Consent (The Loan Shark Duet Book 2)

by Charmaine Pauls

  When I tell Gabriel about my plan, he’s pleased that I’m getting out and spending money. He walks us out and hands me a set of keys.

  My fingers fold around the key ring. “Keys to the house?”

  “Yes.” He chuckles. “And your wheels. Sorry it wasn’t ready when you arrived, but there was no stock on the floor. I had to order it.”

  There are five cars parked on the curb of the circular driveway. To who do they all belong? Maybe the guards or Magda and the cleaning service staff.

  “Go on,” he says, indicating the remote in my hand.

  When I press the button, the indicator lights of a Porsche Cayenne Turbo lights up.

  “That’s very kind, but––”

  “Don’t say you won’t take it,” Gabriel says darkly, “because it’s my job to provide for you.”

  “All right, I won’t say I won’t take it, but it’s a big car. I just need something small.”

  “It’s a safe car with enough space for a pushchair, carrycot, feeding chair, nanny, and whatever else women need when they go out with a baby.”

  The wayward look of panic in his eyes as he rumbles off the items makes me laugh. I punch him playfully on the arm. “I won’t need more than a pushchair and definitely not a nanny.”

  “No?” He seems surprised.

  “My mom and I were close.”

  He still looks at me with his brow raised in question.

  “I want to raise my child myself. I want to experience everything, both the hard and joyful parts.” Kris’ words suddenly haunt me. I wrap my arms around his waist and look into his eyes. “You’ll let me take care of our baby, won’t you?”

  The tenderness in his touch as he brushes the hair from my face reassures me. “Anything you want. As long as it doesn’t tire you too much.”

  Going on tiptoes, I kiss him. “Thank you for the car.” I learned my lesson. There’s no point in arguing.

  “My pleasure. Drive safely.”

  He nods at the guards standing next to a black Mercedes as Charlie and I get into my new car. I know they’ll follow, but I also know it’s for our safety.

  “Mi–milkshake. Can we have mi–milkshake?”

  “We’re going to buy Gabriel a gift, but we can stop for dessert. In fact, we can do better than milkshake. How about a banana split?”

  Charlie’s mouth drops open. I swear there’s a drop of drool on the side. I pat his leg. “I know. You haven’t had many of those. Not nearly enough.”

  We drive to a nearby mall in Rosebank. After Orange Grove, Rosebank is the suburb with the largest Jewish settlement. It thus comes as no surprise that I run into someone from the Jewish business from way back.

  “My goodness,” Agatha Murray cries, “aren’t you the Haynes girl?” She looks Charlie up and down. “You must be Charles.”

  “That’s right. How are you?”

  “You probably don’t remember me.”

  It’s hard not to remember her. Agatha has the same look from when she removed her false teeth and slurped her tea from the saucer in our kitchen. From head to toe, she’s dressed in black, always a lacy dress with a cloak and hat. She’s been dressed that way since her husband died, a long time before Dad passed away. She must own a thousand hats. I’ve never seen her with the same one. Today, she wears a box style creation with a crow feather bouquet and a big, faux diamond that keeps the lot together.

  “Oh, no, I do remember,” I say.

  “Sad about your parents. So wrong.”

  Charlie starts to shuffle his feet. He’s getting impatient.

  “And Charles,” she says when her eyes are drawn by his movements. “What a tragedy.”

  Tragedies are not on my topic list for the day. This morning’s meeting with Christopher already made me feel guilty enough. “Nice running into you.”

  “I suppose Charles would’ve taken over the business if not for the accident. He was always a big chunk of a boy, all muscles and the tallest of his class. Do you think he would’ve become the big boss, maybe run the mafia?”

  I glance around to see if we’re being overheard and keep my voice low. “I’m glad he’s not part of that criminal lifestyle.”

  “Criminal or not, at least you wouldn’t have ended up as poor as church mice. Are you still in Berea?”

  “We moved.”

  “Where to?”

  “I really have to go.”

