11. Carmela
Carmela
T rue to his word, Anders let me go back to hating him the morning after we spent the night in my bed. Only, I’m finding that it’s a lot harder to do now. Even when he starts laying into me about what the hell I was thinking less than twenty-four hours after my attack. Even when he refuses to leave my side, becoming my constant shadow, which makes it extremely difficult to…oh, I don’t know… live my life !
Hating Anders just isn’t coming as easily as it did before.
I want to hate his stupid cocky attitude and his stupid handsome face—his rude words that I have a feeling are only being thrown in my direction because he’s trying to get a rise out of me, even if he won’t argue back when I take the bait.
Only one week since my attack, and I’ve turned into a simpering idiot whose actions resemble a teenage girl rather than a grown-ass woman.
Since I was told I couldn’t do any strenuous activity for at least a week—even though I feel perfectly fine—our nights at the club have consisted of him keeping an eye out on the room and me keeping an eye on him, getting jealous every time his eyes linger a little too long on another female.
It hasn’t been my finest week.
I’ve never been one to feel like I need to go overboard to catch a man’s attention. Mick and I happened fast and lasted years before we cooled off, even after he got married. And Luca and I never had any trouble in the attraction department.
Anders has avoided any flirtation or attempt at playfulness all week. He’s been all business. Professional, when all I want is for him to rip my clothes off and fuck me. I found myself resorting to my skimpiest outfits, flirting with other men during the shows—just to see if Anders would stop me from going off with one of them. Doing anything to get his attention when it’s not fully on me.
But he’s been neither hot nor cold. Only lukewarm. When I think things are finally about to heat up between us, it’s almost like he shuts down and drags himself away from my side after making sure Martin or Nikolai have eyes on me.
I don’t beg.
Fuck that .
“Please don’t make me go.” Okay, I beg a little.
“Kate insists you come. Come on, Mellie, there will be loads of potential clients to talk to,” Mick's voice sounds over the speaker of my cell that sits on the edge of my desk.
“Well, if Kate insists ,” I mock, making a face at the phone that has Anders struggling to keep quiet while he laughs.
“Carmela,” Mick sighs, “I know it’s shitty of me to ask–”
“You’re fucking right it is, Mick! I don’t want to go to your anniversary party. She can’t be serious?” I knew what Mick was talking about all along, but it’s the first time Anders understands the depth of the situation. The smile falls from his face instantly, and his lips curl as he looks at the phone and shakes his head.
“Mellie…”
Leaning back in my chair, I let out a sigh. “Fuck you. I’ll be there.” I look at Anders, who is staring at me with a pointed look and a raised brow. “With a plus one.”
“I’m assuming the detective?”
“No. My new boyfriend.” I almost laugh when Anders’ eyebrows shoot into his hairline.
“Boyfriend?” Mick sputters. It sounds like he spits out a drink with the word because it’s muffled through the speaker.
“Yes. Boyfriend. It’s new. I’m sure that won’t be a problem?” I don’t give him a chance to respond before singsonging, “Great. See you tomorrow night!”
I end the call and flick the phone away from me. “Fucking seriously.”
“Yeah, I echo those sentiments, but with a question mark at the end,” Anders says flatly. We’re in my office at Désirer. He’s sitting on my sofa, a bunch of papers spread out before him with pages of his notes and photocopies of the letters sent to me.
The killer has been quiet. There have been no more attempted attacks, no more murders, and no letters. Almost like this pretending to date thing is actually working—except Anders is the worst pretend boyfriend in the history of ever.
“You were the one who said to introduce you as my boyfriend. That you weren’t going to leave my side. So, how am I supposed to introduce you to people tomorrow? To Mick’s wife? And I guarantee she’ll want to meet you.”
“She’ll probably be delighted to find that her husband’s mistress has a boyfriend.”
“Stop calling me his mistress. God, you’re such a dick.” I get up and go to my bathroom, which also serves as my changing room.
Thumbing through my outfits, I don’t hear him coming up behind me until he speaks directly into my ear, making me jump. “What will you do when I’m gone? Will you go back to the way things were before I got here? Go back to being at his beck and call?”
“I wasn’t at his beck and call,” I argue, but I know it sounds weak.
“Riiiiight.” He backs off a little when I push him away with my shoulder. “So, have you met his wife before?”
Sensing this isn’t a topic he’s going to drop, I turn and hold up two outfits. One is black and consists of lace straps covering only the essential parts; the other is a lacy jacket and shorts set in a dusty rose. Anders points to the jacket and shorts as I say, “Yes, I’ve met Kate plenty of times before. We don’t care for each other, so I don’t understand why she insists I be there. She’s never insisted before.”
I push him out of the room and close the door, taking my time to change into the outfit. Once I ensure my tits look perfect, my makeup is flawless, and my hair is teased to sex kitten perfection, I emerge and relish the way Anders’ gaze drags up my body.
