Lust & Loyalty

by Shelly Ellis

  “You’re not alone, C. J. As long as I’m around, you’re not.”

  “But how long will you be around? The way you’ve been acting lately doesn’t—”

  “You told me that you didn’t know what I wanted anymore, but what I wanted was you, C. J. I still want you. I still love you! None of that’s changed!” he shouted over the rising sound of trumpets and saxophones on stage.

  “You say that now, Terry, but how do I know you’re telling the truth? You told me that all we had was sex. That’s it,” she said, glaring up him. “You said—”

  “I said a long list of stupid, immature shit because I angry, depressed, and feeling rejected.”

  Her glare disappeared. Her face softened.

  “I miss you, baby. I’m tired of being apart. I hate it. I fuckin’ hate it! I barely eat! I can’t sleep. I’m annoying the shit out of everybody around me! I’m back in therapy because it got so bad. I want to be done with this.”

  She stared at him mutely.

  “Do you want to be done with this, too? Do you still love me like I love you?”

  He felt sick to his stomach as he waited in anticipation of her answer. Gradually, she nodded. “Of course I do. I’ve always loved you, Terry.”

  The heavy blanket of gloom that had been thrown over him for almost two months was yanked off. He grinned. “Well, okay.” He pulled her even closer to him so that they were pressed torso to torso. “Then let’s do this.”

  She squinted. “Let’s do wha—”

  She was cut short when he abruptly lowered his mouth to hers. With that, with the exception of C. J., the entire ballroom and all the people within it seemed to disappear.

  Their kiss was just like Terrence remembered from the countless other kisses they had shared—with a little added spice that came from his pent-up longing for her. When their tongues met, she let out a soft moan and linked her arms around his neck, inadvertently dropping her notepad and pen to the parquet floor. She tilted back her head and the kiss deepened even further. She nipped his bottom lip and licked the inside of his mouth. Terrence clasped the back of her neck, then let his other hand slide from the small of her back to her bottom, grabbing a handful, feeling her rub against his groin in a slow, sensual rhythm that had nothing to do with the music.

  Their ardor drew several inquisitive stares and raised eyebrows from the couples around them. A few began to whisper and chuckle among themselves.

  “Damn, get a room, you two!” one drunken man playfully shouted before being swatted on the shoulder by his wife.

  Terrence drew on what little will power he had left and tugged his mouth away from C. J. She stared up at him dully with heavy-lidded eyes.

  “Come on,” he rasped.

  “Huh?” She licked her kiss-chapped lips just as he tugged her yet again, this time off the dance floor. Terrence excused his way through the crowd, pulling C. J. close to his side as they made their way across the ballroom, past the tables, and toward one of the exit doors.

  “Where are we going?” she called out to him.

  “Don’t know yet,” he replied over his shoulder. “But I know we’re getting the hell out of here!”

  He shoved open one of the steel doors and they entered a darkened, quiet hallway that was far less glamorous than the ballroom with its crystal chandelier and gold wainscoting. The corridor was filled with bare white walls and an antiseptic smell. A cleaning cart sat near one of the doors along with a discarded vacuum cleaner. The soles of their shoes echoed off the linoleum tile and high ceilings as they walked. Terrence tried one door handle, then another, cursing under his breath when he discovered the doors were locked.

  “Terry,” C. J. whispered, gazing apprehensively around her, “I don’t think we’re supposed be back here! What are you—”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said triumphantly as the next door handle he tried turned. The door creaked open, revealing a pitch-black room. He reached blindly along the wall and turned on the light switch, revealing a walk-in closet filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves covered with folded linen, candles, and several other supplies that could be used in the ballroom. A small table for folding linen was in the corner. He guided C. J. into the closet, then closed the door behind them with a click.

  “Why are we in here?”

  He smirked and linked his arms around the small of her back. “Why do you think we’re in here?”

