by Sienna Mynx
“Your turn. Who are you?” she asked.
He pushed up from his chair and stood. He towered over her but their eyes never unchained from the tension brewing between them. “Mi chiamo Renaldo Cracchilio. And yes. I find you beautiful. Mi piaci.” He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. She responded with the lower of her long dark lashes over her lovely brown eyes. She was indeed seductive. Her skin felt as smooth as velvet. He loved the rich dark hue of it. His boss, the Don, had married a black American woman. Lorenzo the underboss and cousin to the Don had chosen Marietta to wed. She was the Don’s wife’s sister. The entrance of these women into their world had puzzled the men. They were traditionalists, distrustful of those different than them, and devoted to their culture and people. Most men would not make the same choice. Like his bosses, he was not like most men. Renaldo fought against the urge to explore the mystery.
“I will see you to your car.”
She blinked at him. She was stunned.
He was drawn to a meeker type of woman. If he met aggression in a mate, he quickly became the aggressor. It was in his DNA. And women who understood the rules of pleasuring a man like him had only satisfied his sexual appetite. Kyra was too different on many levels to qualify. Her youth, her fire, her sexual aggression, and defiant contrary nature would require more energy than he could afford. He was paid to protect the Battaglia women. To remain aware of enemies in America that lurked inside and outside of the company that came too close. He hadn’t come to America to know the pretty shoe maker. He had a job, and already he had forgotten his most important rule. He hadn’t called Dominic and reported on the closing of the event.
“Andiamo bella.” He took her hand.
She didn’t hide her disappointment. In fact she refused his hand and glared as if insulted by his rejection. American women were strange. What she offered so willingly was something no stranger should receive. A man should pursue and earn her affections, not indulge her misery by exploiting her sexual desires. A lesson the young Kyra obviously had never been taught or simply refused to learn. He walked her out of the private dining room. He kept a few paces behind her. The hostess immediately went in search of her coat. Kyra averted her gaze. Yes, he had indeed blown a chance with this angel. Pity.
Maybe a cold shower would help him overcome his well-guarded disappointment.
Renaldo accepted her coat and helped her slip it on. Together they went to the elevator.
“Can we forget I… propositioned you? I don’t want any trouble at work,” she mumbled.
Renaldo touched her hair. She flinched as if insulted. He drew his hand away. The elevator continued to descend from the forty first floor.
“I rather not. Forget. But I will never speak of it,” he replied.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. An older distinguished couple stepped on. To his disappointment Kyra stepped away from him and allowed the couple to fill the space. Had he made a mistake by turning her down without explaining himself? Her shift in attitude indicated so. Renaldo accepted it as another consequence of his job. The elevator arrived on the lobby floor and Kyra was out the door before he could step ahead to walk with her.
“Excuse me,” he said to the couple and pushed past them. He walked fast to catch Kyra. But his beauty walked faster. She breezed out of the turning doors to the front of the hotel and he was lost in the spin cycle of the glass doors before he could exit as well. When he did breech the turning contraption he lost sight of her. And then he saw her rush to an open door of a cab. Renaldo wanted to stop her, remind her she had a driver he could summon. But she was gone. He cursed himself.
How often did he meet any woman that sparked that kind of curiosity in him? Not often enough. He reasoned it was all for the best. As he walked back in through the door of the lobby he pushed all thoughts of Kyra from his mind. He arrived on the floor he shared and guarded with the Battaglia women. “Tutto bene?” he asked Peppino.
“The women are in for the night. No trouble.”
“I’ll be down the hall if needed.” Renaldo continued to his room. The only reason he was dispatched on this trip instead of just the men was the lingering effects of war between the `Ndrangheta and the Camorra. Giovanni took every precaution to ensure no one tried to make a move on the family.
He dropped his key card in the slot and entered his suite. The cold silence greeted him. And again he bemoaned the missed opportunity to have a night guest.
He picked up the phone and dialed home.
