Criminal Pleasures (7 page)

Cal let out a belly laugh. “So who’s the lucky girl?”

Brendan remained quiet for a moment, staring at his fingers, then he met Cal’s eyes. “You know this city pretty well, right?”

Cal shrugged. “I know it well enough.”

Brendan hesitated a moment, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I met this...person. Up on Federal Hill, at one of the restaurants.”

Call nodded. “And?”

“And...I feel like they dropped a hint about their family. Like giving me the impression that I should be wary of them. I think this person is trying to tell me that they’re... you know.
Connected
.”

Cal laughed, throwing his head back.

Brendan grinned, shrugging. “Is that funny?”

“And is this
person
of Italian descent?”

Brendan nodded. “Very much so.”

Cal set his whisky on the coffee table. “Let me tell you something about Providence, especially Little Italy up there. Every Italian around here claims they’ve got some connection to the mob. I’m not saying some of those guys aren’t still running rackets up there. But most of the folks you meet will pretend to be Michael Corleone whether they are or not.”

Brendan frowned. “Really?”

“Look at the names of the establishments.
Wise Guys Liquors
? The cafés play the theme from
The Godfather
as they serve up cannoli and espresso to the customers. Organized crime has become a tourist attraction for this city. People think it’s cute and charming. So the locals use it to their advantage.”

“Huh.” Brendan took a sip of his drink. “So you’re saying I probably shouldn’t worry that my love interest is going to whack me in my sleep.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “First it was a
person
. Now it’s a love interest? I shouldn’t be surprised with your looks. But damn Brendan, you’ve been here what, a week?” He chuckled. “Give yourself a chance to adjust before you start bedding mobsters’ daughters.”

Brendan laughed softly. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

He felt no compulsion to confess that it was a man who’d caught his eye, not a woman. He had no idea how his father would feel about that, and telling Cal would be like coming out to his whole family. He wasn’t ready for that, even if Marc
weren’t
engaged and elusive and kind of an asshole who he wasn’t even sure liked him.

“I’ve got to get home,” Cal said, standing. “Rhonda and I will have you over soon for dinner, okay?”

Brendan stood and Cal caught him in a bear hug, lifting him off the floor, nearly cracking his spine. “Okay!” he croaked.

Cal put him down and ruffled his hair. “Be good. See you soon. Thanks for the drink.”

Brendan walked him to the door. “Thanks for the plant. And for everything, Cal.”

“You bet, kid. Take care.”

****

Brendan bathed and changed into jeans and a tee shirt. He’d normally be lounging around in pajama pants by now, but if Marc was coming by, he wanted to appear a bit more modest.

If
he’s coming by.

He put on some music and paced the loft, trying to fight off the notion that he was a big, gullible idiot. Considering his prior interactions with the man, there was no reason to be assured Marc would even call. Brendan wasn’t a pushover. He had dignity. But he was feeling rather undignified at the moment. Never had he been so fascinated by a single person. His logic told him it was ridiculous, but his heart couldn’t stop longing for Marc. And it wasn’t just his body or his gorgeous face. Brendan just...
liked
him. He liked his smile. He liked that he had a rainforest room in his apartment. He liked the way he spoke, the words he chose, even when they were infuriatingly vague.

Even when they were insulting.

Brendan wasn’t stupid, and he’d never been one to put up with someone else’s shit. He wouldn’t normally be willing to pursue someone with so many obvious strikes against him. And Marc certainly had plenty: The fiancée, his odd, fluctuating cruelty, his secretiveness. So why was Brendan throwing caution to the wind with this guy, when he knew better?

Because of the way he looks at me
. Brendan knew when someone liked him, and he could see it in Marc’s eyes, even when he was being a prick. Those brown eyes softened when they looked at Brendan, something unspoken and real behind the façade.

He considered calling one of his buddies back in Boston to talk things out, but a vague sense of shame stopped him. He couldn’t share this with anyone. What could he tell them? That he had, in a matter of days, become sexually fixated on a man who was engaged to be married and had thus far treated him like toilet trash?

‘But he has a charming Italian accent and he makes my dick hard and he tastes like heaven and he smells like spiced vanilla
and he said as soon as he saw my eyes he didn’t hear a word I said!’

