Footsteps (11 page)

When Carlo spoke that name, though, the
feeling it gave her was not distaste. Far from it. The sound
pleased her. As she considered it now, she understood. It was like
he was overtaking James’s hold on the name.

It was dangerous, the feeling she had around
this man. Everything about him was dangerous, although he’d been
kind only, although she felt sure he was kind truly.

She took a sip of her beer. It was nice.
Much better than she’d expected. She took another, deeper drink.
“I’m trying to understand how to say this. I want you to know that
I am grateful for your kindness. So grateful.”

“It was nothing special.”

“It was. You don’t understand. You could
not.”

“I’d like to try to understand.”

She sighed, still not sure how to proceed.
After more beer, she followed her instinct and said the words that
came to her. “You know my husband.”

“I know who he is. Of course.” He looked
like he meant to say more, but he stopped.

“He is not a man who…who accepts things to
go another way. Another way than his way.”

“That’s his reputation, yes.”

“I think that his reputation has the soft
focus. You understand?”

“You’re saying that he’s worse than people
know?”

“Yes.”

Surprising her, Carlo reached across the
table and took her hand. He turned it and brushed his thumb over
the inside of her wrist, where the bruising was deepest. His touch
was gentle, as always, and it made her feel a way she hadn’t felt
in a long time. She closed her eyes.

“Bina. Why do you stay?”

His hand around hers felt too good, and she
pulled away. With her eyes on his again, she said, “James is not a
man so easy to leave. He has many people. He keeps track of me.”
There. That was the way toward the thing she needed to say. “I’m
sorry, Carlo. I think he is having someone watch me now. Following
me. He might know that you helped me. I think it is likely that he
does.”

“What? Is he threatening you? Is there a way
I can help you?”

“No—you don’t understand. You must help
you
. I’m sorry. He knows you. He did not like what you did
at the gala. He will not think what you did for me last night is so
harmless. He…he is vindictive. And very powerful. If he thinks…I’m
so sorry. I wanted you to know quickly, so you could help yourself.
Maybe not be in such trouble. I’ll go now.”

She rose, and he did as well. “No! No, Bina.
Stay. I can’t let you go off if there’s trouble out there for you.
Talk to me about this.”

Her hackles went up a little at his
statement that he couldn’t ‘let’ her, but his expression softened
those words so that she didn’t take too much offense. In fact, she
felt calmer in general than she’d expected, and her joints felt
oddly warm and tingly. She’d finished her beer. Could it be that?
No, that was silly. She’d had one beer only. “There’s nothing to be
done. It’s not a concern for you, Carlo. I’m only sorry if I cause
you trouble. Thank you for being kind. Goodbye.”

She turned and headed back toward the
building. Carlo was right behind her; she could sense him. But
instead of grabbing her, he simply brushed his fingers down her
arm. Gooseflesh rose in the wake of his touch. “Bina, wait.
Please.”

He’d said her name, that name, often enough
now that when she called the word to mind, she could hear it in his
voice. She stopped and turned. “Why? Why do I wait?”

Now he took her hand, and he led her back to
their table. “I don’t know. But you’ve made me worried. And you’ve
made me care. I would like to talk some more, if you will.” This
time, after he coaxed her to sit again, he sat on the same side,
straddling the bench and facing her.

“You should not. We should not.”

“Should not what? You feel it, too.
Right?”

No
. That was the word she should say
now. But he was still holding her hand—she’d forgotten to take it
away from him. And he was sitting so close, staring at her with
such a face that she couldn’t tell him no. She didn’t want to tell
him no.

She wanted him to kiss her.

But that was absurdly stupid. Or was it? Did
it matter? Yes, it did. Not for her, but for him. Her fate was
likely sealed already. But James would not rest until Carlo was at
least ruined. Possibly dead. No one took James Auberon’s things
from him, whether he wanted them himself or not.

“You don’t understand the things that James
can do. That he
would
do. There’s no matter if I feel this
‘it’ you say.”

His eyes flared. “Bina, he’s only a
man.”

She smiled sadly and took her hand from his.
“You show me how much you don’t know. He is more than a man. He is
a monster.”

“Then I really can’t let you go back to
that.”

This time her hackles went up more. “It’s
not a choice for you. There are too many men already who make
choices for me.” She moved again to stand, but stopped when he laid
his hand lightly on her leg.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He sighed and
looked down at the bench between them. She had the sense that he
was gathering his thoughts, and when he lifted his eyes again, she
knew that was what he had done. “I told you last night that I was
divorced—that my marriage was annulled. She left me. And Trey. For
another man. I was blindsided and furious. I loved her. But I
didn’t fight her, not after the first shock. I only asked that she
didn’t fight the annulment. She gave me everything anyway. She
didn’t want custody or visitation, she didn’t want anything but
away from us. And I still don’t know why, except she loved someone
else more than me or our son. It was the worst betrayal I’ve ever
known. If someone would have told me last week that I would be
sitting here having this conversation, thinking about being with a
married woman, even imagining it, much less considering it, I
likely would have punched him.”

What he was telling her, that a woman had
willfully left her child—that beautiful, precious boy she’d met
this morning—and this man, it shocked her too much to process. She
had no words with which to form a response to that. So she landed
on a precise detail of particular significance to her. “Is that a
thing you do? Punch?” James had never used his fists. He was not a
brute; he was a demon. His tortures were much more elaborate and
sophisticated. But still the thought of a violent man gave her
pause.

At her question, his brows drew together and
then relaxed. “Not—not often.” He took her hand again. “And never a
woman. Never.”

What were they doing? This was madness. But
her fingers twined around his without her even willing it, and she
felt a small peace in the way he reacted to her reciprocating his
touch. His hand held hers a little more tightly, and his expression
eased into something hopeful.

