Longing for Her

“Mr. Risso?” Raquel’s voice came through the intercom on my office desk.
Glancing up from my cell, I pressed the button to reply. “It’s Cole, Raquel.”
“Yes, sir.”
I grinned. One for proper etiquette, my new secretary refused to call me by my preferred name. “What is it?”
“I have the reports, sir, so whenever you’re ready.”
Ready…shit.
I’d forgotten about the meeting. Raquel might have printed out the information I needed to share with Papa and the rest of the board members, but I hadn’t done shit to prepare for the presentation.
Another glance at the phone in my hand, and a groan rose. Spiked black tresses and hazel-green eyes stole my breath every time I tortured myself by pulling up the texted pic from three years earlier.
Gwen Larkin, my baby sister’s best friend and soon-to-be maid of honor. Borderline gothic clothing painted her as a free spirit, the type of girl who refused to conform herself to what others expected. One who knew her mind and didn’t hesitate in speaking it.
The only girl I’d ever wanted.
Ten years older than her twenty-five, I knew she’d crushed on me as a kid. She’d sleep over at the house and prance around in a long t-shirt, her budding body and shapely legs tempting the hell out of me. All through her high school and college years, she’d tossed smirks over her shoulder, her eyes begging me to respond, to take what she would gladly lay at my feet if only I’d make a move.
I’d waited, hoping she’d tame down a bit, become a young woman Papa would approve of.
It never happened, and when she and my sister Lia graduated from college, I couldn’t help myself—I gave in to temptation. Rather, I didn’t say no when she reached across my car’s console, put her hand on my dick, and ordered me to pull over.
I ceased to exist to her afterward.
She never came to my parents for dinner. My phone calls never got returned. Countless texts went unanswered.
She and Lia rented their own place in Boston’s North End, and the months passed without my seeing her.
Three long-ass years dragged by, and not once did I lose myself in another woman. Gwen haunted me worse than the Lonestar song that’d been crooning from my car’s speakers when she’d climbed on top of me. The satiny feel of her skin under my hands. Her strawberry scent, the sweet taste of her mouth.
In that moment, she’d blown my mind, and I knew she was it for me—forever and ever, just like Richie McDonald had sung.
Damn it.
I swiped the picture off my screen and tossed my phone on the desk.
“Raquel?” I said into the intercom while smoothing down my tie.
“Yes, Mr. Risso?”
“I’m going to need a quick look at those files.”
* * *
For the first time since I officially accepted a position in the family business, I showed up late to a meeting. I pulled open the door and gestured Raquel in ahead of me. As always, the board members hovered around a platter of donuts while waiting for Papa to call them to order.
Bigger than your typical Italian, he frowned at me from above most of their heads, his dark eyes full of displeasure. Toe to toe, I stood two inches taller, but Papa still intimidated the shit out of me.
Rarely did he cast his scowl my way. I was the good son. The one who bowed down without question, the one who always considered what Papa would think before taking any actions.
Not that I had a choice. I was next in line for the Risso patriarchic throne.
I slid onto a chair beside the only other seated person—my brother Zane, who didn’t understand what being on time meant.
Raquel made her way around the oblong table, placing the reports she’d printed before each empty chair.
Zane’s gaze glued to her ass, and a low whistle sounded. “Who the fuck is that?” he whispered, leaning my way.
“My new secretary.” I leafed through my file one last time, cramming like a college kid with a hangover. “And I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself for a change.”
“But goddamn…she’s hot.” He groaned the word while adjusting himself in my periphery.
“She’s efficient and hardworking,” I told him tightly. “The last thing I need is your dick screwing her up.”
“Let’s get started.” Papa’s gruff voice quieted the room, and the twelve advisors took their seats. “Sebastiano can’t be with us today, so Ercole is going to update us on the progress with the chain store in West Virginia. Son?”
I cleared my throat while standing, wishing like hell that for once—just once—Papa would call me Cole like everyone else. A quick glance at the papers spread on the table before me, and I started sharing my youngest brother’s accomplishments in the town he’d chosen. Statistics. Accounting records.
Boring shit I dealt with on a daily basis.
As a kid, I’d dreamed of being a history teacher even though I knew Papa had long since planned my path through college and beyond as a CEO of Risso’s Supermarkets. I wanted to impart knowledge, not discuss price differentials and marketing ploys to gain new customers.
Count your blessings, Mom always said. Rarely did an immigrant become successful in the way Papa had done. We had a lot to be thankful for.
While I appreciated Papa’s hard work and the easier life his accomplishments had afforded our family, I wished for the freedom to map out my own life. Unlike with Zane, though, my parents’ teachings to respect and obey embedded in my heart and mind as a kid. I just wished my compliance had brought personal happiness along the way.
* * *
Zane downed a shot of whiskey. “I’m going to ask her out.”
