Buyer Beware (Caldwell Brothers Book 1)

by Colleen Charles

  "I want to feel how wet you are," he whispers.

  "Yes," I say, the word sounding more like a strangled moan. His hand hovers over my heated slit, but before he can touch me, a thought pierces through the fog of lust. "Truth or dare."

  The question stops him in his tracks as his body stills. When his eyes meet mine, I delight in the fact that his are just as cloudy as mine must be. "Truth. I never, ever take a dare."

  "How do you know Dante Giovanetti?" I ask, wanting, no needing to know the answer before anything progresses between us. I need confirmation that Nixon isn't a bad man.

  "He killed my father."

  I rear back, gasping in shock. I'd heard that Nixon's dad died by suicide. Not murder. He sees the flabbergasted looked on my face and runs his palms along my jawline.

  "I don't want to talk about it right now." I hope I haven't blown the mood with my loaded question. "Now it's your turn, little one," he says, returning his lips and hands to my body. "Truth or dare."

  I don't hesitate. "Truth."

  "An excellent choice," he says, his eyes fixated on my bare breasts. "Pink."

  "What?" I have no idea where he's going with that admission.

  "Your nipples. I'll admit to fantasizing about the color prior to this moment. Only because I'm committed to the truth, too."

  He circles each of them with his index fingers, and I think I might lose it. He tugs on the button to my jeans and slips his right hand inside my waistband. I moan and grip his shoulders so tightly my knuckles whiten. When his palm dips lower, and his fingers reach the edge of my lacy thong, I know I must come clean, regardless of our word games.

  "So, truth. I've never…never…you know."

  In the end, I'm too scared to tell him I've never had an orgasm, never even had sex. Nixon's almost thirty, and he's experienced. My face flames red under the humiliation of my ignorance and naiveté, and I feel the heated flush creep up from the back of my neck.

  God, I'll never survive this.

  The chemistry between us is so crazy, so damn electric, that I wanted to see it through, but I think I've made a fatal error in judgment.

  I just can't.

  His finger dips inside my panties, and I throw my head back and lean in. Anything I'd ever felt in the presence of a man before this moment was a nonsensical farce based on fake emotions. This is real. For the first time in my life, I understand it all. Nixon starts a back and forth motion with his thumb over my engorged clit until I'm on the verge of something big and powerful. All I have to do is reach out and grab it.

  "You've never what?" he asks, stopping the motion, and piercing me with that blue gaze again. It feels like he knows everything, even the words that fall between us unspoken.

  I clamp my eyes shut against the intimate onslaught, with a prayer that when I utter this one word, he won't reject me because of it.

  "Come."

  He doesn't respond but stands up, taking me along with him. Right when I think he's going to deposit me into the hallway, he doesn't. He turns me around so that my back is snug against his front and sinks back down into his cushy chair. My legs dangle on either side of his, and I've never felt so exposed. The strip is behind us in all its decadent glory. I wonder if anyone on the street can see our outline and knows what we're doing.

  "I'm going to make that truth nothing but a distant memory."

  His words excite me in a way I can't really describe. I lean back into him, allowing him full access to my body, trusting him like I've never done with a man before in complete and utter surrender. Wrapping his left hand around my waist, his right one dips in between my legs again. I reach behind my head, gripping his neck to keep him in place while I rock against his hand, my ass grinding down on his erection. I clamp down on his body and his hand as my release builds and finally erupts, bringing waves of exquisite sensation kaleidoscoping across my limbs.

  The realization of what just happened settles in bone deep as I drift back to earth. I snuggle backward into his neck, and his hands move to my stomach, caressing my skin. I stiffen when his fingers trace over my scar. I don't want him to see my deformity, so I'm grateful that my back is facing him.

  "Marcella." He sounds angry now, and I shiver, not understanding what I might have done wrong. "What is this?"

  Before I can answer, he lifts me and flips me around as if I weigh nothing. Once I'm facing him, I watch his face. All traces of softness have left the man, and nothing remains but hard planes and angles of chiseled rage.