Still, what they seemed to be considering
without actually discussing was not so easily done. “I’m not a
married woman only. I am
his
married woman. There is risk,
much risk, and we only know of each other a little. It would go
harder for you, maybe, than for me.”

He shifted more closely to her. Now his
knees pressed lightly against her leg. “You asked me if I knew your
husband. Do you know my family?”

“Yes, a little. By reputation.”

He smiled. “I think that reputation has the
soft focus.”

She heard her own words turned back to her,
and she smiled a little. “You mock me, I think. My words.”

“Tease, not mock. And only a little. I like
your words.” He leaned in; she could feel his breath. “Bina. This
isn’t smart. I know. It doesn’t make sense. I know that, too. But I
can’t stop thinking about you. And I’m worried about you. You don’t
like it when I say I can’t let you go back. Is this better? I’m not
a man who can turn my back.”

“Is that it, then? You wish to be my hero on
the white horse?” Again, she pulled from his touch. This time,
though, he held on.

“No. I wish to get to know you. I like the
way I feel when I think about you. I wasn’t sure I’d feel it ever
again. And I can’t just pretend you’re okay. Maybe I’m someone who
can take him on.”

“You’re not. No one is.”

“Bina. Let me try.”

He was wrong. He would only hurt himself by
trying; he would not help her. He could not. She should untangle
her hand from his and go. It was the only wise move, the only
possible way to mitigate suffering.

But her blood danced with him so close—and
his words, his voice a deep caress, soothed her. As did his warm,
large, rough hand holding hers. She felt more aroused than she had
since James had dropped his pretense and she had become his toy
more than his wife.

And, ironically, sitting here, with Carlo’s
body nearly surrounding hers, she felt safe.

So she nodded, and when his head moved
toward hers, she leaned into his kiss.

Her lips were soft and supple, and though
she held her body stiffly, she had leaned toward him. The
impression he had was of inexperience, as if she was not quite sure
what to do. That made no sense, but Carlo was charmed nonetheless.
Everything about Bina charmed him.

He thought he’d lied a little to her, just
now. He thought he did want to be her ‘hero on the white horse.’
That was stupid and dangerous, and she was right—he should have let
her go. Instead, he put his hand up and cradled her face, holding
her to him, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth.
She moaned, a musical sound that vibrated all through him, and he
put his other arm around her waist and drew her closer. Her body
relaxed into his embrace, and her hands came up and rested on his
shoulders. Overwhelmed by feeling and sensation, his mind spinning
like a top, he groaned.

When he and Trey had come home from the Cove
the evening following his third birthday party and found Jenny gone
from their lives, Carlo had first been stunned into inertia and
disbelief. Then he’d gone through the cycle, the rage, the
depression, the denial—several times each—and had, for himself,
eventually come to resignation. Not for Trey, though. For Trey, he
would only have rage. His son had been abandoned by the woman who’d
given him life, at whose breast he’d taken sustenance for his first
year. Carlo would never be resigned to that. It was that betrayal,
not the one he himself had suffered, that had kept him shut down,
shuttered and dark, uninterested in making a new connection with
any other woman. With any other person, really.

He’d expected that to be true forever. Or at
least until Trey was grown. His son seemed fine—he seemed, in fact,
to have all but forgotten his mother, nine months since she’d left.
After a few weeks of confusion and pining, Trey had woken one
morning and not asked for Mommy, and thereafter he’d quickly
returned to his normal, ebullient self. But Carlo would never
forget the way his son, only three years old, had struggled to
remake his world without his mother in it, and he had no intention
of exposing him to the possibility of that kind of trauma again. He
wanted no new woman in his son’s life.

He’d been sure that was true. In the past
couple of months, his sexual need had returned, and often with a
vengeance, but he’d been working his way to the idea of hooking up.
Taking a page from Luca’s playbook. Or Peter’s. Not connecting,
simply enjoying. He hadn’t quite gotten there yet. It flew against
his nature, really. But he’d been growing lonely. Physically.

And then he’d met Sabina Alonzo. Sabina
Alonzo-
Auberon
. A married woman. She was quickly becoming
nearly all he could think about. Since that morning, watching how
easy and kind she’d been with Trey, he’d thought of little else.
And then she’d called him. When Rosa had summoned him to the phone,
he’d felt like a fucking teenager getting a call from the hottest,
most popular girl in school.

She was beautiful and sweet, and there was a
fire in her eyes that spoke of strength and intelligence that had
been stymied in the life she was living. She was trapped somehow,
caged by a man she called a monster. She needed him, and he
responded to that with every part of his body and his mind.

Jesus, he’d just offered to use his
family
to take on James Auberon for her. A woman he’d met
two days ago. Not once had he ever asked the Uncles for help, or
accepted it when they’d offered. To do that would mean becoming
tangled in that part of the family.

For a woman he’d just met? Ludicrous. Or did
it not matter how well he knew her? She needed help. What kind of
man—what kind of person—would he be to turn his back on that, even
if he weren’t so on fire for her he was shaking?

And he was shaking. He wanted her, wanted
her badly. Was it merely physical? Was his growing need and her
tremendous beauty creating a cocktail of insanity? He didn’t know,
but he felt better—more alive, more powerful, happier, in this
moment, holding her, kissing her, than he had since months before
Jenny had run away from him.

Her tongue was moving with his now, sharing
a lithe caress. He was keenly aware that it was ridiculous, but his
impression remained that she was learning as she went. If it was,
somehow, true, she was a very quick study, and he thought he’d go
mad from need. His cock ached and strained against the confines of
his jeans.