“Pronto?” Dominic answered.
“No issue. We are in for the evening.”
“I know this. Catalina called before you.”
“Apologies, Boss. I had to secure the place. Do you want me to deliver the message to Signor Tate tomorrow? The one from Giovanni?” Renaldo asked. “He has asked for a meeting with Giovanni.”
“No meeting. I will place a call to him to address his concerns.”
“Bene,” Renaldo replied.
“Observe him the next couple of days. I’ve decided to allow Catalina to extend the trip. She wants to interview employees for the new office.”
“Sì.”
“I expect a call in the morning,” said Dominic.
“Sì.”
The line disconnected. Renaldo released the tight breath he held. He shed his coat and then his sports jacket and tossed it to the chair. He sniffed his hand. Kyra’s scent lingered there. He decided the first thing he had to do was take that cold shower.
Chapter Four
The Break Down - Rallenti
“Turn the car around!” Kyra shouted.
A Middle Eastern cab driver with a turban flipped his gaze up to the rearview mirror. They were now locked in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Her request wasn’t only odd but implausible. Champagne and wine fizzled in her veins and dulled her rational thought. She should go home, lick her wounds and think over her next move. Instead she needed the opposite.
“I want to go back to the Waldorf,” she clarified.
“It’s your dime, lady.” The cabbie veered out of the lane and hit a sharp right turn so fast she was nearly slung to the other side of the car.
Kyra laughed. “Wow! Slow down!”
A bit giddy, she couldn’t help but find the humor in the driver’s dramatic maneuvers. It reminded her of those movie scenes when a person jumped in a New York cab and the driver was ordered to give pursuit of another car. In the past her mother often called her a drama magnet. Whenever and wherever drama could be found Kyra was the first in line. Kyra’s smile faded when she thought of her mother. Mama warned that no matter what dream she chose over sensibility it would end badly because of her immaturity.
And there was no real justification for her return to the Waldorf. The man clearly wasn’t interested. The Battaglias wouldn’t give her the job she sought. All that awaited her would be drama.
What made her desire to connect with men physically instead of emotionally? What made her throwaway years of the best schooling to chase her dreams? She sighed. The cab raced from one light to the next. Music in a foreign language burped out of the speaker system and the stale odor of the cramped backseat filled her nose. Kyra tightened her coat around her and stared out of the cab window. She wanted to see Renaldo again. Talk to him. Why not? He was charming, mysterious, and sexy. And if the office gossip was true he was also dangerous.
Tonight she couldn’t walk away without a fight. He was the way in.
The cab weaved in and out of traffic, only slamming on the brakes when they reached the next traffic light. Kyra opened her purse. She removed her mirror compact case and dabbed on a fresh coat of lipstick. She was shocked at the raccoon eyes staring back at her. “Shit!” she wasted tears in front of the man. No wonder he turned her down. She shuffled through her purse trying to find a tissue. She instead found some concealer and tried her best to cover the dark circles under eyes. She refreshed herself with some powder.
Friday night in New York was filled with p
eople, honking cars, and bright lights. Kyra chuckled to herself. That truly could be said about any night. She looked up at the counter and saw the meter slowly ticked close to forty dollars. She only had sixty to her name. She wouldn’t touch Jamie’s money unless absolutely necessary.
If it weren’t for the brisk weather she’d have gotten out of the car and took to the sidewalk. In her stupid haste she ran for a cab instead of the car the company had for her that night. Stupid! Kyra looked between the driver’s and passenger seats and through the front passenger window. She could see the lights of the Waldorf. They were close enough. She dug in her purse for her money. “Here! I’ll get out here.”
She shoved the bills on the man and got out of the car without waiting for change. She closed her coat to the brisk wind and started to march back toward her destiny. Sidewalk traffic bumped her left and right as she hurried. Kyra was grateful for the wind. It blew away any traces of doubt or caution. She hurried up the steps and through the revolving doors of the hotel. The place was grand and polished with its marble floors and huge chandeliers. The first time she arrived her nerves had blinded her to the glamour. As she approached the main reception area it dawned on her that she didn’t have Renaldo’s room number.
