Sexual Persuasion

by Sinclair, Maryn

  “Yeah, like you’re refreshed. Or maybe it’s love.”

  “Does it show?”

  “Woo-hoo! The woman’s got a man. And a hot one at that.”

  “Oh, Lenore, he’s nice and soft and hard and exciting and tender and―”

  “Whoa, girl. Those are too many adjectives for me to digest in one sentence.”

  Charlotte overflowed with the need to tell someone. Darcy had clearly stated her opinion about Alex. She trusted Lenore, and Lenore liked Alex. So Charlotte told her everything that happened except his love affair seventeen years ago and the film with Jack as star. The first was Alex’s secret life, and she wouldn’t break that confidence, and the second had clearly crossed an ethical and legal line. She found out something about herself when she willingly took part of the sting to take Jack down. She didn’t like it, but because it was Jack, she could live with what she’d done.

  “I’d hold on to that one, Charlotte. He sounds like a winner. And he looks like a god.”

  Charlotte worked with the designer for an hour, glad both her designers and Lenore were there to cover the busy morning. She went upstairs to grab a quick lunch and came down to bump into Gianni Caravelli. The name hit her like an avalanche. Gianni, not Johnny. That was how she’d heard the name of Alex’s lover. Johnny. Alex said his Gianni, or Johnny, was an architect who still lived in the area. This man lived in Lexington, which was in the area. Charlotte’s stomach turned over. It couldn’t be. The timing would be too coincidental, freaky even, if he hadn’t been coming into the store regularly ever since he finished the house he designed for himself. He said she carried merchandise no one else did, and he could always find what he needed. Why hadn’t she thought of him when Alex mentioned his name?

  Gianni Caravelli was as handsome as Alex, if not more so, and not flagrantly gay, but Charlotte knew he was. He came in once with a woman, obviously a client. His other companions were men, all good-looking, all gay.

  He flashed a captivating smile. “Hi, Charlotte. Just the person I want to see. In fact, I asked Vickie where you were.”

  Charlotte’s mouth went dry. She tried to churn up enough saliva to speak. Was she looking at her lover’s old lover? “Gianni. Hi. What can I do for you?”

  “The last time I was in, I saw a beautiful stained-glass panel. Do you still have it? It’s not on the floor. Say you have it hidden away, please.”

  “I don’t think we sold it. I’ll ask Lenore. She does the paperwork and knows who sold what. Look around. I’ll be right back.” She wobbled into the office, legs ready to give out from under her. After closing the door, she backed up against it and took deep breaths. She knew they still had the glass, but she needed time to collect herself.

  “What’s the matter, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Charlotte fell into her chair.

  “This is such a small town. Even the suburbs are closing in. I wondered if I knew everyone in it. Today I found out I did.”

  “What? Who?”

  She wanted to tell, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. “Someone out of my past. But he left already. It threw me. That’s all.”

  “Not Jack Davidson.”

  “No. Forget it, Lenore. I just needed a minute. Forget it.” She got up.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Open the door.

  Go into the showroom.

  “Gianni, we still have it. Someone put a hold on it, and she called yesterday to say she didn’t want it. We put it in the stockroom and haven’t put it back on the floor. So it’s yours.”

  “Fantastic. Her loss, my gain.”

  “How’s the house coming?”

  “It’s finished. I’m moving in this weekend. There’s so much to do.” He checked his watch. “Oops, gotta run. I’m meeting with the love of my life tomorrow, and I have lots to do before then. I’m going to convince him to move in with me. I’m sure he will. Wish me luck, Charlotte.”

  “Sure, Gianni. Good luck.”

  “Oh, what days do you deliver?”

  “Fridays only. So let me know when you want the glass.”

  “Will do. Forgot. My house will be in Boston Magazine on the tenth. They’ve done a full feature. I’m having a big party when everything is ready. I’ll send you an invite. Bring a date.”

