Beauty and the Barracuda (5 page)

Sansone tucked in his lips. “I’m sorry, is your half-a-million-dollar home in one of the richest neighborhoods in this state
not
luxurious?”

His brother sighed. “I don’t mean
these
luxuries,” He waved a hand around the room. “I meant the luxury of fucking with
you.”
Luciano grinned. “There are some things money just can’t buy.”

He would kill him. Sansone would kill him and bury his body in the most remote part of Pennsylvania.

“See?” Luciano pointed out. “Your face says you’re contemplating homicide and where to bury me.”

“What do you want, Luc?” All he needed to do was brood! In silence! That was it! He’d spent hours alone in his office, pushing away his personal feelings so he could get some actual work done, and the moment he came home, he’d had every intention of staring at his ceiling and resisting the urge to seek out Nyssa.

The other man took a sip from the glass in his hand. “I’ve been dismissed, Sunny. Used and abused. Fucked and ducked.”

Ah, so
this
was the reason his home had been invaded. Sansone had known on some level that his brother and Samara had spent the night together but he found it extremely amusing that his sibling looked so despondent at the moment. It was obvious, even without Luciano’s pointing it out, that Sammie had left the heavyweight boxer with a knot in his cock.
Excellent…

Sansone shrugged off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves before making himself comfortable in his recliner. “I get the feeling you wanted to wake up to a certain radio host this morning.”

Luciano rolled his shoulders. “Can’t say I was opposed to the idea.” He glanced at Sansone. “Clearly she felt differently.” Smirking, he added, “But hey, some bulls have only one job—being a stud.”

And there it was. That small glimpse of vulnerability in Luciano that he never really allowed anyone to see. For sixteen years, Sansone had watched his brother grow, learn, and hurt. He’d watched the angry kid he’d originally met become a man with a heart as strong as the power behind the hands he used while in the ring.

Unintentionally, Samara had sent Luciano back to a place where he wondered if he was good enough. Knowing Samara, Sansone could pretty much guess that she’d vacated Luciano’s bed so quickly due to her own fear that he would, quite bluntly, tell her that whatever they’d done would never go farther. She was completely right to feel that way, since Sansone’s sibling hopped beds quicker than a sailor on leave, but if she had stopped and looked just a bit closer, she would’ve realized there was more to Luciano than that.

Luciano had been casting Samara Blackwell gazes that held a lot more than unrequited lust for as long as he’d known her. He was thoroughly and completely in love and had been since the first time he’d heard her voice. But the man known as “The Philly Brawler” wasn’t as confident as he seemed. It had taken him years to accept that the sins of others would and could never determine his own attributes as a man.

Unlike Luciano, Sansone had
grown up in a two-parent home where his mother and father had loved him profoundly. As a kid, he’d had the best of everything life had to offer. And then he’d stumbled onto someone who was the exact opposite, a kid so angry at the world that he’d seemed unreachable. But somehow, Sansone had managed to do the unthinkable—he got him to talk. When he’d sat across from Luciano all those years ago in their school cafeteria, he had no idea what to expect, really. Luc was a simple kid from downtown with a penchant for using his hands to explain himself rather than his mouth.

He’d been abandoned and alone for so long, enraged for so long, that Sansone reaching out to him had seemed like a foreign thing. Yet the more time they spent together, the more family dinners Luciano attended at Sansone’s house, the closer they became until it formed an unbreakable bond. Sansone hadn’t befriended Luciano because he felt sorry for him. He couldn’t stand to see anyone alienated due to the shitty reputation of their parents and the fact that they, themselves, were misunderstood. A few years went by, and it only seemed right that the next step would be for his parents to adopt the kid he already called his brother. Sure enough, they’d done so and after all this time—even when he tried to figure out how he could stuff the huge fucker into his trunk—Sansone had never regretted it.

At least not until his brother suddenly cried, “She left me in a prone, dry husk like a whore! I woke up alone, naked and cold!” He blinked at Sansone and asked in a small voice, “Am I pretty?”

Sansone got up and left the room.

“Oh, c’mon!” his brother shouted following him. “That was a reasonable question!”

“No, it was you trying to make me mental!”

“Ma would tell me if I’m pretty or not.”

Sansone pushed open the doors of his kitchen and went in search of more food. “Ma married our father. I don’t think she’s a well woman.”

“I’m telling Pops you said that.”

“What’s he gonna do? Spank me?”

“No,” Luciano answered. “He’ll tell Nyssa and
she’ll
spank you.” The son of a bitch grinned. “I know how much you enjoy when Mistress Blackwell punishes you.”