  Bony fingers close around my left hand. Before I can pull back, she lifts my ring finger to the light.

  “Will you look at that?” She gives a hen-like cackle. “From the size of this rock it’s not Lambert Roos’ ring.” She studies the ring, turning my hand left and right.

  Self-consciously, I pull away.

  “Lambert didn’t have a choice, you know. He wanted to marry you. He wasn’t all bad, back then.” She sniffs. “A bit lazy, but not all bad. Everything was set up for your engagement the day you’d turn eighteen, and the next thing you know, the Portuguese break down their door and threaten to kill everyone if they take you in. Said it would be a war between the Jewish and Portuguese. Just like that, they cut you loose. I think the payoff also had a lot to do with it.”

  “What?” I forget about Charlie’s fretting and my irritation. “Why?”

  “Don’t know. Probably money. Money’s always the motivation in the business, isn’t it?”

  I stare at her open-mouthed. My father was part of the Jewish mob, but they had an agreement with the Portuguese in the south.

  “Anyways,” she waves a hand, “all water under the bridge. That life is gone. Not many of the old gang is left.” Her eyes take on a far-off look.

  “I–I’m sorry. I have to go.” Grabbing Charlie’s arm, I drag him along the walkway.

  “Wait! You haven’t told me who you married.”

  Not wanting to listen to more, I rush head-on into a flow of pedestrians. Scratching open the old wounds of how my father died was too painful. I do my best to shake her words as I sip a fruit juice while Charlie gobbles down a banana split with all the trimmings. While we are in the café, Kris calls, asking how I am, and somewhat manages to distract me from my guilt trip.

  “I need help at the practice,” she says. “Can you come back?”

  I owe her. “I’ll be happy to. Can I bring Charlie?”

  “I was hoping you’d offer. He did a great job walking the dogs.”

  We agree that I’d start next week on my old salary. I don’t need the money––Gabriel transferred a ridiculously big amount to my account––but spending his money doesn’t feel right. I should earn my own.

  “Come over for lunch tomorrow,” she says. “We’ll talk about the logistics.”

  After our dessert, we hit the shops. I want to get Gabriel something for his birthday. We haven’t spoken about it, but the big party, the one where I was supposed to work, took place while I was in Durban. It’s pathetic, but I care. I can help it as little as I can help how he makes me feel with his touch. Even as I crave my freedom, to be allowed to make choices like any other human being, I meant it when I said I love him. I lied when I said I hate him more. My love for him has quietly blossomed inside of me, growing from the tiny kernel he planted. By the time I noticed the tree it was too late. It hurt when he told me I didn’t mean it. Maybe that was why I retaliated by saying I hate him, and the fact that those hurtful words didn’t have any effect on him wounded me even worse. Yet, always true to his word, he’s making this good for me, and this is the happiest I’ve been in a very long time, since that tragic day on the thirteenth of February. Giving him something for his birthday is my way of showing appreciation. The only problem is that I have no idea what to get him. Gabriel has everything.

  We walk around the mall until Charlie gets tired, and I have to make a decision. Coming to a stop in front of a bookstore, an idea hits me. It doesn’t take long to find the book I’m looking for. I pay and have it wrapped. Forty minutes later, we’re home.

  With Carly living at he
r mom’s, Magda has dinner served later. It allows her and Gabriel to work late. Charlie won’t last that long, so I cook him spaghetti bolognaise and serve it with a salad in the kitchen. We unpack his clothes Gabriel’s men brought over from Kris’ and explore his new gadgets, which include a PlayStation and a stack of games, courtesy of Gabriel. He’s settled for the night when Gabriel comes home after nine. Dinner is not until ten. He’ll work another hour in his office. The gift clutched behind my back, I knock on his door.

  His deep voice is laced with impatience. “Come in.”

  Uncertainly, I pause in the doorframe. He looks stressed and busy. I’m disturbing him.

  Leaning back in his chair, he works his tie loose with one hand and holds the other out to me. “Come here.”

  I walk around his desk and stop next to him.

