His Dirty Demands

by Fiona Murphy

  “You were lucky to have family who cared about you.” The words are out before I mean to say them. I’m not a whiner, the past can’t be changed—it is what it is and bitching about it isn’t going to change anything.

  “Have you seen your mother since she left you with your grandmother?” His black eyes are concerned, and I hate it. I don’t like the idea of being pitied.

  “Thankfully, no. She’s tried contacting Bethany through social media, but Bethany blocks her. Even when my grandmother died there was nothing. Probably because she knew she wouldn’t get anything. Not that there was much left when my grandmother died. She made sure of that—there was no way she was going to leave anything behind for me or my sister.”

  “Your grandmother wasn’t kind?”

  I shrug. “My grandmother was an unhappy woman. She felt like everyone did her wrong. She committed the ultimate sin in her family’s eyes by taking up with a Venezuelan professor at the small college she taught at. Only to find the professor had a family back home, and she was pregnant and alone. Oh by the way, the school didn’t want an unmarried pregnant woman working for them.

  “She found a lower-paying job teaching at a public school. Then my mom was a pain since the day she was born, according to my grandmother. Mom was skipping school by fourteen, dropped out by sixteen doing drugs and not coming home. When Mom ran away from home, my grandmother said she was relieved until ten years later my mom showed up on my grandmother’s doorstep. My grandmother said she wasn’t surprised when after spending just one night, my mom snuck out in the middle of the night leaving me and my sister behind.”

  “How did you live before you landed on your grandmother’s doorstep?”

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head. For me there was only the time after we moved in with my grandmother. The years before were too painful to recall and thankfully Bethany has no memory of it. “I don’t want to talk about it. We survived, some days were better than others.”

  Cesare is still as a statue. I don’t think he’s even breathing. “Were you hurt?” The words are an exhalation of breath.

  My own eyes go wide. I know what he’s asking. I shake my head, refusing to remember the close calls, the night I kicked and screamed until my mother came running into the room only to be slapped by her for “teasing” the man. Or the other nights when I locked Bethany and me in our room with a chair under the doorknob to keep men out.

  I’m saved by the waiter asking how our meal is. I assure him it’s wonderful. He takes the time to fill my wineglass then swirls it for me. Bemused, I sip cautiously. Oh, it tastes a little oaky, not enough to be bad. I cut into the steak, chewing slowly, then swallow and sip again. Now I get it. After the slight wood-grilled flavor of the steak, the wine complements it all.

  For a while, we concentrate on our food, which I will admit to being the best thing I’m pretty sure I’ve ever tasted. Even though I never ordered it, the waiter comes back with a small bowl of blackberry sorbet for both Cesare and me that is to die for. I groan a little bit and eat the whole thing even though I only intended a few bites not to be rude.

  “What about your father?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know who my father is. There’s no name on my birth certificate and my mom said she had no idea who it could be, which I believe. Around the time she got pregnant with Bethany there were three different men she brought to the apartment.

  “A few years ago Bethany got curious and got one of those DNA kits. I really didn’t want to do it, but she was scared of doing it alone. Neither one of found relatives closer than fourth or fifth cousins. My DNA showed my father’s family was from the Jalisco region of Mexico. Bethany’s dad was from the Nuevo Leon region of Mexico. So my mom had a thing for Latin men, which I do remember many of the men being, although from time to time she would bring home a pale white guy in khakis and a checkered shirt and glasses. But they always bored her.”

  “It must have been difficult to be so alone. You have done well for yourself. How did you come to making quilts?”

  “I started from watching my grandmother. When she was making a quilt, it was as close to happy as she ever got. At first, she barely let me help with even the smallest thing. Gradually though, she saw me trying to make my own small quilt. She pointed out everything wrong I was doing until I was on the verge of tears, then out of nowhere told me it looked good for a first try.”

  “I’ve heard be careful of selling something you take enjoyment in, that it ruins it.” It’s weird how he makes questions out of statements.

  “Maybe. In the beginning, it was all work. There were times I was making what I thought were just the ugliest quilts that were a waste of my time and skill. Then I would deliver them, and the praise would be effusive and glowing. Also, I like creating something that people will use for years, and maybe even their children or whoever they pass it on to.

  “It’s also a great stress reliever—the time it takes to plan then gather the fabric, cut then slowly watch it come together. It can be very soothing. Of course, there are moments and some quilts when it feels like nothing is going to plan and I want to start all over again.” I shrug. “I don’t know. I get more enjoyment out of it then if I were waiting tables or something like that.”

  “You’re responsible for all your sister’s cost of living? Does she not have a job?”

  I bristle at what sounds like censure. “It’s the way I want it. The program Bethany is in is very intense. For me, it’s far more important she focus on school than worrying about getting enough hours to cover what school doesn’t. And the state does cover her undergrad like it did mine because we were foster kids. But we can’t get loans or anything because of my mother’s messing our credit up. Besides, it’s better this way—she’ll graduate without owing her life. It will free her up to pick a place she wants to be, not where she needs to go to pay bills.”