Lobbing a loaf of bread at him, Sansone spun and delved into the fridge. “Fuck you.”

“Be honest with me, Sunny. How firm are her hands?”

“Shut up, Luc.”

“Is there leather involved or do you like the wooden paddles more?”

“Shut up, Luc.”

“Ever wear a baby bonnet?”                                                                                             

“That is
it
!”
Turning, Sansone punched Luciano in the balls and watched him drop to his knees before Sansone went back to the task at hand.

“I am going to
end
you,” Luciano wheezed from the floor.

Normally he would’ve taken that threat to heart but, growing up, Sansone had been Luciano’s sparring partner. Between the two of them, the other man was the better boxer although Sansone could hold his own without much effort. There had been many times when he’d come across kids who believed he thought he was better than them just because of his privileged lifestyle. That had been when Carmine Sultana—his father—had taught him just enough moves to get him by. When Luciano had come along, Sansone learned more as he’d watched his brother become skilled at the art of boxing. Even now, he occasionally sparred with Luciano when he wasn’t trying to get him to sign on the dotted line for some deal that would triple their bank accounts and help the charities they sponsored.

“Fucking shut it. I’m trying to make a meal,” Sansone snarled, stepping over the other man as he made his way around the kitchen, grabbing chips and a beer.

“Here’s a question for you, you cockless, unhinged bastard,” his brother said, finally getting back to his feet. “Why is it that you’re here and your Audi is missing? The same Audi that you refuse to let me take anywhere.”

“Because baby Jesus borrowed it this morning; said something about cleansing every place you’d stepped into around the city,” he mocked.

“Oh, fuck off. Nyssa has the car, doesn’t she?” Luciano took a seat at the table and leered. “Which means either she came over extremely early this morning, or
left
extremely late.”

“Or,”
Sansone replied in a whisper, leaning toward Luciano, “I committed manslaughter last night, stuffed the person in my trunk, had to get rid of the evidence and I now have to kill you too.”

“You’re being awfully evasive.”

“No, I’m trying to subtly tell you to mind your own goddamn business.”

“Threatening to murder me is subtle?”

“I could’ve simply reached across the table and slammed your face into it repeatedly while speaking in broken sentences and screaming erratically,” he pointed out.

Luciano sat back and nodded. “Yes, but then I’d have to break your hands and slap you with them. Ma wouldn’t approve of that particular action.”

Sansone flipped him the bird.

Tapping the table rhythmically, his brother asked, “So…get any closer to slipping your”—he made a popping noise—“into her?” Then he whistled.

Rubbing his temples, Sansone questioned, “Luc, how much do you weigh?”

The other man shot him a confused look. “As of right now, I’m about 275. Why?”

“Just trying to figure out how much cement it would take to drag your overgrown ass under water.”

“Well that’s harsh. I find myself a little hurt.”

“
Si sta andando a trovare te molto male in un momento
!”

“Don’t threaten me in Italian! I hate it when you threaten me in Italian!”

“Stop pissing me off!”

“But it’s so easy! It brings me unfathomable amounts of joy!”

Sansone jabbed a finger in his direction. “Do you want to wake up tomorrow with your hands glued to your face again?”

Luciano deflated. “No.”

“Then shut the fuck up and let me eat my food in peace.”

“But—”

“Tranquillo
!”

The silence he demanded ensued…for all of five seconds.

“Just tell me whether or not Nyssa’s a screamer.”

Sansone launching himself at his brother was a totally logical move, and he didn’t regret it for a moment, goddammit!

Nyssa had learned a long time ago that the concept of power was an extremely misconstrued thing. Power didn’t come from raising the fears or anxieties of others. It didn’t come from a family name or the number in your bank account. True power came from being able to affect a person just by entering a room. It came from a dominant stare, a coercive curve of the mouth. It came from the capacity to glide into another’s presence so incredibly fluently that they temporarily lost all thought.
That
was power. And it radiated off Sansone Sultana in waves. It was something Nyssa couldn’t control or manipulate; it was something that controlled and manipulated
her.
She’d made a promise to herself that she’d never be put in this position again, and yet here she was.

Nyssa hadn’t been into the office for three days, purposely keeping her distance until she was finally capable of rolling out of bed and squaring her shoulders in the face of something that had grown entirely too strong—her attraction to her best friend. There was only so much she could do to shove that part of her desires into the back of her psyche but after that kiss…there wasn’t anyplace to hide. Sansone invaded every waking moment, monopolized every memory from the last eight years.

