Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) (16 page)

“Baby, I’ve been playing that damn flute so damn much I’m surprised it still blows a fucking tune.” Bradley lowered his face until his lips were just inches from mine. “So, what are we at now? Third date, do I get to kiss you?”

“You already kissed me,” I whispered, and the memory of that kiss had my tongue dart out to moisten my lips in preparation to do it all over again.

“But I’m playing by the rules now.”

“Second date kisses are acceptable, but I’ve rarely given them. It takes someone special to be bumped up to second date kisses.”

“Oh yeah, what does one have to do to be considered special enough for a bump?”

“Bradley, if you don’t kiss me, I’m gonna get all snappy and bark again.”

So, he kissed me. Damn, his hot warm lips working mine turned my knees to limp, wet, noodles. Thankfully he wedged a firm thigh between my legs, and I groaned as his tongue gently caressed mine. It was a good kiss, a great kiss, a kiss of much practice, and rather than feeling a surge of jealousy, I was thankful to all those poor women who had less than this perfection. When we finally pulled apart, I half expected the club to be in darkness, having kissed the entire night away. That kiss was like a bend in time; what was most likely a minute felt like hours. The corner of Bradley’s mouth lifted into an arrogant smile.

“If you look that satisfied now, wait until I get you beneath me.”

“Not on a third date you don’t.” I murmured with a husky, breathy voice that was foreign to even my own ears.

“It will be worth the wait, pussycat.”

Bradley

By the time I got home, I was far too sober, my heart raced like a wild beast, and my palms were sweaty. All this because I was going to tell Wiska what I did for a living? It seriously wasn’t that hard. I WORK FOR WILLIE BIANCO. I make one of New York Mafia’s wealthiest men wealthier! See, simple. I wondered if she would realize what a serious confession it was, though. In effect, I worked for the mob. I tried to distance myself from it by moving to another country. I told myself I worked in finance, stocks and bonds, that the money I gambled with in an effort to double, sometimes quadruple, was completely legal. While what I did was legal, the money was sure as hell acquired through less than savory methods. I was as delusional about my career as I had been about my want for Wiska. I was great at burying my head in the sand; if denial was a college degree, I’d graduate with fucking honors!

Wiska and Casey walked arm in arm down the short corridor to my apartment door. I pushed it open and watched them waltz in, completely oblivious to my imminent break down. I tossed my keys into the ceramic dish just inside the doorway and cringed at the loud clanking noise it made. Wiska and Casey paid it no attention, though, completely absorbed in their story about the intricacies of waxing. I wanted to drift into an explicit fantasy of Wiska’s waxed body, but instead, I was sitting in Sweaty-palm-ville, worrying about the conversation to come.

“I’m so glad I had the happy baby pose nailed; that makes the experience so much more comfortable,” Wiska sighed.

“OMG! Totally!” Casey exclaimed.

“What’s a happy baby pose?” I asked, hoping the distraction would help delay the inevitable.

Casey turned, lay down on the rug in the living area, then proceeded to raise his legs and clutch his feet, his bent knees parted wide. It was disturbing to say the least.

“Happy baby pose. You know, like babies like to grab their little stumpy toes?” Wiska said helpfully.

“And you need this pose for waxing?” I gaped.

Casey rolled to his feet. “For a Brazilian you do. How else would they clear away the shrubbery at the backdoor?”

I just stared, my mind conjuring up images of Casey that I wanted to burn from my memory.

“And you really don’t want to go after a night of curry. There is nothing more embarrassing then a little back draft while you’re spread-eagle and someone is ripping hair from your anal strip.”

Wiska burst out laughing. I didn’t. I was horrified. When they both turned and wandered off down the hallway, I dared to let my shoulders sag with relief. She’d forgotten. She wasn’t hanging around to hear my big secret. She was completely distracted. While the waxing conversation had bordered on one of the most terrifying conversations I had ever been a third party witness to, it had done the job of distracting Wiska.

I smiled as I strolled into my room and pulled off my shoes, placing them neatly back into the shoe rack in my walk-in closet. I tugged off my suit jacket, tie, and shirt, placing them in a dry cleaning bag that was almost full. When I stepped back out of the closet, Wiska was leaning against my bed.

“Casey is on the phone with Lionel. I thought I’d give them some privacy, and it would give us a chance to talk. You have a job to tell me about.”

Her eyes lingered on my chest long enough for my shoulders to draw back with pride, but when her steely gaze settled back on mine, they quickly slumped forward with defeat.

