Criminal Pleasures (3 page)

“What’s so funny?” Brendan asked.

His laughter trailed off with a sigh and he looked at Brendan. “You want to take your busboy out for a drive in your fancy car? Do you think I am some piece of Eurotrash to be impressed by your American riches? Will you buy me expensive clothes and teach me to eat with the correct fork? Like I am a prostitute that will gratefully fall into your bed?”

A new heat flushed through Brendan, anger replacing his desire, and he clenched his fists. He nodded, forcing a grin. Brendan didn’t mind people making fun of him, he didn’t even mind all the wrong impressions they often got: that he was a snob, that he was spoiled, that he was full of himself. But he minded when someone thought he was dishonest.

It was silly, he knew, honesty wasn’t a word often applied to his profession. But he’d always held that quality sacred, figuring if he had reason to lie to someone, then something was seriously out of balance. Beyond the little white lies of course, like telling his mother her makeup looked gorgeous when she resembled a drag queen.

“You’ve got me all figured out, do you?” Brendan chuckled. “Summed me up in all of five minutes. Do you always judge people so quickly?”

“I call it as I see it,” Marc said with a shrug. “You’re not so difficult a puzzle.”

Brendan took a bold step toward him, crowding his space, and Marc flinched, his jaw stiffening. “You know what, Marc? All you had to say was
no
. N-O. I’d have suggested maybe
no, thank you
, but that would require manners. And you obviously have none.”

Marc stared back at him, but didn’t move, didn’t speak. He’d gone very still, his eyes locked on Brendan’s, the smarmy expression replaced with something blank and unreadable.

Brendan’s pulse tapped at his temples and he told himself to back off. But he’d been insulted. He wasn’t going to be intimidated, too. He moved closer still, placing one palm on the wall beside Marc’s face, leaning in. “And I didn’t deduce your lack of manners because I think you’re some poor, immigrant hooker who’s going to be dazzled by shiny coins. I also call it as I
see
it. And right now all I see is a rude prick.”

Brendan pushed himself back and smoothed down his suit jacket. “So you have yourself a good night.
Marc
.”

Brendan’s shoes slapped the pavement as he speed-walked down the road, anger and humiliation making his teeth clench. His car was parked a quarter mile down, and by the time he reached it, the walk and fresh air had calmed him a bit.
Stupid. Your own fault. What did you expect, coming on to a stranger?

And a stranger who looked like
that
. Marc probably had to deal with indecent proposals all the time from customers. It was no wonder he’d pegged Brendan as a cliché.
Hey baby, wanna go for a ride in my sports car?

He rounded his car and dug his keys out of his pocket, cursing softly. Then he heard his name called.

“Hey, Brendan!”

He looked up and saw the figure dressed in black walking toward him, gray knit hat clutched in his left hand, hair loose and billowing in the breeze. Brendan froze, tension stiffening his shoulders.
Oh Christ. Is he gonna beat me up? Am I about to get beat up by a busboy?

“I apologize,” Marc said as he approached the car, standing on the sidewalk next to the passenger side. His expression had lost some of its roughness, but he still held that alert stance, nostrils slightly flared. “I was rude to you. Please forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brendan said, and clicked the button, unlocking the car. He paused and glanced over at Marc, who still stood on the sidewalk, watching him. “You’re forgiven, seriously, don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have approached you.”
And made a damn fool of myself
. Marc’s apology likely had more to do with concern over the restaurant’s reputation than actual remorse, so he wasn’t about to let it soften him.

“Do you like Frangelico?”

Brendan stared at the man, a flutter of desire gripping his gut once more. “I like Frangelico,” he said carefully. “Why?”

Marc rounded the back of the vehicle, stopping a foot before reaching Brendan. He shrugged and looked at the ground. “I live just around the corner. I have a bottle in my apartment.” His eyes lifted and looked at Brendan, whose stomach lurched pleasantly. “If you still want that nightcap, perhaps you’ll come to my place for a drink. To make up for my rude behavior.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Brendan said, his voice sounding less steady than he would have liked.

Marc took a slow step toward him. “I want to.”

Brendan stared back at him for a long moment, heat flushing his neck. A thousand warnings tugged at his mind, telling him to decline. An equal number of desires urged his body to accept. His thumb clicked the button and his car locked with a beep. Slowly, he dropped his keys back into his pocket. “All right,” he said. “Sounds good.”