And then his friends would laugh and call him a pussy.

His phone rang, and Brendan nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus, calm down,” he said to himself. “Pussy.” He answered. “Yeah?”

“Are you hungry?”

Brendan swallowed, the sound of Marc’s voice making his cock twitch. “Sure, I’m hungry.” He was, but not for food.

“Give me your address. I have pizza.”

“Great,” Brendan said, and gave Marc his address. “Hit the buzzer that says Burke.”

“I haven’t forgotten your name. I’ll be there soon.”

He set the phone down and stared at it, his heart racing.
What the hell am I doing?
Tucking his doubts aside, he ran to the bathroom and gargled mouthwash. He checked his hair in the mirror. He needed a cut, it was getting a bit too long in the front. But Marc seemed to like it. He’d kept running his fingers through it while they were in bed.
In bed
. 

He darted into his room to make sure the bed was made and there weren’t any dirty socks on the floor. Then he went back to check out the rest of the loft. It was a nice place, and he was proud of his decorating, simple but elegant. But he wouldn’t say that to Marc for fear he’d start talking about American riches and hookers again.

The doorbell buzzed.

Five minutes later Brendan opened the door to Marc holding a box of pizza, and he had a surreal moment where he felt like he was trapped in the best porn movie ever. “Come in.”

Marc stepped inside and his eyes did a sweep of the loft. He was wearing the same outfit he’d had on the first night Brendan had seen him at the restaurant, black slacks and tight black tee shirt. His brown hair looked clean and soft.

“This is nice,” Marc said.

“Here, I’ll take that.” Brendan grabbed the pizza box so he’d have something to do besides stare at Marc. That nervousness was back, making his gut do flips, the very presence of the man stirring things in his pants.

Marc followed him over to the kitchen bar and sat on one of the stools, watching Brendan as he set out plates and napkins. Brendan couldn’t even think about eating, but he slapped a slice of pizza on each plate, avoiding Marc’s penetrating stare.

“You look good in jeans,” Marc said. “I didn’t think anything could be better than the sight of you in a suit. I was wrong.”

“Thanks.” Brendan smiled. “Do you want a beer?”

“Love one.”

He took out two Sam Adams’ and grabbed a couple of frosted glasses out of the freezer. After popping the caps he poured one for Marc, but his hand didn’t seem to want to cooperate, and he spilled a bit down the side.

Marc stood. “Here, let me do that.” He rounded the breakfast bar and stood beside Brendan, taking over. “I poured enough of these tonight, I’m kind of an expert.”

Their elbows brushed and Brendan had to fight not to suck his breath in, the contact like an electric shock that ran straight to his groin. “You bartend?”

He poured Brendan’s beer and slid it over to him. “I do a bit of everything at the restaurant.” He glanced at Brendan. “I get paid under the table. See, there. I told you one of my awful secrets.”

Brendan laughed. “Scandalous. At least you told me
something
.”

Marc’s grin wilted, his beautiful lips tightening.

Shit. Shouldn’t have said that
. Desperate to save the mood, Brendan reached out and gently touched the underside of Marc’s chin. “Where’d you get the scar?”

Marc looked him straight in the eye. “A gang of drug dealers held me down and cut me with a hunting knife.”

Brendan’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“No,” he said. “I fell off my mountain bike a couple years ago. The other story just sounds more interesting.”

Brendan laughed. “I think you’re interesting enough without the story.”

Marc glanced down at the pizza. “I’m not actually hungry.”

“Neither am I,” Brendan admitted. “Do you want to go sit in there?”

He nodded and picked up his beer, then followed Brendan over to the sofa. Brendan was pleased when Marc sat down right beside him. “So.” Marc smiled. “Tell me about yourself.”

Brendan laughed. “Seriously? I thought you had me all figured out already.”

He shrugged. “I figure if I ask about you, it will stop you from asking about me, since I know you’re dying to.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brendan shuffled a little closer. “Well maybe I should withhold information, too. I can be mysterious.”

Marc laughed, long and hard. “Yes, I’m sure you have quite the shady past,
Brendan
.”

“Why did you emphasize my name,
Marc
?”

