Idle Hands
by Lionel

chapter 3

Lorenzo really didn't know if she would show up. He suspected he might have gone too far, pushed her past the invisible line that marked what she would and would not do without a fight. Not that she would back out of their arrangement entirely on the basis of one rather daring dress, but he wouldn't have been surprised if she staged one of her small protests. She might show up late or not at all, with proper apologies of course to minimize the damage. There would be repercussions, and eventually she would cede to his will, but she would put up a fight to show she was still there. He almost looked forward to the battle, but he hoped she would at least show up so he could see her in that dress.

He wasn't surprised when 6:30 came and his guests arrived and there was no sign of her. He made excuses on her behalf, explaining that she had probably been held up at work, which drew respectful nods of approval. It struck him that it was a far preferable excuse to those he was accustomed to giving for the women in his life, who had nothing of importance to do and generally just took too long to get ready.

He led Garrido and the others to a lounge area in one corner of the room, where a grouping of armchairs and small couches made for a comfortable place to have drinks before dinner, and he made sure to keep the main entrance in his line of sight. If she did show up, and she did wear the dress, he wanted to see her the moment she walked in. He was determined to begin the evening with the upper hand and not let it devolve into a game she controlled. That's what had happened the previous night, leaving him with whiplash from her rapid cycling of emotions. Upon reflection in the clear light of day, he had concluded that she had definitely been up to something, and though he didn't know quite what it was, he wasn't going to cede his superior position so easily tonight. If she wanted to flirt again tonight, he'd flirt right back, and he'd let her tease him right into bed. And then they'd see how long her control lasted. His train of thought sent a rush of blood to his loins, and he tried to direct his mind elsewhere. He had guests to attend to, tricky business relationships to negotiate. But that wasn't why his stomach was tight with tremors of nervous excitement.

His distraction didn't go unnoticed. Garrido leaned over to speak to him quietly, wearing an indulgent smile. "Why don't you go call her?" he encouraged, but Lorenzo responded with a look of polite confusion. "You look like a man who's missing his gun."

Lorenzo smiled a bit ashamedly. "I'm sorry if I seem distracted, Victor. I'm just eager to see my wife."

"No one could blame you. Go check on her and ease your mind."

Lorenzo shook his head. "No. I'm sure Alexis will be here as soon as she can."

Lorenzo made an effort to focus on his guests, but just a few minutes later Garrido nodded toward the door, and Lorenzo quickly looked over. He cursed himself for missing her arrival and scanned the crowd eagerly, but he couldn't find her. He gave Garrido a questioning look.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Garrido asked, again nodding toward the door.

Lorenzo looked toward the entrance once more and finally realized what Garrido was referring to. Sonny Corinthos stood just inside the door pulling off his coat. Carly was behind him, a petulant snarl on her face, apparently waiting for Sonny's bodyguard to take her coat. The evening had just gotten a lot more complicated.

Lorenzo's mouth turned up in a humorless smile. "No. It won't be a problem."

"And for your wife?"

Lorenzo directed his gaze toward Garrido, giving the point added thought. "No. Alexis can handle Mr. and Mrs. Corinthos."

Their noisy entrance continued as Carly followed Sonny to a table at the other side of the club's dining room. Apparently someone had finally taken her coat, revealing a poorly chosen peach dress with a halter top that accentuated Carly's flat chest. Lorenzo found his eyes sweeping toward the door again, fervently hoping for a multitude of reasons that Alexis was going to walk in wearing the hell out of the dress he had chosen, but still there was no sign of her.

By 7:15 he was certain that she wasn't going to come, and he stood up to move his guests to their dinner table. That was when he saw her, not at the main entrance, but coming in through the bar. He barely recognized her at first, but the shock of red beneath her black cloak caught his eye, and he realized with an enormous amount of satisfaction that his wife had indeed arrived and that she looked take-no-prisoners sexy in everything he had picked out. He finished seating his guests, took a moment to steady himself, and then walked over to greet her.

*****

Alexis had been ready in plenty of time, and Ric's visit had caused only a brief delay, but after he and his salivation were gone she had sat in her office for twenty minutes trying to gather her thoughts and sort through what she hoped to accomplish. Eventually she had given up, resigned to flying on instinct this one time, and headed to the club, but on the trip over exposure to the cold December night air had again given her pause, reminding her just how much she was baring, and despite Ric's positive reaction to her appearance her confidence was shaken. She sat in the car outside the club trying to find the right frame of mind for this particular performance, and finally went in the side entrance, taking a quick detour through the bar for a shot of liquid courage. For once Lorenzo's bodyguards let her be, not rushing her along or redirecting her path; they were probably afraid to touch her for fear she'd fall out of her dress. At least that was something.

