Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed

by Beth Ciotta

  She’d followed Murphy’s instructions and escaped upstairs, because she didn’t know what to do, what to say. Now she quaked with righteousness and a dozen responses. At the top of the list: “It wasn’t a mistake!”

  If she believed that, then she’d have to believe herself a twisted slut, because more than anything she wanted an instant replay with an alternate ending. Since she’d only ever been with one man, her ex-husband, and since she’d spent the last two years in celibacy, the slut angle didn’t compute. She didn’t want to have mindless sex with just any guy; she wanted to get kinky with Murphy. More than that, she wanted to know Murphy.

  What kind of a man stopped cold in the heat of the moment?

  “I’m supposed to be protecting you, not taking advantage.”

  A man with morals.

  She thunked the heel of her hand to her brow. “I care about you.” Double thunk. Maybe Murphy was relationship material. Her heart swelled as she scrambled to her feet and dug her cell phone out of her poodle purse. She could handle getting to know Murphy, learning what made him tick, but if she was going to get kinky with the man she was going to have to get creative. She punched speed-dial, sighing with relief when Sofie, a notorious late sleeper, actually answered her cell phone. “You okay, Lu?”

  “I’m fine. I just … “ She swallowed her modesty and reluctance to reach out to her little sister. Time to grow up. “I want to screw the bodyguard.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jake unplugged the waffle iron and poured a fresh cup of coffee. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes whipping up Afia’s favorite breakfast and trying not to obsess on that phone call with Murphy. Guaranteed he’d pissed the man off, not that he cared. What he cared about was his friends’ well-being. He wanted to know where and when that sting was going down so that he could make sure Rudy and Jean-Pierre were clear of the fireworks.

  He wanted peace of mind so that he could focus solely on Afia and prepare for a child. Their child. His child. Man, talk about a mindblower. He was dying to tell the world, but Afia had asked him to hold off until after her doctor’s appointment later in the week. She didn’t even want to tell Rudy yet, which told him that, even though she’d mostly conquered her superstitious background, she was afraid of jinxing the pregnancy. “I just want to be extra sure,” she’d said. Jake was already sure, he felt it in his heart, his gut, but hell, if it made her happy, he’d hold quiet. For now. He drank his coffee, the corners of his mouth lifting as he wondered if he’d be shopping for doll houses or Lincoln logs?

  Afia stepped into the kitchen and his joy kicked up a notch. He imagined her with a swelled belly and his heart nearly burst. “You are so damned beautiful.”

  Cheeks flushed, she tossed her poker straight hair over her slight shoulders and glided into the room on designer heels. “This old thing?” she teased, smoothing a hand down her pale blue dress as she beelined for the coffee pot.

  He set aside his mug, nabbed her hand, and tugged her into his arms. “I wasn’t talking about the dress, although it’s nice.” A man would have to be blind not to notice the way it hugged her petite curves. “I was talking about you.” He soaked in her pixie features, those glittering doe-eyes. Oh, yeah, his wife was fashion-model gorgeous, but it was her inner beauty that brought him to his knees. “Have I told you recently that I love you?”

  “I think you mentioned it a dozen or so times between last night and this morning, so, yes.” Laughing, she cradled his face in her hands and gazed tenderly into his eyes. “You’re going to be a total sap over the next several months, aren’t you?”

  “Probably. You can also count on me being a total pain in the ass.” He’d nagged his sister crazy during her difficult pregnancy. With Afia, a former walking magnet for misfortune, the writing was on the wall. He was going to be a first class worrier. “No caffeine.”

  “What?” She scrunched her nose, glanced longingly at the freshly brewed coffee. “Oh, right.”

  “I’ll get you some milk.” He planted a kiss on her pouting mouth then nudged her toward the kitchen table. “Cheer up, sweetheart. I made waffles.”

  She let out a delighted squeal, then glanced at her watch and groaned. “Oh, darn. Wait. I can’t. I’m late.”

  He opened the refrigerator door. “For what?”

  “I have an appointment with Anthony.”

  His hand froze on the milk carton. “Rivelli?”

  “I’m coordinating another benefit. The charity drag show was such a financial success I figured, why reinvent the wheel? Given Anthony’s new job, he not only has access to celebrity drag queens, he can provide the perfect venue, Emerald City.”

