Idle Hands
by Lionel

chapter 7

Dinner was surprisingly nice. He took her to a Venezuelan café in the university district, far more casual than the places they usually went, though with no prying eyes to put on a show for she was a bit at a loss as to how to behave. There was no need for holding hands over the table or indiscreet touches not quite beneath it, and no excuse either, so they didn’t touch and didn’t kiss, but he did take her coat and pull out her chair and pour her wine. All in all, it was rather like a first date, except that the moments of awkwardness were deepened and the moments of ease were made awkward by the rock on her finger that bound her to him unwillingly and that was too flashy to forget.

As first dates go, it wasn’t bad, though Alexis would be loath to admit it was any kind of date at all. Lorenzo offered a stream of intelligent, sometimes witty conversation, told a funny story or two, listened respectfully when she spoke. And even if she did have a dozen excuses for her ridiculous dream of him the night before, she was woman enough to admit – on a purely objective level, of course – that he wasn’t hard on the eyes. If not for the ring on her finger and all it signified, she might have had fun, but as it was she couldn’t allow that, and so each time she caught herself enjoying Lorenzo for a moment, forgetting that it was all an act for him, she chastised herself. She cut her laughter short and withdrew from the conversation, taking some solace from the uncomfortable silence that descended each time. At least the silence was honest, far more honest than mannerly chatter or feigned adoration, more honest than anything but the vicious sniping and cool toying they seemed to have put behind them.

She didn’t really mind the fakery; it was Lorenzo seizing the lead she didn’t like, for it denied her the satisfaction of mastery. She almost wished he would do something offensive so she would have reason to lash out or scold or mold, or that he would flirt with her so she could flirt back in the abrasive way that had become almost a reflex, but his behavior was flawless and unfamiliar – in fact, it was everything she might have demanded, as if he had skipped ahead and learned every lesson she had planned to teach him. There was nothing for her to object to, no misbehavior to correct, no training necessary. It left her nothing to do but match his cordiality in kind and wonder what his game was. It was dismaying.

Lorenzo dusted the conversation with explanations of the foods they ate, a brief treatise on Venezuela’s volatile post-colonial history, and a few innocuous anecdotes, never too personal, never too pointed, and as the meal wound down, he started to tell her about a hiking trek he once took through Venezuela’s Roraima plateau, his recall prompted by a tourism poster on the restaurant’s wall. Alexis listened to his description of Roraima’s eerie moonscapes, rapt in spite of herself, but he cut himself off mid-sentence with a self-denigrating wave of the hand and a pre-emptive apology for boring her. She could tell from the look in his eyes that Luis had been about to make an appearance in the story, which really wasn’t the least bit boring, and she didn’t press him to continue. Whether he cut himself off for her benefit or his own, she couldn’t tell, but she let the silence settle over them, savoring the difficult moment, until her curiosity got the better of her and she finally asked the question that had been at the tip of her tongue all night.

“Why are we here?”

For a brief moment Lorenzo looked unsettled, as if he couldn’t find the answer, but he recovered quickly. “It’s the only place in Port Charles that makes a decent pan de jamón,” he answered lightly, his smile renewed, deliberately misunderstanding her question.

Alexis glanced at the mostly empty dishes scattered around the table. “Did I miss that?”

Lorenzo shook his head. “No, I’m going to pick it up on the way out, and we can have it for breakfast tomorrow. Bread stuffed with smoked ham, green olives and raisins." He reached for the wine, a Chilean red, and refilled her glass. "It’s Venezuelan tradition to eat pan de jamón Christmas morning, but I don’t want to wait.”

“Sounds delicious,” Alexis responded politely. She smiled her thanks for the wine but just fingered the stem of her glass. She had put herself on a strict two-glass limit when he ordered the wine, but she was having a little trouble keeping track with his frequent topping off. She didn’t feel impaired yet; she still thought he was a bastard, if that was anything to go by. “But that doesn’t really answer my question, Lorenzo. Why did you want to take me to dinner? There’s no one here to impress.”

He gave her his most charming grin, his blue eyes sparkling, and she had to admit it was an impressive sight. “Just my wife.”

“Oh, now I know you’re up to something,” Alexis muttered. Apparently he was planning to carry his performance all the way through dinner if she’d let him.

“What I’m up to is making an honest effort to embrace our new partnership,” he insisted, a more natural smirk returning to his face. “You’re the one who convinced me how much more enjoyable our marriage could be if we learned to work together. That’s what I’m trying to do. “ He shrugged and looked slightly away, seeming almost nervous beneath his casual, cocky air. “You also gave me a long list of my less attractive qualities last night, and if I can refute one or two of them, all the better.”

Alexis’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so this is about sex again?” she guessed.

Lorenzo gritted his teeth slightly, but his manner remained pleasant. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then why do you care what I think?”

He smiled dryly, ignoring the harsh note of challenge in her tone. “Because I don’t want my lawyer to think I’m petty."

"Then it’s a good thing I’m not going to be your lawyer, isn’t it?” she retorted.

“Sure you will,” he disagreed, so calm and confident that she wondered if he knew her resistance was pretense. “You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

Alexis waved her hand, gesturing vaguely at the table. “So this is part of your sales pitch? This – dare I say it – normal behavior?”

"Is it so terrible, Alexis? A husband and wife sitting down together for a pleasant meal. No shots across the table, no stealth warfare beneath it."

"Or so it would seem." She raised her glass to her lips out of habit, letting the smooth surface rest against her lower lip, and ran the tip of her tongue lightly along the edge before she finally took a sip of the deep red liquid. It wasn't bad; a bit fruity for her taste, but a pleasant complement to the spiced meats that made up the meal in various forms – folded into arepas, wrapped up in empanadas, spread over piles of rice and beans. She noticed the way his eyes lingered on her mouth, seemingly distracted by the casual sexiness of her mouth’s activity, and she took another sip, sliding her tongue across her lips to dry them. She was testing him now, and when she heard his breath hitch briefly, she felt a small flush of satisfaction. At last, a little control. She lowered her glass. “But we both know this isn’t real.”