“Yeah, we do.”

Wiska turned and climbed onto the bed, crossing her legs, an expectant look on her face. “Okay,” I said as I turned and began to pace. “You gotta understand how I got into this; it was purely by accident.” I gave her a sideways glance, and saw she was watching me intently. “I was almost finished with college. I met this girl, we both had plans for a future that didn’t include relationships, but we found a mutual agreement that was beneficial to both of us. It was a chance to let off steam, you know . . .”

“Friends with benefits?” Wiska asked helpfully.

“Yeah, something like that. I also helped her study—I was good with numbers . . . real good.” I nervously ran a hand through my hair. “So, when she graduated, she introduced me to her father. I had no idea who he was at this stage, but she suggested I meet him; she thought he might be able to offer me a job.” My tongue became tied with memories and nerves. “It’s not like she thought he’d just give me a job outright. He had connections, and she thought he might use one of those to get me a job.”

“Uh huh,” was Wiska’s encouragement when I stalled.

“So, we met. He asked around the college about me and discovered I was somewhat of a numbers prodigy. I had a talent for taking a few dollars and turning it into a lot more . . .” I looked at her thoughtfully. “Stocks, bonds, property, I even helped Decker when his dad started up his business buying old property and renovating it. I’m good at making money.” My pacing paused as I glanced at her again.

“So, you buy and sell stocks and property for this man? That’s it?”

I bit my bottom lip and decided fast was the best way to go about this. Like ripping off a band-aid, real quick so the sting was over and maybe she wouldn’t notice it. Maybe she didn’t even know who Willie actually was. She had mentioned his name as someone who wanted to lure her into his own adult film company, but she didn’t acknowledge him as mafia.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I do . . . for Willie Bianco.”

Her brow rose in surprise. “Willie . . . Bianco . . . like,
the
Willie Bianco of New York? Like, the Italian Mafia Willie Bianco?”

“So you’ve heard of him,” I said, a little deflated that she knew who he was.

“Well, I don’t know him personally, but his company, Brutal Babes, tried to lure me over. Ryder told me to stay away, said that Willie seemed like a decent enough guy, but he was Italian Mafia, and all things considered, that was kinda reason enough to stay away. He’s freaking Mafia, Bradley. How many people does he make swim with the fishes?”

“His brother takes care of Brutal Babes. He doesn’t run as tight a ship as Ryder,” I said, avoiding the whole swimming with the fishes comment. I had no idea about the when, where, how, and why of the more sordid aspects of being a mafia crime lord.

Wiska was silent, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. This was the moment she would likely stand and walk away, or more like run away. Getting messed up with a man who worked for Willie Bianco was crazy. Bloody hell, I worked for the New York Mafia! Okay, I was being ridiculous. I knew I worked for the fucking mafia, but every now and again, reality would slap me, hard. This was one of those moments.

“You had to move here to work for him?” she finally asked. She wasn’t hyperventilating or dialing the police; it was a good start.

“Not exactly. I could live anywhere to do what I do.”

“Then why here?” she asked, an expression of honest curiosity on her face.

I shrugged. “To begin with, I had warped impressions of what Willie and his organization was. I worried my family and friends would be threatened in an attempt to keep me compliant. I felt like moving here kept me distanced from those I loved, keeping them safe. I think I watched
The Godfather
a few too many times.” I mumbled that last past. “The reality is, Willie is a businessman. I don’t ask where the money comes from; I assume that the way he obtains it is somewhat illegal, but what I do isn’t. I make him money, lots of it. In return, he pays me well, and he couldn’t give a shit what my friends and family are doing. Except Decker. Brutal Babes has had a hard-on for him for years. When Willie realized I couldn’t persuade Decker to move over to his company, he let it drop.”

I leaned against the door, which I only now realized was closed. The possibilities had my dick give a gentle nudge against the fabric of my pants.
Not a fucking chance, Vlad. Stand down!

“For a minute, I worried Willie might make Decker disappear or something. Turns out, Willie is “new” mafia. Power is in money, and he wants lots of it. Killing people and breaking legs doesn’t get him money, and that in turn doesn’t get him power.”

“So, he’s like the sweet and kind mafia, the kind you take home to meet the parents?” Her brow was raised in a challenge.

“Not exactly, smart ass,” I said with a half-smile. “Willie knows how to be unkind, when the moment calls for it. In my dealings with him, I found him to be a shrewd businessman; he’s smart, partial to very expensive whiskey called Kirkland Glenlivet, and has a fondness for the sea. He has a yacht and spends most of his time on it—it’s bigger than this apartment.”

