Calisto
Lighting up a cigarette, Calisto inhaled a hefty drag and let the smoke soothe his frayed nerves. It wasn’t like him to be so jumpy and anxious. He didn’t know how to deal with the onslaught of confusion swirling in his mind.
The Mercedes stereo blasted hard rock into the car. Calisto closed his eyes, leaned back in the seat, and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the music. It was nothing like his mother had enjoyed. She preferred blues or jazz. Something with emotion soaking every note and lyric. Something she could dance to.
Calisto needed to get out of his head.
Opening his eyes, Calisto surveyed the house just four doors down. He had arrived a little late to the dinner, and no parking spots were left for him to use in the Sorrento family driveway. He’d parked further down the street.
He hadn’t gone back into the dinner party before leaving the house. Twenty minutes had already passed. Calisto hoped no one noticed his absence and came looking for him. Wining and dining didn’t hold his interest.
Not tonight.
Ducking his head down, Calisto took another puff off his cigarette, tossed it out the window, and then massaged his temples. At least he could say he was cutting back by smoking less of a cigarette at a time.
That was something.
Right?
A knock on the passenger side window nearly made Calisto jump out of his seat. He found a stony-faced Emma peering in through the darkly tinted glass. She folded her arms over her chest, waiting.
Sighing, Calisto unlocked the door. Emma climbed in without a word.
“Party over?” he asked.
“No.”
“What are you doing out here then?”
Emma’s gaze jumped to him in an instant, and Calisto could practically feel it cut into his soul. Her worry was as clear as glass to him. Maybe she had taken note of his desire to exit the dinner party after playing the piano.
Calisto didn’t want her to worry.
Not about him.
He might like it too much.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Emma said.
“I wanted a smoke.”
“You said you were going to the bathroom twenty minutes ago.”
“Don’t you have your own business to look after?” Calisto asked, sharper than he intended.
Emma didn’t even blink at his attitude. “Is it me?”
“Is what you?”
“Whatever is wrong with you right now, Calisto. Your nastiness and your irritation. Is it because of me and what happened?”
Calisto frowned. “No.”
Emma cocked a brow, but didn’t say a word. Just her look alone was enough to make him correct his statement.
“Not entirely,” he said. “It’s still none of your concern, Emmy.”
“You should start calling me Emma. Might as well get used to it before we get to New York.”
Calisto scoffed. “Why?”
“Because Affonso doesn’t like Emmy.”
“I told you already, you’re sorely mistaken if you think I give a good goddamn what that man likes, Emmy.”
Emma smiled slyly, but turned her head away to where Calisto couldn’t see her face anymore. “The party got loud after they moved from the dining room to the living room with more wine. I’m not in the mood to listen to drunk people tonight. I don’t even think they noticed that I slipped out when no one was looking my way.”
Calisto chuckled. “Bad girl.”
“Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Playing the piano and taking the attention away from me. I could have played, but I don’t like to all that much. I used to practice and have recitals when I was younger because my father wanted me to. I didn’t enjoy it.”
“It’s fine. Don’t mention it.”
Literally, he held back from adding.
Emma didn’t let it go. “You didn’t seem to like it much either.”
“I—”
“But you play like a pro,” she finished, cutting him with yet another one of her looks.
“As I said inside, my mother taught me to play when I was a boy.”
“You’re very good for someone who only played as a child.”
“I never said that.”
Emma glanced down at her lap. “When was the last time you played?”
“Shortly before I came out here. I tuned a piano for a friend of mine, and played a bit to make sure everything was perfect.”
“Before that?”
“What are you digging for?” he asked.
Emma shrugged. “Curious.”
“Well, stop it. There’s nothing to find.”
Nothing he was willing to share.
“I’ve never heard that song before,” Emma noted quietly. “The one you played, I mean. Did you compose it?”
Calisto laughed. “No. I’m not that talented. I may understand how to play and be able to pick up a tune easily enough, but I can’t write music.”
“But it is an unpublished, unrecorded piece.” Emma turned in the seat, watching him with a burning glint lighting up her green eyes. “I may hate playing the piano, but I do like to listen to it. And like I said, I’ve never heard that before. I was curious who it belonged to.”
“My father,” Calisto said, wishing his chest wasn’t as tight as it was. “He composed the piece.”
“And your mother taught it to you.”
“Yes. What does it matter?”
“Curious,” Emma repeated. “You never mention them. Not with any depth. And then I see you with the piano, treating it with kind hands, and I had to wonder about it all. It helped that Maximo mentioned he knew your father had played the piano before his death. I might have drawn a few conclusions.”
Irritation simmered below Calisto’s skin. “So, you assumed the piece had come from my family, came out here to pester me about it, and tricked me with a few questions to get me to admit to it? What is the point in that?”
Emma’s smile faltered. “I just wanted to know more. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“There’s nothing to know. My father played, he taught my mother, and she taught me.”
“Does it remind you of them?”
“Leave it alone, Emma. Please.”
Emma nodded, and rested back in the seat with a soft exhale. “I used to dance when I was younger, and then when I was a teenager. Ballet, actually. My grandmother was a ballerina. My dad’s mother, not my mom’s.”