Lorenzo hesitated, moistening his own lips before attempting to speak. “Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“It could be. I realize we don’t have the most typical marriage -- ” He paused to watch her as she raised her glass again. “— but we’re both civilized, intelligent adults. We have more than a few things in common.”

“So?”

“So if we try, I think we can learn to enjoy each other’s company and engage on a more personal level. And I know we can work together to enormous mutual advantage.”

“Despite everything?” Alexis asked skeptically.

“We are where we are, Alexis. All we can do is move forward from here.”

Alexis set her glass down and shook her head slowly. “I suppose that’s true. And I might even be able to do that. I’m not one of those people who need to even the score. I don’t need restitution for every lousy thing you’ve done to me. The problem is I don’t trust you. I can play this game, Lorenzo, very well I think. I can convince everyone in this room that I love and adore my husband. I can be civil behind closed doors, and I can be the best attorney you’ll ever have. Maybe in the right light, at just the right angle, if I forget everything I know about you, I might even find you somewhat attractive. But it can’t be real because I don't trust you. Not at all.”

Lorenzo surprised her by shrugging off her statement. “That’s okay. I don't mind.”

“I do."

Lorenzo leaned back in his seat, an unreadable expression on his face. “I don’t trust you either, Alexis. I've lost track of the games you're playing, but I know almost nothing you do is uncalculated. But I don’t mind. In fact, I think I like that about you. Personally I’d rather cut to the chase like we did the other night in the limo -- ” He looked her straight in the eye, as if seeing if she was embarrassed enough to look away. “—but if you need to keep playing games, go ahead.”

She held his gaze steadily. “Did it ever occur to you that it’s not a great idea to hire a lawyer you don’t trust?”

“I’m peculiar, what can I say?” he said lightly, but her face remained unsmiling and he tried again, more serious this time. “I’m not a stupid man, Alexis. I know when I’m being manipulated. But I want you anyway. As my lawyer, as my lover and as my wife.”

She contemplated him for a long moment before she responded. “That doesn’t work for me.”

“Which part?”

“Take your pick. I can’t work for someone who doesn’t trust me.”

“I trust your skills, Alexis. I trust your professional pride and your sense of professional responsibility.”

“You think those are more important to me than my daughter?”

“No. But I’ll be cautious.”

“Why bother? Sounds like a headache for you.”

“Because I want to,” he said very firmly, with a flash of intensity in his eyes. He extended his hand toward her and for a moment she thought he was going to take her hand, but he changed his mind and his hand settled on the table instead, his fingers curling over the base of her wineglass. She was startled by her physical reaction to his encroachment – it felt internal somehow, as if he’d reached in and curled his hand around the knot of nerves in her stomach. “Tell me what you want, Alexis.”

“Tell me what you’re offering," she countered, sounding much cooler than she felt.

Lorenzo shrugged. “Money, power, perks. I want to satisfy your every desire, Alexis, until you don’t have the strength to say no.”

She ignored the blatant innuendo in his tone. "You think I can be bought?”

“No. But I think you’re a highly rational woman and will eventually see that this is the best solution to our impasse. You want to work; I don’t like the job you have. So how does two million a year sound?"

The way his fingers moved over her glass, tracing along the smooth edges of the base, stroking lightly up and down the stem, was hopelessly distracting. The glass was hers, dammit. She reached for it, intending to pull it from his reach, but he moved first and tangled his fingers with hers for a warm, tingling moment, leaving her a little angry.

"Suspicious," she answered curtly, freeing her hand and raising the glass to her lips for a sip she didn't particularly want.

Lorenzo shrugged. "It's a private company and I own every share now. There's no one to object. If I decide that my new general counsel is worth two million a year, so be it."

Alexis ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip. "Outside counsel. I won't even consider working directly for your company."

"Worried about protecting yourself?"

"Damn straight I am."

"Inside counsel makes more sense. I don't want you working for anyone else."

"Then keep me busy. A suitably obscene retainer might motivate me not to accept any other clients." Neither of them missed the shift in her tone – she was talking as if working for him were a real possibility.

"I want you in the office next to mine,” Lorenzo pushed.

"Why?"

Because it's my fantasy, he wanted to say. He didn’t even realize it until he'd articulated the request. "Convenience," he claimed. "I don't want to be on the phone all day, sending papers back and forth across town. I want to be able to walk into your office when I need to talk to you."

"I need a little space, Lorenzo."

"You can have it. The rest of your time is yours. I've lifted the restrictions."

"Lorenzo, there is no rest of the time. There's work, and there's home. You eat next to me, you sleep next to me, now you want to work next to me?"

Lorenzo grinned. "Maybe I like you."

"Right. Even the most happily married couples need their time apart."

"And not so happily married couples that are trying to build something on a shaky foundation need their time together."

He finally did take her hand from the table and raised it to his lips with a touch so gentle it sent ripples down her body, and he gave her a look warm with promise and sincerity. She felt suddenly dizzy from trying to sort out what was pretense and what was real, for herself as much as for him, and she closed her eyes.

"I think this will be good for us, Alexis," he murmured against her palm. "I think it will do wonders."

She seemed to be standing in a riptide that tore the sand from beneath her feet. Opening her eyes didn’t help, and Alexis knew she had to leave. She extricated her hand from his, pushed her chair back halfway, and shook her head nervously.

“I think it’s time to go,” she said. “If you don’t mind I’ll wait outside. I could use some fresh air.”

