He slid his cell phone from his pocket, dialed his tailor’s personal cell and asked for him to send a few outfits overnight. With such short notice, the clothes would be off-the-rack, but his tailor at least knew his sizes and could make him look better than if he just ran out to some local shop.
Now that his clothing situation was taken care of, Tommaso dialed Emma.
While waiting for her to pick up, and standing outside next to a big fountain in a large garden, Tommaso watched a shooting star blaze across the Palm Springs’ sky.
Amazing. It was one of the things he enjoyed, aside from his gentlemanly comforts: The exquisite beauty of nature. He’d been raised by his parents to appreciate beauty—fine art, the emotional depth of classical music, and good food, ranging from his mother’s homemade pesto gnocchi to a filet mignon seared in hand-churned butter and chives. But some of the most beautiful things in this world weren’t man-made or complicated. They were simple and there for all to see. The quartz veining in a garden rock, the way the afternoon sunlight danced on the ripples of a pond. And…
“Hello?” Emma’s sweet voice chirped through his earpiece.
And…sweet revenge.
“Hey, Emma, it’s Tommaso. I hate to ask for your help again, but your husband—”
“Dear gods, please don’t tell me he’s getting on your case and acting all jealous again. I keep telling him to let it go, but he won’t.”
What was Emma talking about? “Won’t let what go?”
Emma sighed with exasperation. “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll talk to him.”
“Emma, you can talk to me. What’s wrong?” He would kick the crap out of Guy if he was mistreating her in any way. Emma was special. She was a good, good person with a big heart. “Emma?” he pushed.
“It’s just…” She sighed again. “He keeps saying that I have feelings for you—that I talk about you all the time. But that’s because I’m worried and you’re my friend. But he won’t let it go.”
Leave it to Guy to be such a giant, self-centered prick that he couldn’t comprehend what he had. Emma loved him and had almost her entire life.
“He’s an insecure moron, Emma. Because anyone with eyes can see the way you look at him.” He’d give anything to have a woman look at him like that, like she would walk through the fires of hell just to be by his side. And Emma had. She had gone through the worst possible nightmare to be with Guy. It was so much more than simple love, and if Tommaso ever found a woman who’d risk everything, give everything, as Emma had given to Guy, he’d never let that woman go.
“I’m sorry I brought it up, Tommaso,” Emma said quietly. “But he just doesn’t understand and he won’t let it go, and I refuse to give into his insecurities by giving up our friendship.”
Guy really was such a prick. “I will speak with him—make him see that—”
“No. I will. I don’t want you getting in the middle.”
Poor woman. He wanted to intervene, but he’d honor her wishes. That was far more important because if there was one thing he knew about Emma, she hated when people tried to step in or treat her like a child. “Very well. But I’m here if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Tommaso. And if there’s anything I can do, say the word.”
He was about to ask her to get Guy the hell out of his room, but at that moment he turned around, finding two large men standing behind him. “Thank you, Emma. Give my regards to…the baby. I must go now.” Why can’t I remember the darn baby’s name? Kalulu? Kavortis?
He ended the call, maintaining his gaze on the two snarling men. They were Uchben, and his guess was that they were the ones assigned to keep an eye on him.
“Good evening, brothers,” Tommaso said.
“We are not your brothers,” said the blond man on the right, dressed in casual khakis and a dress shirt. “You are a fucking Scab—and a traitor.”
Tommaso’s blood began to boil. He was anything but a “Scab” and he was most certainly not a traitor.
Tommaso began to loosen his tie. “Come a little closer and say that to my face.”
~~~
The next morning, lying in his king-sized bed, Tommaso woke up to a ringing phone on the nightstand, his head a soupy mess of vagueness. He sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands, groaning from a blunt ache in his brow.
Damn, I feel like I have a hangover. And now that he thought about it… He winced as he placed his hand over his right rib cage. Fuck. He lifted his shirt, and there was a big bruise in the shape of a shoe print.
What the hell? Snippets of memories flashed through his head. Fists flying, bones cracking, and blood.
The still-ringing phone brought him back to the moment. He reached for it and answered. “Yeah?”
“Hello, sir. This is Jenny from the front desk. Your instructor is waiting on the course and wondering if you’ll be attending your lesson this morning?”
Oh shit! He glanced at his watch. It was seven-o-five. He hadn’t planned on going to any of these lessons; he’d planned to be in bed with his mate and waking up to having his cock sucked. But that wasn’t about to happen, obviously.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He got up from the bed and went into the bathroom, where he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “Holy hell.” His T-shirt was torn on the shoulder and had blood on it. His leather pants were smeared with sticky syrup. He dabbed his pants and gave his finger a whiff. Strawberry? What the hell happened last night? The last thing he remembered were those two Uchben guards—the ones who were supposed to be monitoring him from afar—throwing an insult at him. Then he’d gotten angry, and the rest was a blur.
Shit. No time to figure that one out right now. He had to go meet his woman.
He quickly brushed with the complimentary toothbrush and washed his face before wetting his hands and giving his hair a tousle so it would fill out on the flat side where he’d slept.