“So?”
“So, I grew up on her knee learning about ballet, seeing pictures of her in her costumes and whatever else. I stopped dancing when I was seventeen.”
Calisto looked over at Emma, taking notice of the way her lips turned down at the corners and her hands balled in her lap. “Why seventeen?”
“My father told me ballet was an unimportant goal for me in the end. I never really understood why he felt that way until the whole marriage thing came up. It makes sense now.”
“Doesn’t explain why you quit.”
“My grandmother died,” Emma said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my family is very materialistic. Being wealthy and significant is more important to them than anything else. It was more important to them than giving me time and attention while I was growing up.”
“Your grandmother gave that to you instead.”
“Yeah. Ballet didn’t quite feel the same after. I was happy to give it up. My father was happy I gave up on a dream he didn’t support.”
“Win-win,” Calisto muttered.
“Apparently.” Emma lifted a single shoulder like it didn’t make a difference. Calisto could tell by the wetness coating her lashes that it made every difference to her. “Anyway, my point is that it’s nice you’re able to keep something close to you that reminds you of your parents without it hurting you. I wish I had the same thing for my grandmother.”
“It does hurt me,” Calisto said before he could stop himself.
He wanted to take the words back immediately.
Emma stilled in the passenger seat. “Then why play?”
To remember.
To punish himself.
To apologize.
“For a lot of different reasons,” Calisto settled on saying. “But tonight, I played so that you wouldn’t have to. You didn’t seem comfortable. I didn’t think you wanted to have everyone looking at you after what happened. It was a small sacrifice.”
“But you hurt now,” she said, seeming confused. “Don’t you?”
“But you didn’t have to.”
For Calisto, that was all that mattered.
Turning his head, Calisto stared out the opened driver’s window. He wondered if anyone had noticed that both he and Emma had left the dinner party without a goodbye. He supposed it didn’t make a difference.
Calisto didn’t mind Emma’s presence disturbing his peace, either.
“Calisto?” Emma asked softly.
“Hmm?”
Her hand rested on his thigh, and Calisto jerked in the seat at the innocent touch. The problem was, her touch couldn’t be innocent at all. Not with the way he currently felt, the things he had done, or the lines he had already crossed with a mighty “fuck you.” He hadn’t been expecting it, and he didn’t even hear Emma move in her seat.
Calisto barely had the chance to spin around and face Emma again before her mouth pressed against his. It was soft at first, smooth like her plump lips, and then her fingers dug into his leg like she was demanding something from him.
He didn’t know what it was.
Instinctively, Calisto wanted to push her away. He wanted to kiss her back, too. The crazy side of his brain won, the side that listened to his selfish wants and not his needs.
Or maybe he needed it, too.
Calisto didn’t know.
But he did grab onto Emma’s dress. He fisted the fabric around his taut knuckles, and pulled her a little closer. His tongue swept the seam of her lips, wanting more, needing to be deeper, seeking her heat and taste.
A little wouldn’t hurt, right?
Just a little more.
Emma sighed a sweet sound, giving into his unspoken demand by parting her lips. Calisto took the offering for what it was, kissed her harder, and let his tongue war with hers until she was gasping for air. Pulling away enough to catch a breath, Emma tipped her head up and hummed.
Calisto couldn’t help himself but lean forward and kiss her chin.
He was fucking stupid.
Why did she make him so stupid?
“I should go in and say goodbye,” he heard Emma say.
Calisto was too distracted by the flimsy fabric of her dress in his hands. A little pull with just enough strength and he knew that the dress would rip. She was close, and he could grab her around the waist before pulling her into the backseat.
The windows were tinted.
No one would see.
A little more wouldn’t hurt.
“Calisto,” Emma said.
His name in her mouth sounded divine. He would bet his bottom dollar that it would sound even better if she was bent over something sturdy, stretched full of his cock, and screaming his name to the heavens.
“Calisto.”
He met her gaze, unsettled and unsure.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“I should go in and say goodbye.”
“You’ll see them in New York.”
Emma wet her lips, drawing in his attention to that pout of hers. “I meant for the evening.”
Oh.
Calisto let her go.
Emma fell back into the seat with a shiver. “We’re going to get in trouble doing this.”
“Trouble” wasn’t a good enough word for what would happen to them both if someone even whispered about what had already happened. Calisto chose not to correct Emma.
“You have to know what this is for there to be something,” Calisto murmured.
And maybe if they didn’t label whatever it was, it wouldn’t exist.
It was ridiculous, sure.
Calisto didn’t care. He was still trying to make sense of the mess he had now found himself in, a mess of his own causing. For a smart man, one who followed the rules and knew what was right and what was wrong, Calisto was sure proving how fucked up he could be.
Or rather, how fucked up he truly was.
Broken, maybe. Calisto knew what made him this way—callous, reckless, and selfish. He had learned as a young man that when a bed was made, it was made to lie in.
Emma caught his stare again, holding strong. “We shouldn’t do this, Cal.”
“No, we definitely shouldn’t,” Calisto agreed.