  “Great. I’d love to come.” But if I’m right, I won’t be bringing a date.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Stripping to Ella

  Charlotte didn’t know what Alex meant by “later.” She knew he had lots on his mind. If she did see him, should she tell him about Gianni Caravelli? Maybe. Maybe not. She could still be wrong.

  Six o’clock. Alex still hadn’t called. As Lenore was leaving, Charlotte asked, “Lenore, can you think of any other architects in town named Johnny besides Caravelli?”

  “You know Gianni is spelled the Italian way.”

  “I know.”

  “Let me think. There’s John Beacham, but I doubt anyone ever called that stuffed shirt Johnny. Oh, and John Clay from Architectural Associates, but he comes in here once a year when he’s doing a show house. I’m sure there are more, but I can’t think of them. Few do interiors, and if they do, they go to the trade showrooms for merchandise. They rarely buy retail, even though you give them a healthy discount. Check the phone book.”

  “I will.”

  “Good night, hon. Got a date tonight with Alex?”

  “No. I’m hanging around.”

  “Well, see you tomorrow.”

  Charlotte locked up and pulled out the phone book.

  Architects. Architects.

  She saw Gianni’s listing in Lexington; then she Googled him. He had done some impressive work. The articles she found mentioned nothing about partners, business or otherwise.

  Why am I looking anyway? If Gianni was Alex’s lover, it was seventeen years ago. Why should I be interested now?

  She turned off the computer and went through the day’s receipts, surprised it had been a better than good day. One of the most profitable days outside the Christmas season. Maybe her weekly ad had something to do with it. Word must have finally spread to the suburbs. Still, for all the good business news, she felt lonely and hated herself for being so needy. After Jack, she had vowed that the new Charlotte wouldn’t sit around and wait for anyone, not even Alex. She went upstairs to call Darcy. She’d called her earlier in the week to find out that her mother was doing fine after a ministroke.

  “How’s your mom doing?”

  “Much better. She’s home and her old cantankerous self. That’s always a good sign. What’s up?”

  “Just calling to see if you’re free for dinner.”

  “Sorry, honey. I have a date. You know, that guy I told you about from legal aid. No money, but he’s cute and nice and not an asshole.”

  “Great, Darcy. Some other night. Call me.”

  “Uh, what happened to the lawyer? I thought you two were hot and heavy.”

  “He had some business tonight, so I’m all alone.”

  “Well, remember, honey, a leopard doesn’t change its spots.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just―oh, nothing. Forget I said it. Gotta run. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Charlotte hung up with an angry streak running through her. Darcy had made up her mind about Alex from the beginning. What kind of lawyer did that without knowing the facts? Well, she was wrong, and Charlotte wouldn’t discuss Alex’s private life to prove it.

  She opened a bottle of cabernet and poured a full glass. She was rummaging through the cupboards for something salty, nuts or chips, when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver, and Alex’s voice flipped her heart.

  “Are you busy?” he asked.

  “No. I’m all by my lonesome, and lonesome.”

  “Can I come over? We can go out to dinner and then make love.”

  “Or we can make love, then go out to dinner.”

  “Better. I’m downstai
rs. Be right up.”

  When he buzzed, she pressed the door latch to let him in. Playfully, she waited for him to get to the door before she opened it. “Are you sure it’s you?”

  “Let’s see. How can I prove it? The Regent, sex, Jacuzzi, sex. Bagel and cream cheese in the morning, no time for sex.”

  “Then I guess it’s you.” She opened the door and threw her arms around him. “I hoped you’d come tonight.”

  “I can’t stay away.” He kissed her, pressing her ass so she mashed tightly against him.

  He wore black jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked like a male model in a glossy cologne ad―the kind where a sexy cowboy is smothered by a gorgeous half-naked model who bragged how his scent captured her.

  He kissed her again. “I missed you. After a long day at my office watching Jack Davidson’s videos and calculating what I have to do tomorrow, I started to lose my concentration when I thought about you.”

  “You look tired. Why don’t you crash on the sofa? I’ll pour you a glass of wine.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Charlotte took a quick sip from her goblet and went into the kitchen to get one for Alex. When she came back, Alex lay stretched on the sofa with his eyes closed. Could he have fallen asleep in such a short time? She sat on the edge of the cushion. He opened his eyes.