Kyra paused.
She had to be creative and think of something plausible. She heaved down a big sigh and stepped to a woman at the concierge desk. “Ah, excuse me, hi.”
“Hello,” the woman said with a smile. “Welcome to the Waldorf Astoria, how can I be of assistance?”
“My name is Kyra Okeeno. I work for Theodore Tate and the House of Mirabella’s. Tonight we had a private event for the Battaglias on the 41st floor this evening?” Kyra smiled. She reached in her purse and removed her company identification.
“Ah yes ma’am, I believe the event has come to a close.”
“It has. We have the Battaglias on a private floor. I will need key card access. Please.” Kyra sat in the chair before the concierge desk.
“Well I…” the woman hedged.
“I am to see to their needs. I will check in on them and then leave. I forgot my key.”
“Just a minute.” The woman handed back the identification and typed on her keyboard. She reached in her drawer and then punched a key card in a little slot box on the desk.
“Renaldo Cracchiolo,” Kyra said. “What room is he in?”
The pretty black woman smiled. She began to peck away on the keyboard. “4225.”
Kyra smiled. “Thank you.”
She hurried off before the woman considered the culpability of her actions. Kyra’s heart thundered under her breast with excitement. She couldn’t believe how smoothly she pulled that off. Getting to his room was one battle won. Explaining her reason for her return was another matter. Renaldo’s rejection of her both confused and intrigued her. She knew he was attracted to her. What was his deal? Her sister was right. She loved doing things the hard way.
Kyra used the keycard to access the private floor. The elevator doors closed and she punched the number 42 for it to start to make its slow climb. Half her mind was determined to continue this path of impulsiveness, and yet the other half warned that the night could undoubtedly end with regret. She watched the numbers blink. She braced for her destination.
After all what was the real risk here? He could turn her down again. Or worse he could reject her and then tell her boss of her late night proposition. And then another thought crept into her mind:
What if he has a girlfriend, Kyra? Did you ever think that is why he kept his distance? What if he opens the door and flat out tells you that he wants you to fuck off and leave him the hell alone? What if he’s just not that into you?
It would mean she misread all the signals between them. And Kyra’s ego refused to accept that equation. She may not be Halle Berry but she was certainly confident enough to believe in her own desirability. She had her strong mother and aunts to thank for that unwavering confidence. They instilled such pride and motivation in her she took risks all through life. It was ironic that now her rebellion seemed foreign to them when they were the cause.
However there was no denying one fact. Renaldo’s aloof manner should make her cautious. In the office they called him ‘The Enforcer’. The women constantly whispered about how ominous his presence felt. He shadowed the Battaglia women. Scowled at anyone who came inappropriately close with a hard unblinking glare. Where Kyra found his dark presence sexy some women went as far as to say he was creepy.
The elevator doors opened.
“Oh shoot.” Kyra hesitated. Clearly she hadn’t thought this through. How would the evening end? On her terms or his?
The doors to the elevator began to close.
“Oh, forget this!” Kyra threw up her hand and stopped them. She sucked down a breath of bravery and stepped out into the hall. The plaque on the wall pointed left for the suite number she sought. As soon as she ventured in that direction she was met with an unexpected sight. A tall man dressed in a tailored suit leaned against the wall. He was one of the two men that followed the orders of Renaldo.
He didn’t appear surprised or disturbed by her arrival. Kyra kept her hands down in her coat pockets and maintained his stare as she approached Renaldo’s door. She knocked three times before she heard soft footfalls draw close.
The door unchained. As soon as the door parted she lost all her nerve. The butterflies she carried in her gut since she arrived incinerated and her face flushed hot with excitement under his leveled stare. She swallowed the lump in her throat. He appeared before her without a shirt, in his boxers, body ripped with chiseled perfection. And eyes the deepest shade of cognac with piercing intensity solely focused on her.
