Boston Avant-Garde 4: Encore (13 page)

Politeness be damned. Suri was done. She turned her back, facing Dante. She had a brief moment of understanding exactly why Leslie had been so terrified of him. With his arms crossed impassively over his broad chest and his legs braced, he looked mean as hell. His expression was hard, the slash through his lip announcing to the world that he wasn’t afraid to fight dirty.

Scary or not, Suri was damn glad to have him on her side.

She was halfway back down the hallway when Dante turned to follow. She wondered if he was wishing he’d brought Jericho along despite the innocuous nature of the event.

Suri didn’t go back into the reception room, taking a left turn instead and stopping when the hallway dead-ended near a maintenance room. There was a tiny window at the end, daylight seeping through the frosted glass and making a quiet, out-of-the-way spot to reflect.

Or break down.

Sucking in deep drafts of air, she put her hands on top of her head and paced in tiny circles. It was as if she’d run a marathon race only to crash just before the finish line. Her limbs were shaky, and her heart pounded an irregular staccato beat.

“Come here, princess.” Dante held out his arms, and she didn’t hesitate.

He was warm and familiar. Everything about him screamed security, though she’d only known him intimately for two days and suspected he had at least as many secrets as she did. How did any of that make sense?

“I miss Jericho.” She pressed her face to Dante’s chest.

“Am I not enough?”

Had she hurt him with her whispered confession? Taking a peek up at his face, she saw that he was smiling. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. “Jericho is just calming to be around.”

“I wish we could just go back to the club and hide in your suite.” Suri didn’t just wish it; she longed for it with a painful ache.

“Then let’s go.”

“I have so much I have to take care of today.” The tears were back, slipping through the barrier of her closed eyelashes with entirely too much ease.

Dante gave her a gentle squeeze. “You want to take care of the whole world. Jericho is determined to protect it.”

“And you take care of us.”

He didn’t respond to her comment, though he seemed to be thinking it over. Suri wondered if he realized it was true. Dante only played the badass. He’d be the first to manipulate things to suit him. But at the end of the day, he spent most of his energy worrying about those who were lucky enough to be within his personal sphere.

“I know better than to order you back to the club for the rest of the day, princess.” Dante drew back and cupped her face in his palms. “But I expect you to have that luscious body in our bed tonight. Understood?”

She would have answered. But he chose that moment to lower his lips to hers and kiss the thoughts right out of her head. He tasted like tantalizing danger. His tongue slid past her lips, rubbing against hers in a rhythm that had her whimpering with the need for more. Slow, sensual, fast, and then hard, until she could think of nothing else but what it would feel like to have him take her right there in the hallway.

When they broke apart, his chest was heaving, and she could hardly stand. Suri swallowed back her fear of being caught having sex in public and let her desire win. “I’m not wearing any panties.”

“Fuck.”

Dante scooped her into his arms and moved into the recessed entrance of the maintenance room. He pushed her up against the wall. The long black material of her skirt bunched around her hips. She reached down, fumbling with his belt to unfasten his pants. She expected to feel the barrier of his boxers, but his cock spilled into her hands. It was hard, hot, and ready.

“I detest underwear,” he admitted.

“I’m glad, because that would take up time I don’t have.”

She gripped his shoulders and wiggled a little to help the head of his cock push into her slick opening. Had she been this wet a few minutes ago? Or had his kiss left her instantly ready for him to penetrate her pussy?

There was no more time to wonder, only to enjoy the sensual slide of his shaft into her wet heat. She moaned, pressing her mouth to his shoulder to stifle the sound of satisfaction that wanted to roar past her lips.

Fully sheathed inside her, Dante shifted her weight in his arms. “Princess, you’re going to kill me one of these days.”

She put her fingers over his lips. “No talk. Fuck me.”

“As you like.”

She did like it. A lot. Dante braced her against the wall and pounded her pussy until there was nothing but the sound of their bodies slapping together. Her toes went numb, the tingling sensation of impending climax taking over every nerve ending. She wanted to cry out, choosing to bury her face against him instead.