  He nods. “Dante says she is studying to be a physician assistant. Why not continue onto medical school?”

  “Because one takes six years and the other twelve. She liked the idea of being able to work in clinics that can’t afford doctors. When she was young, she was always sick. The physician assistant at the clinic we went to made a huge impression on her. She knew what she wanted since she was young. I want to help her get there.” Slowly sounds are getting louder, and I realize it’s late. We are the only table left in the back. “I didn’t realize we were shutting the place down.”

  Looking around, he nods. “I guess we are.” Seconds later, the waiter is back with the bill. Cesare slides a card into the black holder then gives it back. He pulls out his phone to let the driver know we’ll be right out.

  “I’ll be right back, sir.”

  I barely have time to get nervous before the waiter is back with the bill. As I stand, I’m grateful for my straight back as I head toward the front of the restaurant. There’s only one other table left as we make our way to the front. I feel Cesare behind me. Back in the warm coat, I don’t bother buttoning it—simply tying it closed as I make my way outside.

  The drive home is too fast. Cesare doesn’t say a word the whole way there. Tension is rising inside me slowly. Something twists low as the limo draws up outside my building. It’s a four-story brick walk-up in the Wrigley Park area. The building is better than I could ever have afforded if it wasn’t for the owner of the condo, who only charges her monthly payment with maintenance fees.

  Everyone here is nice and looks out for each other. There are only about thirty or so people with some of the condos being bought to make larger homes, taking it from the one-bedroom, one-bedroom with offices, and two-bedrooms into larger three-bedrooms because they love the building so much they didn’t want to leave.

  “I’ll see Ms. Jeffries up to her apartment, Daniel. Give me a few minutes.”

  “You don’t have to.” I’m embarrassed at him seeing my small apartment that until Bethany went to school fit both of us tightly.

  “I know I don’t. However, it is
how I end the night with any woman, Hannah included if you feel the need to remark upon it to Dante.” His voice is drier than the Sahara.

  Fine. Jerk. I open the first door that opens to a vestibule for someone to call up to the apartment they want so the lock can be released by the press of a button in our apartment. Unlocking the door is something that needs to be done with a wiggle of the key.

  Cesare frowns. “That should be repaired.”

  Rolling my eyes. “It’s not a big deal, there are other things that are more important.” My apartment is on the second floor. Once again he’s at my back, and even though with his long legs he could eat up the floor in a few strides he gives me space as I fight not to struggle for air on the stairs. My knee twinges like it always does on the last few steps.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I have a bum knee, it’s nothing.” I’m overheated. Without thinking I untie the coat as I make my way to my door, unlocking it before I turn to tell him goodbye. He hasn’t moved from the top of the stairs—he’s almost twenty feet from me. God, he’s so still. For a moment I can barely tell he’s breathing. Is it the way he’s so cold that makes me lash out? I don’t know; what I meant to say was thank you for a surprisingly nice evening. What comes out is, “You really aren’t going to say anything about the dress?”

  Oh my, I have truly poked the bear. A growl comes from him, low and guttural. I blink, and he’s in front of me, pushing me back against the door with his body. That can’t be what I think it is, then he moves, and oh my god it is. Holy crap, I blush at the way my body floods to prepare to take him inside even though I haven’t the faintest idea if he could fit. One large hand is burning me through the dress on my left hip, the other is around the back of my neck, lifting me up to him. His touch on my skin burns hot as any brand, marking me as his. Blacker than black his eyes swallow me whole as heat sweeps over me down to my toes.

  “You want me to say something, Alicia? You want me to say you are so beautiful you make my entire body ache and my cock so fucking hard I swear the lightest touch would break me? You want me to say that the moment you took off your coat, I wanted to take you like an animal on the floor right where we both stood because my blood called for you? Do you want me to say that every time you chewed on that bottom lip of yours tonight, I wondered what your mouth would look like stretched around my cock?

  “Or that the first time I saw you I wanted to fuck you up against the wall of the elevator, your legs wrapped around my waist and me sucking on that bottom lip as I fucked you hard and rough. That last night I dreamed of doing just that as I have several times since that first moment I saw you. Is that what you want me to say? It’s true, every fucking word and so many more.”

  Oh god, so dirty, so hot, so fucking unbelievable, except I don’t doubt him for a second as he’s practically vibrating leased emotion. His words have melted every bone in my body, causing me to sink into him. The hand at the back of my throat tightens. I’m plastered against him, it’s my every dream come true and better than any I ever imagined it.

  Yet fear mingles deep inside, not of him despite his almost feral behavior. The fear is of me, from me, how much I want him, want this moment to never end. “I don’t know.” I’m not even aware the words come out of me in a shaky whisper. I hear them from far away. Instantly, Cesare lets me go. My knees give way, and he catches my arm in a hard grasp to keep me standing. I grab the doorframe, embarrassed.

  “Once you know, then we can go from there.” I blink, and he’s gone. His steps echo on the stairs.

  Well, now I know what Cesare Sabatini wants. But what the hell do I want?

