Sexual Persuasion (8 page)

But plotting revenge wasn’t the only thing on Alex’s mind. Something Jack mentioned about insider land purchases between Max and Mike Branigan that were making them a fortune raised his hackles.

In addition to protecting Charlotte, he needed to find out more about his boss’s illegal dealings, something he tried to avoid while he worked for the Carpathians. He didn’t care about gambling. Men were going to do it no matter what. Knowing Max and his connection to Branigan, if Davidson found out, someone else might. No doubt it could bring the two men down.
And Alex along with them.

Doubt

Charlotte glanced lazily at the clock, relieved it was Sunday. Seven a.m. If she slept two hours last night, she’d be surprised. When she finally succumbed, Alex darted in and out of her dreams, his tight, hard body pressed up against her, gold-flecked eyes flashing. She could have sworn she smelled his scent lingering in the air, or maybe a residue remained on her cheek from his parting kiss. Once, she woke with her lips still burning from his touch, remembering his tongue dancing inside her mouth with the delicacy of butterfly wings.

She found herself oddly aroused by dreams of this man she’d known less than a day. The heat of his strong, needy body still smoldered on her skin as her hand slipped under the neckline of her nightgown and stroked her breast.

The Sunday morning silence on the street provided the perfect backdrop to get lost in that place between reality and fantasy. She closed her eyes, detached from her body as her fingertips circled her nipples, stimulating them to grow stiff and rigid. But in her dreamlike state, she imagined Alex’s naked, dark-skinned body looming over her, his erection spearing her belly.

A light pinch, then harder, and harder still, twisting and squeezing. He cupped her full breast and lifted it, dipping his head to take her into his mouth and delicately flick his tongue over her peaked nipple before he bit the tip, causing sparks to shoot to her
already wet pussy.

She winced from the glorious, needle-like pain surging through her as she released her engorged nipple from her mouth. A quick breath, followed by a satisfied whimper, escaped her lips. She had suckled herself often―one benefit of breasts her size―but never before had another person controlled her fantasy in such a clear vision. She moved to the forgotten breast, taking the nipple aggressively as her growing need beckoned to the throbbing fire below.

She slid her free hand down the silk of her gown, over her flat belly, found the hem, and raised it to slip her fingers under the ridge of her panties into her swollen lips. One finger, then two, deep inside, massaging the walls of her vagina as her thumb rubbed her mons. The tension built within her. She spread her slick juices, slowly rubbing, filling her aching desire.

Her hips rolled to the rhythm of her contractions, and she lifted them up off the bed as a new stream of liquid surged from her opening.

Legs stretched taut.

Back arched.

Heart pulsing in a frantic, primitive beat.

Breath in short puffs.

Convulsions cresting in waves, one after the other, taking her to a distant place. Alex straddled over her. She saw him as she had in her haunting dreams, his hand hot between her thighs before he slid his delicious cock into her.

Gasping, she buried her head deep into her pillow as her trembling continued for a few moments more before subsiding. She lay still for a long while, catching her breath. Now, fully awake, she faced the truth that she lay alone in her bed, her damp hand resting on her tender, contented mound.
The image of Alex Andros a wisp of memory.

She wanted to go back to sleep because her dreams were better than reality.

“Dammit, Charlotte,” she said aloud. “What’s wrong with you? How can you be celibate when you keep thinking about men? A specific man. Enough of this!”

She threw back the covers.
If nothing else, the last ten minutes proved she needed only to picture a man to satisfy herself. She possessed all the equipment to go it alone. And in all modesty, she wasn’t half bad at filling her physical needs.

Then she thought of Jack, and her skin crawled. He could ruin her. Alex said he’d take care of the problem and call her this morning. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe Jack wouldn’t give up the photos. And if he didn’t want to give them up, how could Alex make him?