  He stretches his neck to look around me. “What do you have behind your back?”

  “A gift.”

  “A gift?”

  “For you,” I say shyly. He’s going to think it’s a silly idea.

  “For me,” he parrots. Warmth fills his eyes and then appreciation as he trails his gaze slowly over me. He pats his knee. “Then you better come over here and give it to me.”

  One more step puts me between his legs as he opens them to accommodate me. With his hands on my hips, he lifts me onto his lap, making me straddle him. The dress rides up over my thighs, exposing my underwear. I still have my hands clutched behind my back, so he can’t let go of my waist without risking my balance, but he stares at the triangle between my legs as if he wishes to touch it with every fiber of his being.

  “That’s a real pretty gift,” he muses. “I can’t wait to open it.”

  The knowledge of how much he wants me fills my core with heat and my heart with a deeper kind of warmth. I bring the present from behind my back. “This is what you need to open.”

  A smile tugs at his lips as he lets go of me with one hand to take the gift. “What’s the occasion?”

  I cup his face, feeling the roughness of his beard between my palms, and kiss his lips. “Happy birthday. I’m…” It’s hard for me to say this, but I have to get it off my chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I ran. I’m sorry I put our lives in danger. I should’ve spoken to you, trusted you, but––”

  “Shh.” He stills me with a kiss. “There’s nothing to forgive.” His expression becomes pained. “No more of this talk, understand?”

  I nod.

  He holds up the gift. “You want me to open this now?”

  “Whenever you like.”

  “Grab the armrest. I don’t want you to fall.”

  When I do as he’s instructed, he tears the paper away and holds the book up to read the title. “Baby names.”

  “I didn’t know what to get you. You have pretty much everything, so I thought you could choose his name.”

  In our kind of families mothers name their babies. It’s an unwritten and unbreakable rule. Their reasoning is that as long as they suffer the pain of childbirth, the choice is their privilege and right. The pain of childbirth has always been a foolproof bargaining chip, and the details thereof is an argument men aren’t prepared to take on.

  Gabriel swallows hard. He stares at me with a piercing gaze. “You’ll let me?”

  “It’s not a real gift, but––”

  The book falls onto his desk, and his arms come around me. “You’ll really let me?”

  “If you’re fine with it.”

  “Valentina…” He presses our foreheads together. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  “I was hoping.”

  “Thank you.” He gives me the gentlest of kisses, his trimmed beard scraping my skin. “It’s a beautiful and unselfish gift.”

  “Do you have any ideas, yet?”

  His lips tilt in one corner. “You’re not supposed to say until the baby is born.”

  “I’ll never be able to wait that long!”

  He nips my bottom lip. “Looks like you dug yourself a very deep hole, but don’t worry, you have five months to conquer your curiosity.”

  “You’re evil.”

  The smile vanishes, and his expression turns serious. “Yes, I am, but no matter what I am, you’re mine.”

  Before he can say more gloomy things, I kiss him again, running my fingertips over the rough ridges of his scars. He’s my darkness and my love, and he has no idea how truly I am his.

  Gabriel

  My men inform me of my wife’s run-in with Agatha Murray. It’s accidental, or I would’ve picked up a call to or from Agatha’s number on Valentina’s phone. Yes, I’m a creep. I check my wife’s calls, but it’s as much for her protection as my peace of mind. Our business is dangerous. Even if most men play by the rules and only a crazy idiot will lay a finger on my wife, there are always the nutcases who would cross the line. Besides, she’s still a forced wife, one I keep on a tight leash of pleasure and threats, and I prefer to be prudent when a mob family member like Agatha suddenly walks onto the stage.

  Not wanting to raise the issue in front of Magda, I search out Valentina after breakfast. She exits Charlie’s room with a laundry basket. What the hell? The thing is so big it blocks her view. She almost bumps into me. The collision is only prevented because I catch her waist.

  Worry makes my voice sound angry. “What are you doing?”

  She blinks. Her big, innocent eyes are wide. “ Laundry.”