How could Kyra be brave and foolish enough to think seducing a stranger could secure her dreams? What was her plan?
Kyra gulped down the dryness in the back of her throat. She drew in a careful breath and summoned her voice. “Hi,” she said.
Renaldo gave a half-smile. There was tightness in her chest again. She loved his olive skin, his dark hair, and those topaz brown eyes of his that blazed with smoldering intensity.
He took her hand and she was pulled inside. It was as if she moved on autopilot under his instruction. Kyra expected she would have to do some talking, maybe some convincing as to why two consenting adults should explore the physical attraction they shared. She had to do neither. He shut the door. Thanks to his close proximity she pressed her back against it to keep standing.
Ut-oh, Kyra thought. What a foolish little girl she had been to believe this man would turn the woman before him away. Every glance, every stare, and every lingering look she’d ever perceived from him brought her to this moment. At that very moment he swept her body with that intense gaze of his as if she arrived at his door stark naked.
It was Renaldo she wanted and not the promise of what he could do to help her further her career aspirations with the Battaglias. He had invited her in. No matter where passion led them tonight she’d go the distance.
“Ho un debole per te,” he said in a low husky whisper. She wished she knew the meaning of the words that rolled off his tongue with such rich flavor. Her voice failed her. But she pleaded with her eyes for him to continue. Renaldo smiled. He kissed her nose and her brow. He whispered something so deeply sensual she wasn’t certain if it was Italian or English. In the past Kyra took the lead with her lovers. A spin around the bedroom, an invitation to lie between her thighs was always extended on her terms, and for her pleasure. Tonight she had little doubt that she controlled anything once she walked over the threshold.
“Maybe we should set some ground rules. I have only one,” she said in her best, confident voice.
He brushed his thumb in a slow drawn line across the length of her jaw.
One touch from this man and she was breathless.
She struggled to keep focused.
“What is this rule?” he asked.
“Translations. You speak Italian. I speak Englis
h. You have to tell me the meaning of the words you say. And I’ll do the same for you,” she explained.
“Is that all?” Renaldo’s heated stare flickered up from her breasts to snare her. “Shouldn’t there be more to this?”
“So far that’s it,” she replied over the quiver in her voice.
His left hand dropped to the right side of her face and pressed flat against the door. He leaned in and looked deeply into her eyes. Renaldo’s mouth curled into a reluctant smile and she knew he had warmed to the idea of them sharing a night together.
A drift of a clean soap smell gently passed her nostrils. He had just showered. Scrubbed sudsy water over that broad muscle packed chest of his. There were tiny crystals of water glistening in his black hair, which had been slicked from his face with the short hairs smoothed down his nape. Moisture gathered over his brow. He brought his mouth close to hers and there it lingered for a moment. It was a sweet decadent moment full of naughty promise.
“Say it again,” she said. Hoping he’d speak in his native tongue and warm the seat of her panties. Renaldo exhaled. His breath breezed over her upper lip. Their faces were that close.
Again he spoke with that brisk Italian brogue. “Vorrei fare l’amore con te,” Kyra waited for the translation. He gave none.
“I told you my rule, Renaldo. I don’t speak Italian,” she replied.
“You will after tonight,” he answered.
“How, if you don’t teach me?” she teased.
“First lesson. Baciami. Say it,” he commanded of her.
“Baah-chi-ami,” she repeated. “Now what does the word mean?”
“Kiss me,” he replied. His lips enticed hers to part and just before their tongues met he drew a breath away to gaze down at her breasts again. He cupped one in his hand and the slow squeeze was as if it was tightening in a vice. Yet it pleased her so. Kyra captured another strained breath into her lungs and looked up at him with confusion. Oh God he really is gorgeous, she thought helplessly before his mouth descended on hers once more, and his thumb did a circular caress of her nipple from over the cover of her dress.