She was halfway to the door of the restaurant before Lorenzo had summoned the check, and as he settled the bill he watched her through the window pacing the sidewalk, seemingly oblivious to the cold December air.

“Ready?” he asked her when he emerged from the restaurant, pan de jamón forgotten. Her pace had slowed, and she seemed less nervous.

She nodded and shrugged ashamedly. “I’m sorry. I just – ” She didn’t fill in the blank.

Lorenzo offered her a tight smile and brief nod. “It’s okay. Let’s go home.”

*****

When they returned home from dinner, Lorenzo excused himself to finish some work in his office and an exhausted Alexis headed straight to bed, the last few restless nights having taken their toll. She looked forward to a full, quiet night's sleep, all the more sound for beginning it at least alone, but when she pulled open the drawer of her dresser she was confronted with her almost-forgotten pajama problem. She had intended to stop at Wyndham’s after work, but her dinner plans with Lorenzo had made her hurry home, and so now she was once again left with a choice between wearing one of the skimpy garments he’d provided or delving into his drawers again. The generally benign feelings that had prevailed most of the evening evaporated, and she was annoyed with him all over again, but worse than that she now remembered all too clearly the appearance he’d made in her unconscious the previous night. Did she dare wear his clothes again, or was that inviting an encore?

She stood there blearily for a minute and a half considering her options, too weary to do more than roll her eyes at Lorenzo in absentia. Sleeping at all was probably a bad idea, she suspected, but unfortunately unavoidable. Eventually she decided that the impersonal sexiness of cool silk was less dangerous than being wrapped again in soft cotton that felt too much like him, and she picked the least revealing one of the bunch, a deep cranberry chemise, and climbed into bed.

Her eyes fell closed as her head settled into the pillow and her tired body sank into the mattress, but she couldn’t sleep, or maybe she didn’t dare sleep, and she was still lying there unmoving but awake, her mind tossing, when Lorenzo came in much later. It had to be at least midnight by then, and she wondered if it was really business that had kept him, or whether his newfound manners included giving her this bit of private time. Good boy, she thought to herself, trying not to smile at the vague impulse she felt to scratch him behind the ears. He moved quietly around the room as if to avoid disturbing her, and she did nothing to let him know that she was still awake. She didn't need another bedtime conversation, and she didn't need any attention drawn to her flimsy attire.

She'd left the light on in the bathroom, and the light that filtered through the slightly open door was enough for her eyes to follow him as he moved through the shadows like a big, silent, prowling … dog? No, he was more feline tonight. She watched as he kicked off his shoes, casually tossing them into the closet with his toes, but then bent over to straighten them where they fell. She watched him slide his belt from its loops and hang it on a hook in the closet. She watched him pull his shirt over his head and push it into the dry cleaning bag they shared.

It was all so utterly ordinary, just the evening routines of an orderly man. He didn’t seem very much like Lorenzo Alcazar, arms dealer, in that moment, or even like the hard, angry man who had bound her in marriage. He was just a man getting ready for bed. He could have been her husband, a real husband, her very handsome and still sexy husband, coming to bed a little late, and wouldn’t he be pleasantly surprised to find her waiting up for him? She wondered what he thought about as he went about his tasks – was he still Lorenzo Alcazar, arms dealer, in his own head? Was he ever?

He walked over to his dresser and emptied his pockets, pulling out his car key, some loose change and a business card from one, a larger key ring and his cell phone from another, his black wallet from his back pocket. He undid his pants and pushed them down, taking off his underwear at the same time, and Alexis knew she should close her eyes. She peeked as long as she could, and when she knew he was about to turn around to walk to the laundry basket, she finally closed her eyes.

She had to rely on her other senses to keep track of him as he continued his preparations for bed. She heard him take pajamas from his drawer and slip them on, and then he went in the bathroom and she followed the distinctive sounds of his evening ablution. When he finally climbed into bed, the mattress rumbled beneath her and the covers tugged at her arms as he got himself settled, but just as she started to relax he rolled toward her, much closer than usual, not at all in keeping with his usual routine. He adjusted the way the sheet and comforter fell across her, giving her back the covers that he had inadvertently pulled off, and it was only as he did it that she realized how exposed she was. Her right leg has slipped free of the covers, and her already short nightgown was hitched high, and she felt his fingers slide lightly over her bare hip as he fixed her sheet. She tried not to tense, but the touch was too gentle, too deliberate, too drawn out to be incidental, and too intimate to ignore, and when finally the sheet fluttered down, covering her again, Lorenzo didn’t retreat to his side of the bed. Instead he shifted on the bed and seemed to come closer still.

Her heart was pounding fiercely, and every fiber of her being was attuned to him, but she tried to maintain the charade of sleep. Her senses went on overdrive deciphering his movements. She was suddenly proficient in reading every shift and creak of the mattress as a roadmap to where he was. She could see the faintest darkening over her closed eyelids as he cast a shadow on her face. She could smell the mix of toothpaste, facial scrub and moisturizer that came from his face, and the more distant scents of sweat and lingering deodorant that came from his body. She felt the heat that radiated off his body as he seemed to lean in, and then his breath against the skin of her cheek. She tried to keep her breathing steady and her body limp, but then his warm lips arrived at the tender place just in front of her ear, brushing extraordinarily gently against her skin, somewhere between a tickle and a shock, and she gasped.

She tried to cover her reaction by turning it into a sleepy half-yawn, sighing and stretching and settling more comfortably on her back, but her nerves were still twitchy and her skin felt flushed, and she waited for him to withdraw so she could flex her muscles and sweep her skin and discharge her nervous energy. Seconds passed, and a wisp of hair on her temple made her itch, but he was still there, hovering over her, watching her. She couldn't fake sleep any longer, not under such close scrutiny, so she faked awakening and opened her eyes slowly. Even though she knew he was there, still she was caught off guard by the dark, handsome face that filled her vision and the blue eyes that pierced her even in the shadows. She meant to act surprised, maybe angry, but she forgot.