There was a reason she hadn’t had a successful relationship in all that time, and he was at the heart of it. Nyssa had dated NFL coaches with less intensity than Sansone. Just the way he titled his head at moments while listening to her speak left a burning aftermath of lust in her gut. The quirk of his brow, the muscle that leaped in his jaw when he was annoyed, and the simple indentation of his bottom lip distracted her like nothing else. His sharp intelligence, sarcastic wit, and ruthless perusal had all earned him the nickname “The Barracuda” in their office. A simple roll of Sansone’s shoulders gave her pause, and when he said her name…

Nyssa sucked in a deep breath and swallowed to regain moisture in her mouth as she stepped lightly through the parking garage and easily walked into Blackwell & Sultana.

She made her way past the security desk and flashed a quick smile at the guard who regularly posted there. “Mr. Wayne.”

He nodded. “Miss Blackwell.”

Still smiling, she eased on past the potted plants, smaller offices, interns, and the waiting area, coming to a stop at her assistant’s desk. Smirking, Nyssa leaned down until she could whisper in the woman’s ear, “If you’re going to sleep at work, at least have some class and do so in the lounge like everyone else.”

Alana Stafford jerked upwards, blinking wide green eyes. “
That
was not sleeping.”

Nyssa stood straight and started going through the cards of messages on the corner of the mahogany desk. “Really? Then what was it?”

“Er…prayer?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you?”

Flicking through the numbers, Nyssa tossed a few in the garbage can to the side. She didn’t have time for bullshit, and the majority of the messages she’d received were just that. Some were from players whining about ad campaigns they wanted. Others were from ad campaigns whining about the players they wanted. The rest were invitations to dinners she had no intention of attending unless they involved a deal of twenty percent commission and a sports line at Target.

“Try again, cupcake,” Nyssa said to Alana.

“Okay! I was asleep.” The younger woman flung her arms out to her sides. “Crucify me!”

“Put your arms down and go take a break.” She
could
very well crucify Alana, but since the girl was halfway through law school and pulled only God knew how many hours studying for exam after exam, having mercy only seemed sensible.

Alana sighed as she stood. “You must love me.”

“That and I don’t want you rubbing under-boob around the rim of my favorite mug before making me coffee in the mornings,” Nyssa called after her.

“That was
one
time and I did it to my
ex-
boss, who totally deserved it!”

Laughing softly, Nyssa took a quick peek across the office space to see whether or not Sansone’s door was open. That was typically the indicator that he was in. When she found it closed, she breathed a small sigh of relief. Nyssa was well aware she’d have to face him at some point in the very near future, but if she could avoid doing so for just a bit longer, her life would be so much easier.

Sunday night, when she’d known that he was having dinner at his parents’, she’d dropped his car back off with the help of Samara while she was still in town. Since she hadn’t heard from him since Saturday morning, Nyssa concluded he was also attempting to step around the elephant in the room. Wednesdays were slow for them normally—which meant they’d either do absolutely nothing or they’d plan for the rest of the work week. He might’ve chosen to go scouting today, something she wouldn’t mind in the least bit. With him out of the office, she could focus on contracts, signing bonuses, and energy drink lines.

Nyssa unlocked her office door and flicked on the overhead light before hitting the button that would open her window shades and give her an amazing view of Center City Philly. Penn’s Landing was in walking distance from where they were located, and she could see the Benjamin Franklin Bridge along with the pier and the trolley. With a deep breath, she unbuttoned her jacket and slid it off, tossing it carelessly on the love seat to her right.

She walked toward her desk and was reaching for her wireless mouse to wake up her desktop when her leather chair suddenly spun from its wall-facing position and Sansone came into view.

“
Motherfucker
!”

He smirked and leaned forward, placing his forearms on her desk. “And good morning to you too, sweetness.”

“What
are
you doing?”

Shrugging, he gave her a nonchalant look. “Nothing, why?”

“Because you’re dwelling in my office like a nocturnal Godfather reject! Jesus Christ, Sunny! What’s wrong with you?” Her heartbeat was thrumming in her ears, and it had nothing to do with the fact he’d scared the hell out of her. It was all due to that goddamn stare. The knowing one he shot her anytime he caught her attempting to do something she had no business doing—like avoiding him.

He hadn’t brushed his hair back today so the caramel curls were a little disheveled, falling adorably around his forehead, ears, and the nape of his neck. He’d foregone a full suit and settled for a tailored, stark white dress-shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, unbuttoned at the top, and tucked into gunmetal gray slacks. As usual, his clothing fit his wide, muscular physique perfectly.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Sansone answered in a low tone, blinking up at her. “But you can do me the honor of explaining what’s wrong with
you
.”