  She reached for one of the gold napkin holders on the stainless steel shelves and held it aloft. She then cocked an eyebrow. “You really expect me to have sex with you in a linen closet?”

  “I admit it’s not the best solution, but I had to come up with something fast. I didn’t want to lose the momentum.” He laughed when she continued to glare at him. He drew her closer. “Do you really wanna wait until we can drive to your place or mine?” he asked as he kissed her chin and her neck with an aching deliberateness he knew she loved.

  “It’s a closet, Terry!” she repeated, but more weakly this time.

  “Yes, it’s a closet . . . and I still want to make love to you,” he whispered in return before lowering his mouth to hers.

  C. J. grumbled as he removed the satin straps of her gown, but she didn’t shove him away like she had the last time he tried to make love to her. She didn’t stomp toward the door in outrage. Instead she returned his kiss with fervor and tugged his tuxedo jacket off his shoulders. She began to hurriedly undo the buttons of his shirt and allowed him to ease her back against the stainless steel shelves as his hand shoved the hem of her dress up her thighs.

  Her body missed his touch just as much as he missed hers. She wanted him at that moment just as much as he wanted her, even if it was in a linen closet and two hundred and some odd people were drinking, eating, and dancing less than twenty feet away.

  “I love you, baby,” he whispered against her lips as they frantically undressed.

  “I love you, too,” she breathed, kissing him back.

  Within minutes, C. J.’s passionate moans filled the room. The hem of her floor-length satin gown was now up around her waist and the sequined top hung precariously off one shoulder as she bent over the folding table. Terrence was crouched behind her, kissing and nipping her neck and shoulders, cradling her breast with one hand and massaging her clit with the other. Though she was usually the louder one, his loud groans and throaty curses eclipsed her moans and yells.

  C. J. grabbed onto the table and one of the metal shelves to brace herself as he thrust into her over and over again. He knew that he should probably slow down. The fervent tempo was making the folding table thump against the wall like a jackhammer. It was making the shelves rattle. A sterling silver candelabra from one of the top shelves clattered to the floor. A box of salt and pepper shakers soon followed.

  If anyone walked into the corridor, they were bound to hear all the noise the two were making, but Terrence didn’t care. He couldn’t slow down or stop—and neither could she. They had to ride this wave until it was over.

  She came first, holding onto the shelf for dear life and shouting out his name as she did it. He came less than a minute after, hearing his blood whistle in his ears, feeling his heart pound fiercely in his chest, and closing his eyes as it swept over him.

  They both collapsed against the linoleum tabletop when it was over. Weak-kneed and sapped of energy, they gradually slid down and landed in a heap on the linen closet’s cold concrete floor.

  Terrence dazedly thumped his head back against a stack of folded tablecloths. C. J.’s head lolled onto his shoulder as they both fought to catch their breaths. He could faintly hear the sound of the band playing another R & B selection on the other side of the linen closet wall.

  “Goddamn,” Terrence murmured with a crooked grin. “We should break up more often,” he said with gulping breaths.

  At that, C. J. turned to look up at him, squinted at him in disbelief, then burst into laughter before raising her mouth to kiss him again.
r />   Chapter 24

  Evan

  Evan gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, watching a white charter boat as it slowly cut a path down the Potomac River, sending up a froth of white spray along the way. He had been gazing out the window for the past hour, watching the boats go by and the planes fly overhead on their way to nearby Reagan National Airport. He was unable to focus his thoughts on anything substantive. He had emails to write, sale figures to review, and marketing plans he was supposed to discuss with his team later that day, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t work up the energy to care.

  “I fucked up so bad,” he muttered to himself for the umpteenth time.

  Leila was now living in one of the guest rooms in the east wing, not far from her daughter’s suite. She hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with him in that period of time, treating him with a cool demeanor that one would reserve for a perfect stranger. Even Diane had noticed the difference between them.

  “What on earth did you do, boy?” she had asked only yesterday as she stood in the doorway of his study. He had looked up from his laptop, startled to find her sternly gazing at him.

