Illicit Desire Page 3

I shrug, and drop my purse. “That guy I told you about brought me my purse. I had coffee with him to thank him.”

  That draws a frown, and he straightens away from the wall. “Cora. You know we can’t get attached. We’re leaving as soon as we can.”

  I give him a dark look. I know that—better than he does. “Coffee doesn’t equal attachments, Paul. Did you eat?”

  He shakes his head, looking pathetic. Late night shifts have him exhausted, but it’s all that’s keeping us afloat for the moment.

  “Sit down,” I order, and turn to the stove. There’s still a little sausage and a few eggs. I grab the last of our shredded cheese and an onion and potato. While the skillet heats, I chop everything quickly and toss the onion, potato and sausage in to start cooking. I scramble the eggs and sniff the milk—still good.

  “We need to go to the store,” I tell him. He grunts, and I smother my sigh. Harping on how broke we are won’t help—and he knows.

  As the breakfast begins to cook, I grab the envelop from my purse and open it.

  The contents make my mouth drop open, and I curse. Paul stirs, sitting at the table. “What?”

  I ignore him, and flip to the letter. It’s a job offer, blank and impersonal, but a job offer. All I need to do is sign on the dotted line. A suspicion creeps over me, and I snatch my phone from the counter as I stir the vegetables in the pan.

  Pompous ass. He’s added his number to my phone. I hit send before I can think it through. It rings three times and then, “Bonita.”

  His voice is silk-wrapped steel, and I can feel the phantom heat of him, pressed against my back in the café.

  “Are you there? What’s wrong?” his voice goes sharp, reminding me that I’m standing here, lost in thought while breakfast burns and my brother stares at me with worried eyes.

  “I can’t take this,” I blurt out.

  “It wasn’t a gift that came with a return receipt, Cora,” Raphael says, and I can hear amusement in his voice.

  “It’s ridiculous and completely inappropriate,” I snap. I stir the vegetables and pour eggs into the pan. “I’ll drop it off at your office in the morning.”

  “Cora,” he says, my name a growl, and only the fact that my brother is watching keeps me from shuddering.

  Would he sound like that, when he fucks me?

  Shit. Not what I need to be thinking. “It’s not okay to just send girls a check like this, Raphael.”

  At that, Paul bolts from his seat and grabs the papers off the counter. He whistles shrilly when he sees the check. I glare at him.

  “Would you take it if you were single?” Raphael asks.

  I pause in the middle of stirring the eggs. This is the second time he’s said something like that, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking. “Raphael, that has nothing to do with this. It’s unnecessary.”

  “I pay my debts,” he says stiffly. And hangs up.

  I curse, and Paul flicks the check lightly. “This isn’t pocket change, sis. What the hell are you not telling me?”

  “I told you. I was mugged. Raphael Ortiz saw it and got me home safely. That’s all.Then today he brought me my purse and offered me a job. That’s in there too, if you can put the damn check down.”

  His eyebrows go up and I swallow the rest of it—Raphael’s disturbing knowledge of my past and the quiet heat that seems to roll off him. I want you naked in my bed.

  Paul doesn’t need to know about that.

  “Cora,” he says, and I look at him. “What are you thinking?”

  That’s my brother. Even when no one else would trust my judgment, he does. I shrug. “I think he’s dangerous. But it doesn’t mean we can afford to ignore the offer. Or the check.”

  He’s quiet for a minute, and I pull the eggs from the heat, and divide them between us. Paul waits until I’m sitting down across from him, and then points at the check. “That’s enough for you to disappear, Cora. You have to know that.”

  I’ve already considered that. And as tempting as the idea is, “It’s not enough for us both. And that’s the deal we made.”

  His lips thin, and I look away. “I’ll go to work for him. The salary should build our nest egg pretty quickly. I think we could have enough in six months.”

  He takes a breath, and releases it slowly. “Six months is a lot faster than we had planned,” he says.

  I give him a weak smile. “The sooner the better, right?”

  He nods, and studies me. “You don’t have to wait. I know you want to—and I hate the idea of you out there alone. But I want you safe. Whatever that takes.”