Marc grinned. “It’s this way.” He passed by Brendan and stepped back up onto the sidewalk.

Brendan took a deep, quivering breath, and followed. 

Chapter Two

Brendan followed Marc up a narrow wooden staircase, turning the corner at a platform, then up two more sets of stairs until they reached the top floor of the large apartment house. Marc turned down a carpeted hallway that smelled of onions, and stopped outside the first door, pulling a jangling set of keys from his pocket. Further down the hall a door opened and a pajama-clad boy stepped out, a toothy grin on his face. “
Ciao
, Marcello!”

Marc opened his door then leaned back, peering at the child. “
Ciao
, Michael.
Che cosa stai facendo?
You should be in bed by now!”

The boy squealed with giggles then darted back inside, slamming the door.

Marc stepped into his apartment and flicked a light on, beckoning Brendan in with a wave. “Forgive the mess.”

The apartment was small and cozy, a living room with an attached kitchen, a hallway further in presumably with bedrooms and bathroom. It was not a mess, but it was completely unremarkable, beige and bare. Brendan sat down on a puffy brown sofa and watched Marc dig through a cabinet over the refrigerator. “Why don’t you go by Marcello, if that’s your name?” he asked. “It’s nice.”

Marc glanced over at him with a smirk, gripping a bottle of Frangelico in one hand, two small green tumbler glasses in the other. He moved to the living room and took the matching armchair across from the sofa, setting down the glasses. “Because,” he said, uncapping the bottle and filling each glass with amber liqueur. He handed one to Brendan. “My name sort of...rhymes. I don’t like it. So I try to get people to call me Marc. Doesn’t always work. My cousins outright refuse.”

Brendan grinned. “What do you mean it rhymes?” He sipped his Frangelico, the sweetness refreshing his dry mouth.

Marc leaned back in the chair, one foot resting on the opposite knee. Brendan couldn’t stop staring at him, the buzz of attraction making him dizzy. “My name is Marcello DiPietro. To me it is like being called Sally O’Malley.”

“Ah, yeah. At least it’s interesting. Brendan Burke is a pretty dull name, but it’s my father’s name too, so I can’t really give it back.”

“What does your father do? Is he still alive?” Marc asked.

Stretched back in the chair, Marc’s fingers trailed absentmindedly over his own ribs, and Brendan tried not to stare, but failed. When he met Marc’s eyes again there was a twinkle of humor there, like he’d noticed Brendan’s longing and it amused him.

Clearing his throat, Brendan took another sip of his drink. “He’s very much alive. He’s also an attorney, up in Boston.”

Marc suddenly set his drink down and leaned aside to a short cabinet next to the chair. His black tee shirt rose a bit as he stretched, showing a sliver of tan flesh above his hips. He grabbed something and fell back onto the chair. Brendan frowned as Marc opened a slim, white laptop computer and commenced tapping on the keyboard.

This went on for several minutes. Brendan began to feel awkward and ignored. “Checking your email?”

Marc’s golden eyes lifted and he smiled, then slapped the computer closed. “No. Checking you.”

“Me?”

“Brendan Burke and Associates, Attorneys at Law. You are who you claim to be.”

Brendan laughed. “Um, yes, yes I am. You’re not very trusting, are you?”

“No.”

“Hmm. At least you’re honest, I guess.”

Marc gazed at him, a strange expression passing over his face. For a moment he almost looked like a different person, the smug smile replaced with tight lips. He let out a sigh through his nose, then straightened up. “Have some more.” He leaned over and refilled Brendan’s glass, then his own.

“Thank you,” Brendan said. He was starting to feel like kind of an idiot for coming here. He’d asked a stranger to go for a drink, then had more or less thrown a tantrum when he was rejected. Did Marc even want him here, or was it some Italian honor code that said he had to offer a drink to the man he’d insulted? No, that was stupid. He could have bought him a drink at a bar or restaurant. He wouldn’t have invited Brendan
home
if he wasn’t interested in something else.

