Footsteps

by Susan Fanetti

  “What? Is he threatening you? Is there a way I can help you?”

  “No—you don’t understand. You must help you. I’m sorry. He knows you. He did not like what you did at the gala. He will not think what you did for me last night is so harmless. He…he is vindictive. And very powerful. If he thinks…I’m so sorry. I wanted you to know quickly, so you could help yourself. Maybe not be in such trouble. I’ll go now.”

  She rose, and he did as well. “No! No, Bina. Stay. I can’t let you go off if there’s trouble out there for you. Talk to me about this.”

  Her hackles went up a little at his statement that he couldn’t ‘let’ her, but his expression softened those words so that she didn’t take too much offense. In fact, she felt calmer in general than she’d expected, and her joints felt oddly warm and tingly. She’d finished her beer. Could it be that? No, that was silly. She’d had one beer only. “There’s nothing to be done. It’s not a concern for you, Carlo. I’m only sorry if I cause you trouble. Thank you for being kind. Goodbye.”

  She turned and headed back toward the building. Carlo was right behind her; she could sense him. But instead of grabbing her, he simply brushed his fingers down her arm. Gooseflesh rose in the wake of his touch. “Bina, wait. Please.”

  He’d said her name, that name, often enough now that when she called the word to mind, she could hear it in his voice. She stopped and turned. “Why? Why do I wait?”

  Now he took her hand, and he led her back to their table. “I don’t know. But you’ve made me worried. And you’ve made me care. I would like to talk some more, if you will.” This time, after he coaxed her to sit again, he sat on the same side, straddling the bench and facing her.

  “You should not. We should not.”

  “Should not what? You feel it, too. Right?”

  No. That was the word she should say now. But he was still holding her hand—she’d forgotten to take it away from him. And he was sitting so close, staring at her with such a face that she couldn’t tell him no. She didn’t want to tell him no.

  She wanted him to kiss her.

  But that was absurdly stupid. Or was it? Did it matter? Yes, it did. Not for her, but for him. Her fate was likely sealed already. But James would not rest until Carlo was at least ruined. Possibly dead. No one took James Auberon’s things from him, whether he wanted them himself or not.

  “You don’t understand the things that James can do. That he would do. There’s no matter if I feel this ‘it’ you say.”

  His eyes flared. “Bina, he’s only a man.”

  She smiled sadly and took her hand from his. “You show me how much you don’t know. He is more than a man. He is a monster.”

  “Then I really can’t let you go back to that.”

  This time her hackles went up more. “It’s not a choice for you. There are too many men already who make choices for me.” She moved again to stand, but stopped when he laid his hand lightly on her leg.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He sighed and looked down at the bench between them. She had the sense that he was gathering his thoughts, and when he lifted his eyes again, she knew that was what he had done. “I told you last night that I was divorced—that my marriage was annulled. She left me. And Trey. For another man. I was blindsided and furious. I loved her. But I didn’t fight her, not after the first shock. I only asked that she didn’t fight the annulment. She gave me everything anyway. She didn’t want custody or visitation, she didn’t want anything but away from us. And I still don’t know why, except she loved someone else more than me or our son. It was the worst betrayal I’ve ever known. If someone would have told me last week that I would be sitting here having this conversation, thinking about being with a married woman, even imagining it, much less considering it, I likely would have punched him.”

  What he was telling her, that a woman had willfully left her child—that beautiful, precious boy she’d met this morning—and this man, it shocked her too much to process. She had no words with which to form a response to that. So she landed on a precise detail of particular significance to her. “Is that a thing you do? Punch?” James had never used his fists. He was not a brute; he was a demon. His tortures were much more elaborate and sophisticated. But still the thought of a violent man gave her pause.

  At her question, his brows drew together and then relaxed. “Not—not often.” He took her hand again. “And never a woman. Never.”

  What were they doing? This was madness. But her fingers twined around his without her even willing it, and she felt a small peace in the way he reacted to her reciprocating his touch. His hand held hers a little more tightly, and his expression eased into something hopeful.

  Still, what they seemed to be considering without actually discussing was not so easily done. “I’m not a married woman only. I am his married woman. There is risk, much risk, and we only know of each other a little. It would go harder for you, maybe, than for me.”

  He shifted more closely to her. Now his knees pressed lightly against her leg. “You asked me if I knew your husband. Do you know my family?”

  “Yes, a little. By reputation.”

  He smiled. “I think that reputation has the soft focus.”

  She heard her own words turned back to her, and she smiled a little. “You mock me, I think. My words.”