All of her nerves behind her, or at least well hidden, Alexis paused just inside the entrance to the main dining room, regarding the room regally. Though she didn't deign to scan the tables in search of her party, she spotted Lorenzo immediately, standing in his tuxedo twenty feet away. She made no move when their eyes met; she simply stood there waiting for her husband to come to her, her confidence and dignity absolute. She ignored the staff member who stood beside her ready to take her cloak, and Lorenzo waved him off as he approached.

He leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Nice dress."

She smiled back at him. "Go to hell."

He slipped her cloak from her shoulders and handed it off, and when he turned back and got his first look at her his breath caught somewhere low in his chest. He wanted to whistle, but that wouldn't be right, so instead he moved closer to her, sliding a hand up the length of her bare back until his fingers curled around the nape of her neck, and he pulled her into a very indiscreet kiss. She resisted him at first, trying to pull away, but his other hand was firm around her waist, and he was absolutely insistent. She had no choice, really, unless she wanted to put up a full-fledged fight, and he felt her attitude shift to pliant tolerance. He kept kissing her, good manners be damned, tasting her lips, stroking her mouth, until he felt her really respond, and when he heard the little low murmur that vibrated from the back of her throat, he smiled to himself. She wasn't quite as in control as she wanted to be.

He released her mouth slowly, still holding her hips close, and as their eyes met he saw a dozen thoughts and emotions flash across her face, not the least of which was reluctant desire. She smiled tightly at him and raised her hand to his face, wiping her lipstick off his mouth with her thumb.

"Carly's here?" she guessed. She wondered if he'd been able to taste the vodka on her tongue.

Lorenzo tipped his head with a playful frown. "Can't a man be happy to see his beautiful wife? You look spectacular. I'm pleased."

"Ah," she sighed knowingly. "Sonny and Carly are here."

Carried by a wave of wickedness, she gave him a small, very naughty smile, draped her arm around his neck and leaned up on her toes, brushing her mouth against his cheek. She caught his earlobe gently between her teeth and licked at the soft flesh, breathing heavily into his ear. She rocked her hips against his, confirming she was having the desired reaction. If she had to walk across the room in this dress, with Sonny and Carly and everyone else staring, she was going to make damn sure he had a hard time walking, too.

"You're a very, very sick man," she purred in his ear. "This is a pathetic child's game."

As she pulled back, her eyes met his again, challenging him, and his anger flared around the edges of his lust. "And you're late."

"I was unavoidably detained. These things take time."

His eyes slid down her again, surveying her with obvious approval. He'd spent two hours that afternoon in a boutique, picking everything out, trying to imagine how it would all come together on her. In truth, the dress was a bit trashy, the jewelry excessive, and the shoes screamed 'fuck me', but somehow she still managed to look elegant. Drop-dead sexy, but elegant. It was in the way she did her makeup and put up her hair, and in her natural carriage: shoulders back, head high, perfectly contained and quietly superior. Any other woman would have looked like a courtesan in what he had picked out, but she looked like royalty. A very modern and liberated queen.

"Don't tell me I left something out," he said.

"No, you seem to have thought of everything." It was a little disconcerting to know that he had a hand in every single thing she wore – that he'd picked out her underwear, chosen her lipstick, even bought her the brush she'd used on her hair. It was either very intimate, befitting a married couple of much longer standing, or else it was uncomfortably controlling, befitting the nature of their marriage. Alexis ran the tip of her tongue across her lips, wondering just how badly smudged her carefully applied makeup must be, but she stopped when she realized his eyes were now glued to her mouth. "This little vulgar display is going to make me even later. I'm going to go fix my makeup."

"It's fine."

She ignored his assurance and started to move away from him toward the ladies room, but he moved with her, pushing her just out of sight of their table. His eyes were dark, and his arm around her waist was a steel bar pulling her close. "Stay," he ordered. His mouth came down over hers again, kissing her aggressively. His hand slipped down farther, lower even than the back of her dress, and he grabbed her ass briefly, pulling her up against him, enjoying the way her barely covered breasts were crushed against his chest. She struggled against him, and he let her go before her outrage became obvious.

"Stop it," she hissed indignantly, trying hard to keep her face composed. "That's no way to treat your wife in public."

"I'm a gangster, darling. I'm expected to be vulgar."

"I am not. I expect to be treated with more respect than that."

He bowed slightly as she straightened her dress. "My apologies, Mrs. Alcazar."

She shot him a dirty look as she turned to continue to the ladies room, but her eyes were bright and her throat bore a telling flush. With a pleased smile on his face, Lorenzo took the long route back to the table.