He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. His gaze seemed to hold her in place, keeping her still so he could touch her, explore her, but it was only his eyes that caressed her as they drifted over her face. She didn’t know how to react, so she just let him watch her, and watched him back, feeling utterly naked and exposed. He lingered at her mouth, licking his own lips, and she wondered if he was going to kiss her, and she wondered what she was going to do if he did. His eyes flickered up to her own once, twice – assessing her receptiveness, she guessed, or checking for permission -- but she gave him no reading, no response whatsoever, and he scowled briefly, then composed his face and pulled away. He lay down on his back on his own side of the bed and turned his head toward her. Their eyes met dead on again, curtained now.

“Sweet dreams, Alexis.” The night’s benediction was issued with a faint grin teasing at his lips. Did he know she’d been watching him? Did he know about her dream?

Alexis's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, suspiciously. "Good night, Lorenzo."

Exhausted though she was, Alexis tossed and turned for hours, arranging and rearranging the sheets, facing one way, then the other, then lying flat on her back and staring at the ceiling, always conscious of the six feet of warm male flesh lying almost naked beside her. He tossed less, but he wasn’t sleeping either. Every time she looked in his direction he looked back at her, his clear blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness, the silent connection between them humming with electricity. He never said anything to her, and they didn’t touch even by accident, but it felt like he was waiting, with admirable patience, though whether he was waiting for some signal from her that would free him from civility, or just waiting for dawn to release him from his confinement to bed, she wasn’t sure.

She considered giving him that signal. It would be such a simple thing to reach for him, to invite him even closer. He wouldn’t turn her down, she knew, and they could get lost in a frenzy of warm body parts and discarded clothes and tangled sheets, and deal with the rest of it in the morning. But it was a bad idea, that much was true, and it might well be her last chip. It was best saved for a rainy day.

When finally exhaustion won out and she drifted off, he was there again, right at the surface of sleep this time, seemingly waiting for her.

He was upset about something and wanted to be alone, and she was happy to oblige, so she left him there in bed. She dragged the comforter with her as she got up, wrapping it around her almost naked body to make a modest retreat.

“Hey!” he objected, grabbing for the escaping comforter in vain. “I need that.”

“So do I,” she shrugged. “You can have it back later.”

Safely entombed in down, she picked up her clothes from the floor and swept toward the bathroom. He was quick, though, and he cut her off before she made it to the door. His arms wrapped around her, down comforter and all, and held her tight against his chest.

"What do you think you're doing?" she objected fiercely, as she tried in vain to pull away from him. She’d bound up her arms all too effectively in the comforter, rendering herself helpless.

"Claiming my comforter and my wife. Come back to bed." He nuzzled warmly against her neck, sending little shivers up her spine.

She yanked her shoulder up in a half-hearted attempt to push him away. “No.”

"Yes."

"You said you wanted to be alone."

"I changed my mind. I want to lie naked with my wife." He sounded very matter-of-fact, a little petulant, and quite determined to have what he wanted. He continued his gentle attention to her neck and throat, and she sighed in frustration.

“We don’t do this,” she objected. She was confused more than anything. She’d never expected him to force the issue.

“It’s about time we did.”

She gave a final heave of her shoulders in an attempt to free herself, but his hold was firm and unassailable. Ignoring her protests, he lifted her off her feet, carried her kicking to the bed, and tossed her down on the mattress. Before she could untangle herself he was on top of her, heavy and strong, straddling her hips to keep her still.

“Let me make love to you, Alexis.” He used one hand to hold the comforter wrapped tight around her arms, while the other hand searched for an opening farther south, moving through the layers of down in quest of bare skin.

She struggled against him, but it was useless. “You’re not thinking clearly, Lorenzo. This is a mistake.”

“I don’t care. I need you." He reached skin, and his hand was gentle against her stomach, stroking her softly, coaxing her. She couldn't help but respond to the warm touch, and she whimpered her distress. “You want this as much as I do, baby,” he growled. “Please, just for today, let's forget everything else.”

"I can't, Lorenzo.” She was almost sobbing, fighting against the pleasure of his touch. She knew she was giving in, but it was equal parts ecstasy and agony, like a drug she didn’t want warming her, lighting every nerve, intoxicating every sense.

“You can.”

Both his hands had found flesh now, and she wasn’t fighting him anymore. One hand slid low, between her legs, and her muscles went limp. She let him ease her legs apart. “Oh…just this once, Lorenzo, “ she mumbled.

“Just this once,” he agreed.

Something woke her from her light sleep – a squawk on the baby monitor or a beep from the clock – and Alexis was cursing a silent blue streak before she’d even opened her eyes. She was dreaming about him again, damn him, and that made her furious, but even worse she’d been interrupted again. This was getting ridiculous. She sighed heavily, rubbed her eyes hard and rolled onto her side, instinctively facing away from his side of the bed, wishing she could push him out of her mind and life as easily.

She had just closed her eyes again, hoping to fall quickly into a more restful sleep, when she felt Lorenzo’s hand on her bare shoulder, startling her. He was suddenly very close behind her. She could feel his chest against her back – more than his chest, really, and more than her back – he was almost spooning her, for god’s sake, and that really wasn’t helping to subdue the very warm and liquid sensations swirling in her belly.

“Another bad dream?” he asked gently.

He didn’t seem to be teasing, and she wasn’t sure how to answer. A bad dream? Not exactly. She remained silent, not trusting her voice, but shrugged in a way that might have been taken for a nod.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” he encouraged, his voice soft and intimate with sleep. “Maybe it will help you sleep if you talk about it.”