He rushed from the room and realized his new clothes hadn’t arrived. And while I’m thinking about it, how did I arrive at the room? And where was Guy?
Tommaso heard a muffle in the closet. He pulled the doors open and jumped back. “Fuck!”
Inside were the two Uchben guards from last night, gagged, sitting with their backs pressed together and hands tied behind them.
The men didn’t say a word, but their silence and the startled look in their eyes said it all. As did the bruises on their faces.
Holy shit. Did I do that? Tommaso was about to ask as he pulled the gag from the blond man’s mouth, but one guard quickly started blathering, “We won’t tell anyone. We promise. Please let us go.” The man looked like he might piss himself.
“Uhhh…okay. But, what exactly is it that you won’t tell anyone?”
The guy began to stutter. “Don’t fuck with us. We made a deal, and we’ll keep it. Just don’t send that video to anyone. Please, man. We said we’re sorry.”
Video? Tommaso looked at his watch. Crap. He had to get to the golf course. “Fine. Okay. You can go now.” He untied them and shooed them out the door. He then quickly slid his cell from his pant pocket and pulled up his videos. It took all of five seconds of watching the two men spanking each other and weeping to understand that he’d had another Maaskab episode last night. That was the only explanation.
I’m like the goddamned Hulk. Only…not green. And much better looking.
Thankfully, he hadn’t killed the men. He’d simply knocked them around a bit and then proceeded to make them film a rather unmanly, kinky video. Why would he do that? He played it again and listened. Yes, mixed in with the sounds of grunts and slaps as the two guards spanked each other was the distinctive sound of his own deep voice chuckling.
Man, I’m one sadistic bastard. And he was clearly a risk to everyone around him. Especially anyone who upset him. Which was why he needed to hustle.
He left his room and hurried toward the main building, regretting with every step
the fact that he’d ruined his clothes last night, but feeling a small twinge of satisfaction. He hadn’t murdered those guards and they would never call him a traitor again.
At least, not to my face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tommaso stepped out on to the green, cringing that this was how he’d have to spend the day with his mate. I look like a complete shmuck. Lime green golf shirt and orange and white plaid shorts. But all of the plain, more subdued colors were small or mediums. He was a large, well-built man, more on the lean side like a swimmer, with very broad shoulders. He wasn’t seven feet tall like the gods, but he was still six-two, and his workout regimen made his legs and thighs a little more muscular than the average guy. In short, the only clothing in the sports shop that had a chance of fitting were these…
Humiliating. As he approached the woman, his abhorrence for his outfit seemed to fade into the background. All he could see were her brown eyes sizzling with irritation. She was not happy.
He glanced at his watch. “Sorry about the time,” he called, approaching her with his most charming smile, “but there was an issue with my luggage, and my replacement clothing didn’t arrive as planned.”
Her anger dialed down from pissed to mildly peeved. “Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope they find your things.” Her eyes swept over his outfit. “Those clothes will work just…” Her eyes lingered on his crotch for a moment and then snapped up to his face. “Fine.”
If I were applying for clown school.
“The shorts are a bit tight,” he admitted with false confidence, which was the only way to deal with a situation where one had no other option but to go with the flow. “But it was either this or risk the extra-large size, which would probably fall off and expose my bare ass. And cock.” He gave her a wink.
She blinked at him. “Sorry?”
“I am a commando sort of man.”
She gave him a look. “Uh. Okay. That’s good to know?”
“For you, yes, it is.” He flashed another charming grin.
Void of any interest, she frowned.
Not even a hint of desire? Now this was humiliating. What was going on?
“Wait. Didn’t I meet you yesterday?” she said.
She doesn’t remember me?
Before he had a chance to say a word, she added, “Oh, I know. We met at the group golf lesson in the afternoon.”
This was becoming stranger by the second. First, she had no recollection of him having gone evil on her, and now she didn’t remember meeting him last night. Had someone put the whammy on her to make her forget? It was the only logical answer. But if yes, then who?
“We met at the wine tasting last evening,” he said. “Do you not recall?” You were about as friendly as a cucumber.
She gave him a sideways glance. “I can’t say that I do.”
“You thought I was someone famous, in leather pants,” he added, “looking for the steak house.”
She snapped her fingers. “I remember now. Sorry, it was a long day. Welp, let’s get started, then.” Her tone was even and professional—not overly icy, but not overly friendly either. “I’m Char, your golf instructor for the entire day since I hear you’ve booked up all of my slots—let me guess, you’re hoping to impress the boss at a new job with your swing.”
“No. I, uh…”
“Ah, wait. Don’t tell me.” She snapped her fingers again and then pointed at him. “You’re finally going to pop the question to the woman of your dreams, and you want to ask for her father’s blessing. And he’s a big golfer.”
Her guess was partially correct. “You’re fairly close, but I—”
“Well, congratulations,” she said, and gave him a swat on the arm as if they were just two dudes, hanging. “We’ll have you putting and swinging like a PGA all-star in no time. Dear old dad won’t be able to turn you down. Let’s start over here and get a look at your swing. We’ll go from there. Or as I like to say, golf from there.” She made a little snort. It was kind of…well, adorable. “Oh, and my apologies. We’ll be walking the course today—someone vandalized the golf carts last night—covered them with some gooey strawberry gel—so strange. But they’re all getting a wash down.”