When she thought she might die of pleasure, he arched his back, changing the angle of his thrust and giving her exactly what she needed to orgasm hard. They came together, his seed pouring into her womb as she bore down on him with powerful contractions that left her weak with release.

“Don’t forget, princess.” He lowered her gently to her feet, making certain she could stand before he let go. “You, me, and Jericho in the bed tonight.”

To anyone else, he might be a scary-looking bastard. To Suri, he was the embodiment of gentleness. “I could never forget the two of you. I’ll be there.”

Jericho knocked and took a step back to wait for an answer. He supposed it might seem odd that he refused to enter his mother’s home without an invitation. But a man had to feel welcome in order to walk on in, which was why he’d never felt the need to knock before entering Dante’s quarters. And why he’d wait an eternity for someone to answer his mother’s front door.

It opened a crack, and Abby peeked out. “Oh, good, you’re here!”

“Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Nah, I don’t have classes on Friday.” The door swung wide to let him inside. “Which kind of reminds me, do you think you can pick me up and bring me home next Thursday?”

“Why?”

Abby didn’t answer right away—Jericho’s first clue that she had some kind of ulterior motive for asking him. He followed her through the foyer of his mother and stepfather’s Cambridge townhouse. They’d recently redecorated for at least the third or fourth time in ten years. He grudgingly admitted that the colonial-style stripes, vintage furnishings, and knickknacks were a big improvement from the country-themed farm-animal phase Mother had finally gotten over.

“You know, Jeri…” Abby began.

Anything she started with the words “you know” inevitably wound up prying into his personal business.

“You’ve been single for an awfully long time.”

Meaning forever, because Jericho didn’t date. He just didn’t have the time or energy. His days and nights were usually spent with Dante at the club. What sleep he managed to snag was done on a narrow bed in an unused office space.

Why is that?

But Abby wasn’t done. “So I was thinking the other day—yesterday, actually—that you and my music teacher would be just perfect for each other.”

“Abigail, are you meddling in your brother’s love life again?” His mother’s voice drifted from the kitchen.

“Not exactly, Ma. I’m trying to set him up with a woman who’s perfect for him!” Abby sang out.

Jericho was still distracted by the realization that he’d been spending all of his personal time with Dante. For years. Without thinking twice about it. They hung out in his office watching the Sox or the Celtics. They worked out business strategies for the club. They dealt with customer issues, security problems, or just reminisced about former customers.

All these years, Jericho had cherished that time they’d spent together without realizing that he was fixating on a relationship that essentially prevented him from having any kind of love life.

The two of them weren’t celibate. What men were? But the liaisons were short, generally straight to the point, and emotionally unsatisfying. It hadn’t mattered. Because Dante was filling any need Jericho had for companionship.

He followed his sister into the cozy kitchen. His ten-year-old nephew, Lance, was doing homework at the table in the breakfast nook. Jericho shook off his deep thoughts. Being distracted while chatting with his mother was a recipe for disaster.

“It’s nice to see you, Jericho.” His mother dusted the flour off her hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Abby wasn’t finished discussing her plans for his future. “So, will you pick me up next week?”

He sighed. Abby looked so much like their mother, with her sparkling hazel eyes and messy dark ponytail. “I’d be happy to pick you up, Abs, but I’m not making promises to settle down with some poor woman I’ve never met.”

She squealed and threw her arms around his neck before dashing from the kitchen. “See you later! I need to go practice my cello.”

Mother went back to the piecrust on the counter. She still looked exactly the same as she had on the day Jericho had come to the States when he was thirteen. He could see why his da had fallen in love with her. She was warm and motherly looking, with her hair up in a loose bun and an apron over her jeans and blouse. But she was also opinionated, judgmental, and a true-blue New Englander.

“You might keep an open mind when you meet Abby’s teacher, Jericho.” She deftly rolled the dough into a perfect pie-shaped circle.

He propped his hip against the counter and crossed his arms, trying not to seem too defensive. “Why is that?”