  Never taking his eyes off mine, he lifts my shirt again and thumbs the brand that represents an ownership I'm only beginning to understand.

  "What the fuck is this?"

  Chapter Fourteen – Nixon

  Truth or dare?

  Those words might haunt me for the rest of my life. My reaction to finding Marcella's perfect skin marred by a brand was nothing short of disgusting. And I hate myself for it.

  "She's got one, too," I say to Troy. My fingers itch to wring Dante's neck with my bare hands. Nothing outside of surgery could remove his initials from the woman I want more than I've ever wanted anything. And that makes me see a color red so deep and angry that it's morphed from crimson and charred as black as my soul.

  He's not going to win. Never. Not even over my dead body. His disgusting brands are what killed my father.

  Troy sighs and sinks into the chair across from me. He hesitates, and I know he's noticed that I'm caught up in my own world. One where Dante Giovanetti gets what's coming to him.

  "The brand?"

  "Yes."

  Saying the words out loud causes nausea to bubble up the back of my throat. Uttering them to Troy hurts worse than any physical pain I've ever felt. But my emotions are still dead, even though they've awakened like zombies trying to scratch their way from the dark, damp earth to the surface. Nothing but anger rises above the grave for me anymore. Everything else has been long buried.

  "What are you going to do?" he asks. The question of the decade and maybe even my entire life. The bottom line is that I've fucked up, and I have to fix it. I'll never forget the look in her eyes when she fled my office. What should have been a momentous day in her life turned into a shit show, all at my hands and careless words spoken in anger.

  "I'm going to break my promise to her and go down to Linc's playroom. I've got to talk to her, and explain my piss poor reaction if nothing else."

  Troy nods, his lips turned down into a grimace. He knows the entire back story since he was close at hand when all the ghosts of my past came to life. And now I have to admit it to Marcella, and I can't hold anything back. She needs to be able to connect the dots herself and come to her own decision about me as a man. Hopefully, she'll forgive me for being a cold, selfish, first-class douche after she knows the whole sordid tale.

  "Good luck, friend," Troy says. It's only a few words, but they fortify me for the uncomfortable conversation to come.

  I stand and move to grab my suit coat but then change my mind and leave it behind. On top of it, I shuck my tie, too. I don't want formality between us. I don't want anything between us but the truth.

  Truth or dare.

  Truth. Only the truth and nothing but the truth.

  My heart pounds as I step inside my private elevator to make the trip down to the playroom. I'm so lost in my ruminations about what might happen during my conversation with Marcella that the ding about makes me jump out of my skin. Stepping off, I sweep my gaze over the administration floor. My employees hustle and bustle like busy bees. Some have documents to copy, others talk to each other as they travel to their next meeting. It's just like any other day at the Armónico. Except it isn't. I feel like my entire future is riding on the outcome of this one conversation.

  I stand outside the floor to ceiling glass enclosure and indulge in staring at her until she notices me. Linc is on his back on the plush carpet, and Marcella's doing some type of massage and exercise with his legs. He laughs at something she says before lacing his ha
nds around the back of her neck as she smiles down at him.

  It hits me straight in the gut, and I almost double over. As the baby of our family and the one with a physical disability, he's missed our mom more than any of us. Hell, he's a kid living inside a casino. That's no life for a little boy his age. It's time I find a family home in the burbs and get Linc the hell out of here. Just as I'm making a vow to call my realtor later, her eyes lift, and she spots me.

  My breath stops in my lungs, and I can't inhale. I expect to see hatred, rage, disgust, but that's not what's reflected back at me from the depth of her eyes, so deep it appears to be coming straight from the depths of her being. It's pain. A sadness that encompasses her entire body and drips out from her haunted gaze. I can't stop staring at her because it's me that's caused the look painted on her beautiful face when only joy should be there.

  She rises to her feet and walks toward me. I stay still, not certain my feet would even move if I wanted them to. Like a wild animal, she needs to come to me. Linc sits up, and when he spots me through the window, he waves. I barely lift my hand to acknowledge my brother because Marcella is so close to me I can feel the heat radiating from her body. It takes me right back to yesterday when she came for the first time all over my hand.

