Sexual Persuasion (4 page)

She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told. And the answer is?”

“I own Trends, on Newbury Street. It’s a―”

“Terrific home furnishings store. I’ve been in many times. I don’t remember seeing you, though.” He took his focus off the road to face her. “I would have remembered.”

The man was a charmer. No doubt about that.

“Now I understand why you bid on those exceptional pieces tonight.”

“You outbid me on the abstract. Do you always get what you want?”

“Usually, but if I’d known at the time you were bidding against me, I would have let you have it.”

Even in the dark, with streetlights and the beams of oncoming cars casting moveable shadows across his face, Charlotte detected Alex’s mischievous expression. She was about to chastise him when he pulled up in front of an old brownstone.

“We’re here,” he said.

A valet opened Charlotte’s door and helped her out. She surveyed the area, a tiny backstreet in the Beacon Hill neighborhood. “I never knew this place existed,” she said. “There’s not even a sign. What’s it called?”

“Moe’s.”

“How did you find it?”

“Moe’s a friend.”

They were met at the door by a big black man with two diamond studs in his ears and a flowered shirt no straight man in his right mind would ever wear. No gay man, either, unless he was the mammoth size of Moe, because Moe was flagrantly and unequivocally gay. He bear-hugged Alex as if they were long lost brothers, forcing a grunt from deep in Alex’s belly.

“
You trying to break my ribs?”

“Look at you, handsome, all dressed up in a tux. Where you been? I haven’t seen you or the boss man for a coon’s age.”

Alex patted the big man’s shoulder. “Some of us have to work for a living instead of hanging around a bar every night tinkling on the piano.”

“
Dat ain’t work? Hell, it is.”

“Charlotte Stone, meet Sweet Moe Redding.
The best jazz pianist in Boston. The country, maybe.”

“No relation to Otis, honey.” Moe looked Charlotte up and down and didn’t relax his scrutiny when he spoke. “You got yourself a pretty one, Alex. What you doing going out with this fellow? You can do better.”

“Well, we―”

“Don’t put ideas in her head, Moe. She’s already harboring some preconceived notions about me. I’m trying to convince her they’re all untrue, or at the very least, they don’t matter.”

“Whatever they are, Miz Charlotte, you’re probably right. This is one complex dude.”

Charlotte wondered what that meant.
Complex how?

“Great. Thanks a lot, Moe.” Alex turned to Charlotte. “Not complex at all. What you see is what you get.”

Moe released a belly laugh. “You good, man. Don’t believe him, Miz. I’ve known him for years, and I haven’t a clue who he is.”

Charlotte smirked smugly in Alex’s direction, which he ignored.

Moe waved to the bartender. “First round on the house, Luther. Now go sit down. We do another set in a couple of minutes. Enjoy yourself, young lady.”

“Thanks. Nice meeting you.”

Alex scrunched his brow. “That went well.” With Charlotte in tow, he threaded his way around the tight spaces to a small corner table and arranged the chairs to face the small stage. He held out her chair. When she sat, he removed her shawl and draped it over the chair back, seizing the opportunity to nuzzle her neck. “You smell delicious. Opium’s my favorite.”

Charlotte sucked in a quick breath. Why did this man have such an effect on her?
Complex? Yes, she’d say he was all that and more. He drew his chair closer when he sat and brushed back a stray wisp of hair that had fallen over her forehead, lightly grazing her temple. The gesture seemed personal, causing a shiver to ripple through her. Alex Andros was more of an enigma with each passing minute, which only made her more curious. Who was he really?

“So tell me more about you, Charlotte Stone.”

“Nothing much to tell. Very ordinary, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm, I doubt that.”

She looked around the club. There were a few male/female couples, but most were partnered with their own sex. Men with men. Women with women. Her stomach somersaulted. “This is a gay bar.”

Alex leaned closer. “Is it?”

“You know it is.”

“Is there something wrong with that? The jazz is better than any place in town, and
Moe carries excellent brands of liquor and beer. The coffee’s Brazilian. What more could you want? Unless, of course, you have something against gay people.”

“I…I don’t know. I’ve never been in a gay bar before.”

“Then don’t judge. Sit back, have a drink, and enjoy the music.”

“So you come in here with your boss? What’s his name? Max?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Alex’s face. “You’re being coy, Charlotte. You knew Max’s name. Your lawyer friend, Darcy Haven, gave you an earful, remember? The guy who controls
all
of Boston’s rackets?”

“His attorney said not all, if I remember correctly.”

Alex grinned. “You got me.” The waitress appeared. “Now what’ll you have to drink?”

“A glass of cabernet.”

“Glenlivet Eighteen, rocks,” he said.

Charlotte watched the couples. Was Alex trying to tell her something by coming here?
See my world? This is who I am? Or part of who I am.
Or was it exactly as he said? Good music, good liquor, good coffee. Whatever his reason, it had nothing to do with her. One evening. One drink, maybe two. That would be all she wrote.

Moe and two other men stepped up on the tiny stage: a bassist and a small guy on vibes. Even though no one smoked, a haze floated across the spotlights, giving the place the feel of an old black-and-white movie. She expected Bogart drinking at the next table with Bacall, Sidney
Greenstreet and Peter Lorie huddled in the back room.

Charlotte did what Alex suggested. She sat back and listened to the music of Count Basie, Duke Ellington, and a few progressive jazz artists. A heavyset black woman came out to cheers and whistles and went into renditions of familiar songs made famous by Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, and other song stylists of by-gone days. Her voice
smoldered husky and bluesy. The woman caught Alex’s gaze a couple of times and smiled as if they were old friends. Charlotte liked her singing a lot.