  “You are tired.”

  He nodded. “Even though I slept with a luscious babe last night, I got up way too early. You must be tired too.”

  “I slept longer.”

  “Sorry for being such a dud. I should have gone home to bed. I’m usually an eight-hour guy. Burning the candle at both ends is not my style. But I wanted to see you.” He sipped his wine, then set it on the table. He put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him, then kissed her. She kissed him back.

  “If you’d rather go home, I’ll understand.”

  He shook his head. “No, I’d rather be with you, even though I’m not sure I’m up for too much.”

  She stood and moved away. He reached out to grab her, but she dodged his hand. She picked up a fancy lighter from the coffee table, lit half a dozen candles around the room, and then moved to the bookcase and slipped an Ella Fitzgerald CD into the turntable. Her sultry voice purred the Cole Porter song through the speakers. Both the rhythm and words were perfect as she moved sensuously around the room, humming the lyrics.

  “Do I really do something to you?” Alex asked, questioning the first line of the song.

  Charlotte nodded as she unbuttoned her blouse, one slow button at a time, letting it fall off her shoulders to the floor. Then the skirt slithered down, and she stepped out of it.

  Alex’s eyes were riveted on her. “And do I mystify you?”

  “Oh, yes. Totally,” she said. “You’re the most mystifying man I’ve ever known.”

  She stripped down to her panties and bra, rolling her hips to the slow, sensual beat of the music. The panties came off first, and she kicked them out of the way.

  Alex lay watching, alert now. A smile quirked his lips. She removed her bra and tossed it onto Alex’s stomach with a dramatic flourish and noticed his slacks slowly tent. She stood naked before him.

  The combination of Cole Porter’s lyrics and music combined with Ella Fitzgerald’s mellow voice had a stimulating effect on Charlotte too. The music took over, and she fell into the moment, swaying, twirling her fingers around her areolae, exciting her sensitive nipples to arousal. She’d never done anything like this before, and she was enjoying every erotic second of her blatant exhibitionism.

  “I have to say, you’re the one with the power to hypnotize,” Alex said. “In fact, I’m completely in your thrall.”

  She noticed his quite obvious erection now.

  “Do you know how magnificent you look with the copper sunset coming through the windows and candlelight reflecting off the contours of your body? How the creamy white of your breasts is tinted in glorious color?”

  “How poetic, Alex. Now enjoy.” She undid the clasp holding back her hair, then shook it to cascade softly to her shoulders. “How am I doing?”

  Alex’s gaze wandered from her face to her chest to her trimmed mound and down to her toes. He wriggled on the sofa. “I’m wide-awake.”

  He started to say something else, but she moved within his reach and put a finger to his mouth. “Shh.” Lowering onto her knees, she slipped the first button of his shirt through the buttonhole with a slow, deliberate motion, then the next and the next, until she peeled his shirt from his body. She kissed his bare chest, sucking his nipples, working them with her tongue. He made a move to touch her, but she warned him off. He lay still as she removed the rest of his clothes. Her gaze lowered, and she smiled at the obvious success of her performance. His eager cock stood fully erect.

  “This song is perfect because I am under your spell,” Alex said. “Completely and willingly.”

  She straddled him and rubbed his leaking cockhead around her pussy. He got into position and, with his hands on her ass, eased into her with the same slow rhythm as the music.

  “You’re very wet,” he said.

  “I’m very excited.”

  His cock reached deep inside her womb, stimulating the beginning of her orgasm. She marveled at his control. No violent thrusts this time, only the rolling of his hips as he hummed the song along with Ella. The music set the pace, and he kept it slow and steady, controlling the tempo. His hands moved to her hips, rocking her in and out. Then he touched the tips of her nipples so delicately that the erotic sensation shot hard to her clit. Sweat seeped from her pores as the orgasm built. Alex still kept his eyes on hers, only now a smile twitched his dampened lips as his fingertips went from a whisper touch to harder pinching. Her pussy trembled with need, and the surge of her orgasm rumbled from deep inside her. Alex closed his eyes and made a sexy groan in his throat. She felt his hot fluid shoot inside her at the same time she came. She ground her pussy against him, keeping to the rhythm of the music until both had given everything they had to the other.