She’d make herself crazy thinking about this. She got out of bed, brushed her teeth, and prepared a good breakfast. First a glass of orange juice to take her vitamins; then she scrambled some eggs and ate them with raisin toast and coffee. In the middle of tidying the kitchen, the buzzer rang. The clock in the kitchen said 8:45. Would Alex come over here without calling? Jack? She froze at the thought.

One way to find out.
She pressed the intercom. The locksmith Alex sent to change her locks answered. In the midst of her self-satisfying sexcapade, she’d totally forgotten. She quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It took a little more than two hours to change both the street and house locks and wire an alarm system and keypad. He left, claiming the bill had already been paid.

How nice, she thought, but it was almost eleven, and Alex still hadn’t called. She could call him, but he said he’d call her. He probably got tied up. Maybe he didn’t get the pictures, or he changed his mind about calling. He seemed conflicted last night.

Then she thought about that kiss and the heat of the moment when he’d her pinned to the wall. She’d already decided Alex was bisexual at worst, because no gay man could have been turned on enough by a woman to shove an erection that hard against her or plant a kiss on her lips that rumbled down to her toes. Or was Charlotte an experimental foray into the straight world? Maybe the thought of what he’d done had so turned him off he went home and threw up. Either way, she wouldn’t sit around and wait any more than she already had. No longer. Not for any man. Gay, bi, or straight. If he called while she was out, she’d get the message.

She dressed in her walking clothes―a sports bra and shorts―put on her shoes, grabbed her fanny pack with her house keys, and barreled out the door. As she unbolted her double lock and set the keypad to her new alarm system, she thought of the reason she now had them, and a sick feeling roiled in her stomach. The photos and what Jack could do with them.
And Alex. Had he told her what she wanted to hear before fleeing the apartment as if he were going to a four-alarm fire? Was he one more lying man who couldn’t be trusted?

At least he didn’t try to get in her pants, because, dammit, she would have let him, and she’d be kicking herself this morning when he didn’t call. Her head filled with the fear of Jack and fought the desire to see Alex again.
Stop thinking about them, Charlotte. They’ll only cause you heartbreak and pain.
She hustled down the stairs onto the street, determined to speed-walk them out of her mind.

Dirty, Rotten Scoundrel

Alex left his apartment late on purpose. Let Davidson wait. He’d be hung over, regretful that he’d talked too much at the Pussy Club. He might even be a little scared.

People milled up and down Charles Street, looking in the shops, stopping for coffee or a cold drink. Many of them were tourists taking in the picturesque scenery of Beacon Hill and across the street, Boston Commons.

The coffee shop inhabited a converted old bank building. Alex checked his watch: 10:50. He climbed the few steps to go inside. Davidson sat at a table, his wrinkled form hunched over a large coffee. Anyone who didn’t know better might think he’d just stumbled in off a two-week bender. He probably had the same lousy night’s sleep Alex did.

Alex ordered the coffee of the day and took it to a seat at Davidson’s table. This would be quick, unless the hotelier was in the same foolish mood to talk. Then Alex had all the time in the world.

Davidson looked up, his red-veined eyes small over deep pouches, like a basset hound’s. He slid a slim packet toward Alex.

“All of them?”

Davidson nodded wearily and stared at some far-off point.

Alex wondered if he’d started his drinking early. He didn’t smell liquor, but
Davidson looked worse than rough. Alex opened the envelope and flipped through the photos. The negatives were there too. He wanted to gag from the images. If they weren’t in public, he would have used the son of a bitch as a martial-arts refresher course. The S&M photos were vile, worse than the one he’d already seen. The fact that Davidson drugged Charlotte to take them made him even more despicable. Alex wouldn’t show them to Charlotte. She’d seen one, enough to last her a lifetime.

“You sick bastard,” Alex spit out. “Anyone can see she’s out cold.”