I track how he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing while he tries to adjust himself without me noticing. I don’t know why it hits me now, just how handsome he is. He’s growing the beard after an offhand comment I made about liking it more. His ever-present California tan highlights the mess of tattoos that twine up both arms and over his shoulders. At nearly forty, and for someone who’s been on desk duty for the past few years, his body is still in amazing shape.
Everything about him calls to me. I just hate that everything about me seems to displease him.
Slowly, I approach Anders, placing each leg on the sofa to straddle him. I move with precision, but give him more than enough time to rebuff my advances if he wants to. His hands lift to my hips, eyes focused on mine. “What are you doing, Cara?”
“I’m horny. As my pretend boyfriend, I think that duty is yours to take care of,” I whisper, grabbing his hands to slide them up my body until they rest over my breasts.
Faster than I can blink, Anders lifts me off him and gently pushes me away, putting as much distance between us as possible without leaving the room. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
Slapping my hands on the leather material of the sofa like a toddler throwing a tantrum, I bite back, “What the fuck is wrong with you all of a sudden? It’s like you want nothing to do with me when we both know that isn’t true.”
Like flipping a light switch, I watch his features harden like a mask slipping over his face. “I’ve told you a million times, Cara. I don’t fuck prostitutes.”
He’s said the words before, but it’s been a while since he’s thrown them around so crassly. He looks indifferent. Completely unphased that I just basically offered myself to him without a fight.
Embarrassed, I rise from the sofa. “I wasn’t offering to fuck you,” I lie. “I just wanted to get off, but I forgot I have an entire club for that.”
I shoulder past him and yank my office door open, hoping he’ll stop me and apologize. But he doesn’t. He lets me go, knowing Martin and Nikolai are in the Grand Room. With every step, I keep thinking I’ll hear him behind me, calling out to stop me from seeking my release elsewhere.
But I don’t see Anders for the rest of the evening. I don’t even attempt to draw him out of the shadows by flirting with anyone else. No, I spend the night stewing in my anger and convincing myself that whatever I thought might be between us is nothing but a lie.
I keep thinking that what Anders and I have is something special.
And he keeps reminding me that I’m wrong.
So, very wrong.
I’ve always liked to look my best at all times.
But tonight?
Did I play up my face with just a tad more makeup than I usually would for a typical black-tie event?
Maybe.
Did I curl my hair to perfection and clip it to cascade over one shoulder…just the way Mick likes?
Possibly.
Did I choose a skintight, satin dress that shows off my breasts and has a slit so high up one side you could peep my thong if you looked close enough?
But Kate insisted I be here.
So I was damn well going to look my best at an event full of potential clients—and also to serve as a reminder to Kate that I’m not a sad woman scorned. I’m living my best life.
Some might call me a bitch. Some might call me a villainess.
I call it karma.
It isn’t that I hate her or anything. It’s that she knew Mick and I were happy, and she went out of her way to destroy it. Then, of course, there’s also the little fact that I still fuck her husband every now and then.
Mick is like a dog with a bone. He’s able to sniff out when I’m feeling sad and lonely and shows up every single time with his silken promises and honey-dipped lies.
And I fall for it every time.
Not because I still believe we can be endgame, but because in my darkest moments, I just don’t care that there’s a woman waiting for him at home. He still loves me .
Once upon a time, he promised me forever. His family just promised him to her first.
The sad truth is, Kate knows it. She hides it behind saccharine sneers and forces small talk whenever we’re in the same room together. She’s tried multiple times to get close to me, offering fake friendship so that she can keep me near. But I’ve never had a problem telling another woman I don’t want to be their friend.
Kate may have been engaged to Mick first, but she’ll never have him the way younger me did. Now, I feel sorry for her and only slightly ashamed of my actions. But no one else's feelings matter when you’re young and in love. You don’t care whose life you destroy as long as you get your chance at happiness.
A hand touches the small of my back. Lips press against the side of my neck chastely, causing my thighs to clench as I inhale the spicy scent of the current man I love to hate. “Are we pretending tonight?”
My eyes flutter shut as his hand slides around my waist, slowly drawing me back into him. Every nerve tingles with awareness, and I swear there’s static electricity crackling all around us. I fucking hate that such a simple touch has this kind of effect on my body. “Don’t we pretend every night, Anders? It’s all a game to you, right? ”
He chuckles, never letting go of me as he walks around to my front. His hair is slightly more styled than usual, and his beard is trimmed, but he didn’t shave it off completely.
And Jesus fucking Christ, this man knows how to wear a suit.
“You’re looking at me like I’m a piece of meat.” The hand around my waist pulls me closer while the other tips my chin up as he kisses my lips. It’s slow—not chaste, but not passionate either—and sensual. It makes my insides turn to liquid, and things low in my body clench around my emptiness, wishing to be filled.