  The dinner theater at Oz. Jaw clenched, Jake snagged the milk container off the shelf, careful not to slam the fridge door. Be cool, man.

  “I’m supposed to meet him at Oz in a half hour.”

  “Cancel it.”

  “I can’t.”

  Jake turned and thrust a full glass of milk into Afia’s hand, snagged his cell off the counter. “No problem, babe. I’ll do it for you.” Okay, not so cool, but no way in freakin’ hell was he allowing Afia within ten yards of Oz.

  Wide-eyed, she grabbed the phone out of his hand and placed it on the butcher block alongside her milk. “You have got to get over this grudge against Anthony, Jake. It’s not his fault that his ex-fiancée is a jealous wacko.”

  He resisted the urge to massage his shoulder. The injury had long since healed, but he was a long way from forgiveness. “Ex-fiancée.” He braced his hands on his hips. “You sure about that?”

  Afia matched his stance. Normally he loved it when she stood up to him. But not today. Not now. “He broke up with Angela after she went to prison,” she said. “You know that.”

  “I know what he told reporters.”

  “What are you driving at?”

  He couldn’t tell her that he suspected the Falcones had hired Rivelli as Oz’s entertainment coordinator because he was still involved with Angela—family supporting family. That road led to the FBI investigation. To Bogart and Lulu. It didn’t matter that he had a past beef with Murphy; he’d given the man his word. So he circumvented the question by way of another truth. “I can’t separate Rivelli from Angela, Afia. When I think about how that crazy bitch attacked you …” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just can’t do it, babe. Not yet.”

  Her expression softened. She moved into his arms and hugged him tight. “This particular benefit will raise money for the pediatric ward at the hospital. There was this article in the paper about HIV babies, and well, I went over to visit, and …” Her voice hitched. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think I could talk about it yet without crying.”

  Ah, hell. He rested his chin on her head, smoothed a hand down her tense spine.

  “It’s important, Jake.”

  “Yeah.” He felt sick just thinking about those poor babies. But he still wasn’t willing to put his own wife and child at risk. They’d find another liaison, another venue. Breeching the subject just now might heighten her suspicions so he improvised. He kissed the top of her head, sighed. “Will you do me a favor, Afia? Will you postpone the meeting for a couple of days? Let me get used to the idea of you and Rivelli working together.” In two days the investigation, and with any luck, the Falcones, would be history. If it turned out Rivelli was clean, then he’d be the first to champion his alliance with Afia and her cause. He nuzzled her ear. “I’d really like to spend the day with you, all day—celebrating.”

  Afia tipped her head back, her eyes shimmering. “Using sex to get your way.” She sniffed back tears, smiled. “I like that.”

  Relief blew through him with the force of a cyclone.

  She reached back, unzipped her dress and let it pool at her ankles.

  Jake’s cock hardened as his gaze drifted over her skimpy lace bra and thong and those three-inch heels. “What about your waffles?”

  “Later.” She unfastened his jeans and slid her cool fingers do
wn his briefs. “Right now I’m hungry for something else.”

  “Eggs Florentine. Your specialty.” Jean-Pierre wrapped his arms around Rudy’s waist and kissed the back of his neck. “What is the occasion, Bunny?”

  Rudy turned away from the stove, into his lover’s arms and maneuvered him into a lip lock. He poured his heart into the kiss because he couldn’t give his heart voice. Not yet. He worried that saying the words aloud would somehow cripple the future. More than anything he wanted a future with Jean-Pierre. He’d slept on his candid conversation with Sofie, waking up with a hangover and a smile. He was one lucky son of a bitch.

  When at last he eased away, the younger man gazed up at him with tender regard. “I love you, too, Rudy.” Instead of getting heavy, Jean-Pierre smacked him on the ass. “Your sausage is burning, mon amour.”

  Rudy laughed. “That’s a new one.” But yeah, his dick was on fire for the man in his arms.

  Jean-Pierre grinned, nodded toward the stove. “No seriously.”

  Rudy whirled. “Damn. My sausage is burning.”

  Jean-Pierre laughed. “That is what I said.” He gravitated toward the coffee pot while Rudy salvaged breakfast. “Where is Sofie?”