Davidson massaged his temples as if finessing away a headache. “I was wasted and got carried away. I didn’t do anything to her.” He cocked his head toward the envelope. “I was drunk but not that drunk. Charlotte is Miss Goody Two-shoes.” Davidson’s eyes shot open as he looked at Alex. “Oh, wait. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. Or maybe she does things with you she wouldn’t do with me.”

Alex’s blood went from slow simmer to full boil. His fists clenched, and his nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms. How many other pictures had Davidson collected on the good citizens of Boston? And what did he have on his boss?

Alex leaned across the table. “You’re playing with fire if you think you can blackmail Max.”

Sweat beaded on Davidson’s face. “Again, I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was saying. I have nothing on Max.”

“Is booze your excuse for everything?”

Davidson squinted, ran his sleeve across his forehead. “I say things I don’t mean when I’m drunk and do things I shouldn’t. I’m fucked up.”

“Add your drinking problem to a gambling one, and you’d do yourself a favor to get into a program. I doubt you’d find one that addresses all your vices, though. And while you’re at it, find some smarten-up pills, because being stupid could have detrimental consequences.”

“On top of dipping your wick into both my old girlfriend and into Max, you’re my friendly shrink too?”

Davidson’s mention of where Alex dipped his
wick
infuriated him. “Once more, don’t fuck with Max.” He flipped through the photos. “And you’d better not do anything to hurt Charlotte. You’re already up to your neck in shit. Don’t get in deeper.”

“Thanks to you.”

Alex leaned over and spoke in a low, steady voice. “No, asshole. Thanks to you. Stop blaming everyone for your fuck-ups. You gambled; you lost. No one made you do it.”

“You should know how it goes.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your old man’s gambling sent him to jail, didn’t it? I should think you’d have more compassion.”

“I’ve plenty. If I didn’t, I’d kill you.” He tucked the photographs into the back pocket of his jeans. “If you ever bother Charlotte again, I will.” He rose and left the coffee shop, his hands shaking. He’d never threatened a man in his life.

The despicable photos brought back something he’d said to Max about Jack’s access to filming and recording people in sensitive situations. The Regent had a stellar reputation because Jack had good people working for him, holdovers from his father’s regime. Politicians and movie stars stayed there; local bigwigs conducted business meetings in the rooms. Alex imagined the trysts that went on under the guise of privacy.

He put the key in the ignition, about to start his car, when he looked up to see Jack emerge from the coffee house and swagger toward Copley Square and the Regent. Halfway down the block a tall, muscle-bound guy came out of nowhere. He wore sunglasses and a ball cap and looked like he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson in his prime and lost. Even at that distance, Alex saw a jagged scar cut diagonally across the side of his neck. The guy grabbed Jack’s arm, and by the surprised look on Jack’s face, this was no arranged meeting. The two men exchanged words. Angry words. Alex wished he could hear.

After a minute, the man jabbed his finger in Jack’s neck. Jack stumbled backward and would have hit the ground if the man hadn’t grabbed him and held him up. Alex knew that move. Mountain Man stabbed a pressure point. Pain depended on how hard he pressed. He could have rendered Jack unconscious. Jack looked pissed. They exchanged more words. Then the man with the steel finger did it again, this time in Jack’s kidney. Jack went down. The man walked away in the other direction, leaving Jack writhing on the sidewalk.

Alex couldn’t resist. He hopped out of the car and jogged the half block to where Jack now teetered to his feet. “What the hell was that all about?”

Jack braced himself against a tree, holding his side, gasping for breath. “You ought to know, sending that maniac after me.”

Alex shook his head. “Not me.”

“Then your boss. Didn’t you say I wouldn’t know when lightning struck? Well, lightning just fucking struck. You reported back to Carpathian and told him shit I said when I was too drunk to know what I was saying, and out of the blue I’ve got this gorilla warning me that if I didn’t mind my own business, I’d be using a wheelchair the rest of my life. Sound like Max, Andros?”

Alex couldn’t deny the possibility. Subtlety had never been one of Max’s strong points.