Chapter 13
MARLENA
My heart’s beating out of control, and I’m having a hard time holding onto my sanity. Francisco is so close. I can smell his aftershave like it’s a living thing, snaking in through my nostrils and down into my soul. It’s the perfect combination of recklessness and wealth.
The fabric of his jacket is butter soft, and the sheer wealth that radiates from him is heart-stopping.
Good God, what in the hell am I doing? I didn’t want to come to this party in the first place.
I allowed myself to be swayed by the exorbitant amount Francisco spent on my dress.
And now I’m falling in lust with him over his cologne and his suit jacket. I have to stop.
There’s only one place we can go from here, and that’s not somewhere I want to visit. I try to tell myself that he’s too old. He’s clearly dangerous, and he’s the father of my client. All good reasons for me to make my escape. But I cling to his muscular form like a woman drowning.
We stand in the center of the ballroom, gliding together as if we are a couple.
I easily imagine myself as the queen of the gala, the one woman who everyone else envies.
I can have it all. I can go home with the most eligible bachelor in the room, securing a spot for myself in the family album.
Curiously, it’s the thought of success that drives me away.
I know too much about Francisco already. No, I don’t know where the bodies are buried, but I’m one hundred percent sure there are literal skeletons in his closet. Maybe skeletons of past lovers.
That thought stops me cold. I tell myself that I’m being ridiculous. He hasn’t asked me to bed yet, and there’s no indication that he will. I’m an employee in his home, and he’s nothing if not impeccable. But we’re both warm-blooded adults, and I can sense his attraction. I’m not dead yet.
I tell myself he’s not a danger to the women in his life, just the men.
People like Francisco have a code I know only too well that they live by.
He’s just like my father, which is another reason I should turn tail and run.
I’ve had my fill of mafia soldiers. They aren’t like the actors in the movies.
They’re rough and ugly. They hurt people for a living, and their personal lives are full of ruined dreams. Francisco is neither rough nor ugly, but I do get the impression he has been unsuccessful in love.
It’s a pity, because I wouldn’t mind giving it a try.
But there are so many reasons to keep my distance.
I push away, summoning my courage to look him in the eye. “I have to go.”
He doesn’t argue. I half expect him to give me some command, to pull me back into the dance and refuse to allow me to leave. But to his credit, he lets me go. He follows me silently out of the ballroom, catching hold of my wrist just outside the door.
“Thank you for coming,” he says simply. Though the words are gentle, their implication is clear. He knows I’m on the fence. He knows I struggled with myself before arriving, that I’m not sure if I even belong here.
“Of course,” I say, tossing it out as if there were no conflict.
He kisses my cheek, and it sends butterflies fluttering through my stomach. I’m so close to wrapping my arms around his neck and promising to spend the night. To stop myself from making a huge mistake, I turn around and hurry away.
The more distance I put between us, the worse I feel. The butterflies have turned to lead, and I feel physical pain. What is going on? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I focus on what I know is the right course of action and ignore my baser feelings for the man?
I nearly turn around and rush back to him. It takes all my strength to search out the billiard room again. I’ve got to say goodbye to Frankie before leaving for the night. I wonder how much of my allotted two hours has passed, and if I’ve overstayed.
I push the door open and find the room significantly different from when I left. There are no women surrounding the pool table, and the boys have taken advantage of the situation. They’re loud and boisterous. They’re shouting at each other as they wave the pool cues around and laugh.
I sigh. If only Francisco were acting in a similar fashion. It would be easy as pie to walk away. But instead, he’s the perfect gentleman, though I believe he has blood on his hands. Frankie, in contrast, is likely innocent, but acting like an asshole.
“Frankie,” I call, waving him over.
“Hello, beautiful!” he sings, waltzing up to me to put a hand on my backside.
I twist away, astonished by his lack of decorum.
I didn’t go out of my way to say goodbye to him just to be groped by a drunken oaf.
He senses my discomfort immediately and takes several steps back to remedy it.
Instead of falling all over me, he sticks his hand in his pocket and gives me puppy dog eyes.
“I’m leaving,” I snap.
“Don’t go,” he argues. “Stay and play.”
“I think you have enough playmates,” I quip.
Frankie looks at his guy friends and shakes his head emphatically. “These aren’t playmates.”