  “I’m right here.” She schlepped into the kitchen, waving a hand in front of her tearing eyes. “What’s smoking?”

  “Rudy’s sausage,” Jean-Pierre said with an ornery grin.

  Sofie snickered and moved in beside the Frenchman. “Lucky you.”

  “Ah, oui.”

  “Great,” Rudy quipped. “Now I’m living with two smart asses.” He covered the charred low-fat links and looked over at the pair. He smiled as Jean-Pierre passed their gravelly-voiced guest a cup of strong java. Long hair mussed, and clad in a gaping, silk robe that barely concealed her lush curves, Sofie looked like JLo on a very bad day. “You’re not a morning person, are you, sweetie?”

  She shoved her thick locks off her face and smiled. “No, but I am a happy person.”

  Rudy’s brows shot up. “You are?” Last night she’d been the most miserable woman on earth. Had she taken his advice and started her morning with ten-minutes of creative visualization? Visualize what you want. See it. Be it.

  She sipped her coffee. “Lulu called me a few minutes ago.”

  Jean-Pierre frowned. “Is Chaton well?”

  “Sofie wouldn’t be happy if she wasn’t,” Rudy pointed out.

  “She’s better than okay. She’s hot to trot.” Sofie waggled her eyebrows. “She wants to seduce Murphy.”

  Rudy and Jean-Pierre spoke as one. “No way!”

  “Yes, way.” She edged over and sniffed at the Eggs Florentine. “Is that low-fat?”

  Rudy nodded.

  She topped off her cup and headed toward the dining room. “Details over breakfast, boys.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Rudy said to Jean-Pierre. “Night before last, I advised Lulu to open her heart. To take a chance.” He laid aside the spatula, braced a hand on his hip. “Now this.”

  “I am not surprised. You are well-versed in matters of trust and affection.” Jean-Pierre brushed past him with a gentle smile and a light touch. “If only you could practice what you preach.”

  Rudy chewed on that statement all through breakfast. He listened to Sofie talk about Lulu’s infatuation with Murphy, but his mind was on Jean-Pierre. He owed the man the words. Tonight. He’d treat Jean-Pierre to a romantic evening, dinner, dancing, and when the moment was right, he’d bare his soul. “I can do this.”

  Sofie looked up from her plate. “Do what?”

  Had he said that aloud? Damn. “Nothing.”

  Jean-Pierre excused himself, while Sofie finished her meager serving and Rudy contemplated his sanity. A minute later, Jean-Pierre was back with the mail. He tossed all but one letter on the table and returned to his seat.

  Rudy watched with interest as his partner excitedly opened the envelope.

  “It is from my friend, Luc. We moved to America at the same time, although we settled on different coasts.” He glanced over at Rudy. “I told you about him, no?”

  Rudy nodded, a sick feeling swirling in his gut. “The screenwriter.” An old lover.

  Sofie’s ears perked up on that one. “You have a friend in Hollywood?”

  “Los Angeles,” Jean-Pierre said, skimming the note with a smile.

  “Same thing,” Sofie said.

  “Good news?” Rudy asked as casually as possible.

  Jean-Pierre placed a hand over his heart as if to soothe the wild beating. Then he flattened his mouth and folded the letter. “It is nothing. Luc, he is involved with a major film, a musical. He showed the producer some sketches of my work and …” He shrugged, sipped his coffee.

  “And what?” Sofie asked, nearly rocketing out of her chair.

  “The producer liked his work,” Rudy surmised, working his way toward nausea. “As well he should. Jean-Pierre is a genius.”

  His partner blushed. “I am not a genius.” He raked a hand through his shaggy hair. “But oui, the producer liked my work. Luc wants me to fly out and … “ He waved a dismissive hand.

  “You should go.” Rudy nearly choked on the words.

  “Hell, yes, you should go,” Sofie said. “Designing costumes for a major Hollywood movie? It’s a chance of a lifetime! You’d be crazy not to move out there and … “ She stumbled as if suddenly aware of the tension. She glanced from Jean-Pierre to Rudy and back. “Well, it’s certainly a compliment. It’s … “ She moistened her lips. “Do you mind if I jump in the shower first? I’ve got an early shift at the Carnevale.” She didn’t wait for an answer.