*****

She finally joined them for dinner ten minutes later, her walk across the room observed by just about every man in the room, and her arrival at the table marked by her appearance behind Lorenzo's chair. She draped her hand over his left shoulder and leaned down on his other side to give him a brief kiss, then stood up and greeted each of the others at the table with smiles and light words. Lorenzo couldn't help it: his eyes automatically sought out Sonny Corinthos's table, and he was gratified to find the local mobster watching Alexis with a sick look on his face. The man ought to feel sick about what he'd lost. He'd had Alexis at his side once, and it hadn't been a charade, and he hadn't had any reason at all why he had to hate her. But he'd tossed her aside, and with her his child, and sunk into his twisted, abusive union with a woman who didn't seem to understand that she deserved better.

Carly, Lorenzo reminded himself. She was sitting right there. His eyes moved over to her, curious about how she was reacting to the show. She looked sullen and unhappy and jealous, her mouth open too far, and she leaned over to Sonny, tugging on his jacket to draw his attention back. Lorenzo smiled. Of course he had good reason to hate Alexis, and he was in love with Carly, but still he could objectively appreciate what an idiot Sonny had been. Love aside, there was no comparing the two women. It served the man right to have to sit over there and watch Alexis shine. He looked for all the world like a wolf long caught in a trap, growing weaker and madder as the months slid by, bitterly contemplating chewing his foot off to set himself free.

As the round of greetings and introductions that accompanied Alexis's arrival came to a conclusion, Lorenzo stood up and pulled out a chair for his sparkling wife. She smiled up at him, and he brought her hand to his lips for a far more decorous kiss that made their companions smile. Like a couple madly in love, their eyes stayed glued on one another fondly as he moved around the table to his own seat, and though he knew it was skilled pretense still he felt a little thrill of excitement. As he sat down, he looked for Sonny again. The man looked awful, like he hadn't smiled a true smile in years, but Lorenzo tried to rein in his sense of schadenfreude. Not being an idiot himself, Lorenzo wasn't oblivious to the irony of the situation, and an odd shiver moved through him as he raised his wineglass. There but for the grace of god …

*****

Alexis found dinner was tolerable, perhaps more than tolerable, apart from the constant vigilance she was required to maintain to keep her dress straight and avoid becoming indecently uncovered. Carly left in a huff before the appetizers were cleared, and Sonny eventually followed her out, making it much easier for Alexis to concentrate on her own agenda. Lorenzo's associates were remarkably easy to charm and she could have done it in her sleep, but she was kept quite alert throughout the evening by the way Lorenzo's eyes raked over her. Whenever she glanced at him he seemed to be watching her: listening to her talk, evaluating, approving, admiring. Either he was a tremendous actor or he was very pleased with her performance as his wife. She felt like she was knocking it out of the park tonight, and her success fueled her energy. She was fairly certain it was more than just an illusion brought on by the wine, but she couldn't wait for dinner to be over so they could be alone and she could hear what he had to say. His commentary was always interesting. She'd give him that.

When dinner finally ended and everyone stood up, she found him at her side immediately, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her neck as if it had been torture to be unable to touch her for so long. It felt oddly comforting to her, as if perhaps she had been craving his touch as well, and she leaned into his embrace, offering him a brief kiss. He kept his hands on her as they said goodbye to their guests, and once they were alone, but still observed, he turned her around and pulled her into a slow, deep kiss. She reminded herself not to let the wine mislead her body, but between her slight intoxication, the mood her attire inspired, and his hands moving all over her body, she felt a very definite and very warm arousal toward her husband, and she kissed him back, almost enjoying it. When they were truly alone, he let her go, leaving her breathless and disheveled, and he guided her to his limousine, his hand never leaving the small of her back.

He sat close to her, but he was surprisingly quiet. It quickly became apparent to her that they weren't heading in the right direction to be going home, and she voiced her objection.

"We're going dancing," Lorenzo told her.

"We are?"

"Yes. I don't want to waste that dress. It's my turn to have you all to myself." He saw the uncomfortable look his words inspired, with their suggestion of agenda-less interest. "With an audience, of course," he added.

"Lorenzo, I have an early court date tomorrow. I – "

"Don't argue," he instructed, and for some reason she complied. If they went dancing, there would be more touching, more staged kisses, more opportunities to further her underhanded assault, to continue her subtle seduction. And it wasn't an entirely revolting prospect.

"I'd like to be home by midnight," she said, habitually unable to concede to him entirely.

"We'll see," he answered, giving her a dark look that unsettled her. Something seemed to be different with him tonight, and she could only assume she was getting to him on some level. The hostility was still there, lurking in the steel blue gaze and tight smirk that came out from time to time, but the desire seemed genuine. Just about every time they'd kissed, or touched, or staged some intimate moment, he'd been a half step ahead of her, pushing her farther and faster than she intended to go, and her reactions hadn't been entirely studied.