  I shut my eyes, preparing for the dressing down that I so richly deserve. I've never felt like such a complete fuck up around a woman before, and I don't like it at all.

  "Nixon," she says in a voice barely above a whisper.

  "Good morning, Marcella," I say, keeping my hands shoved deep into my pockets. The itch to reach out and envelop her into my arms overwhelms me, but I remain still. I know I can't do that. "Can we talk? Someplace private?"

  “Sure.”

  She glances around, and like me, I'm certain she sees the other employees rushing by. The hallway where we're standing lacks any relief from prying eyes and ears.

  "Let me text Troy to come stay with Linc for a while."

  After sending the text, I gesture toward a meeting room down the hall with an open door. Even if something is scheduled there during the next hour, they can damn well find somewhere else to gather. She walks in front of me, and my hungry gaze sweeps down her body. I want her.

  And only her.

  Once we step inside, I shut the door and the click of the latch echoes around the small space filled with a long mahogany table with ten high-backed chairs on wheels surrounding the polished wood. I wish I had some kind of refreshment to offer her, but I didn't think far enough ahead to have Carol deal with the logistics of this conversation. I've been wallowing in my own remorse which has placed my head firmly up my own ass.

  She sits down, and I hear the whoosh of the leather as the air escapes. "What did you want to talk about, Nixon?" Her voice wavers, and I want to die inside.

  "About yesterday—"

  "I'm so sorry I came to your office. It was inappropriate," she says in a rush, and I realize she thinks I'm mad at her and probably want to fire her. Nothing could be further from the truth. I raise a hand to stop her before she continues on with more apologies that I don't deserve.

  "No. I'm sorry. What I did is unforgivable, but before you judge me, I want to tell you the whole story. I want to lay the truth out on the table so there can't be any confusion between us again. Then, if you want to leave your position here and hate me for the rest of your life, I won't stop you, and I certainly won't blame you."

  Her eyes widen in surprise before she settles her perfect ass against the seat, settling in. "Okay," she says as she crosses her hands on her lap in front of her.

  "I'm sure you know the story about my father, Jack. He committed suicide, and that's common knowledge, but the part that isn't well-known is why. Dante Giovanetti killed my dad as surely as if he'd picked up a knife and stabbed him in the heart with it."

  I look at Marcella to gauge her reaction, but she doesn't seem all that surprised. And if she carries the man's initials on her skin, she would have to know first-hand what he's capable of doing. The only people he branded were those who'd gained illegal entry into the United States via Dante's human trafficking ring. My dad discovered that filthy ring, which is what ultimately took him from his five sons.

  "I read about it in a local magazine," she says as I pace the room. I don't want to sit because I feel like a caged animal, trapped inside metal bars of my own making while close to bursting with my unresolved emotions. All because I'd never given myself permission to actually feel them.

  "My dad was a great businessman and father, but he always missed my mom. They were soulmates. High school sweethearts who never spent a night apart. She died giving birth to Linc. It's why he has cerebral palsy since it was a really difficult childbirth. My dad never really got over her death. He hired a para and threw himself head first into work. He was a well-respected member of the Vegas community and had many friends. But all that changed when Dante Giovanetti and his band of goons purchased the Champagne Wishes casino, which they restored and renamed the Mona Lisa with their gaudy Italian theme as homage to the motherland."

  "He hired my mom and dad at Champagne Wishes when they emigrated from Mexico," she confesses, and I stay facing the wall. If I turn and look at her now, I'll never finish my story. And I feel compelled to complete my warring thoughts. If we're ever going to get a beginning, we need to start fresh with nothing but the truth between us.

  "I know."

  "How do you know that?" she asks, confusion lacing her tone. I don't need to see her facial expression to know I've hit a nerve.