  Once alone, Rudy balled his clammy fists in his lap and locked gazes with Jean-Pierre. “Sofie’s right. It’s the chance of a lifetime. I want you to go.”

  Jean-Pierre swallowed, his expression apprehensive. “Will you go with me?”

  And witness first hand your daily interactions with Luc? “LA isn’t my thing. Besides, I have responsibilities here.”

  Jean-Pierre clenched his jaw. “So do I.”

  “It’s not like you’d be gone forever.” Or maybe it would be. His career could take off. He could fall for someone else or reunite with Luc, the artistic, twenty-something bastard. Rudy resisted the urge to massage the fierce ache in his chest. He told himself he was making the supreme sacrifice. Told himself he was doing this because he loved Jean-Pierre. He’d seen the flicker of excitement in his eyes when he’d first read the letter. Deep down he wanted to grab this chance by the balls. “You owe it to yourself to go, honey.”

  “Funny,” Jean-Pierre said as he pushed out of his chair and stormed from the room. “I thought I owed it to myself to stay.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Are you okay?”

  Lulu sat down across the table from Murphy. “I’m fine.” I’m a nervous wreck. But she was also a good actress and a pro at keeping her feelings bottled. Amazing that she’d spilled her guts to her sister. Not so amazing that Sofie had come through with an encouraging smile in her voice and a bold suggestion. She’d been pushing Lulu to get busy with a man, any man, for months. “There is life after Terry,” she was fond of saying. At long last, for Lulu those words rang true. Colin Murphy colored her world with vibrant images of chivalry and adventurous lovemaking. He inspired her to chase after the happily-ever-after she’d dreamed of forever-and-always.

  Embracing Sofie’s fail-proof (at least Sofie assured her it was fail-proof) plan of seduction, Lulu had showered and changed into faded jeans and a fuzzy pink pullover sweater. High on anticipation, she was ready to attack the day and take life by the horns.

  Murphy, on the other hand, looked as though he’d been through hell. Clearly Mr. Moral had been at war with his conscience the past hour. His remorseful gaze and clenched jaw were a dead giveaway. The fierce stubble shadowing his cheeks and the streak of charred residue on his forehead accentuated his current dark and dangerous vibe. All he was missing were the battle fatigues. He looked just a little t
oo sexy for her comfort, seeing as she wasn’t supposed to jump him until later.

  She cleared her throat. “You look like you could use a shower.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I mean …”

  “I know what you mean.” His lips curved briefly, and then flattened into a grim line. “I’m sorry about coming down on you so hard.”

  She poured a bowl of corn flakes. “That’s all right. I had it coming.” She snorted and rolled her eyes to lighten the tone. “I almost burned down your house.”

  “My birth parents, Maureen and Charlie Murphy, died in a fire.”

  Lulu’s head snapped up. She gently set aside the cereal box, her appetite gone. No wonder he’d freaked out. “I’m so sorry. That’s … awful.”

  “I was ten. Bogie, Joe Bogart, was, is my best buddy. We bonded in the first grade. I didn’t have any siblings or cousins, no fawning relatives to speak of, so over the years his place became a second home.” He scraped a hand over his chin, down his neck. “Anyway, that specific weekend Bogie had invited me along for a family camping trip to the Poconos. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t be here now.”

  Lulu swallowed, held her voice steady. “What caused the fire?”

  He leaned in and rested his forearms on the table and clasped his hands. “A faction of the Mafia infiltrated our neighborhood, offered their protection. My Da, an honest, hardworking, and extremely stubborn man, refused to pay. Not only that, he encouraged other area businessmen to resist. The mafia torched my Da’s pub in order to set an example. We lived upstairs, a second floor apartment.”

  Lulu’s stomach churned as her imagination ran rampant.

  Murphy worked his jaw. “According to neighbors, my Da carried my Ma out of the inferno, and then rushed back in for Freddy.”

  “Freddy?”

  “Our cat.” He shook his head, spread his hands. “I know. But Freddy was a part of our family. He was a living creature, and Da considered himself invincible, so I’m sure he thought the rescue would be a cinch.” He looked out the bay window, toward the towering pines. “I’m guessing he succumbed to the smoke or got hit by a falling rafter.”