Criminal Pleasures (6 page)

He rested his head on the steering wheel and took a deep breath. “I’m going to be fine,” he whispered. Better than fine. He had everything he wanted, right? He was more privileged than most people. He was exceptionally good looking. He could find a boyfriend...or girlfriend, easily, if that’s what he decided he wanted. Basically, he had no business moping around with his chin dragging on the ground.

He was about to start the car when he looked through the windshield and spotted a familiar figure stepping out of an office building up the road on the opposite side of the street.
Marc. Oh, fuck, is that him?

Brendan squinted. The man was in jeans and a blue sweatshirt. He leaned against the wall outside a building and lit a cigarette, then tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Shit,” Brendan muttered. It
was
him.

He reached for the door handle then stopped himself.
Don’t get out of the car. What the hell do you have to say to him?

He gazed over at Marc, watching him smoke. Even from a distance, the sight of him made Brendan’s stomach flutter. He gritted his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the handle and opened the door. “Damn this small fucking town,” he said, and got out of the car.

He crossed the road and made his way toward Marc, his hand involuntary reaching up to smooth his hair back, recalling Terry Ann’s comment that he looked like he’d been through battle. He hoped he didn’t look
too
haggard. Despite having been cast off by his one night stand, he wanted to look appealing, perhaps make him regret tossing Brendan out in the middle of the night.

Though the street was fairly crowded with pedestrians, Marc looked up before Brendan reached him, like he could sense him coming. For a moment Marc’s jaw hung slack, his deep hazel eyes widening with recognition. Then he seemed to tighten and coil, as if bracing for an attack. He snuffed out the cigarette under his shoe and stepped away from the wall as Brendan approached.

“Hello,” Brendan said, using his all-business smile. “Thought that was you.”

“Hey, Brendan. What are you doing here?”

“My office is right there.” He turned and pointed toward his building. “Just getting out of work.”

Marc looked over at the building. “Wow. Strange coincidence.”

“Is it?” Brendan shrugged. “The uh, address was on the business card I gave you.”

Marc looked at him, then quickly shifted his eyes to the ground, shrugging. “It was in my pocket. I think it went through the wash.”

Brendan chuckled. “How...fitting. So what are you doing down here?”

Marc tilted his head toward the building behind him. “Immigration stuff. Good to see you.”

Brendan frowned. “Yeah, you too.” Was that a genuine ‘hey, it’s good to see you’ or a ‘hey, conversation over, now fuck off’?

An attractive young woman with short, curly brown hair came out of the building and approached them. “Sorry, Marcello, I just had to pee
so
bad.” Noticing Brendan, she looked up. “Oh, hi, I’m Gina.”

“Brendan Burke.” He shook her hand. She had the same olive skin as Marc, her eyes a deep brown, smile open and friendly.

“So you still riding back with me?” she asked, turning to Marc. “I have to stop by the bakery and pick up cupcakes, if that’s okay.”

“Actually, I can take the bus. You go ahead.” Marc leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. His tension was palpable, that strange alertness tightening his shoulders.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” She glanced back at Brendan. “So you’re a friend of Marcello’s?”

“Oh, um, yes,” Brendan said, glancing at Marc.

“Brendan’s one of the lawyers I talked to about the visa. He works just down the road. Brendan, this is my cousin, Gina.”

Brendan turned and looked at Marc, a scowl pinching his brows.
I did what?

“Oh, that’s great. Well, nice to meet you, Brendan,” she said. “Hey, do you handle like, child support and stuff?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Marc told her.

Brendan frowned at Marc, then turned to his cousin. “Yes, Gina, actually I
do
.” He gave Marc a look, then fished out one of his business cards. “Here you go. You can call the office if you want to talk.”

“Oh, thank you!” She smiled at him. “I’ve been wanting to talk to someone about the shit my ex is pulling, he’s driving me nuts.”

“Surely Poppy can recommend someone more suitable for you,” Marc said to Gina. “Brendan’s only just started his practice.”

Again, Brendan glared at Marc. What the hell was he doing?

She waved her hands in front of her. “No way, I don’t need Poppy involved, I don’t like the way he handles things, Marcello. I hate my ex but he’s still the father of my children.” She looked quickly up at Brendan. “My father can be a little...abrupt, is all. I’ll call you, Brendan, nice to meet you.
Ciao
, Marcello, see you later.”