  “I’m sorry?” he had asked her, confused. He had been staring at his laptop screen, trying to type, but only managing to click out a few sentences.

  “What . . . did . . . you . . . do . . . to . . . my . . . chile?” she had repeated slowly, taking another step into the room. “It must be pretty bad, because she won’t even tell me what you did!”

  He had raised his brows in response. “Why do you assume I did something?”

  Evan had watched as Diane had crossed her arms over her chest and puckered her lips at him, as if she had just tasted something sour. “Son, don’t play with me.” She paused. “You didn’t cheat on her, did you?”

  Would kissing Charisse really qualify as cheating? He had felt a spark, but it was nothing compared to what he felt when he kissed Leila. And he hadn’t gone to Charisse’s condo with the intention of doing anything out of bounds. He’d had the best of intentions. But that didn’t seem to matter very much now.

  Besides, what was that old saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions, he had thought.

  “You’re taking way too long to answer that question,” Diane had said, eyeing him from the doorway.

  “No offense, Diane, but I really don’t think it’s appropriate for me to be discussing what goes on between me and Lee with you.”

  “Uh-huh.” Diane’s nostrils flared as she released a loud breath. “Well, let’s hope for your sake, Evan Murdoch, that my daughter forgives you for whatever you did, because we both know you’ll be a lot more torn up if she leaves you than the other way around.”

  She had then raised her nose into the air, turned on her heel, and walked back into the hall.

  “Meddling old biddy,” he had muttered to himself.

  He had been angry at Diane’s words, but he knew she was only telling the truth. If Leila really did follow through with her promise to leave him, he didn’t know what he would do. It was one of the reasons why he had lashed out at her, why he threatened her with a custody lawsuit if she left him. It had been a desperate, callous move, and he regretted it just as much as the kiss he and Charisse had shared.

  Evan heard a knock at his door, momentarily drawing him from his thoughts. “Come in,” he called out, still gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Mr. Murdoch,” Adrienne said from the doorway, “you have someone here who’d like to speak with you. She wasn’t sure if you were busy. She didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  At the reference to “she,” Evan snapped out of his malaise. Had Leila decided to come to his office out of the blue and talk to him? Was she finally ready to forgive him?

  “No, I’m not . . . I’m not busy,” he said, turning away from the windows. He sat upright in his chair and his hand flew to his tie and collar in a hurried attempt to look more presentable. “Who . . . who is it?”

  “Your sister, Mrs. Williams, sir,” Adrienne said. “Should I send her in, then?”

  So it’s not Lee, he thought sadly. His shoulders slumped. He had been foolish to expect that it was her.

  “Sure,” he said softly to Adrienne. “Send her in.”

  Adrienne smiled and nodded before opening the door wider and waving Paulette inside his office.

  Evan was disappointed Leila hadn’t come to speak to him today, but truth be told, he was just as surprised that Paulette had paid him a visit. He hadn’t spoken to her or Antonio since the baby shower, since she had stormed out with tears in her eyes. Antonio had trailed behind her with a look so tortured that Evan honestly felt for the man, even though he knew what Antonio had done. He had tried calling Paulette, and she had finally answered, only to tell him that she was fine but she didn’t want to speak to anyone right now. He had obeyed her wishes. Evan now watched as his sister stepped timidly into the room.

  She may have been bad off emotionally, but you couldn’t tell it from the way she looked. She wore a camel wool coat with fox fur along the lapel. Her hair was pulled back into a bun atop her head. Her makeup was flawless, but he could still clearly see her withdrawn expression.

  “Hey,” he said as Adrienne closed the office door. He rose from his desk and walked across the room and opened his arms to embrace her. She seemed to hesitate before stepping into his embrace. She let him hug her but didn’t hug him back.

  “Hey, Ev,” she answered. She then took a step back and looked up at him, fixing him with her dark eyes. “We . . . we need to talk.”