  “Tease, not mock. And only a little. I like your words.” He leaned in; she could feel his breath. “Bina. This isn’t smart. I know. It doesn’t make sense. I know that, too. But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I’m worried about you. You don’t like it when I say I can’t let you go back. Is this better? I’m not a man who can turn my back.”

  “Is that it, then? You wish to be my hero on the white horse?” Again, she pulled from his touch. This time, though, he held on.

  “No. I wish to get to know you. I like the way I feel when I think about you. I wasn’t sure I’d feel it ever again. And I can’t just pretend you’re okay. Maybe I’m someone who can take him on.”

  “You’re not. No one is.”

  “Bina. Let me try.”

  He was wrong. He would only hurt himself by trying; he would not help her. He could not. She should untangle her hand from his and go. It was the only wise move, the only possible way to mitigate suffering.

  But her blood danced with him so close—and his words, his voice a deep caress, soothed her. As did his warm, large, rough hand holding hers. She felt more aroused than she had since James had dropped his pretense and she had become his toy more than his wife.

  And, ironically, sitting here, with Carlo’s body nearly surrounding hers, she felt safe.

  So she nodded, and when his head moved toward hers, she leaned into his kiss.

  ~ 7 ~

  Her lips were soft and supple, and though she held her body stiffly, she had leaned toward him. The impression he had was of inexperience, as if she was not quite sure what to do. That made no sense, but Carlo was charmed nonetheless. Everything about Bina charmed him.

  He thought he’d lied a little to her, just now. He thought he did want to be her ‘hero on the white horse.’ That was stupid and dangerous, and she was right—he should have let her go. Instead, he put his hand up and cradled her face, holding her to him, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, a musical sound that vibrated all through him, and he put his other arm around her waist and drew her closer. Her body relaxed into his embrace, and her hands came up and rested on his shoulders. Overwhelmed by feeling and sensation, his mind spinning like a top, he groaned.

  When he and Trey had come home from the Cove the evening following his third birthday party and found Jenny gone from their lives, Carlo had first been stunned into inertia and disbelief. Then he’d gone through the cycle, the rage, the depression, the denial—several times each—and had, for himself, eventually come to resignation. Not for Trey, though. For Trey, he would only have rage. His son had been abandoned by the woman who’d given him life, at whose breast he’d
taken sustenance for his first year. Carlo would never be resigned to that. It was that betrayal, not the one he himself had suffered, that had kept him shut down, shuttered and dark, uninterested in making a new connection with any other woman. With any other person, really.

  He’d expected that to be true forever. Or at least until Trey was grown. His son seemed fine—he seemed, in fact, to have all but forgotten his mother, nine months since she’d left. After a few weeks of confusion and pining, Trey had woken one morning and not asked for Mommy, and thereafter he’d quickly returned to his normal, ebullient self. But Carlo would never forget the way his son, only three years old, had struggled to remake his world without his mother in it, and he had no intention of exposing him to the possibility of that kind of trauma again. He wanted no new woman in his son’s life.

  He’d been sure that was true. In the past couple of months, his sexual need had returned, and often with a vengeance, but he’d been working his way to the idea of hooking up. Taking a page from Luca’s playbook. Or Peter’s. Not connecting, simply enjoying. He hadn’t quite gotten there yet. It flew against his nature, really. But he’d been growing lonely. Physically.

  And then he’d met Sabina Alonzo. Sabina Alonzo-Auberon. A married woman. She was quickly becoming nearly all he could think about. Since that morning, watching how easy and kind she’d been with Trey, he’d thought of little else. And then she’d called him. When Rosa had summoned him to the phone, he’d felt like a fucking teenager getting a call from the hottest, most popular girl in school.

  She was beautiful and sweet, and there was a fire in her eyes that spoke of strength and intelligence that had been stymied in the life she was living. She was trapped somehow, caged by a man she called a monster. She needed him, and he responded to that with every part of his body and his mind.

  Jesus, he’d just offered to use his family to take on James Auberon for her. A woman he’d met two days ago. Not once had he ever asked the Uncles for help, or accepted it when they’d offered. To do that would mean becoming tangled in that part of the family.

  For a woman he’d just met? Ludicrous. Or did it not matter how well he knew her? She needed help. What kind of man—what kind of person—would he be to turn his back on that, even if he weren’t so on fire for her he was shaking?

  And he was shaking. He wanted her, wanted her badly. Was it merely physical? Was his growing need and her tremendous beauty creating a cocktail of insanity? He didn’t know, but he felt better—more alive, more powerful, happier, in this moment, holding her, kissing her, than he had since months before Jenny had run away from him.