  I nod. “Right now I am. Unless that changes, we’re staying together.”

  He is quiet, studying me for a long moment, and then he nods. I’m glad when he falls silent, and finishes his breakfast in quiet.

  After, he kisses the top of my head, and goes to the small bedroom in the back of the apartment. I hung blackout curtains when we first moved in, and with the door closed, it could almost be night. I hear the soft snick of the lock—for me more than for him—as Paul vanishes into sleep for the next six hours.

  Miami was his idea. It came with everything we needed: large enough to offer anonymity, a good job for Paul, and distance from Keyton. The hardest part had been waiting until he got back from that final deployment. But that was over, and my brother was back home. Nothing had ever hurt me when Paul was with me—and I had to trust that nothing ever would.

  I pick up the letter again, and stare at it.

  Executive assistant to Raphael Ortiz. I would be a glorified secretary if I took this position. And too damn close to him. But with a six figure salary, I couldn’t afford to say no to it.

  I just don’t know that the pay is worth dealing with a man who is so blatantly invasive of my life. I’ve dealt with controlling before, and I can’t do it again. Even it comes in a package as fuckable as Raphael.

  I pick up my phone, and send a text.

  I don’t want to be your secretary.

  Chapter 5

  Raphael

  I STARE AT THE TEXT from Miguel, a slow anger building in me. I sit back, and twist away. Fucking hell. If I call him now, I’ll bitch, and I need to let him do his job. Lou shifts on the couch, looking up at me. “Problem?”

  “The shipment is light,” I say, drumming my fingers impatiently. I fucking hate working with the Columbians.

  “Do we need to go?” he asks, and I shake my head. My phone buzzes and I grab it.

  The message doesn’t make sense, and I frown.

  I don’t want to be your secretary.

  I see her name, and the confusion ebbs.

  I didn’t offer you a position as a secretary. We have an office pool for that, but I do appreciate the idea of you calling me ‘sir’.

  I can picture her laughing, blushing.

  Cora: What do you think I’ll be doing?

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her me but I refrain, and send instead.

  Come down to the office and let me show you. No strings attached.

  She doesn’t respond, and I stare at the phone, like it will produce answers of some sort. Like if I think at it hard enough, she’ll give me the answer I want.

  “Sir?” Lou says, softly. I look up at him. He’s staring at me, a question in his eyes, and it shakes me out of the funk I’m in.

  What is with her? How does she put me off my stride so easily?

  “Miguel is taking care of it,” I say.

  “This is the third time this year,” Lou says quietly.

  “I know.” I frown. “It’s time to send them a message.”

  Neither of us brings up the reason I haven’t sent a message yet. Because as much as I wish it changed things, it doesn’t. The Columbians will push until I lash back—it is the way of our world.

  “Miguel will handle it,” I repeat. For now, it will have to be enough. I won’t sanction more than a beating. “But find out who is on the shipping end. If it’s the same group shipping light, it could b
e an internal problem. It would be better if we could resolve this without bloodshed.”

  Lou rises silently and slips from the room. A headache is forming behind my eyes, and I still have a day of meetings. I glance at my schedule, neatly organized and awaiting my attention.

  I don’t want to do this today.

  My phone buzzes, and I see her message.

  Cora: Tomorrow. I’ll meet you for an interview.

  I let out a breath. Whatever this girl is doing to me, I need to get it out of my system. Wine and dine, fuck and forget. Simple. The SOP that has kept me unattached for the majority of my life. That’s all I need here. I make a quick call to my receptionist—a pretty, brown-haired girl. “I have a lunch meeting tomorrow. Make me a reservation at Del Fago.”

  “Yes, sir,” she chirps.

  “And Stella? Clear my afternoon.”

  I smile, a predatory smile. She could resist it as much as she wants, but I saw the desire in her eyes. Tomorrow, we find out just how hot her innocent blood can run.

