DARIO
Dario leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and listening to the floor manager go through pre-shift. As the woman spoke, he let his eyes drift over the assistant managers, assessing each one as he moved. There was a position opening up at the north location, and he wanted to promote from within.
Against his thigh, his phone vibrated. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the cell, swallowing a smile as he saw the text notification from Bell.
—I can’t stop thinking about your cock
Jesus. A groan slipped out of his mouth, and he coughed to cover the sound, making eye contact with the manager before stepping away, out the side door and down the hall.
He moved briskly, his head down, fingers on the screen.
Tell me.
This hall was too long, his office too far. He jogged up the back stairs, nodding to employees as he passed, and shoved open the door, moving down the gilded hallway of the executive level.
His receptionist rose at his approach, and Dario cut off his greeting with a terse shake of his head. “Not now. And no interruptions.”
The receptionist nodded, lowering himself back into the chair, and Dario could die in his office of starvation before the man would open the door. That was the benefit of hiring the right people and training them properly. They stood, jumped, sat and stayed where you told them to. They kept their mouth shut and didn’t see anything. They refused bribes and were paid handsomely as a result.
Dario shut his office door and placed the call.
“Hey.” She sounded lazy, as if she hadn’t yet gotten out of bed.
“You were thinking about my cock?”
She sighed, and there was the rustle of fabric against the phone. “Yep.”
“I’m going to need more information.” He sat down at his desk, his dick already half-hard from her text. Now, with her voice, the soft huff of her breath … he imagined her in her bed, naked, her dark hair messy, eyes hooded, hands running over stiff nipples and in between her thighs.
“I don’t think I’ve experienced its full potential.”
He had to chuckle at that. “No. You haven’t.”
“I’d like to.”
He glanced at the clock and tried to place her schedule. “Shouldn’t you be in class pretty soon?”
“I’ll leave in a few minutes. Right now, I really wish you were here.” She huffed out a breath and he imagined the sensation along the ridges of his cock, her hands sliding along his thighs, her eyes on him, her lips wet, tongue darting out. He thought of how she had licked his length, the way she had grinned, the flick of her tongue, her capable grip.
Maybe it was the distraction, the idea of her mouth, her body, the possibilities, but he told her the truth. “I don’t know what to do with you, Bell.”
“What do you mean?”
He should change the subject. Evade. Redirect her attention to the organ between his legs that was screaming for release. Instead, he continued down the path of destruction. “Our relationship is a risk to my marriage.”
The lazy drawl dropped from her voice and it sharpened into steel. “First off, we aren’t yet in a relationship. Second, I thought you had some arrangement with her. Your waitress, your mistress—”
“I didn’t care about them.”
He interrupted her, his words hardening, his arousal fading. A shame, since that’s what this was supposed to be. Fucking arousal. Bell was supposed to be a piece of ass. A piece of ass that showed up and sat and bent over where he told her to. A pretty face, nice ass, and entertaining mouth, like all of the others. She was meant to be like the others, yet hadn’t been. From the very beginning, she had flipped that possibility on its head. How?
He was suddenly mad without reason, his earlier realizations coming back stronger and sharper, their negatives all he could think about in the wave of fear. She might break him. Ruin everything for Gwen. Lose everything they’d fought so hard to have.
“So, because you care about me … that’s why I’m a problem for you?”
“Yes. It’s not that complicated of a fucking concept.” He growled the words with a ferocity that few women had seen and pushed himself to his feet.
“Well, join the fucking club! You think I want to like you? You think I want to be sitting here, all swoony-eyed, unable to get you out of my fucking head?”
He took a deep breath at her words. This was, without a doubt, the most fucked-up argument on the planet.
He should have become a fucking choir boy when he married Gwen. He should have become abstinent and not dipped his cock into whatever woman caught his eye and risked falling into love.
Not that this was love. It couldn’t be, not this soon. She was a liability, and he was the king of this town. Any spark between them would trigger a bomb, one with Robert Hawk’s name on it. Any love between them would only end in tragedy, the sort that involved body bags and evidence lockers.
He’d been stupid. Egotistic. Cocky. He’d thought with his dick and his heart, and not his brain.
He ended the call before he did any more damage.
Nineteen
DARIO
“You’ve got to do something about these sluts.”
Dario pulled apart the roll, steam breaking free and curling into the air. He reached for the butter and ignored the comment from Robert Hawk.
“They’re all over the bar at The Majestic. We’re not running a brothel, Dario.”
He looked up, meeting the older man’s sharp eyes. “They aren’t prostitutes, Robert. They’re models. We’re strict with them on that.”
Which wasn’t to say they didn’t have a stable of escorts. Two percent of last year’s bottom line had come from those girls. But that was run through a separate corporation, one that Robert Hawk didn’t have his fingers in.