Calisto knew that they probably still would.
It wouldn’t lead to anywhere good.
It couldn’t.
Unbelievable.
Calisto stared down at the notification lighting up the screen of his phone.
Flight USAir B-2473 to New York, New York canceled due to weather conditions. All flights will be rescheduled and updates provided. We’re very sorry for the inconvenience, and hope to have more information soon.
The sky above Las Vegas was as clear as it had ever been. The same couldn’t be said for New York, apparently. A blizzard that was expected to miss the state changed direction in just enough time to cover everything in a good three feet of snow. It also ended up causing the cancelation of every flight going into or out of New York.
Damn.
Calisto hadn’t counted on this happening. His bags were packed and waiting at the penthouse door along with Emma’s four-piece luggage set. This wasn’t good at all. He expected to be in the air in two hours. He wanted the distance that New York would provide him to clear his fucking head of Emma Sorrento and the nonsense Calisto had going on.
Now he couldn’t do that at all. His damned penthouse apartment, the one he had been using, was emptied and then had been filled by a new guest with reservations. That left Calisto with Emma’s apartment to stay in, or he could grab them a hotel closer to the airport.
A pressure landed on Calisto’s shoulders, pushing him down under the weight. It was like the world was conspiring against him. Shrugging the heavy feeling off, he dialed a familiar number and put the phone to his ear. Three rings later, Affonso picked up the call.
“I heard,” Affonso said the moment he answered. “They expect the storm to pass in a day and have flights coming in within two days.”
“Saves me the time of explaining,” Calisto muttered.
“I’m sure everything will run smoothly and on time when you get here. The dress Emma purchased arrived today, so let her know for me.”
Great.
“Will do, zio.”
“And it’s appropriate, I should add. Thank you for that, Cal.”
Calisto’s brow furrowed. “You looked at her dress?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s her wedding dress, Affonso.”
“It’s just a dress, my boy. I couldn’t let the girl wear just anything. I had to make sure it was okay.”
“Then what in the hell did you send me in with her for, if you were going to look yourself?” Calisto demanded.
“Your attitude is strong today. Awfully touchy, are we?”
Calisto snapped his mouth shut. “No, not at all.”
The sound of running water drew Calisto’s attention to the back hallway of the penthouse. The place was mostly empty, and had been for a while. Emma had said she wanted to jump in the shower before they left to catch the flight. Knowing she was just a short stride away, naked and wet, did not help Calisto’s little issue of keeping a distance and a clear head.
It didn’t help his still semi-hard cock, either. It wouldn’t go down. It hadn’t gone down since he’d felt her body, made her come, and he was left, still wanting more.
“I’ll let Emma know about the dress.”
“This flight mess has you stressed. I can hear it in your voice. Don’t worry about it, Cal. Everything will be fine.”
Affonso was wrong.
Nothing would be fine.
His uncle didn’t have a clue.
“Just give me a few minutes to get dressed and we can go,” Emma said from behind Calisto.
“Don’t worry about rushing,” Calisto replied without turning away from the windows. “The flights to New York are canceled for today, and maybe tomorrow, too. A blizzard came through and practically shut the state down.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You’ll get one more night in your bed. I’ll take the couch.”
Emma didn’t respond. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Calisto watched as Emma turned away and walked back in the direction of where the bathroom was located. She had a towel wrapped around her figure, and had left her damp hair to hang in waves down her back. His gaze traveled over the curve of her waist that was accentuated by how tightly the towel was pulled, and the swell of her ass that swayed as she walked.
She was all natural. All of her. Calisto’s fingers twitched, wanting to feel her warm, smooth body under his palms and taste her clean skin with his kisses and tongue.
Why did it have to be her?
Why did Emma—the one woman that was off-limits—have to be the one that finally made him take notice and want something?
You’re not going to do this, he told himself.
Not with her.
“Calisto?”
Emma’s sweet call of his name, all innocent and quiet, made Calisto snap out of his daze. He lifted his gaze from her backside to her eyes. She had stopped walking and was looking right at him.
Calisto couldn’t even feel ashamed to be caught staring.
Beautiful things deserved attention.
Emma was incredibly beautiful.
“You don’t have to take the couch, Cal,” she said.
Calisto swallowed hard. “Don’t do that. Don’t put that out there, Emmy.”
“Maybe we can just … get it out. It might work. One night, Calisto. And then we forget it ever happened. You get what you want, and I get to pretend for a night that things could be different. What will it hurt?”
Everything.
Calisto didn’t know how to explain that to Emma. His thoughts were silenced when Emma let the towel slip enough to showcase her naked side and still damp skin. Under thick lashes, she watched him from the shadows.
The offer was there.
Offers were meant to be taken.
Once might not be enough.
His self-control was gone.
“Don’t do that,” Calisto said again, one last time.
Emma let the towel drop even more. “I just did.”
Fucked.
They were so incredibly fucked.
Calisto’s restraint wavered, and he stepped forward.
Closer to sin.
Closer to his next mistake.
It was bad, but it had to be good.
He knew it was wrong.
It still felt right.