  I take the basket from her hands. “You’re not supposed to carry heavy things.” Scrap that. “You’re not supposed to do the laundry.”

  A sweet smile flirts with her lips. They’re full and pink, and so fucking kissable. “There’s nothing wrong with my hands.”

  “I don’t care. We have a service for this.”

  “Don’t be difficult.”

  “You haven’t seen difficult, yet.” I put the basket aside, tangle my hand in her hair, and drag her to me. “I can show you, but it’ll cost your tears and pleasure.”

  Those soft lips part. She moans. A soft ripple runs over the delicate skin of her throat as she swallows. When I pull her head back farther to look into the dark pools of her eyes, she sags against me, her body warm and supple. Her pupils dilate a fraction, and her gaze becomes lustful.

  My words turned her on. Me, there’s no word for what I am. Combusting, maybe. Exploding. Trapped between our bodies, my dick pulses against her stomach, showing her how she affects me. What I want is to rip off her clothes and fuck her right here against the wall. I may go crazy if I don’t.

  Dragging my lips over her throat, I kiss a path up to her jaw. “Would you like that, beautiful? Do you want a bite of pain with your pleasure?”

  Her breath catches. “Yes.”

  I graze her earlobe with my teeth. “Why?”

  “It feels good.”

  The sadist in me roars. I want to spank her, whip her, belt her, but not while she’s pregnant. The confirmation that she wants this is enough. Letting go of her hair, I catch her face between my palms and crush our mouths together. My tongue spears through her lips without waiting for her to open. She whimpers, and I swallow every sound. My hand moves up under her dress, finding the elastic of her underwear. My fingers are a hairbreadth away from penetrating her pussy when someone clears a throat behind me.

  Fuck. Not now. I let Valentina’s lips go with a sound close to a growl, blocking her body with mine until I’ve lowered her dress to protect her modesty.

  Magda walks past us with a scowl. “You have a room, for God’s sake.”

  That was a bucket of cold water on our moment. Valentina’s cheeks burn like light bulbs. She averts her eyes and tugs a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “We have a meeting in ten,” Magda calls from the end of the hall.

  Taking my wife’s hand, I intertwine our fingers. “No more laundry or any housework for that matter.”

  “Laundry isn’t hard work.”

  My tone doesn’t leave room for argui
ng. “No laundry.”

  She consents with a huff.

  “My men told me you ran into Agatha Murray, yesterday.”

  “Oh.” Her brow furrows, as if the memory is unpleasant. “Yes.”

  “You look upset. What did she say to you?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Valentina, don’t lie to me.”

  “Nothing important, anyway.”

  “It is to me.”

  Her shoulders sag. “You’re impossible.”

  I take her other hand and pull her body against mine. “I have a video conference in five minutes. Start talking.”

  A sigh moves her breasts against my chest. “She said the Portuguese threatened Lambert’s family with a war if they took me in. Apparently, he was bribed not to marry me.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses. What the hell do I make of the information? It’s as I suspected. Lambert didn’t turn his back on his promised bride because he didn’t want her. He was forced to. The question is why.

  The kiss I place on her lips is gentle. It’s my way of rewarding her honesty. “Be a good girl today. I’ll see you for lunch.” I squeeze her hands and set her free.

  “Gabriel?”

  I grin like a teenager. God, I love it when she says my name, especially with that sliver of shyness, as if she’s about to ask me for something and she thinks I’ll refuse her. If she only knows, I’ll bust my balls for her.

  “Valentina?” I let her name roll over my tongue.

  “I won’t be here for lunch today.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see Kris. With all the extensions in the practice…” She wrings her hands together.

  “What is it?”

  “She wants me to work with her again.”

  Kris did what I’d ask of her. This will be good for my girl. She’s not the stay-at-home type. “Do you want to?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good.”

  Her face lights up. Everything sparkles from her eyes to the happy blush on her cheeks. “Really?”

  “Really. Be safe.”

  Her look turns serious. “You, too.”