“I don’t care if they’re models. They don’t belong in my casino. The men are here to play, not get distracted by skirts short enough to show their pussies.” The man snorted and lifted his glass, glaring at their waiter.
“You aren’t supposed to be at The Majestic.” Dario kept his voice mild but pinned the man with a look capable of breaking glass. “We have an agreement, one that doesn’t involve you harassing our employees or our guests.”
“I wasn’t harassing anyone.” The man sat back, shoving his glass to the side and waiting as a fresh whiskey was set down. “And it’s my damn casino. What’s the point of having one if I can’t check in on it?”
He lifted the whiskey and paused, pointing his finger in Dario’s direction. “You think you can do whatever you want, without me checking on my investment? It doesn’t work like that.”
“Your investment has tripled in value since I stepped in.” Dario cut a wedge of steak and stabbed it with his fork. “I’m not going to measure dicks with you, Robert. Just stay out of the casinos and count your millions at the end of each month.” He lifted the piece of meat to his mouth. “How’s the horse business?”
“Fuck the horses. I killed one last week. Damn thing came up limping. Worst business to be in.”
Dario took a sip of ice water. “You seem to enjoy it.”
“I enjoy winning. The rest is bullshit, a complete waste of time and money. Speaking of which, how’s my little girl?”
It was interesting, the way that Hawk viewed his only daughter. A waste of time and money was one end of his emotional spectrum toward Gwen. The other end was a maniacal possessive pride, one that insisted his daughter succeed in everything, yet never move more than a step from his control. It had taken three years and delicate maneuvering to engineer the marriage between them and the manipulation of Robert Hawk. It had been the most difficult business deal Dario had ever entered into. A business deal still very much in play.
Dario finished chewing and swallowed. “She’s good. Spent last weekend at the ranch.”
“I keep waiting for a grandchild. I’m going to be hobbling around on a walker at the current pace of your dick.”
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Hawk would be dead in the ground before Gwen ever brought a child into the world. She had a hormone implant that guaranteed that.
Dario shrugged. “We’re trying. I’ve told you before about her doctor’s report.”
Robert Hawk looked away, the mention of the doctor’s report ending the conversation as quickly as it had started. There was no doctor’s report, at least not one that verified Gwen’s concerns. She hadn’t checked to see her fertility feasibility but they both doubted her ability to carry a child. Those three weeks in Mexico, the things that had been done to her twelve-year-old body…
Dario’s stomach clenched and, for the hundredth time, he considered killing the man. “Maybe you should have thought about your future grandchildren when she was in Mexico.”
The words hung between them, and Hawk’s eyes sparked with anger, a flash of rage that was quickly buttoned down and tucked away for later. Dario often wondered what happened after their meetings, if all of Dario’s pokes exploded out of Robert Hawk and onto an innocent victim. He often wondered if he should think less and shut his mouth more.
But he couldn’t keep silent about some things. Hawk’s refusal to pay a million-dollar ransom had led to Mexican kidnappers savaging his daughter. Dario had been the one to avenge that crime. It’d taken three months in that sweat-filled country to track down the assholes, ones who’d barely remembered the event until he’d reminded them. By the end of the trip, they’d remembered everything and burned and bled their way into hell.
It had felt good. It had made Gwen happy, but hadn’t brought back her innocence. Just like his recent activities hadn’t brought back Bell’s. Was it a coincidence that both of these women had such brutal pasts? Maybe that psychiatrist from Sacramento had been right, the one who had gotten drunk on mojitos and analyzed him over nachos and salsa in that airport lounge. Maybe he did have a white knight syndrome.
“You don’t know anything about Mexico. And I’m not talking to you about it here. It’s none of your goddamn business.”
“She’s my wife. It’s always my goddamn business.” Dario spoke calmly, lifting the napkin and wiping his mouth. Balling up the fabric, he tossed it on the table. It landed next to his phone, which buzzed to life, the display lighting with a number he instantly recognized. Bell’s.
Hawk’s eyes moved to the phone. “You need to take that?”
Dario ignored the question, sitting back in his seat and letting the phone buzz, his posture relaxed despite the clench of his jaw. “Don’t change the subject, Robert. You were asking about Gwen.”
Hawk’s eyes stayed on the phone and he reached forward quickly, snagging the cell off the table and tapping the screen to answer the call. He lifted the phone to his ear and held Dario’s gaze.
Underneath the table, Dario’s hands clenched, every muscle in his body fighting to stay relaxed, to keep himself from leaping out of his seat and snatching the phone from the man’s liver-spotted hands.
The psychopath smiled, then drawled into the receiver. “Hello?”