  Her tongue was moving with his now, sharing a lithe caress. He was keenly aware that it was ridiculous, but his impression remained that she was learning as she went. If it was, somehow, true, she was a very quick study, and he thought he’d go mad from need. His cock ached and strained against the confines of his jeans.

  And then she pushed him away. He felt the pressure of her hands on his shoulders first, pushing, but not hard. Then she tipped her head down, away from his lips, but not away from him. She brushed her cheek against his.

  “No. We can’t. Carlo, we can’t.”

  God, the way she said his name. Her tongue massaged it, turning the R into its own syllable. He could listen to her say that one word forever. The thought of her saying it in passion, as he was inside her, bringing her to ecstasy, had kept him awake most of the night, and most likely would again tonight.

  He didn’t want to hear that they couldn’t go farther, but he knew she was right. Moreover, he knew that he couldn’t go farther as things were now and live with himself in the long run. And even more: if he did intend to go to his Uncle Ben and ask for his help, then his case would be immeasurably stronger if he had not cuckolded another man. Beniamino Pagano had rigid ideas about honor and morality, and he would denounce any man, family or not, who knew another man’s wife carnally. Even if she had made the break, Uncle Ben would look askance at a relationship that happened before her marriage was ended. But he would have no patience at all for full-bore adultery, regardless of the circumstances of the marriage.

  Gasping, he kissed her again, chastely, so that she didn’t pull farther away. “I know. Not yet. We can’t yet. But Bina, I want you. God, I can barely think of anything else.”

  Now she pushed harder on his shoulders and shrank back from him. “No. I don’t want you to say that. Don’t, please, tell me that you are obsessed. Please, that is not…is not a way to be good. That is the trap I’m in now already. Please.”

  She was tense and trembling now in his arms, pushing away, no longer the pliant, hopeful lover she’d been during their kiss. And he understood.

  “No—Bina, no. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you.” He sat back, releasing her, feeling a sharp sense of loss when she sat away and straightened into a perfect, rigid posture.

  He had no way of sorting out how she was tangling him up with her husband right now. In these brief seconds that they’d become closer, he’d felt that what Auberon had done to her was deeper and more complex than simple abuse and control. And he’d inadvertently played into that. To reassure her would require a conversation he was incapable of having now, with his pulse pounding and his cock throbbing. So he turned his focus to the immediately practical matters.

  “You can’t go back to that house. We need to find somewhere for you to go.”

  In a clear sign of irritation, she huffed and met his eyes. As irritated as she now obviously was, Carlo could see that she, too, had been profoundly affected by their kiss. “I must go back. There is no choice.”

  “He’s having you followed. You’re not safe there.”

  “Because I’m followed, I must go back. He will know if I don’t, and then his plan will change. I need time.”

  “Plan? What plan?”

  At his question, her eyes widened, and he knew that she had said more than she’d meant to. “It’s no matter. But I must go back. We will…meet more, if you wish.” Again, she moved to rise, and again, he held her back.

  “Bina, what plan?”

  The silence of her hesitation stretched out into awkwardness. Carlo tried to read the storm in her eyes and predict what she might say, or understand what she would not, but her turmoil was too strong.

  She swallowed, at last, and licked her lips, the tongue that had writhed with his coming out to leave a sultry shine. “He intends, I think, to kill me. For one of his people to…soon, I think. I’m sure.” Her eyes dropped away from his.

  Carlo was surprised by how little that surprised him. He didn’t think for an instant to doubt her. What caught his attention more was that she would go back even as he was offering to help her find an option. With a finger under her chin, he lifted her face gently so that he could look into her eyes again. “You know this? And you’re still going back?”

  “Yes. Now. So that he has no more suspicion than already he has. But I will see you again?” She stood, and this time he didn’t hold her back. Somehow, he knew he shouldn’t.

  “Yes, you will. But Bina—”

  “Carlo.” She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, and then she simply turned and left.

  ~oOo~

  He’d let her go, but he was worried. She’d said she was being followed, she’d said she was sure her husband planned to have her killed, and yet he’d let her go.

  There’d been no choice. She was skittish when he tried to take the lead; even when he’d tried to hold her back from a fall, she’d torn herself away from him, and he’d known he’d pushed too often against that boundary when they’d spoken at Quinn’s. She’d said it outright—she was already controlled too much. Every time he’d tried to persuade her, she felt controlled, and then she saw him in Auberon’s light. So he’d let her go.