  "Because Dante's initials are branded into your skin. The only people who bear his brand are those he placed in indentured servitude within his hotel. My dad found out about the human trafficking ring that allowed him to rise to the top of this city. Dante didn't like it. He started to go after my dad, but I guess dad was too ethical. His heart was in the right place. When Dante caused our family casino to falter, ultimately ending in bankruptcy, my dad just couldn't bear to see his entire legacy flushed down the toilet, floating with the shit of a common thug and felon."

  "I thought you left yesterday because I disgusted you," she whispers. "Because I did something wrong."

  I can't stand being apart from her for one more second. I move to stand next to her and then crouch down, capturing her small hands in mine. "I've never wanted anything as much as I want you, Marcella. My reaction was caused by my hatred for the man who destroyed my family and took my only surviving parent from me and my brothers. I hate what he did to you. But even more, I hate what he did to me. He's turned me into a man I don't even recognize. Nothing but my never-ending thirst for revenge is compelling me forward right now. And if knowing that makes you hate me, so be it."

  She reaches out and runs a tapered fingertip along my forehead, tracing a path from my hairline to my eyebrow. I allow my eyes to flutter closed as I relish the sensation of her comfort. Even though I don't deserve it, I take it anyway. Just like I'll continue to take anything that she's prepared to give.

  "I'm so sorry that happened to you," she says, and I stop breathing, wondering what she'll do next. But her hand stops and then moves down to cup my chin. "I lost both my parents, too. A car accident. A person never recovers from that kind of senseless tragedy. But one thing I know for sure, seeking revenge only eats away at the person who's seeking it. Never at the person who deserves it."

  Such wise words for one so young. I can't tell her that the only way I'll ever release my need for revenge against Dante is when the coroner pries it out of my cold, dead hand. She doesn't need to be sullied by something that doesn't even come close to concerning her.

  "Nixon, make love to me," she whispers, her hand falling to cover my heart. "I want you to be my first. I know I can help release that sadness from the depths of your eyes."

  Chapter Fifteen – Marcella

  I can't believe what I've just said and as I stare at him, wondering if he'll reject me again. I don't think I could take it if he does. It isn't like m
e to take a risk and put my battered heart on the line. But something about this man compels me to break out of my comfort zone and listen to my gut. The fluttering inside of it is telling me if I don't make an attempt to explore my feelings for this man, I'll always regret it.

  "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a strangled mess.

  "Yes." I nod and move my other hand to slip on the other side of his strong and chiseled jawline. I've never been more sure of anything because I know he'll take care of me. Yesterday, when I was in his arms, I'd never felt safer.

  He stands and moves to the hallway. Through the sliver of the window beside the heavy door, I see him on his phone. After a few tortured moments, he comes back inside.

  "Troy's going to take him to lunch at the café, and I asked Carol to clear my schedule for the rest of the day. I'm all yours, Marcella. Do you feel comfortable going to my penthouse? Otherwise, I can get us a suite in the hotel."

  As he says that last word, it starts to feel tawdry, and I wonder if I'm making a huge mistake. But where else would we go? He certainly can never see my beat-up trailer. Going to his place makes the most sense because we're already there. Taking in a calming breath, I stand and walk toward him until my hips are flush with his. I'm looking for a reason and searching for a sign. When I feel the pulse of his groin and the heat emanating from him, I reach out and clasp his upper arms.

  "Take me upstairs."

  His lips press against my forehead. "You don't know how much I want to sweep you up in my arms and carry you to the elevator, but I don't think my employees would appreciate it. They'd wonder if I'd lost my mind and we'd be the subject of gossip for weeks. You don't deserve that. All I want to do is keep you safe and make you happy."

  "Just take my hand then." I slip my palm against his. His hands are so huge, and I feel so tiny standing next to him.

  My mind races, and I don't know how I reach the elevator on my wobbly legs. Once the doors slide open, revealing his opulent penthouse, I realize there's no going back. I don't even have time to take in more than the hand-scraped white oak floors and the glistening chrome railing leading to a second level before he takes me in his arms and captures my lips in a searing kiss.