  He nodded and pointed toward the sitting area on the other side of his office. She removed her coat and tossed it aside, and then sat down on the leather sofa. He took the Bauhaus chair facing her.

  “First,” she began, staring down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap, “I want to begin by telling you that I’m not angry at you or Terry for not telling me what . . . what Tony . . . well, what he did. I appreciate you not telling anyone else, either. Thank you for not turning him in, Ev.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you, Sweet Pea.”

  “I know you wouldn’t.” She raised her eyes to look at him and gave a pained smile. “You want to protect me—just like Tony does. That’s why he did it, you know?”

  Evan nodded in silent agreement.

  “He told me everything—what he did and why he did it. It wasn’t just blind rage, Ev. He said Marques was owed a . . . a punishment. He said that bastard deserved to be punished for what he did to me . . . what he did to us.” She closed her eyes. “And you know what, Ev, the whole time Tony was telling me all of this, I felt so sorry for him. I was angry at myself because Tony didn’t used to talk like that before all of this happened—before I made mistake after mistake after mistake. He was a kind and decent man before I came along, and now he’s . . . he’s a . . .” She couldn’t finish. She couldn’t say the word. Instead, she squeezed her eyelids so tightly that they were starting to jitter, like her mind didn’t want to see the man her husband had become. “It’s . . . it’s all my fault!”

  “No, it’s not,” Evan said, reaching out to place his hand over his sister’s. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

  Her eyes flashed open. “But who else would I blame, Ev?”

  Maybe the man who blackmailed you, Evan thought, or the man who strangled and beat him to death. But he said neither aloud, not wanting to upset her.

  “You’ve had to deal with a lot of guilt for the past year, Sweet Pea. Please don’t add another thing to feel guilty about.”

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  He could agree with that one. He of all people knew what it was like to walk around with the heavy burden of guilt.

  “So you say Tony told you everything,” Evan ventured. “Did he happen to mention what happened with Dante?”

  Evan was still unsure about that one. It had been his suspicion that Antonio had tried to kill Dante, and he thought Dante would point the fing
er at his brother-in-law as soon as he woke up. But it had been months now, and Antonio still hadn’t been arrested. Detective Morris had gone conspicuously silent. What was going on?

  Paulette stared at him, confused. “What do you mean, what happened with Dante? Why would Antonio have anything to do with Dante?”

  “Well,” Evan began, “I told him about what Dante tried to do to you. It made him angry. I wasn’t sure if . . . well, if—”

  “If Tony went after Dante, too,” she finished for him.

  Ever so slowly, Evan nodded.

  “He didn’t do it,” she said, quickly shaking her head. “Dante was shot . . . when? In late July, right?”

  Evan nodded. “July the eighteenth . . . at around nine p.m.”

  That date, and the date Antonio had made his confession to him, had been burned permanently into Evan’s memory.

  “We had made up by then! He couldn’t have done it,” she argued, vigorously shaking her head again, making her large hoop earrings swing and hit her cheeks. “He was home every night, Ev. We were sleeping in the same bed. He wouldn’t have had time to disappear and then come back home.”

  “Are you sure? You’re certain?”

  “I’d swear on the Bible!” She held up her hand.

  “Oh, thank God,” Evan said, exhaling with relief and leaning forward in his chair. He didn’t know it but he had been carrying the burden of the guilt over Dante’s shooting himself, much like his sister mentally carried the burden of Marques’s murder. He had wondered if his confession to Antonio had almost pushed the younger man to pull the trigger. Now he knew that it hadn’t, and he felt like he had been given a reprieve.

  I didn’t fuck that up, at least, he thought.

  “Well, now that we’ve settled that, I have one last thing to ask you, Ev,” she said, gazing into his eyes again.

  “Anything! Go ahead.”

  “Please continue to keep Tony’s secret. I . . . I understand that you told Terry. I even understand if you tell Lee, but don’t tell anyone else, please. Definitely don’t tell the police.”