She shifted onto her back to break the suggestive contact, rolling into him in order to force him to retreat and gain a little personal space, but he settled onto his stomach, leaning casually over her, his face just a few inches from hers. His fingers toyed lightly with the strap of her chemise, so idly she couldn’t object.

“No – no. Talking never helps anything.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Interesting philosophy for a lawyer.”

She shrugged vaguely. “What works for legal disputes doesn’t necessarily work for feelings.”

“Feelings?”

Why had she said feelings? “E--emotions. Memories.”

“Fears?”

She bit her lip, grateful he was on the wrong track. “Maybe.”

“Was your dream about me?”

“No. No, of course not.” Her cheeks flushed slightly.

“My brother?” he asked more quietly, looking down at his own hand on her shoulder.

“No,” she said softly.

“Then tell me about it. Whatever it is, I’ll help you slay the monster.” His hand moved to the side of her head, and his thumb brushed her hair back from her face.

She looked at him warily, biting her lip, and shook her head. “You should be careful making offers like that. You don’t know all my monsters.”

“Tell me,” he coaxed, his voice low. “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. I’ll keep you safe, Alexis.” His fingers drifted down her cheek, brushing lightly over the edge of her mouth.

“Why?” she whispered.

Lorenzo shook his head and frowned just a bit. “I don’t know.”

They were both silent and still for what seemed like an eternity, their eyes entangled in a languid game of chicken neither particularly wanted to win. Alexis finally broke the spell, turning her head away, and she slipped out from beneath Lorenzo’s watch. She climbed out of bed, mindless of her exposure, just glad to have made her escape.

“No monsters tonight. I’m fine.”

*****

Although they weren’t due to meet Victor until six in the evening for a pre-opera supper, they flew down to New York early Saturday morning because Alexis requested time to shop. There were some things you just couldn’t get in Port Charles, and she looked forward to an afternoon spent amid the holiday chaos of New York’s designer boutiques.

The last few days had passed quietly: Lorenzo didn’t push, and Alexis didn’t question, and neither of them brought up the strange thing that had appeared between them. They had spent hours talking terms on his job offer, which had the unexpected result that they began to develop a new mode of interaction, calmly businesslike and respectful and uncluttered by the circumstances between them. She hadn’t yet formally accepted his offer, but they’d hammered out most of the details and they both knew she would say yes eventually. She was still holding out for something more, though even she wasn’t quite sure what it was. She had no doubt he would give it to her as long as she asked the right way. Overall she was quite pleased with his responsiveness to her guidance. She was careful, though, never to present anything as a command.

They reached 57th and Fifth by eleven, and Alexis stepped out of the limousine, expecting to say goodbye to Lorenzo and go on her way, shadowed by her usual two-man security team but otherwise unmolested. She was surprised when Lorenzo climbed out of the car after her, slipped on his overcoat and closed the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Coming with you, of course.”

She froze in the middle of pulling on her leather gloves. “No, you’re not. You have something better to do. I’m sure of it.”

Lorenzo shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

She sighed. “Isn’t there somebody you need to see? Some underworld meeting for you to attend?”

“Nope.”

“Then go over to the U.N. and drum up some business. Go to a museum. I’ll meet you at the hotel later.”

Lorenzo straightened the ends of her scarf in an oddly caretaking gesture. “I have plenty of business, thanks, and I don’t want to go to a museum alone. I want to tag along with you, Alexis.”

Her face scrunched as if that statement was almost incomprehensible to her. “Why?”

“Because it’s what husbands and wives do. It’s Christmas in Manhattan, and I want to take my wife shopping. It’s a tradition.”

“So are any number of other husband-wife activities that we don’t participate in.”

A raised eyebrow was the only indication of his opinion about that state of affairs. “And it will give me a chance to learn more about you. How you shop, what you like…”

“There’s no need, really. You know all you need to know about me.”

He ran his hands down her arms until he found her gloved hands, and he squeezed them lightly. “Come on, Alexis. You’re supposed to want to drag me shopping with you. I’ll hold your purse while you try things on, carry your bags. I promise I won’t peek at what you get me.”

She squinted at him. “Why would I get you anything?”

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Well, Christmas is coming.”

Her mouth fell open briefly. Did he really imagine she would buy him a present? What a bizarre thought. She shook her head. “Well, I’m not Christmas shopping today. I just need to buy a few things for work.”

“Ah, for your new job.” Lorenzo nodded wisely.

“Maybe,” she hedged.

“Terrific. I’ll help you pick things out.”

“I don’t need help, Lorenzo. I prefer to shop alone.” Somehow her old wardrobe seemed too tame for the new position. Lorenzo Alcazar’s attorney should look a certain way, she’d decided, particularly since she happened to be his wife as well. She was in the market for darker, sleeker, shorter suits, higher heels, a new batch of silky things to wear underneath. And pajamas. God knows he was paying her enough to indulge an entirely new wardrobe.

“A second opinion is always helpful.”

“I’m not particularly interested in your opinion.”

“Given that I’m both your husband and your boss – ”

“Oh, you are not my boss.” Her eyes flashed a warning and she started to turn away, but Lorenzo caught her arm and held his other hand up in a gesture of peace.

“Correction, client. Given that I’m both your husband and soon to be your sole client, I think my opinion should carry some weight.”

“Well, it doesn’t. And even if it did, your presence wouldn’t be required. I have a pretty good idea how your commentary goes. Shorter, tighter, lower cut. Is that about right?”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” Lorenzo shrugged. “Is there something wrong with wanting my wife and attorney to look like the drop dead sexy woman she is?”

“Under the circumstances, yes. It’s degrading. If you want someone to play dress up with, find another wife. I’ll bow out gracefully.”