“You know what I mean,” I say, disgusted.
I push my way out of the billiard room, trying not to hold it against him. He’s so drunk he probably won’t remember anyway. I glide through the house, carefully avoiding all of the couples and gangsters who are mingling in doorways. Outside, I breathe the crisp night air, feeling dizzy.
I’ve only had two glasses of champagne, but still, I wonder if I can drive. But my alternative is to stay with Francisco, and that’s just not going to work for me. I have to get out before I do something I’ll regret.
I hand my ticket to the valet and wait until he brings me my car.
Getting behind the wheel, I slip through the iron gates and out onto the street.
All the way home, I’m going half the speed limit and paying close attention to the other drivers.
Thankfully, I arrive without injuring anyone or getting arrested.
At least something is working out for me.
I park and hurry into the building, holding my breath until I’m in my apartment. Closing the door, I lean against it in relief. Francisco knows where I live, so I’m not entirely safe, but the mere fact that there’s a wall between me and the rest of the world puts my mind at ease.
I shake my head, peeling the dress off right there in the living room. I stand there in my bra and underwear, folding the expensive gown back into its box. I pull the shoes off and dump them inside, yanking the earrings off and unlatching the necklace from around my throat.
What in the world was I thinking going to that party?
I should have refused the gift in the first place.
Wasn’t I aware that gifts come with strings?
I don’t want to owe Francisco anything. I need to get away from his orbit as quickly as possible, and if that means I have to move and change my name again, so be it.
I realize I can’t go back to that house.
I can’t pick up my check from Frankie, and I can’t continue tutoring him.
It’s too dangerous. And the crazy part is that it’s only dangerous because I’ve lost control over my own body.
When I’m close to Francisco, I have trouble thinking.
I can’t sort out right from wrong. And I don’t trust myself not to do something stupid, which is more than enough reason to leave.
I’ll return the dress in the morning and tell him I quit. Depending on how he takes it, I’ll either find a new place to live or get on with my life. Hopefully, he’ll accept my resignation with the same restraint that he showed when I left the ballroom floor just an hour ago.
I strip down completely and take a shower, washing off the magic of the evening.
My head is full of images of beautiful people in expensive clothing, dancing under twinkling lights.
How wonderful it would be to forget the past and allow myself to become one of them.
If only life were always like that. If only the majesty of the party didn’t come with an equally powerful dark side.
I could get used to all the glitz and glamor.
It was the murder and mayhem that I couldn’t abide.
Donning my comfiest pair of pajamas, I climb into bed, turning off the bedside lamp. My pillow is wonderfully soft, and the bed is all mine. There are no confusing men to share the sheets with, thank goodness. I feel like I’ve dodged a bullet.
I slip into a deep sleep after a few moments, but Francisco refuses to let me go, even in my dreams.
I see him in his mansion, standing beside the band. He’s got his back to me as he speaks to the violin player. All the dancers fade away until it’s only me and him in the gigantic room.
He turns around and offers me his hand. I take it, and he leads me out onto the dance floor where we fall into each other’s arms. I put my head down on his chest, but this time, his cologne becomes a silver chain that wraps itself around my arms.
I start to panic, and he picks me up, kissing me fiercely. I forget about the jewelry that’s holding me down and kiss him back. Then suddenly, there’s a bed in the middle of the dance floor.
Francisco lowers me gently onto the covers and begins to undress me. My hands are free once again, allowing me to stroke his jaw. It’s smooth and sharp all at the same time, the perfect vision of manhood.
In the dream, I know there’s something I’m forgetting.
I can’t remember why I’m supposed to resist, and it doesn’t seem important.
I fall back against the pillows, dragging him with me.
We descend into pleasure with the aching realization that this is what we both want.
He covers me with his body, and all I can think is, at long last!
I’m exhausted from holding back. I come at him like a bullfighter, eager to devour him and have him devour me. I take his thick cock into my mouth, and that’s when I wake up.
I can still feel the weight of it against my tonsils for a moment as I toss around, searching for the light switch.
I’m sweating and breathing heavily, as if I’ve actually been fooling around with him.
Good grief! I can’t believe the depth of my perversion.
What would Francisco think if he knew I was dreaming about sucking his cock?
I can’t help but smile, knowing that he probably wouldn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, he might just enjoy it.