As if privy to her thoughts, he unceremoniously moved his hand from his own lap to hers, settling it possessively across her thigh, and gave her leg a slight pull, hitching it closer to him. She flinched in surprise, but the contact wasn't entirely unpleasant, stirring up the embers of arousal remaining from their earlier kiss. His fingers brushed against the inside of her thigh, and she cursed the wine or whatever else it was that made her unable to recall every despicable thing about him. Was he trying to seduce her? And if so, was that a sign of her success, or was it subterfuge on his part? If it was subterfuge, it was brilliant: if she pushed him away, she would sabotage her own efforts; if she gave in, she'd gain no leverage. She watched the movement of his hand over her black silk stockings, just below the very high hem of her dress, not at all sure how to react. Ultimately she did nothing, sitting perfectly still, trying desperately to sort things out, but her thoughts grew less and less clear as his hand continued its idle play on her leg.

The limousine wound its way through the downtown streets, and she realized she was holding her breath. She wished to god he would say something, since she seemed utterly incapable of making any kind of move at all, but he was silent, and then she was the one who made noise, a small moan that squeaked from her lips, giving her away. He noticed, of course, and his lips curled in a very sexy, almost vicious, grin, and he flattened his hand around the curve of her leg, rubbing up and down just a bit, massaging her gently. She closed her eyes, panting slightly, hoping it would just go away, but she was paralyzed, unable to push him off, and he showed no sign of backing off. His hand slid higher up her leg, beneath her dress, almost to her hip, and her eyes flipped open. He was watching her, his own lust plain on his face, paired with the same hesitation and self-disgust she felt. But he licked his lips, slid his other hand behind her neck, and pulled her into an unhesitating kiss.

She didn't resist at all, and the rest of the moan she'd tried to hold back slipped from the back of her throat, the relief of its release a kind of bliss, but nothing compared to the bliss of giving in to the hot, wet kiss. Never mind that she hated him, and he hated her; never mind that he was a gangster who was virtually holding her hostage; he was strong and clean and sure and, god, could he kiss. How long had it been since any man had kissed her like this? Taking without permission, giving without request. His hand hooked around her hip and he pulled her across his lap, awkwardly at first, then settling her where he wanted her, where he could hold her in place to kiss her while his other hand had free rein to explore her legs. Explore he did, from the soles of her feet, to the backs of her knees, all the way up her thighs, wandering the edges of her underwear with a soft touch that made her whimper and roll her hip against him. He groaned and pulled his hand away, taking a slow, steadying breath. She wasn't sure what he was doing until he picked up the phone to speak to the driver. "Turn around. We're going home."

His voice was rough with pent-up lust, and his words made her heart skip nervously, some small awareness of reality threading its way into her hormone-drenched brain, but before she could reflect on the seriousness of what was transpiring he was kissing her again, pushing everything else out of her head. His hand moved on to charting the remaining contours of her dress, the places were silk met skin most closely. His hand curled around her breast, squeezing it through layers of fabric, finding her nipple and teasing it gently. She held tight to his shoulders and kissed him harder, as if she could somehow get lost in him, lost in what they were doing, and not have to face it later. He pulled away and dragged his mouth down her throat, down to the swells and valleys of her breasts, licking every bare inch, and then he pushed away the layers of silk and satin to bring her nipple to his mouth. Her head fell back, and her hands wrapped around his head, holding him close.

"Oh, god, Lorenzo. What are we doing?"

He didn't answer; he just sucked more insistently on her breast, his tongue rough as a cat's. Nothing good could come from words, he knew. Or thinking, for that matter. Or hesitating in any way. And so he kept up his steady assault, driving the wave of arousal ever higher, and he prayed they'd make it home before it peaked.

When finally the limousine glided through the gates of the compound, he helped her compose her clothing, and they stumbled out of the car, still intertwined. At the front door, Alexis stepped back from him, taking several deep breaths to calm herself before she risked seeing the nanny. She didn't look calm at all, he noted, and it was apparent she'd been ravaged, but it was a good look. Her eyes were shining, her skin was flushed, and she looked rather like some lusty earth goddess overflowing her very inadequate covering. She walked in the house ahead of him and headed back to check on Kristina. He went to their bedroom, smiling at the red silk chemise laid out on the bed, almost a perfect match to her dress. He had put it out earlier, having disposed of every pair of sweats and pajamas in her drawer in a variation on the no-pajamas rule he had considered the night before. He'd wait to tell her about the new rule in the morning, when she might be more disposed toward such things. He was holding the chemise up in his hands, admiring the vision he had of what it would look like on her, when the door to the bedroom burst open. She stood there glaring at him, her eyes burning with a fury he had never seen.

"Where the hell is my daughter?"

chapter 04