  She melted into him. Her heart thumped its excitement as she panted for breath. “Porter really knew how to write those love songs, because the words were perfect. You really did do something to me that no one else could do.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair. “Did I?”

  She sighed. “You have no idea.”

  “I liked your striptease. It woke me up.”

  A brief vision of Gianni Caravelli flitted through her mind. If he was the “Johnny” in Alex’s past, the two men must have made some pair. The kind of couple that would make a heterosexual woman say, What a waste. But she wouldn’t bring up the subject. Alex had bared his soul, told his secrets, and shared his life. He trusted her, and now she would trust him.

  “As much as I’d like to spend the night with you,” he said, “I’d better go home and get some sleep. I’m already tired, and there are still a couple of things to tie up for my morning meeting before I can hit the sack. Let’s grab a quick bite at the Thai place. Then I’ll go. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not. I’ll miss you, though. I’m getting used to sleeping next to you.”

  “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Then he voiced the Terminator’s classic line: “I’ll be back.” And they both laughed.

  * * * * *

  Alex drove home in a haze of thought. He dreaded tomorrow on so many levels. First, the business with Jack and Max. His plan of how to settle the problem with Jack made him uncomfortable. Yes, he’d bent the law in the past, always keeping those tricky things he’d done barely this side of legal. A smart attorney could make it go either way, and he was a smart attorney. This time he’d broken the law, flagrantly, and more than once. Something he’d vowed never to do. Worse, he’d brought others into the theft, putting their futures and lives at risk.

  Then he thought of the meeting he’d chosen to keep from Charlotte. He doubted she’d understand. After seventeen years, he didn’t unde
rstand it himself. Maybe he should have told her. He hoped he’d never have to, because it pointed out cold, hard truths about him. Truths he didn’t want to face. But tomorrow he’d be forced to face them straight on. With the man who had changed his life and the way he loved.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Gamble Pays Off

  Alex got to Harbor House early. The doors were unlocked, and one of Max’s people manned the entrance. They didn’t start serving until eleven thirty, so the place was empty. Max was at his usual table reading the newspaper. A cup of coffee and one of Harbor House’s signature pecan rolls sat in front of him. Alex tossed the sack on the table containing the two DVDs they removed from the recorders, plus all the evidence Jeannie Day had stolen from Davidson’s safe. He poured a cup of coffee from the carafe the chef set up on the sideboard. Max was flipping through the papers and photos when Alex sat down.

  “Jesus, these are dynamite. That asshole is worse than I imagined.”

  “My conclusion too. You should see the old tapes, DVDs, and the one we recorded last night of him and your friend Cord.”

  Max laughed. “I bet that’s one for the triple-X flicks.” He searched Alex’s face. “I thought you were kidding when you said you were going after these. So not your style. How’d you get them?”

  “No need for you to know. Do you trust me to clean this up?”

  “Depends.”

  “I think you’ll be happy as far as settling with Davidson, but I want you and Branigan to quit your arrangement. It’s too risky. If Emily Fallon decides to drop a word about what you’re doing to the authorities out of revenge, you two won’t want to have any business together. In fact, I’d tell Branigan to pay her off. Let her keep the damn sports car, the ring, something, or else she could be serious trouble. Break up all your offshore companies. Get the money out from wherever you’ve stashed it. If you still have properties, no matter how well they’re hidden, sell them off; get rid of them. Now. I don’t care how you do it. Don’t wait any longer for the developers. I assume you’ve already made a small fortune. See that they’re untraceable when you unload them. In other words, Max, close down shop. If the authorities know what they’re looking for, they’ll find it. I’ll help if you want. That’s my advice, which is what you pay me the big bucks for. Not that you always take it.”