  6

  Cesare

  Slamming into the car, I order Daniel to take me home. Christ, I’m still shaking from need. Why the fuck did I let her push me into giving voice to my desire? All night she had been asking for it, begging for it. Prodding and poking for a reaction, even though she had no idea what she was asking for.

  I tried, damn it. I really tried. The cigar was nothing more than prevarication to annoy her, to keep her at a distance, to keep my hands from reaching for her and...fuck, I don’t even know.

  While I was annoyed by Billings being too drunk to join us, I saw the evening as nothing more than a means to find out more about Alicia Jeffries, to find out what it was about her that drew me to her. A good dinner, hopefully, pleasant company, nothing more. Then she opened the coat. How I stayed standing, I don’t know. I’ve been hit in the temple by a guy twice my size with a fist the size of my head, and I swear I don’t think I was more stunned from the hit than I was at the sight of her.

  Even now need is clawing at me. I hadn’t lied, I wanted to take her then and there without any preliminaries, raw, like the animal she was turning me into. This carnal need isn’t me. It’s never been me, and I resent the fuck out of Alicia Jeffries for what she’s doing to me.

  I’ve barely closed my door before it opens again. Considering there’s a doorman and you need an electronic key card to get to this floor where only my and Dante’s condos inhabit the space, I don’t bother locking the door. I’m starting tonight, though.

  “You’re home late. It’s almost eleven thirty,” Dante taunts as he hops on the bar separating the living room from the kitchen. After the foyer, the whole place is open plan from the kitchen to the living room to a massive dining room.

  “I’ve been home later than this for client meetings.” I pull off the suit jacket, tossing it onto the long leather sofa. The fucker laughs. How he knew, I don’t want to know. The cuff links come off easily, and I slide them into my pockets as I roll my sleeves back.

  “Except this wasn’t a client meeting. This was just you and Ms. Jeffries out to dinner. Imagine my surprise when I stopped by to make sure I didn’t need to protect Ms. Jeffries from you, and I saw her so enraptured in whatever you were saying she didn’t notice a single thing around her. Or the way you didn’t notice I was in the room either. Seeing as how you are home before midnight, I know how it didn’t go. I can keep my assistant for a while longer, but how much longer?”

  Fuck, maybe if I’m honest he’ll let it go. I slump into the normally comfortable sofa. “It’s not happening. She doesn’t know what she wants. Which means she doesn’t want me. Which means, it’s not happening.”

  I allow my head to fall back to search the ceiling. Nope, no answers there either. Dante’s quiet for so long I wonder if the asshole has lost his voice. I turn to see he’s hopped off the bar and is leaning against it thoughtfully, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, the only thing he’s wearing. “She’s a virgin.”

  Goddamnit. I close my eyes as I go through every second of the evening, which adds up to Dante’s words not being some sick joke. So many things make sense. Christ, I need to get drunk.

  I had no idea I spoke aloud until Dante sighs. “It’s not bad enough to get drunk over.”

  “Bullshit, or you would have told me sooner.” I’m up and heading for the bar. Fuck wine, I grab the bottle of Macallan that a decade ago I would have winced at the price of and take a nice, deep burning swallow.

  “Che, come on.”

  “No, no Che come on. No, whatever it was, it’s over. Virgins, they want more. They want forever and things I can’t give. I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve those things, fuck, she deserves everything she wants, but I’m not the one to give it to her.” I take another swallow of the scotch, thankful for the burn, for the fire that follows to warm me up because I’m afraid of the cold that threatens to take me over.

  ***

  Alicia

  I’m lying on my bed, still in the damn dress I’m going to burn, with my mind spinning when my cell phone rings. There’s only one person who could be calling this late. I scramble for my phone as perturbed Grover makes it clear he’s not happy about being woken up.

  “Hey, what’s up? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m feeling a little burned out from studying. I thought I’d see how the new job is
going.”

  I blink, not even knowing what to say. “Fine, good. It’s good.”

  Bethany is quiet for so long I check to see if the call dropped. “What’s the matter?”

  The seriousness in her voice gets to me. No one has ever asked me that question before, not even Bethany. It all comes tumbling out, from those first few moments in the elevator to the agony of what happened outside my door.

  “Wow. I don’t even know what to say. Are you absolutely sure he’s like not ever going to give in on the long-term thing?”

  “You tell me. A guy who has managed to make it from a street fighter to a multi-billionaire in less than twenty years because of a single-minded determination is going to suddenly change his mind for a fat, nobody personal assistant who works for his brother.”

  “Oh my god, why do you do that? Why do you always put yourself down? Okay, I get Mom and Granny weren’t the best at building your self-confidence, but you are awesome. I wish just once you could see yourself the way I see you. You are pretty. Guys check you out, you just ignore them, you don’t even see it. You are nice, kind, not just smart but intelligent. Your mind works to understand concepts some of the people I’m working with can’t grasp. You’re funny, okay, you have a temper that scares me a little, and sometimes you have the patience of a saint and other times none at all but still, you are an amazing person, and Cesare Sabatini would be the one coming out ahead. The thing is, I think he knows that, or else he wouldn’t have left you like he did.”