“I don’t want another wife. This one suits me very well.” He turned her back to face him and stepped closer, well into her personal space. “I like looking at your legs, Alexis. And the rest of you. We’ll be spending a lot more time together. Why shouldn’t I want it to be as enjoyable as possible?”

“It’s inappropriate,” she objected. “You should be listening to me, not staring at my legs. You’re paying me a small fortune to provide brilliant advice, not to pose for your perverse office fantasies.”

“You can do both at once, and so can I.” He smiled wickedly. “I promise I won’t respect your advice any less just because I’m thinking about the things we could be doing on your desk.”

“That’s just offensive, Lorenzo.” She turned away in disgust and started to walk down East 57th, but Lorenzo caught up in just a few long strides.

“You can hate it all you like, Alexis, but you know as well as I do what an advantage it is to look a certain way. I’ve seen you do it. I’ve seen how you pick out a particular suit when you have a big day in court. It gives you power.”

“Yes, when I do it. Not when you dress me. Not when you’ve cast me in a non-speaking role in your little fantasy world.”

“It’s a nice fantasy world, Alexis.” He slipped his arm around her waist and brought her to a halt, trying to claim her attention, but she pointedly looked past him as he articulated his vision. “I can see it now. We’re sitting at the negotiation table. My attorney is brilliant and beautiful and sexy, and she’s my wife. Every man in the room wishes he were me, wishes he got to take you home at night.”

She turned a cool gaze on him. “You wish you got to take me home at night, Lorenzo. You don’t. Not that way.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “It’s my fantasy.”

Alexis shook her head. “You have this all worked out, don’t you? You know how you want me to look, and how you want me to behave. What’s left for me to do?”

“Surprise me.”

“How can I surprise you, darling, if you don’t let me go?” She smiled sweetly at him, gritting her teeth. “I promise that every time I try something on I’ll ask myself if you would approve.”

“That won’t be necessary, because I’m coming with you.” Lorenzo crossed his arms, his body language utterly definitive. “You can choose where to go and what to buy, but I may make a suggestion or two. I’ll even pay.”

“I don’t need you to pay. I can buy my own clothes.”

“Consider it part of your signing bonus." He gave her a sly look out of the corner of his eye. "And don't worry. I won’t expect you to thank me. Unless you want to.”

Alexis sighed. There didn’t seem to be much point in continuing to argue with him. If it came down to who was more stubborn, they’d stand there on the sidewalk all day and night, miss the opera, and she’d go back to Port Charles empty-handed. She’d give him this round. He’d worn her down. She turned and walked away without a word, heading toward her first shop, leaving him standing there on the sidewalk chuckling to himself.

A doorman opened the door as she swept inside and she wandered about the first floor of the boutique, her aim uncertain, fingering a soft, colorful scarf here, a simple black cashmere overcoat there. She declined offers of assistance from several saleswomen. Her expectations were low. It was only the first stop on her shopping spree, and as such it was just a warm-up, a chance to get in the mood, find her rhythm, retrain her eyes to scan racks and shelves efficiently, and maybe flex her shopping muscles with a minor purchase or two.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lorenzo enter the boutique, and he was quickly approached by a very tall, very blond salesgirl, who clearly had a well-trained eye for a promising target. Alexis didn't like the way she was sizing up Lorenzo, or the way she flashed her blindingly white teeth as if whatever pleasantry he'd tossed off was the most charming she'd ever heard, or the way she touched his arm conspiratorially as if to underscore that everything – absolutely everything – in the store was available to him should he want it. Alexis made her way over to them, approaching Lorenzo from behind, and slipped her right arm quite intimately low around Lorenzo's waist. He looked down at her with surprise but his pleasure was clear, and she turned in to him, glad for the way his arms came around her to welcome her. She gazed up at him with the most lustful, lovestruck expression she could manage and stroked his cheek with her diamond-lit left hand.

"Can I steal you away for a moment, darling? I think I am going to need your advice after all."

"Of course," Lorenzo murmured obediently, offering her a matching gaze of devotion and a light kiss on the lips.

"Would you like me to set up a dressing room for you, ma'am?" the girl asked behind them, her smile now far less sparkling.

Alexis didn't bother to look at the girl. "No, I don’t think that will be necessary," she responded. She drew Lorenzo with her and toward a display of clothes on the opposite wall. Lorenzo went willingly, beyond amused at his wife's display of territoriality.

"Why, Alexis Davis," he murmured to her. "Was that jealousy I saw blazing in your eyes?"

She threw him an indignant look. "Not at all. It's just that women like that make me sick. She knew damn well you were married but it didn't stop her from throwing herself at you."

"So it wasn't me personally that you were defending when you were feeling me up. It was the institution of marriage."

"Exactly."

"I thought you said you wouldn't object if I had an affair."

"A discreet affair. That means I don't have to witness any part of it."

"So if I were to make a discreet phone call to the store to find out when she gets off, and then maybe slip out of the hotel later for a discreet rendezvous, you wouldn't mind?"

She just glared at him, unable to summon an acceptable response. She couldn't very well tell him that if he did that she'd kill him. He wouldn't take it the right way. Mercifully, he spared her the need to say it out loud.

"Don't worry, Alexis. I’m not going to have an affair. I have high hopes for our partnership, and I'm not about to shatter them."

He slipped his hand behind her neck, taking advantage of the opportunity to draw her into a full kiss, knowing she wouldn't resist at this particular moment. When he released her, her eyes flitted up to his, dark with uncertainty.

"I'm not worried," she claimed quietly, her defensiveness instinctive. She looked away nervously. "I bet women like that throw themselves at you all the time."

"Sometimes. But I prefer a woman who's more of a challenge. Someone who engages me mind and body."

She arched an eyebrow. "Have you no soul?"