Wiska nibbled on her lower lip in thought. The vision of her sitting on my bed, still in her snug fitting outfit, minus the shoes, which was a shame, sent a bolt of lust right to my cock.

“And what happened to Willie’s daughter?” Of all the questions she could have asked me, that wasn’t one I had expected.

“Last I heard she is a successful doctor, happily married to a ruthless lawyer, and they’ve made very pretty babies together.” The corner of Wiska’s mouth twitched in what I thought was a suppressed smile. “You’re taking this better than I anticipated.”

Wiska shrugged. “Honestly, you had me so tied up in knots worrying about what you did, I was entertaining thoughts of everything from assassin to male gigolo. If you are so good with money, why aren’t you sleeping on a bed of one hundred dollar bills?”

“Firstly, who the hell would do that? Sleep on cash? Do you know the kind of germs and bacteria that are found on bills? And secondly, I’ve got my own decent nest egg going. I’m more than comfortable and can provide for my friends and family if need be. I like what I do, though. I like the thrill of taking someone else’s money and gambling with it on the stock market, and if I’m lucky, and I usually am, five million becomes more like ten million. I don’t have that kind of cash to play with, but Willie does.”

“Okay, fair enough. So, you work with money, stocks, and bonds. It’s kinda boring.”

I straightened, my male pride slightly wounded by her words. “I deal with millions on a daily basis. One wrong move and I could bankrupt Willie in a heartbeat, then I’d be swimming with the fishes!”

Wiska waved my comment away. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Bradley. I think you’re hot, no matter what you do for a living.” I stopped a few steps from her and watched as she sighed and gave me an oddly dreamy look. “You’re kinda like Al Bundy.”

My mouth fell open and promptly shut again. How exactly was I supposed to respond to that? It wasn’t exactly a flattering comparison.

“How? I don’t know anything about shoes, and I’m far from married with children.”

Her brow creased with confusion. “What does the gangster Al Bundy have to do with shoes?”

I suddenly realized who she was talking about, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Pussycat, I think you mean Al Capone. Al Bundy was the lazy, sexist pig from the television show
Married With Children
.” Wiska’s following blush had me laugh harder. She rolled her eyes and tried to slide from my bed, and I quickly stepped forward and trapped her body between mine and the mattress at her back. “And no, I’m nothing like Al Capone. I’ve never even seen a gun, let alone hold one. Just where do you think you’re going?”

“If I’m here purely for your amusement, I think I’ll go get ready for bed.” She squirmed, and Vlad gave her a gentle prod, almost like a dog nudging your hand for attention. She stilled, and I knew she had felt him.

“While I find you very amusing, I can think of a thousand other things I want to do with you.”

She looked at me with those big, beautiful, blue eyes and the desire I saw in them had me harden so fast I thought I might pass out from the sudden rush of southbound blood.

“What would you do with me?” she whispered.

I grabbed her hands and gently pushed them to the bed, leaving my hands over them to hold her in place. She was effectively trapped. I dipped my head and breathed in the soft scent of perfume that clung to her neck. Fuck, she smelled good. I rocked my hardness into her body so she would not miss what she did to me.

“For starters, I’d fuck your mouth with my tongue, just like I want to fuck your pussy. I’d kiss you until you begged me for air.” I kissed a tender spot right below her ear, and the catch in her breath persuaded me to continue, “Then I’d pull this top from your body so I could see these stunning breasts.” My chest rubbed against hers for effect. “My lips would drop to one nipple, and I’d suck it,” I murmured as I took her earlobe between my lips and gave it a gentle tug. “I wonder if you would want it hard or soft . . .” She pushed back against my body, and I forced a leg between her thighs. Her subsequent groan spurred me on. “Then I’d pull these incredible, tight pants from your legs so I could finally see your pussy. Your conversation about waxing has me curious. Are you smooth down there, or do you have a neat little patch of hair?” I asked. She rubbed that very place against my thigh, and I sucked gently on her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to let her know I wanted her, badly. “Then I’d lift your calves to rest over my shoulders, I’d part your pussy lips with my fingers, and I’d lick you, pussycat. I’d lick softly first, then I’d suck you deep and nibble with my teeth. I’d maybe slip a finger inside you and finger-fuck you like I’ve dreamed, and I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my tongue.”