  Chapter 6

  Cora

  I TUG MY SKIRT, and lick my lips again. It’s too short to be appropriate for an interview, but it’s all I have that will pass for business attire. The black pencil skirt hugs my ass and the curve of my thighs. Paired with a pale blue dress shirt and silver studs, I look vaguely respectable.

  I should have cashed the check and gotten an outfit that doesn’t make me look like Jessica Rabbit dressed for the office.

  Carlita Tower looms in front of me. It’s a new landmark in Miami, a four year old skyscraper with modern lines, sweeping arches¸ and miles and miles of glass. It’s gorgeous and breathtaking and intimidating as fuck. I swallow my nerves, scrub my palms dry on my skirt, and force myself up the large marble steps.

  There is a receptionist desk inside, with a gorgeous young woman sitting behind the sleek, black counter. She smiles brightly at me as I hesitate in the open atrium. “Can I help you?”

  I lick my lips. “I’m here to see Raphael Ortiz.”

  Her smile stutters briefly, then firms up. “Take the elevator to the forty-eighth floor.”

  I give her a weak smile, too aware of her gaze on me as I move toward the bank of elevators.

  Before I can push the up button, one of the elevators opens, and Raphael steps out. He’s talking to Miguel, eyes narrowed as he listens to the other man. A third follows them out of the elevator, a silent shadow. They’re given a bubble of space by the other professionals waiting for the elevator and I stand in the small crowd, watching.

  Fascinated.

  Raphael is intent on whatever Miguel is telling him, dark head bent toward the ground. He wears a charcoal suit with a crimson tie, the jacket unbuttoned.

  I’m out of my league, here. This man is out of my league. My fingers itch to reach for him, to push back the black hair falling in his eyes.

  Which scares me.

  Raphael looks up, suddenly, his gaze colliding with mine. There is a flare of surprise, then a slow perusal, a blatant sweep of his eyes over me. The gaze is cool, almost indifferent, but I know there’s more to it than he’s letting on.

  He murmurs something to Miguel in Spanish, and the other man nods, looking unhappy. Then he slips away, and all I can see is Raphael as he stalks toward me.

  “You came,” he says, stopping a few steps away.

  I shrug one shoulder. “I told you I would. As much as you might disagree, I can be reasonable. And you’re right. I need the job.”

  A frown flickers over his face. “Is that all?” I swallow, and his lip ticks up on one side. “I’m glad you agreed to come. We can start the tour down here, if you’re ready.”

  I hitch my purse higher. I’m wasting his time. I don’t need a tour or an interview to tell me that I will take this job. But he turns away and I get a good view of his ass—and that decides it for me. I’ll take the tour and enjoy the view because even if I know what I’ll tell him, there’s no reason to deny myself the simple pleasure of enjoying a fine male specimen.

  “Have you been to Carlita Tower before?” Raphael asks, taking a visitor badge from the pretty receptionist. I shake my head, and he grins. “Then you’re in for a treat.”

  The Carlita Tower houses forty-five businesses on its fifty-one floors, and six of them are in the Ortiz Corp family of companies. There is a state-of-the-art fitness center on sixth floor—everyone working at the Tower receives a membership. A classy Brazilian steakhouse is on the fifth floor, with tables overlooking the massive atrium and indoor garden.

  The breadth of the professions in this building astounds me—everything from insurance and financial advisors to doctors and realty offices. There's even a girl whose Etsy shop grew so rapidly she needed space outside her garage.

  I follow Raphael through the Tower, drinking in his random factoids about the building and the sheer beauty of it. “Do you know they call it the Spanish Lady?”

  I swallow a laugh. “Because of the name?”

  He gives me a small smile and nods. “And my second tower began construction last fall. It will be the Rosa. So you see? A pair of ladies.”

  I cock my head to one side. “Who are they?”

  His face shutters, blanking off from me as his smile goes flat and impersonal. “No one of consequence.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me a fierce look, and I swallow hard. I’m not so stupid that I would argue with a man that furious.