Dario could hear something, a delicate voice that spoke. Hawk asked who she was, glanced at the screen, then held the phone out, across the table.
Dario took the cell, releasing a contained breath when he saw that the call had ended. “Don’t touch my fucking phone again.”
The man raised his eyebrows in a mild manner. “She sounds like a beautiful woman.”
It was bait, and Dario avoided the trap, schooling his features into a manner that didn’t scream his thoughts. What had Bell said? What, if anything, did Hawk know?
“Do you know why I picked you to marry my daughter?”
Dario stayed silent and fought the urge to check his watch. This lunch had already gone on too long. A rehash of circumstances wasn’t going to help that.
“I picked you because you told me that you would be loyal to her and to my business interests.” Hawk took a long sip of his drink, then smacked his lips together. Dario examined the lines that formed around his mouth, the dry spots on his cheeks, the watery blink of his eyes, the scab on the top of one ear. Robert Hawk was getting old. “I picked you because I liked how you carried yourself, and I liked how you handled situations.”
“Is there a point to this?” Dario caught the waiter’s eye and lifted one finger for the check.
“You’ve gotten too big for your redneck Cajun britches.”
Dario smiled. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
“You don’t pay me the proper respect.” The older man slapped his hand on the tablecloth with enough force that the silverware rattled.
Dario said nothing. He’d learned, after a decade with this man, that he’d burn himself out. The waiter eased by and he passed him the credit card.
“Who was that on the phone?” The man’s eyes bulged, the table rocking slightly as he leaned forward and spit out the question. Dario said nothing and Hawk’s finger jabbed the air between them. “If you’ve got some slut on the side, I swear to God—”
Dario interrupted him before the threat could be completed. “I’m loyal to Gwen. I always have been. And I’m loyal to your business interests and investments. Just as I’ve always been.”
He took the check folio from the waiter and added a generous tip, then scrawled his name across the bottom and stood. “And Robert?” Tucking his credit card back in his wallet, he leaned forward and rested a palm on the table, leaning forward until he was eye level with the older man. “Don’t ever fucking threaten me.”
Walking away, Dario’s heart pounded against his chest.
BELL
I watched Ian walk across his room, his build thin and lanky, the muscles popping from his frame as he changed from his button-up and khakis into workout clothes. This is who I should be with. Safe. Secure. Sweet.
Boring.
He hadn’t seemed so, three weeks ago. He’d seemed sexy, then. The bad-boy professor who bent the rules by bending me over his desk. The bad-boy professor, taming his wild ways and legitimately interested in taking me on a date.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give him false hope for a relationship that would never happen. While Dario and I seemed to be barreling down the road toward some version of a relationship, I hadn’t returned any of Ian’s calls or texts. I’d ghosted him out, and he’d called me on it after class, pressuring me into this meeting at his house.
Now, he turned to grin at me, and I thought of Dario. I’d called him just before class, needing to hear his voice. I hadn’t liked the way our last call had ended—a fight with a gaping cliffhanger. A fight where he said he cared about me. A fight where I’d shouted out more confessions than I’d planned or expected to.
But Dario hadn’t answered my call. A stranger had. I’d hung up without giving the man my name and had waited for Dario to call me back, to explain.
No call had come. And now I was in Ian’s apartment, which was a mistake. I had realized that the minute I stepped into it. He’d moved forward to kiss me, and I’d side-stepped the action. Now, I settled into the sofa and looked up at his ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized for the third time. I’d made a mess out of my attempt to end our fling. Lots of stammering and over explanations, none of which had mentioned Dario and all of which had put the blame solely on my fear of commitment.
“It’s okay. I get it.” He walked over and rested his hands on the back of the sofa, looking down on me. “It isn’t like you misled me. I’m the one who tried to change the rules on us.”
He was so freaking nice. Nice, and so completely different than Dario. When Ian looked at me, my chest didn’t ache. And Dario had the ability to decimate my self-control with just a look, to scatter my intentions with the crook of his mouth. If Dario had reached for me … side-stepping would have been useless in the face of our connection.
I waited until Ian straightened, then I sat up on the couch. I glanced over at my book bag, the canvas tote silent for the last hour. I hadn’t checked it during class, had
forced myself to leave it in my bag during my drive to Ian’s. Now, I walked over and unzipped the front pocket, reaching in and pulling out my phone.
I unlocked it and frowned at the unfamiliar No Service alert on the display. I clicked on my texts. My email. My messenger.
“What’s wrong?” Ian asked.
My cellular network was completely gone, the words Verizon missing from the screen. How long ago had this happened? I thought about its silence during the last three hours. I had assumed that Dario hadn’t felt the need to call me back, but maybe he couldn’t. Or maybe … he was the cause of this.