Lorenzo shrugged. "Mind, body and soul, in the best of all worlds, but I'm adept at making do." Framing her face between his hands, he kissed her again, slowly and sweetly, and when his lips pulled away from hers her eyes stayed closed for a long extra beat. "Not only are you my wife, Alexis, but you are the most attractive woman in the room and the only woman who makes my blood race."

"You don't – " She frowned and shook her head. "I don’t know why we're even talking about this."

She turned away from him and tried to focus on the sparing selection of suits before her, but he wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Oh, Alexis,” he murmured in her ear. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

She shrugged her shoulder uneasily and slipped free of his arms, moving away to resume her shopping. Lorenzo kept an eye on her as she browsed, but she ignored him and he didn’t disturb her. When she finally went to the register with a pair of gloves in her hand, an unnecessary but innocuous purchase, Lorenzo appeared at her side, pre-empting her attempt to offer her own credit card.

“Please, let me, darling,” he insisted, a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

The salesgirl was too busy smiling at Lorenzo to notice the dirty look Alexis gave him just before she leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. “You’re so wonderful to me,” she cooed. Her voice dripped with honey, bitter only to his ears.

In the next shop Alexis finally found her rhythm and began to settle into a productive shopping mode, and she disappeared into a dressing room with a half dozen things to try on. Lorenzo sat in a comfortable chair just outside, waiting for her to emerge, but she stayed inside, denying him the chance to offer his opinion. After twenty minutes she finally came out empty-handed, having second-guessed herself out of everything. She hated that she did it, but as she tried on each item she couldn’t help but look at herself through Lorenzo’s eyes, trying to guess his reaction, and the Lorenzo in her head wasn’t exactly wowed by any of it.

“Nothing you liked?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

Lorenzo stood up and thumbed through the discarded clothes the salesgirl was hanging on a rack to see what Alexis had rejected. “What about the blue suit in the corner?” he asked, gesturing to the opposite end of the store.

Alexis glanced over, slightly surprised to find that Lorenzo had been paying that much attention. She had seen the blue suit and dismissed it out of hand – there was nothing particularly wrong with it; it just didn’t capture her attention. Before she could tell him that, though, the salesgirl had gone to retrieve it in Alexis’s size, and Alexis was headed back into the dressing room. Obligingly she tried it on, expecting nothing, but when she looked in the mirror she was surprised. It seemed to come alive on her. God help her, Lorenzo was right.

“How is it?” she heard him ask from outside her door.

“Not bad,” she conceded.

“Let me see.”

Reluctantly she opened the door, nervously submitting to his inspection. His eyes lit up and sharpened in a very gratifying way, and she felt a little prickle of female pride.

“We’ll take it,” he told the salesgirl, and then he handed Alexis another suit and an armful of other clothes he’d picked out while he waited. She accepted them wordlessly and retreated back into the dressing room to try them on.

By the time she was dressed again and ready to check out, she had half a dozen pieces, all picked by Lorenzo, and she liked every one. She was headed to the register when Lorenzo stopped her.

“What about this?” Lorenzo held up a black suede jacket, knee-length and sparkly and sleek.

Alexis rolled her eyes. It was gorgeous, but totally frivolous and impractical. Definitely not on the shopping list. “What about it?”

“Try it on for me.”

“I don’t need it, Lorenzo.”

“So? Do you like it?”

“Yes, but – “

“Then try it on. It’ll look great.”

She hesitated another moment, and then slipped it on over her street clothes, and it did look great. She loved it, but it wasn’t on the list. “I’ll never wear this, Lorenzo. It’s not worth it.”

“You love it. It’s worth it to me.” He could tell she just needed a little more convincing, and he reached out to stop her as she took the jacket off. “Why not wear it now?”

Alexis bit her lower lip as she considered the suggestion, but she couldn’t hide the enthusiasm that crept into her eyes. Why the hell not? She smiled almost shyly at him and pulled the jacket back over her shoulders. “Okay.”

He offered his own credit card again, and she didn’t argue, but neither did she thank him. As the salesgirl rang up the charge, Lorenzo glanced sideways at Alexis. “Don’t I get a kiss this time?” he teased.

Alexis gave him the expected filthy look, but then much to his surprise she pasted an adoring expression on her face, slipped her arms around his waist and slid in to give him a kiss, this one slower, more suggestive, a great deal more appreciative for the substantial sum he had just handed over.

“Thank you, darling,” she rasped as she pulled away, leaving Lorenzo tongue-tied and breathless.

He carried her bags to the limousine and they continued on foot. She led him through all her favorite midtown designer boutiques, and he bought her everything, feeding the unexpected undercurrent of gamesmanship and flirtation that ran beneath their shopping expedition. With every purchase Lorenzo garnered a kiss, its intimacy and duration well-correlated with the amount he spent, and though he knew it was just a mocking gesture on her part, a scathing reference to the entire idea of being kept, still he enjoyed the game, and he did his part to encourage her to part with as much of his money as possible. He chatted with the salesgirls, he encouraged her to try on things she hadn’t selected, and his eagle eyes swept over her every time she stepped out of the dressing room. He had very definite opinions, not half as shallow as she’d guessed, and she waited for his verdict each time before she went back in to change.

“I liked the first one better. There’s too much going on around the neckline. Simple is better on you.”

Boxes and bags piled up in the limousine’s trunk: half a dozen ready-to-wear suits that would have to be tailored back in Port Charles, all striking, sexy and intimidating; silk blouses and camisoles; a pair of jeans, a short brown leather skirt Lorenzo slipped in when she wasn’t looking, a grey cashmere shawl just for the hell of it. She skipped the pajamas, which was just fine with him. And then she introduced him to shoes. Up Madison to Jimmy Choo and Christian Louboutin, then back down to Manolo Blahnik and Otto Tootsi Plohound, where he bought her a pair of knee-high leather boots that should have been illegal. He watched her slide dozens and dozens of shoes on and off her feet, and he began to develop a new appreciation and some very definite preferences of his own.