  We walk in silence for a few minutes, and I begin to think I’ve fucked this up completely when he finally shakes himself and says, softly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

  “I shouldn’t pry. I’m curious, and sometimes I forget boundaries.” I can feel a flush crawling up my cheeks, and want to hide. Curiosity has gotten me in trouble before—one day I’ll actually think before I open my freaking mouth.

  Raphael reaches for me, and I hesitate for a moment, almost pulling my elbow from his grip. But where I’ve felt his sensual intensity before, I don’t feel it now. It’s like a banked fire, smoldering, but not a threat.

  For now.

  “I thought we’d have lunch and talk about the job,” he says.

  I nod, and he flashes me a lazy smile.

  De Fago is as classy as I would expect of Carlita Tower. Its dark walls and tables, blood red table clothes and intimate little nooks. And it’s surprisingly crowded for Tuesday afternoon, with a small group of ladies and a few businessmen, buried in their smart phones as they wait for a table. Raphael tugs me to one side, wrapping an arm around my waist as we wait. The hostess is a harried-looking girl, with model-fine features, and hair that hangs to the middle of her ass. It takes all of thirty seconds for her to notice us, and her brown eyes go impossibly wide when she sees Raphael waiting. She snaps a quick order in Portuguese to the other girl and then she’s moving toward us, with a smile that oozes charm and a hint of invitation. “Sir, your reservation is this way.”

  Raphael smiles, and leads me through the restaurant to a small booth in the back. He waits patiently while I get comfortable in my seat, and then slides in the opposite side, scanning the room quickly before he looks back at me. “Hungry?”

  I shrug one shoulder and fiddle with my fork, smoothing it down the crease of my napkin. He murmurs an order to the waitress who approaches, and she melts away. His attention comes back to me, dark and intent. So far, I’ve been able to ignore the sexual tension that bubbles between us, but with him staring at me like that, it’s impossible. I shiver under his regard, and he smirks, a slow, pleased thing.

  “Tell me about the job,” I say, clearing my throat.

  “Ortiz Corp dabbles in real estate and import/export. We have a few construction crews around the city, as well as an architect in the Tower. We have four clubs and a party planner on retainer. The company has a wide and pretty eclectic portfolio. But what I truly love is venture capitalism.”

  I lean forward, forgetting for a moment I’m supposed to be playing it cool and re
served. A smile curves his lips a little.

  “Did you back the Etsy lady?”

  He shrugs, but his eyes sparkle. “We back a lot of companies, Cora. Big and small. And we have constant proposals coming into the office.”

  “You want me to vet proposals?”

  He nods. “I read your resume. You were brilliant in college, and you turned the nursing home you worked in around. That’s not a small feat. You have a good mind for what works and what doesn’t. I could use that.”

  I’m still stuck a few sentences back. “You know about my time at Sunnydale?”

  “Was it a secret?” he asks softly.

  “I don’t advertise my past, Raphael.”

  His pupils widen slightly, and his jaw goes tense, before he relaxes completely. “I can understand that. We all have skeletons, bonita.”

  Not everyone has the skeletons I do. I consider telling him that, but I keep my mouth shut. “I’m not taking this job to fuck you,” I say instead.

  It’s crude and blunt, and meant to be. I need him to know how serious I am, how much this matters. His smile turns a little. “I know you have someone in your life, Cora.”

  “I don’t, but it doesn’t matter. I’m here for a job. Not for friends or a quickie in the office. If you can’t respect that boundary, we don’t need to bother going forward.”

  Raphael’s eyes are narrow as he watches me, but he doesn’t say anything. Our server returns, carrying two leafy salads and a bottle of wine. He leans back in his seat as she pours the wine, a sparkling white that spells divine. Finally she backs away and he shifts in his seat.

  Raphael moves with intention—every gesture, every flick of his fingers and shift of his body is a way to convey something. He’s like a coiled spring, all energy focused on a single thing.

  Me.

  It’s disconcerting.

  “Fucking you, while I’m sure it would be enjoyable, is not the motivation for offering you a job. I’m a businessman, and one who pays his debts. I owe you for the trouble you found on my steps. And I need the help. It’s a good solution for both of us.”

  “I could be horrible at this, you know.”