grips my ass. "Why did you let me stay then?" "Oh, I don't know," I say and lean forward to hold onto the couch as his fingers dig into my ass. "You seem very polite. Like—ah, fuck—a perfect gentleman." "What a shame. You were very wrong about me." "A real fucking shame." He chuckles and bites my lower lip. "I like it when you curse." "Yeah? I've been told I have a potty mouth. It's not my best trait." "No, Cara, you have a lovely mouth. You have lips I could taste for days on end." I take the champagne bottle from him, feeling stupid and happy and foolish, and place the open end in my mouth like I'm sucking his cock. I hold it there for a moment, staring into his eyes, and I feel him pulsing between my legs as I tilt my head back and swallow a couple drops, leaving only a little bit left.ScarI sit at the bar in the Oak Club and sip a fine whiskey. It's peaty, warm, almost sweet. I hold it up to the light and watch the gold glow."You guys ever think we'd end up like this?" I ask, not looking at my brothers, but knowing they're beside me.Eros says, "Not once. But here we are.""I kind of figured I'd get hitched," Ford admits. "But I never thought I'd actually like her.""Same," Carmine says and laughs. "I figured I'd get stuck with some mafia princess brat.""Strange, how it goes," I say, grinning at them. "Here's to family.""Here's to that," Eros echoes.We toast each other. Four of the five men in the Atlas Organization. "I wish Lanzo were here," Ford says with a sigh."He'll be back," Eros says, then hesitates and shrugs. "Or maybe not. You never know with that guy.""He's going to be really surprised to hear that all four of his friends are married." I turn to look at the nearby table where are wives are sitting. Kat and Brice. Cara and Rita. All four of them be
ScarOrin Callahan does not sound happy.I'm back in my Dallas office. The new secretary is outside my door—a young man named Brian. Janine said he came highly recommended. We'll see about that."I'll be straight with you, Scarfoni," he says, and I note that I'm not Scar anymore. "I thought we had an understanding. You come to Boston, you work for my family, you get access to power you never dreamed about before. Do I really have to spell it out?""No, sir, you don't," I say, looking at the window. Thinking about my wife at her office right now. My real wife. "Unfortunately, Rita got a job here in Dallas, a job that I can't ask her to leave. I either stay here with her, or we do the long-distance thing, like I mentioned. I decided long distance won't work. I won't be leaving Dallas after all."Orin grunts, his annoyance obvious. "That's not acceptable.""It's the way things are. I wish it worked out differently.""You're making a mistake, Scarfoni. I'll give you another chance—""With
RitaI'm exhausted when I get back to the apartment.I was right, the first day wasn't too hard. A girl named Easter ("Mom was a hippie, Dad was a Catholic, they compromised.") showed me around, introduced me to the team, and started with my training once I filled out a ton of paperwork for HR. She's small and extremely sweet, but talked really fast, and I found myself struggling to keep up as she threw a ton of information at me all at once.Now I'm feeling like I ran a marathon. I toss my bag down near the door, kick my beautiful shoes off near the entryway, ignore the fact that they gave me blisters, and hurry into the main room.It smells incredible. "What is that?" I ask as Scar welcomes me from the kitchen."Dinner," he says, holding up a bottle. "And champagne." He pops off the cork.I laugh as he pours two glasses. "What's all this for?""A celebration. To your first day.""Oh, yeah? You cooked and cracked open a bottle of bubbly for me?""I didn't cook, I bought some good Ita
RitaMonday morning. I'm awake way earlier than I need to be—four on the dot—but I can't get back to sleep.It's the first day of a new job.I'm nervous. I'd be crazy if I weren't at least a little bit nervous. The first day should be the easiest though—they won't expect me to do anything serious, not until I'm acclimated with the office, with the basic stuff like email and logging into the computer and all that crap.I'll meet my coworkers, my bosses. I'll smile, make small talk, try to fit in.And for some reason, I'm terrified.I take a shower to calm my nerves. I get out and spend the next half hour second-guessing my outfit choice, parading one work-appropriate blouse around toward different work-appropriate slacks and skirts, trying to get just the right shoes. After a solid hour, I'm too tired to keep messing around and end up on a simple navy-and-gray ensemble. I'll get a feel for what the rest of the office wears and match a little bit better next time, but this should be fin
ScarGregory Callahan sits across from me in a barbecue restaurant he picked out. The place is almost garish, a gaudy mix of cowboy clichés: big hats, boots, spurs, ropes, steer, bison, more than one stuffed head, a bunch of bleached antlers, and a ton of rustic-looking wood completes the hideous decor."Never been here before," I say, glancing around, trying my best not to make a face."I hear the food's good," Gregory says without smiling. I genuinely can't tell if he's kidding or not. "But we're not here to eat.""We could order something," I say, craning my neck, looking for a waitress, suddenly curious."No, thank you." Gregory sits back in his booth. "This place is neutral ground. Somewhere you or your friends would never visit. It's also ugly enough that I want to spend as little time here as possible. So why don't we get to business?"I sit up straight, holding his gaze. "Whatever you want," I say, gesturing at him. "You called this meeting, Gregory. Why don't you tell me what
ScarI can't stay in that apartment.Not after trying to kiss her like a fucking idiot.I knew it was wrong—and I tried to do it anyway.I'm glad she pushed me away, even if I wanted to keep going.Even if I wouldn't have stopped.I fly out of Dallas the following morning, early. I leave her a note: Heading to Chicago on business. Sorry about yesterday. Scar. Hopefully she doesn't hold my stupid decisions against me, but then again, what does it matter?I'm leaving. She's staying. It's over—whatever it was."I didn't push her into the job to get rid of her," I say, sitting at a fancy bar. The soft murmur of conversation swirls around us. The lighting's muted, sultry, lots of reds and leather. The sort of place where I'm comfortable.Eros Khazan, another one of my best friends, leans back in his seat, studying me. The big Greek man narrows his eyes, considering. He's massive—easily the biggest guy in the place, maybe the biggest guy in the whole city—and he wears his size like a shield