I swallowed my mouthful of beer and thunked the empty bottle down, peering at Zane in the bar’s dim pendant lighting. “The hell you are.”
He raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention. “She’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. God, that ass. Those tits.”
“She’s my secretary.” I stabbed my fork into a steak tip. “Papa will can your ass for sure if you start sleeping with our employees.”
His chuckle was nearly lost in the laughter and live music blaring in the background. “Remember that blonde chick who ran the mail last summer?”
“Are you shittin’ me?” I angled on my stool to face him. “God damn it, Zane. Don’t you have any sense of decorum?”
He shot me a grin, blue-gray eyes like my own lit with amusement. “Not when it comes to fucking.”
Shaking my head, I turned away and shoveled the steak into my mouth.
Johnny, Brennan’s bartender, and our good friend, made his way over. “Need another, Zane?”
“Yeah. And get Cole here something strong enough to obliterate the stick shoved up his ass.”
They shared a laugh, and I chimed in with a sarcastic smile. “Raquel is an innocent,” I said once Johnny moved away. “A baby-faced, fresh out of college kid. Only reason she got the job is because she’s Hawkins’ daughter.”
“Who the hell is Hawkins?”
“Fuck.” I slapped down my fork. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t even know the regional managers’ names?”
“Nope.” Zane tilted back his head, downing another shot. “Never gave a flying fuck. Never will.”
“It’s a wonder Papa hasn’t disowned you.”
My brother’s gaze flitted to my still-knotted tie and suit jacket. “And you’ve got your head so far up his ass, it’s a wonder you’ve got a dick of your own. Wait. You do, don’t you?”
“Fuck off, Zane.”
“No. Seriously. You’ve been acting like a PMS-ing bitch for months. Do you even know what a pussy looks like? Tastes like?”
My scowling reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles stared at me as I swigged my beer.
“Shit, man.” Zane ran a hand through his dark hair. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“Three years ago,” I mumbled beneath the bar’s din.
He leaned forward, his ear toward me. “What?”
“It’s been three years.”
His eyebrows shot up and he sat back on his stool. “What the fuck, Cole?”
Hunched over my food again, I shrugged.
“You going monk?”
Ignoring him, I speared another steak tip.
“If it’s ’cuz you can’t find anyone, I know a shitload of women who’d be willing to spread their legs. Hell, I know a few guys who’d be happy to get your rocks off if that’s what you’re into.”
“Thanks, but no.”
Zane’s gaze bored into me. “Who the hell fucked you up? Someone I know?”
My brothers were my two best friends, and I never told them what had happened with Gwen. God knows they’d both give me shit.
I peered at Zane, considering how much he’d give me while the music blared in my ears. I leaned toward him, serious as shit. “You tell anyone, and I’ll fuck you up so bad even Mom won’t recognize you.”
He scowled. “You know I won’t.”
“Gwen.”
Zane’s head jerked back like I’d slapped him. “Gwen? She…she’s like our little sister.”
I picked up my beer and swirled the amber liquid. “Maybe to you. I’ve always had a thing for her.”
“When the fuck did that happen?” he asked with a surprised chuckle.
“After their graduation dinner at Sorellina’s, Lia asked me to take Gwen home. On the way, Gwen confessed to always wanting me.”
“Fuck, man. How come I never noticed?”
I shrugged and swigged. “I’ve known since she was thirteen. The wine must have taken over. She had a little too much that night.”
Zane snorted. “Who didn’t?”
“Yeah, well my dick finally decided I didn’t give a fuck about Papa and his planned future for my life. I pulled into the first dark alley I could find.” I closed my eyes, reliving the memory that visited my dreams more often than I liked. “She told me to lay the seat back as she shimmied out of her panties. I about blew my load before she even straddled me. Fuck.” I pressed my palms against my eyes.
“And?”
“And I was so turned on, I didn’t think about a condom, or why she felt so damn tight until I got home later and found a few spots of blood on my pants.”
“Oh shit.”
A rare glimpse of compassion shone in Zane’s eyes. “Yeah, but that’s not the worst part. She fuckin’ blew my mind, and not two seconds after catching my breath, I muttered something about Papa never agreeing to our being together.”
Lips in a thin line, my brother shook his head.
“She slumped back in her seat and told me to take her home. She hasn’t spoken to me since.” I grabbed up my fork, needing to stab something. “Gwen is all I’ve ever wanted, and the thought of sleeping with any other woman makes me sick.”
“Fuck, man, I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. Gwen isn’t the princess Papa wants for me, and it’s a damn shame.”
Zane shrugged a shoulder. “You could always tell Papa to pound sand.”
The air left my lungs in a rush. “I’d lose everything I have.”
My brother peered at me. “Probably, but at least you’d have what you want.”

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