“
Ciao
.”

They watched her walk away, then Marc turned to Brendan. “Don’t take her case. If she calls you, tell her you’re too booked up.”

Brendan laughed, shaking his head. “Why? And why did you lie to her about me? I actually
need
clients, it’s kind of what I do, Marc.”

“Just trust me. You don’t want to get involved with her.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just better for you if you don’t. She’s not someone you want to mess with.”

Brendan laughed. “Oh yes, she seems perilous, what with the cupcakes and all.”

Marc finally looked him in the eye, a half smirk tilting his lips. He took Brendan by the arm and led him over to the wall. A thrill ran through Brendan’s body at this simple contact. “Look,” Marc said softly. “You do not want any professional entanglements with the DiPietro family. That’s all I’m going to say. Just let it go. Trust me on this, all right? Please?”

Brendan shrugged. “All right, fair enough.”

“Promise me.”

Brendan frowned at him. “All right,” he said. “I promise.”

Marc’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

“So why did you tell her I’d helped you with a visa? She asked if we were friends, you could have left it at that. Or were you terrified I was going to tell her what a nice cock you have?”

Marc’s handsome face scrunched in a frown. He waved a hand at Brendan dismissively and turned away. “This isn’t about
that
.”

Brendan opened his mouth, then he closed it again. He didn’t want to come off as the bitter reject, begging Marc to validate his insecurities. “So you’re immigrating permanently?”

Marc glanced at him, then pulled out another cigarette. For just a flash, Brendan thought he saw Marc’s fingers tremble as he lit it. Then his casual stance returned, leaning against the wall, looking anywhere but at Brendan. “Trying to. On a fiancée visa. Once it’s approved and we get married, I can stay.”

Brendan’s lips tightened. “So she’s an American. Your fiancée.”

Marc nodded.

“Are you marrying her for a green card?”

Marc turned and glared at him.

Shit. Did I just say that?
Brendan tried to calm his pounding heart, but he could feel the anger he’d been suppressing ever since Friday night bubbling up, tapping at his temples. His mother always told him he needed to learn to clamp his mouth when he was angry. He tended to spill every last thought in his mind when he was pissed at someone, then regretted it later.

“If we get married,” Marc said icily, “then yes, I will have a green card.”

Brendan chuckled, raising his eyebrows. “Well. That’s not exactly what I asked you though, was it?”

“I didn’t know I was on trial, Your Honor.”

Brendan took a step toward him. “Well maybe you should be.”

“Who are you to question me?” Marc looked him up and down. “It’s not your business.”

“Why did you sleep with me?” he blurted out.

Marc paused, the cigarette halfway to his mouth. He lowered it, shaking his head. “No one forced you to go to bed with me, Brendan. You went home with a stranger. Cross-examine yourself.”

Brendan let out a breath, relaxing his shoulders. “Yeah. I went home with a stranger. I guess it was just my bad luck that you’re an expert at seduction with your garden spiders and your freaking tropical island getaway in the spare bedroom. And the fiancée you neglected to mention.”

Marc huffed. “You really don’t get laid much, do you?” He flicked the cigarette onto the sidewalk, sneering at it as though it disgusted him suddenly. “What difference does it make why it happened? It happened.”

“I guess I was just curious. I mean, if you’re engaged—”

“What do you want to hear?” Marc turned and faced him. “Do you want me to tell you how wonderful you are, how desirable? I have the feeling you hear that often enough. Go find someone else to stroke your ego. Pick up a stranger that will be more grateful for your attentions.”

Brendan shook his head. “I don’t need grateful. I’d settle for honest.
Ciao
,
Marcello
.”

He turned and started to walk away.

“Brendan?”

Brendan stopped and turned back.

“I have to go to work at the restaurant for a few hours tonight. If you’re not busy, perhaps I can come by your place later.”

Brendan scowled and stepped slowly back toward Marc. “You want to come over? Tonight?”

He shrugged. “I was rude to you again. I’m sorry. I’ll bring you a pizza. Bibeta’s makes the best pizza in Providence.”