Enthralled by the music, Charlotte didn’t realize her wineglass had been refilled until she picked it up. Maybe they traded her glass more than once, because she felt light-headed and mellow. After an hour and a half, the group took a break.

“We can stay for the next set, if you want,” Alex said.

“We’d better go. Not because I’m bored, but I’m tired. Six days is a long week.”

“Too long. You should talk to your boss about another day off.”

Moe came over to the table as they were getting up. “Don’t be a stranger, Alex. And bring the pretty lady with you again.” He leaned down and kissed Charlotte’s hand. “Hope you enjoyed our little club. Come again, even if you don’t bring this guy.”

“You’re on my list of favorite places now,” Charlotte said. “Thanks.”

Alex and Moe shook hands. Alex waved to someone at the entrance, stuffed a bill in the hand of the waitress, and ushered Charlotte to the door. His car waited. Another bill in the valet’s hand, and they were inside. He leaned across the car, his right arm hugging the back of her seat, almost touching her but not quite. She was conscious of his proximity, of his mixture of scents: scotch, cologne, and maleness.

“What did you really think about Moe’s?” he asked.

She had to control the urge to move closer. Could she tempt him if she did? “Great place,” she managed to say. “Thanks for introducing me to it.”

He returned a thoughtful nod. “Good. Now, where do you live?”

“Above the store.”
She thought he’d ask more about that arrangement, but he didn’t. And he didn’t talk on the drive home. She wondered if he had found out all he wanted to know about her, and now his curiosity had been satisfied.

He double parked in front of her building, pulled out his card holder, and extracted
a card. “Before we get out, here’s my card. If Jack Davidson bothers you again, call me.”

“Why? What can you do about it?”

“Just call.”

She took the card, sure she’d never need it. When she started to get out, he put a hand across without touching her. “A lady should always wait if she’s with a gentleman.” He got out and opened her door. Then, as they walked to the entrance, he took the key from her hand and slipped it into the lock. “I’m glad you decided to join me for a drink.”

“So am I.”

As he handed back the key, he said, “Anyone else have this?”

She shook her head.

“Good.” He maneuvered her to the wall of the small entry and captured both her wrists, holding them above her head. She didn’t feel threatened, not even when he moved closer, his lips within a hairbreadth of hers. He lingered there, his eyes taking in her every feature. She could almost taste the mellow, smoky scotch he’d drunk. He pressed against her body, forcing her breasts to swell over her plunging neckline. His erection drove hard into her belly. He looked down, but he didn’t touch her. His gaze rose and met hers.

Could he see the pounding beat of her heart through her skin? The quickened pulse throbbing in her neck? Could he smell her arousal? She was wet, dammit. He stayed against her, saying nothing.

He whispered in her ear, “Good night, Charlotte Stone.” Then he released her wrists, and with a flick of his finger under her nose, turned, got into his car, and drove away.

Charlotte stood there, frozen to the spot, wrists still hot from his hold, heart thundering. She thought he was going to kiss her. She didn’t want him to, but she did. What just happened? Who was this man who brought her desire to the edge and left her wanting more?

She trudged up the stairs, reeling from the evening’s events.
The nasty confrontation with Jack. Alex’s affectionate touch and his almost-kiss. She shook them both off with a mental slap, remembering her new vow. She didn’t need a man to complicate her life. In the past, she’d let men walk all over her. Well, that wouldn’t happen again. People had always told her how smart she was. In school, in college, even in business. But she lost every drop of common sense when it came to men. She believed their lies, one after the other, and she wound up hurt every time. Not anymore. All she needed now was a good night’s sleep.

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t see the form sprawled on her sofa until after she closed and locked the door. She audibly gasped.

“How was the evening with your new lover?” Jack Davidson asked.

And the Walls Begin to Tumble

Alex couldn’t sleep now if he tried. He ran on adrenaline, stimulated by the closeness of Charlotte Stone. Her fragrance. The touch of her skin. She wasn’t beautiful. Not in the classical definition. Her jaw was too strong and her nose a little too big, with a definite bump across the bridge. But somehow those flaws, if they could be called that, set her apart from a conventionally beautiful woman. Only one other person had ever affected him in such an instant, captivating way, and the elusive perfection had stopped him cold.

It had been years ago, but the experience taught him a life lesson that shaped every minute of his existence since. You couldn’t own another person. You owned
things
―a house or a car. A woman, or man, was not a possession.

Yet tonight he ached to possess Charlotte Stone in a way that contradicted all he believed. When he forced her breasts inches from his mouth, taunting her, she had to feel his need pressed against her. He wanted to fuck her like he’d never fucked a woman, or man, and it took every strand of willpower to pull away. His reaction to her was instant and so familiar it took Alex back in time―to that night seventeen years ago―and the experience that changed his life forever.

~~~~~

He was one of the most handsome men Alex had ever seen, with hair as dark as his
own and mysterious, deep-set eyes, an odd shade of green. He wore jeans and a burgundy sweater that showed the contours of his muscles, his trim waist. There was nothing effeminate about him, yet the intense focus he showered on Alex was so sexual that he felt it in his groin and had to look away.

The affair started as an adventure, an experiment. He’d grown up with Max, knew his sexual proclivities. He’d even laughed off the umpteen million times Max had joked about the two of them getting it on. But Alex had never been turned on by men. He didn’t think anything was wrong with being gay or bisexual, because Max was his friend, and thinking otherwise would mean something was wrong with Max. Quite simply, men had never been Alex’s thing.
Until that night, when the stranger’s hand on his shoulder and the timbre of his voice―deep and sexy and somehow familiar―awakened some dormant lust.

“Did you feel what I felt?”

Alex turned to face him. He swallowed, taken by the man’s closeness, his aura. Never had his senses been so acute.