Still, Brendan felt he should politely give Marc the chance to opt out. “This should probably be my last one,” Brendan said as he sipped the drink. “I should be getting home, I’m exhausted. We’ve been setting up the offices this week and it’s been grueling. We’re opening for business on Monday but things are still kind of a mess. I guess it’ll have to do, though.” He took a hearty sip and leaned back into the comfy sofa. He had to force himself to feign relaxation, while inside his heart was drumming and he was afraid he’d start to sweat under Marc’s sultry gaze.

Marc continued to stare at him until Brendan felt his face heat, his cock stiffening in his pants.

“I want to show you something,” Marc said. He stood. “Follow me.”

Marc moved down the darkened hallway past the kitchen until Brendan lost sight of him. Swallowing hard, he stood and followed. He found Marc standing outside a closed door, his hand on the knob. He glanced at Brendan. “Wait here a moment, I have to get it ready.”

“Is that...your bedroom?”

Marc paused as he opened the door, and glanced at Brendan, eyebrows raised. “No. That is my bedroom.” He pointed to another door further down the hall. “Wait here.”

He disappeared inside the room and closed the door. Brendan stood in the dim hallway, shaking his head. “What the fuck are you doing, dude,” he whispered. 

The door opened and Marc peeked his head out, a curtain of streaky hair falling over his eyes. “Okay, come in.”

Please don’t let this be where he hides the bodies
, Brendan thought, and stepped into the room.

It was semi-dark inside, soft blue and green lights giving the room an eerie hue, like being inside an aquarium. “Oh,
wow
,” Brendan said as he moved farther in. Littered wall to wall with lush green plants, it smelled fresh and floral. Trickling fountains sat perched on podiums, creating a bubbling, soothing sound like a running brook. 

And rain. He could hear rain falling all around him, then the soft rumble of thunder. He immediately looked up, where three large skylights slashed across the ceiling. He saw the night sky, clear with speckled stars. No rain. No storm outside. He circled the room, examining the lush foliage, and finally found a speaker tucked away behind one of the plants, the thunderstorm sounds emanating from it.

Lightning briefly lit the room with a double flash, and Brendan looked quickly up.

“Small strobes wired to the skylights,” Marc said. “Adds to the effect.”

Brendan moved back to the center of the room, feeling disoriented. There were so many plants of varying types that he had to maneuver through them like a jungle, searching in the direction he’d heard Marc’s voice. Marc stood shadowed in the near darkness, the wavering blue and green lights making patterns across his face. He let out a chuckle as he watched Brendan. “You look perplexed. Tell me what you think of it.”

Brendan turned in a circle, taking it all in. The space was probably the size of a large bedroom, but it seemed bigger, the colorful hues on the walls and ceiling creating an illusion of vastness. Miniature trees with full green leaves edged the walls, flowering ferns hung from the ceiling. The bubbling fountains and soft rain pattering was mesmerizing. He heard crickets and the occasional creek of a peep toad, and as his eyes adjusted, he got the surreal sensation that they were outdoors, like they’d stepped through some dimensional portal in Marc’s tiny apartment.

“What do you think?” Marc asked softly.

“It depends,” Brendan said, brushing the leaves of a plant with his finger. “Is a velociraptor about to jump out of the brush and eat me?”

Marc laughed, a deep, honest sound that relaxed Brendan, and he took a step closer to him. “I keep the dinosaurs locked up when I have guests.”

Brendan sighed, shaking his head. “This is...fucking amazing.”

“You like it?” Marc asked.

Brendan turned in a circle. “Well yeah, I feel like I’m in a rainforest. You did all this?”

He didn’t notice Marc move until he felt an arm brush up against his. He flinched and turned. Marc stood beside him, his eyes like glowing jewels in the aquatic lighting as he gazed up at the skylights. “Life can be stressful,” he said. “I did this room so I’d have a place to come and escape it all. Even if I can’t get away from my life, I can still get away.” He turned to Brendan. “You understand?”

Brendan nodded, but couldn’t speak. Marc was too close, their heat mingling.

“I come in here to relax. Just hang out and absorb it for a while. I always feel refreshed afterward. Ready to face the world outside again. You think I am crazy?”

“No.” Brendan swallowed. He was in near darkness with the most alluring person he’d ever met, the romantic sounds of rain trickling all around him. Resistance was starting to feel most definitely futile. “Well, maybe you are crazy, but I think you’re very creative.”