Strawberry? Like the stuff on his pants this morning? Nahhhh… Must be a coincidence.
“Some people have no respect.” He shook his head.
“You should see what they did to the course. The garden crew was up at five, pulling out chunks of steak from the holes. Probably just some bored teenagers.”
“They should be found and disemboweled, the little fuckers.”
“Uhhh. Okay.” She gave him a look. “Let’s get started.” She headed toward the driving range.
As she walked ahead of him, he stared at her apple-shaped bottom. Despite the unflattering cut of her khaki shorts, it was the kind of ass a man liked to squeeze while having his dick ridden hard—
No. Don’t you dare get hard. Don’t you dare. Kittens. Crying babies. Maaskab. In these tight shorts, his lower half would look like a circus tent, sans colorful flag.
Char turned and started walking backwards, pointing off to the side of the course where they had the multistory practice platforms. “We’ll go up to the second level, okay?” As she pointed, he noticed how her plump and nicely round breasts jiggled at little. Shit. Don’t look at her breasts. Think about…golf shirts. Off-the-rack plaid shorts. Me looking like a complete asshole with my dick sticking out. He felt his shaft going limp again. Thank gods…
This was going to be a very long morning. But there was no getting around this lesson. He had to spend time with her and try to understand what was going on. Something was not right.
~~~
After five long hours of putting, chipping, and swinging, Tommaso was ready to call it quits and head back to L.A. to strangle the hell out of Cimil. On the other hand, Cimil hadn’t been the one to suggest that Char was his mate; she’d merely said that he would meet her at the party. So had he made a mistake in assuming that Char was his? She wasn’t remotely interested in him, and his attempts to ascertain any personal information were getting him nowhere.
That woman had a wall so thick around her that even a wrecking ball wouldn’t get through. Every question he’d asked was met with the shortest possible answer. For example, when he’d asked where she was from, she replied, “I live around here.” Not quite an answer. He’d asked what brought her to Palm Springs and then what got her into golf, but she’d only replied, “The usual,” to both questions.
That said, her golfing and ability to teach were solid. He loathed the sport—not nearly physical or lethal enough to satisfy his tastes—yet he’d enjoyed his morning. She had a quiet patience and kindness he genuinely connected with. Unfortunately, he wasn’t there to enjoy himself. Not that way. He was there to get mated and stop his evil cancer from taking over his body before he did something truly heinous. If I haven’t already.
Maybe he should go back to L.A. and find Cimil and strangle the truth out of her.
“Char,” he said, placing his club into the golf bag, “I’m afraid that I’ll need to cut this lesson—”
“Would you like to have lunch with me?” she blurted out. “My treat?”
“Sorry?” he asked, unsure his ears had heard her correctly. This was the first sign of warmth she’d shown all morning.
“You know, lunch?” she clarified. “I’m starved, and since you paid for the entire day, it’s the least I could do. That and you haven’t hit on me today, which is really a breath of fresh air.”
Huh? Tommaso frowned. That was why she was being nice to him all of a sudden? Because he wasn’t hitting on her? “Your clients frequently make passes at you?”
She shrugged. “Well…yeah. They do.”
“How does your boyfriend feel about that?” he asked, probing for some personal information.
The reaction on her face was instantly glum. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She looked down at her feet.
&n
bsp; The way she’d said it made him think she’d recently had her heart broken. Could this be why she wasn’t opening up? The heart was more than simply a muscle. It reflected one’s internal state, like the thermometer of the soul. He knew this because his soul had been shattered to pieces a long time ago, and his heart, as much as he wanted it to beat with joy, simply couldn’t. Not that he needed to heal. His pain was a reminder of why he had to be strong, in control, and never allow anyone to get too close. Caring for others was simply opening up one’s self to weakness. And it was opening them up to danger.
“Tommaso?”
Her soft voice jarred him from his dark thoughts. “Yes?”
“My offer for lunch? I mean—I understand if you need to go take care of some business or whatnot before we continue on with our lessons for the day, but—”
Tommaso’s cell phone rang, and he reached into his pocket to silence it, but the caller ID said “Bat-shit Crazy.”
“One moment, Char.” He held up his finger. “I have to take this. It’s urgent.”
“Sure.” She gave him the scoot-scoot gesture with her hand.
He turned and started walking away so Char wouldn’t hear. “Cimil? You better tell me what the hell is going on, or so help me!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, big Tommy. But I’ve got a rule to never answer serious questions before noon.”
“It’s one o’clock.”
“Not in Hawaii. And everyone knows I go on Hawaiian time.”
“Since when?”
“Since…noon today. But now it’s only eleven in the morning in Maui, so I’m afraid you’ll have to wait another hour.”
Fucking Cimil. “I’m not calling you back in an hour, Cimil. The clock is ticking, and this is serious.”
“Oh, I know it’s serious. That’s why I keep changing time zones. It’s the only way to slow everything down.”
TOMMASO (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. Book 2) Page 6