As soon as he finishes weaving his spell on my mouth, his lips slide to my ear, and he whispers, “Tonight, I’m playing a different kind of game, Cara. Are you up for playing with me?”
Before I can answer him, I hear, “Carmela! So glad you could make it.”
Anders’ hand tightens on my waist as he turns me and pulls me closer to his chest, never letting me go as the couple of the hour approaches us. Kate Charles is all Snow Queen in a petite five-foot-two frame: pale skin, icy blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and a frosty demeanor that she hides behind a fake…well, everything. She’s as carved up as an ice sculpture, whittled away over the years into an image she deems perfect.
Kate is dressed in a powder blue gown that shimmers as she walks, and Mick is wearing a matching suit—minus the shimmer. Both are holding glasses of champagne and looking at us with interest. Though, while Kate’s seems genuine, Mick’s is definitely borderline angry.
Rigidly, Kate air kisses my cheeks before turning to Anders and holding out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Kate Charles, Mick’s wife.”
Anders doesn’t let go of my waist but does take Kate’s outstretched hand and kisses the back of it, earning him a surprised look and a flush of her rosy-painted cheeks. “Anderson Brooks. Cara’s boyfriend.”
Mick blinks before understanding dawns over his features. He thinks Anders and I are just playing a role—and we are—but Anders apparently is going for an Oscar tonight. As he drops Kate’s hand, he grabs my chin to kiss me again. “I’m going to go find us some drinks. I’ll be right back. Kate, it was lovely to meet you. Happy anniversary.”
I bite my lip as he leaves—thankful for whoever invented lip stain—ready to plunge headfirst into my own role for the evening. “Isn’t he great?”
I’ve never been nice to Kate. I’ve always rejected her attempts at whatever weird idea of friendship she thinks we could ever possibly have. But tonight, I do my best to act like I normally do with Lenni.
She sidles up beside me, also watching him walk away—and damn, does he look good when he’s walking away. “He sure is something. Where’d you find him?”
A sly smile creeps across my lips as I turn to catch Mick’s eye. “A mutual friend.”
“Is that so?” There’s something in her voice that makes me break out in goosebumps. “Well, make sure to keep him away from the ladies at table nine. Or else you might lose him.”
A golden-haired blonde tall enough to be a runway model approaches Anders and introduces herself. He looks her up and down before shaking his head and turning to point directly at me, making my chest swell with pride. Even if he’s pretending, at least he’s loyal.
“I’m not worried about him.” I turn to look at her before looking at Mick, who’s been silent this whole time—exactly how he usually is around Kate. “We don’t like to share.”
I don’t stick around for a response from either of them.
Anders turns around with our drinks just as I approach him. Wrapping my hand around his neck, I pull him down for a kiss. Not like the ones he keeps giving me—but an open mouth, ‘ he belongs to me’ one that screams stay the fuck away.
“What was that for?” he asks against my lips when I pull back. He looks dazed as a lazy smile pulls at the corners of his mouth .
“I saw you turn the blonde down. Seems like I’ve trained you well, so I’m marking my territory.”
He lets out a laugh as he straightens and hands me my champagne. “I’ll allow it. At least for tonight.” Tucking me into his side, he leads me away from the bar and into the sea of tuxedos and evening wear. “Let's get this party started.”
The next few hours pass in a blur. We mingle, we eat, we dance, we mingle some more. I pass out all the business cards I brought, and Anders doesn’t even make one joke about the club or me recruiting new clients.
He’s actually sought Kate out multiple times throughout the night, and I have a feeling she might have made her way onto his suspect list by the way he’s casually asking her questions. Though, to my knowledge, Kate doesn’t know anything about the ongoing investigation or the murders. She—like every other woman in the room—seems to be entranced by his good looks and suave demeanor, causing Mick’s mood to sour as the evening progresses.
“Thank you, again, for coming tonight.” Kate leans over in her seat, speaking in low tones over my shoulder. “I thought it was only appropriate for you to be here. Since you’re family and all.”
The way she says the word family has my skin breaking out in goosebumps. Like she’s hinting at something but I don’t know what. Keeping my eyes on the dance floor I reply, “Well, when Mick said you insisted, how could I say no?”
She’s silent for a moment, but when she speaks again I can hear the smirk on her face. “Your boyfriend is quite the hot commodity.” My eyes stray to the bar where Anders is getting us another round of drinks. He’s flanked by multiple women, smiling at them politely without being over the top. “You may not share, but I think it’s only fair that you let me have a little sample. Hmm?”
“We’re literally at your anniversary party, Kate,” I scoff, disgusted by her suggestion. With the tables turned, she’s trying to give me a dose of what she’s felt like all these years.
I don’t like it.
“Has Mick lost his appeal, Carmela? Why stick with him when you have that waiting for you at home, right?” she murmurs.