“Because nobody called
Brendan
has a shady past. They have prep schools and fraternities and prom dates.”

“Hey.” Brendan pointed. “I was
never
in a fraternity.”

Marc grabbed his pointed finger. He slid closer, and slowly sucked it into his mouth, his hot tongue swirling around it. A shudder of breath left Brendan and he groaned, his eyelids fluttering. “Damn. You’re fucking lethal with that tongue.”

Marc popped Brendan’s finger out of his mouth, but held onto it, pulling Brendan in to him. Their lips met, then that tongue was in Brendan’s mouth, swirling, probing. When Marc slowly eased back and broke the kiss, Brendan could hardly see straight. The power this man had over his body was overwhelming, and as out of control as it made him feel, he loved it. It made him not care about fiancées or shady pasts or mobster families or anything else Marc might have tucked away. As long as he could kiss him, and touch him, he was right where he wanted to be.

Marc’s fingers threaded through Brendan’s hair, his pale brown eyes seeming to drink him in. “I know I keep giving you a hard time,” he said. “But I like who you are. That’s the truth, Brendan.”

“And who is that?” Brendan asked. His voice was still breathy from the kiss, and now the feel of Marc’s fingers in his hair. “Who do you think I am?”

“Suburban rich kid,” Marc said. “With your blond hair and your broad shoulders and your BMW. You’re like that hot football player that everyone wants but no one can have. Except maybe the head cheerleader.”

“
You
managed to have me. You had me the first second I looked at you in the restaurant. You must have noticed me watching you.”

Marc chuckled. “Yes. But I didn’t know why. I thought you were an immigration officer. Trying to catch me working illegally.”

Brendan laughed. “I do
not
look like a cop.”

Marc shrugged. “But you do work in law. I could smell it on you.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not as clever as you pretend to be. You also thought I wanted to take you out in my pimp-mobile and buy my way into your bed.”

Marc snickered. “I didn’t really think that. I was just trying to make you angry so you would go away.”

Brendan’s smile fell, and he scowled. “You did that this afternoon, too, didn’t you? When we spoke on the street.”

Marc gave a little nod. Something in his expression grew serious, and for the second time since meeting him, Brendan thought he saw someone else there, beneath the surface. A part of Marc he was not yet acquainted with.

“Why?” Brendan asked. “Why do you try to turn me off? And then come back and try to...turn me on?”

Marc sighed and shifted on the sofa, turning away from Brendan. He linked his hands on his lap, his head hanging down. “Because I’m a fuck up, Brendan. A huge, enormous fuck up.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at Brendan, saying nothing. The stare went on so long Brendan grew uncomfortable under his gaze. “What is it?”

“I shouldn’t be doing this with you. I’m sorry, Brendan. This is probably the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“What?” Brendan laughed, shaking his head. “It can’t be as ominous as all
that
. Do you mean because you’re—”

“No,” he said. “Not because I’m engaged.” He slid off the couch and came to kneel before Brendan, taking his hands. His eyes were hard and serious as he looked up at him. “There are things about me I cannot tell you. Things that if you knew, you would not be looking at me with such softness. But I can’t...” He looked down, giving his head a quick shake. “I’ve been selfish. So incredibly selfish.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brendan said. “Just tell me whatever it is that’s so bad. I can handle it.”

He looked back up at Brendan. “I shouldn’t have taken you home last Friday. And I shouldn’t have come back for more tonight. But I did anyway. Because I wanted to. It’s like I can’t help myself. And I can’t afford to be this careless.”

Brendan ran his fingers through Marc’s silky hair. “I can’t help myself, either. I’ve got it bad for you.
Really
bad.”

Marc nodded. “I know.” He stood, releasing Brendan’s hands. “And that’s why I can’t do this to you. Not again. It’s bad enough that I did it once. I have to go.”

Brendan stared, his jaw slack as he watched Marc walk toward the door. He stood up and followed. “Wait! Can’t we just...I mean, come on. Marc?”

He looked back at Brendan. “I’m sorry.”

And then he left.

Brendan stared at the closed door. “Well, fuck,” he whispered. “Worst porn movie ever.”

He drifted back to the kitchen and tossed the pizza in the trash. Then went to bed. Alone.