“Pizza?” Brendan laughed. “Marc, you say
horrible
things to me, and then you turn around and apologize. I don’t get you, you’re...you’re...”

Marc stepped toward him. “I’m what?”

“You’re bewildering!”

A grin tilted Marc’s lips. “Bewildering.”

“Yes. Bewildering.”

“Well, I’ve been called far worse.”

“I know nothing about you, Marc, you won’t even tell me how long you’ve been in the country, where you’re from, why you want to see
me
tonight instead of your fiancée. I don’t think these questions are too personal considering you want to come to my home.”

Marc grasped Brendan by the jacket, and with surprising strength, dragged him aside into the darkened alcove between two buildings.

“What are you—”

Marc kissed him, his body pushing Brendan’s back against the cool stone wall. The kiss was quick, forceful, a lick of hot tongue that made Brendan’s heart pound and his breath leave him. Marc broke the kiss abruptly. “Brendan. You talk too much.”

Marc left the alcove, and Brendan stumbled back out onto the sidewalk, dazed. Marc looked back over his shoulder as he walked away. “I’ll call you later.”

“You said you washed my number,” Brendan shouted.

A laugh left Marc, echoing off the building walls. “I lied!” he called over his shoulder, then darted across the street.

Chapter Five

Brendan had only just removed his jacket and tie, and poured himself a tumbler of Glenlivet, when the doorbell buzzed. Pausing, he set down the whisky and moved across the floor in his socks, nearly slipping on the freshly polished hardwood. He hit the speaker on the buzzer. “Who is it?”

“Brendan, it’s Cal Whitehead. Is this a bad time?”

Brendan smiled at the familiar voice. “Cal, I’m buzzing you up.”

After buzzing Cal in, he quickly went to the kitchen bar and poured a second glass of whisky for his friend. Cal Whitehead was like an uncle to him, his father’s former law partner. He was a judge in Providence now, but had once worked the criminal circuit in Boston. Cal was the one that suggested to Brendan’s father that he should branch out into Providence. And more importantly, he’d planted the idea in the old man’s mind that he should put his son, Brendan, in charge. Brendan felt he owed Cal a lot more than a whisky, but it was the best he could do at the moment.

 A knock came minutes later and Brendan opened the door, whisky in hand. Cal stood grinning in the doorway, holding a flowering plant. Cal was a large man, well over six feet, and despite the receding hairline and glasses, nothing about him suggested docility. Beneath the shirt and tie was a solid, muscular physique that he kept up with running and home gym workouts, and as Brendan understood it, he could be so intimidating in the courtroom that he’d made hardened criminals weep with a glance.

But for Brendan, Cal’s smile was warm and genuine, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I got you a plant.”

“I got you a Glenlivet,” Brendan said.

“Then let’s trade, I think I’m getting the better deal.”

Cal handed Brendan the plant, and Brendan handed him the whisky, then waved him inside, shutting the door.

“Oh wow,” Cal said, moving around the loft with his drink. “Nice place, Brendan. Looks great.”

“Thanks. I love the space.” He set the plant down, then picked up his drink and went to join Cal, who stood at the bookshelf, perusing the photographs.

“How are things at the new office?”

“Good,” Brendan said. “Coming along. Have you talked to Dad lately?”

Cal’s eyes slid sideways and he smirked. “He called me an hour ago. Asked me to come check on you. He said you sounded
lonely
on the phone.”

“What?” Brendan laughed. “He did not!”

“He did,” Cal said, moving to the furniture in the center of the space. Sitting down on the sofa, he crossed his legs and took a sip of whisky.

Brendan walked over and joined him, sitting in the adjoining chair. “He has got to start trusting that I can take care of myself. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“He’s your father,” Cal said. “He’s always going to worry about you. It’s not a bad thing, Brendan. To have parents who care. Not everyone does.”

“I know. But as you can see,” he gestured around him at the loft. “I’m doing just fine.”

“Glad to hear it. You’re a smart young man and a good lawyer. You’ll do great. I told him that.”

“Thanks, Cal.”

“So your father tells me you got laid.”

Brendan slapped his forehead. “He told you that? Oh, man.” He laughed and fell back in the chair. “What is his
problem
?” His cheeks heated with embarrassment.