Spinning in my seat to face her, I’m surprised to find her closer than I thought she was. Her eyes are twin glaciers, trying to calculate my reaction to her words.
“Mick and I haven’t been together for a while, Kate. I’m moving on. ”
“Well, finally. It’s only taken how many years?” she snaps back.
“Why did you want me to come tonight? What’s the point of me being here?” From my peripheral I notice a few heads turn our way.
“To remind you that he is my husband . And that all you are is a common whore who isn’t good enough to have a place by his side,” she sneers. It turns her features ugly—all sharp and pointy in a way that distorts her manufactured beauty.
She doesn’t understand, though, that I don’t want a place by Mick’s side. I don’t love him, and I’m not delusional enough to think that he and I could have any sort of relationship now. Four more years and I plan to wash my hands of him completely.
But Kate has never come at me this hot before. So what set her off? What did Mick do to bring out this level of hostility in her? She hasn’t been this aggressive since she first found out about me right after they got married.
“Come on, baby girl. Let’s dance one more time before heading out,” Anders’ voice cuts through the tension. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me to my feet and leads me to the dance floor. It’s a slow song, some smooth jazz number that Anders pretends he’s danced to all his life.
“Thank you,” I tell him as he guides me closer.
“Don’t worry about it. You looked like you needed saving. ”
He twirls me before pulling my back to his front, his cologne filling my senses as he nuzzles my neck. The familiar warm spicy notes are something I’m becoming accustomed to—something I’m starting to miss when they fade from my office. Closing my eyes, I lean my head against his and allow myself one single moment to think about what it would be like if this were actually real.
Halfway through the song, he whispers, “I think we have an audience.”
My eyes snap open, instantly locking with Mick’s, who has taken his seat next to Kate and is clutching his drink so hard the glass might break as he watches us. I lift my hand and wave at him, silently laughing at the angry way he turns from us when his wife tries to grab his attention.
Anders chuckles as he sways us to the slow rhythm of the song, turning me in his arms to pull me as close as he possibly can. “Are you trying to piss him off?”
My brows furrow as I shake my head, clasping my fingers around his as we fall into a steady dance. “No. I don’t care if he’s upset. He has no right to be.”
“Fucking right, he doesn’t.”
“Careful, or I’ll begin to think you’re a decent man.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all a game, sweetheart. None of it’s real. I still don’t like you.” He says it so casually that it takes me by surprise. My heart feels like it struggles to beat. I got caught up in our charade, and once again, am painfully reminded that it’s all just pretend.
Anders’ words pierce my heart like an arrow, causing my feet to falter. He doesn’t seem to notice, though. His eyes darken as he stares down at me, his gaze traveling over the length of my body. “However, you do look positively fuckable right now. He’d be jealous of any man who had their hands on you.”
“Fuckable? Thought you didn’t fuck prostitutes ?” As usual, his words and actions don’t match up. He’s constantly telling me how much he hates everything I stand for, yet when my pussy is on display, he’s begging for a taste and unable to stop his tongue and fingers from sinking into my tainted body.
His words hurt, but his actions hurt worse, giving me whiplash as he switches between the affectionate man who took care of me after I was attacked and the callous, aloof jackass that wants my body but doesn’t want me .
Anders’ hand tightens on my waist as he lets go of my hand to grab my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I love watching your lips say the word fuck. All the vitriol that spills from this tight, wet hole just makes me want to punish the other ones to see what will spill from those.”
Feelings I don’t want to have for him creep up on me quicker than the sharp breath I draw in. I’m over whatever game he’s playing now. I thought we were having a good night, but clearly, now he just wants to rile me up, only to leave me wanting when he undoubtedly turns me down at the club later.
“Been there, done that.” I smirk even as his fingers grip my face tighter. “Remember? When I was spread out on my desk, and you ate my pussy like you were a man starved? I spilled plenty all over your face.” Sliding my hand down his chest, I can feel him harden behind his pants. Brazenly, I continue downward until I’m cupping him, not giving a fuck who sees us. “If you want to fuck me for real so you can see yourself spilling out of me, then I suggest you get on your hands and knees and beg like a good doggy. Maybe I’ll get you a collar.” Leaning forward, I press up on my tiptoes and balance my weight against him, moaning into his ear. “With a tag that says my little bitch .”
Anders tenses as I pull away abruptly, shooting him a bored look. His eyes dart around as he adjusts the belt of his pants, trying to hide his prominent erection. “You’re fucking mouthy all of a sudden.”
“Yeah, I am. Doesn’t stop you from dreaming about my mouth wrapped around your cock, though. Does it?” I don’t wait for his reply as I turn and head for the exit. I’ve had enough of this bullshit party. And I’ve had enough of Anders and his stupid game.
I’m pissed, I’m horny, and I have a fucking club to run with enough dick to choose from.
I don’t need him.