“She’s been a wonderful influence on Abby. Most of those teachers are nothing but nutjobs. This one seems to have a better head on her shoulders. She’s got your sister thinking in terms of career choices and what she can actually do with her education at that silly liberal arts school.”

And that was the idiosyncratic truth about his mother. She was a woman who valued family above all else but married after a whirlwind romance to a man who couldn’t support her in the style she wanted. The experience had made her fiercely determined to see her daughter find a successful career that would enable her to support herself while falling in love with a good husband and raising a house full of kids.

Jericho chose not to respond to her comment, reaching inside his pocket for a check instead. “Here’s this month’s tuition payment.”

“Just set it on my planning desk.”

He did as she asked, wondering if she would ever forgive him for financing Abby’s choice to attend the Boston School for the Arts and pursue her dream of playing the cello on a professional stage. Jericho loved his sister. She was full of hope and vitality. Some of his best moments had been watching Abby play the cello at her recitals.

“You need to settle down and start a family, Jericho.”

He turned back, wondering if she would ever give up her relentless nagging about his personal life.

She carefully arranged a heaping portion of fruit filling into the pie plate. “Marriage will make you happy. A good woman, a son or daughter, or two or three. Those are the things that make you happy.”

“They didn’t make you happy.” The words popped out before he could stop them. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lance lift his gaze from his drawing and focus on his grandmother.

Her lips thinned into a line. “Wales isn’t Boston.”

Even decades later, the Welsh tripped easily off his tongue. “
Oh aye, nid oes angen i chi ddwued wrthyf fod.
”

“Cool, Uncle Jericho!” Lance piped up. “Can you teach me that?”

“Don’t be silly. Welsh is a useless language. You better finish that drawing before your ma gets back.” Mother quickly redirected his nephew, and Jericho wondered if she could even translate what he’d said. According to his da, she’d been quite fluent in Welsh at one point, but that had been years ago. At this point, she didn’t look kindly on anything that reminded her of her past life. Some days, he wondered if that didn’t include him.

“I’d better get back to work.” Jericho turned to leave, not wanting any more conflict.

“Will you be here for family brunch tomorrow?”

He contemplated an agonizing three hours with his half siblings, their spouses, their children, and his mother and stepfather. “Not this week.”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve joined us.” She wiped her hands on a tea towel and gave him a reproachful stare. “You can’t expect to feel like part of the family without a little effort.”

“I’ll arrange my schedule to be here next weekend.”

“Thank you. It means so much to us all.” She smiled, and he knew he’d been dismissed.

* * * *

Suri was less than thrilled to walk into her apartment and see Frankie camped out on the couch, watching TV.

He didn’t look up from the cage match on the screen. “Did you get the beer?”

“Didn’t I tell you to clear out of my apartment?”

“Oh, it’s you.” He glanced up long enough to be certain.

Suri wanted to put down her cello case and the messenger bag that felt as if it were ripping her shoulder off. But with Frankie and Kim in the house, her stuff wasn’t safe from potential pawning. “Where’s my sister?”

He belched, lounging back on the sofa with the remote in hand. “In the bedroom. She said she kicked you out. I want your shit gone by the end of the day.”

“No you don’t, asshole. That’s my TV, my remote, my couch, because it’s my damned name on the lease, and it’s a furnished apartment. If I leave, it’s all gone.”

He ripped his gaze away from the TV and gave her a lazy smile. It was hard to tell, but she thought he might have been making an attempt at being charming. “Damn, baby, you’re all hot and bothered. I’m willing to make a trade for your stuff.”

Suri’s brain stalled, wondering what he could possibly have that she might want.

“I’ll give your cunt a good hard pounding, and you’ll be so nice and satisfied you won’t care about some furniture and this shitty TV.”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth.” Suri sidestepped toward the bedroom. She’d had more than enough of men who thought they knew what she needed. The bridegroom rapist, the politician, and now the wannabe MMA fighter? It was like some kind of bad Lifetime movie.