She knew exactly
what he meant but it was best to pretend like she didn’t. “I don’t understand—”

“Do. Not,” he cut in, his voice remaining soft and even. “You committed an act of sexual harassment
and
grand larceny just a few days ago, or are we pretending as though that didn’t happen?”

“Oh, you have to be kidding me with this shit. Sexual harassment?”

Sansone folded his arms across his chest. “You exposed my peter.”

God in heaven…

“Sunny, get out of my office.”

He rested one ankle on the opposite thigh and sat back. “Not until we talk about your little stunt.”

“I don’t
want
to talk about my little stunt,” Nyssa said between clenched teeth. “As a matter of fact, the whole reason why I haven’t been here is to
not
talk about my little stunt.”

“Heh.”

She
hated
that noise! And right now she hated the mouth it had come from.

Nyssa pointed to the door. “Out.”

Standing in one smooth motion that almost made him look ethereal, Sansone walked in a slow gait toward the door.

Placing her hands against her desk, she tried to draw in an inhale that wasn’t
jagged and listened to the sound of the door locking and closing. Oxygen was much easier to pull in when he wasn’t invading her space, stealing her sense. Control and rationality had kept her safe all this time but some way, somehow, he’d slipped past both and gotten under her skin in a way no one else ever had.

He was insane but she loved him
and
his need for expensive hair products. Possibly more than she should’ve, but it wasn’t to be helped. Sansone made her feel like she wasn’t just another position-hungry bitch climbing the ladder—something James had told her—in anticipation of the day when she could find a boy toy and order him about. His looks aside, what was in his heart had attracted her. He was, in all honesty, a genuinely good man. One she could never have, because if they parted, it would kill her. He was steady; he was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be the one she could trust herself around implicitly but somewhere along the way she’d lost that comfort.

“I think you’ve forgotten exactly whom you’re dealing with,
cara
.”

Nyssa jerked upwards and around, finding Sansone leaning against her door, his gaze acute. “When have I ever gone away
that
easy?” He stepped forward. “And when are you planning to stop avoiding me?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek briefly. “Sunny—”

“Quiet,” Sansone murmured, coming closer. “I stayed up for
hours
Friday night, questioning precisely what it was I should say to you, how I should handle the fact that I’d finally gotten the opportunity to taste the sweetest mouth I’ve ever known, and I decided to let it die. I decided to say
nothing
.”

Tucking in her lips, she leaned back against her desk as he stood toe to toe with her.

“Then I caught you creeping downstairs Saturday morning and thought to myself for all of five seconds,
‘Let her go. Call her later. Act like nothing happened.’”
He lifted a hand as if to touch her but drew back and balled it into a fist before dropping it to his side. “But I couldn’t,” Sansone whispered. Angling himself, he pinned her in on either side with his hands, placing them on the desk. “I have the ability to do a lot of things but watching you walk away from me, even unknowingly, will never be one of my skills.”

The scent of saffron and cardamom enveloped her, the heat of Sansone’s nearness making it nearly impossible to breathe. And when he looked at her as though he were about to lose the last bit of control either of them had, Nyssa’s pussy spasmed, the minute sensation causing her thighs to tense as he made it abundantly clear he wanted a lot more than just that kiss.

“Tell me something, sweetness.” His voice had dropped to a low rumble that caused her nipples to bead and scrape against the lace of her bra with every ragged lungful of air. “Are you avoiding me because you regret the kiss itself, or because you regret not doing it sooner?”

Nyssa shook her head and leaned back as far as she could, trying to push through the haze of desire clouding her determination not to ruin a friendship that meant way more to her than just a good fuck. “I’m avoiding you because that kiss was a—”

“If the word mistake leaves your mouth, I am going to spank you, Nyssa.” Sansone growled, interrupting. “Now nod if you understand.”

“Sunny—”

He slapped the desk behind her and she snapped her mouth shut.

“I. Said. Nod.”

How sick was it that it felt as though the walls of her cunt would cave in on themselves just from that one aggressive gesture? Nyssa slowly nodded.

His jaw clenched and he placed his forehead against her own. “Do you honestly believe you’re the only one between us who can’t concentrate when the other comes near? Do you have any idea how much restraint it’s taking me to
not
bend you over this desk? Every single day from the moment I met you has been spent in
agony.
Every single smile, every single laugh, every single blink leaves me
devastated
.”
Sansone’s palms went from the desk to her hips. “You’re running because you’ve somehow talked yourself into thinking you’re the only one between us who’s struggling with the choice to leave our relationship in limbo.”