Alexis took to the game like a duck to water. He would never have guessed her for the type, but once she relaxed she seemed to thrive on the uninhibited shopping. If she liked something – and especially if he liked it, too – she bought it, not worrying about whether something better was around the corner, not worrying how useful it would be, how many purposes it served, what it went with. She focused only on what looked and felt best and what brought on that darkening in Lorenzo’s eyes. An almost manic energy carried them as the game snowballed and they flirted relentlessly, aggressively, tension building.

He spent ten thousand dollars on a dozen pairs of shoes, and still she was dragging him back in the store for that one pair she couldn’t bear to leave behind.

“What do you say?” he asked her teasingly.

“Please …” She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him deeply, leaning into him with no shame. He didn’t care that she was teasing him. He didn’t care that it was a joke to her. He slipped his hands beneath her coat, exploring what he could before she pulled away.

“Okay,” he agreed, breathing heavily. “On one condition. I pick the next store.”

Her slow, wicked smile was a bolt of lightning straight to his loins. "Then I want the silver boots, too."

"Well…" He pretended to hesitate, his eyes moving slowly over her mischievous face, lingering at the enticing curl of her lips. "Okay."

Another ten thousand dollars and two more boxes for the trunk. He'd been planning to come back for the boots anyway. A Christmas present perhaps, and he'd hope and pray that someday he'd get to see her wearing those and nothing else. They were ridiculously extravagant, adorned with real silver studs, but he’d been damn near paralyzed by the jolt of desire that swept down his spine when she tried them on.

He led her by the hand down Fifth Avenue to 47th, the icy wind that blew in their flushed faces pleasantly bracing, and he took her to a jewelry store in the diamond district. He’d done business there before, and they were led to a subdued room in the back, where Lorenzo spoke privately with the jeweler about what he wanted to see. Alexis was quiet as they waited, and quiet but cooperative as the jeweler brought out various pieces for them to look at, but Lorenzo paid careful attention to Alexis’s reactions, to the glimmer in her eyes that told him more than her polite responses, and he made his selections.

There was no kiss for him this time. Alexis was still quiet as they got back in the limousine. The jewelry would be delivered to their hotel later under armed guard.

“How much did you spend in there?” she asked him quietly as the car door closed.

Lorenzo hesitated. The business part of the transaction had of course been handled discreetly, out of earshot of the lady. “Six figures.” It was more like seven.

Alexis nodded slowly. “I’m not a prostitute.”

Lorenzo drew back slightly, but left his hand where it was, resting on her leg. “I didn’t imagine you were.”

“What did you imagine? A thousand dollars buys you a kiss, so a million dollars should buy you a roll in the hay? Are you expecting a whole night or just a quickie in the backseat here?”

“Alexis…” Lorenzo’s voice trailed off in protest and dismay. “I imagined that a million dollars buys me some pretty rocks that look lovely on my beautiful wife.”

“It’s a waste of money either way.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. It’s my money to waste.”

“I’m not worth it. I mean, I’m flattered if you think I am, but you’d only be disappointed. You should probably get your money back.”

She turned her head toward the window so he couldn't see her face. He wanted to kick himself. It wasn’t fun for her anymore; it was frightening. He’d pushed it too far, jacked up the ante and sent her running from the table. Just like he always did.

“Alexis, I didn’t – " He needed contact and so he reached for her hand. She let him take it, but her hand was limp in his. "I thought we were playing a game. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I certainly didn’t imagine buying you that jewelry was going to get me a quickie in the backseat or anything else you wouldn't willingly grant. I like buying you things. That’s it.”

"Okay," she said in a flat, unreadable tone. "We should get to the hotel. I have a three o’clock nail appointment.”

Sighing, he leaned forward and spoke to the driver. Alexis remained quiet the rest of the way, but by the time they reached the hotel, her nerves seemed to have settled back down again. As he helped her out of the limo, she gave him a smile he took as both forgiveness and apology.

“Thank you for everything, Lorenzo,” she said politely.

*****

"You're looking forward to this, aren't you?" Lorenzo concluded as he watched Alexis prepare for their evening at the opera. He was reclined on the bed in their Manhattan hotel suite, having already showered and shaved but still wearing his hotel-issue white Turkish cotton robe. There was a stack of business documents nominally spread out beside him. He had intended to use this time before they were to meet Victor for dinner more productively, but he was far more interested in watching her dress. She was still in her robe, a cream silk confection that didn’t reach her knees, but beneath it she’d already donned black stockings and the black Louboutin heels he’d bought her that afternoon. The dress and jewelry would come last.

Alexis looked past her own reflection in the mirror and regarded him cautiously. "I am," she acknowledged, disregarding her usual rule against making such admissions to him. "I haven't been to the opera in far too long. I enjoy it. The rituals, the music, the excitement of getting dressed up and stepping out of a limousine in front of Lincoln Center."

"Maybe we should make a habit of it,” Lorenzo suggested lazily. “I've never developed much taste for the opera, but perhaps you can teach me to appreciate the finer points." He gave her a crooked grin, and she returned it with a raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps,” she offered, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. For all her lingering grievances and the uncomfortable moments, she would admit that he’d been making a genuine effort to be the sort of husband he imagined she wanted, and naturally she was gratified, but this particular effort amused her to no end. There he was, the dangerous Lorenzo Alcazar, rough around the edges, lounging on the bed as if he owned the whole damn city, utterly unconcerned about how inadequately his robe covered him, the force of him in every way barely contained, suggesting that she tutor him in the finer points of opera. It was more than amusing; it was enticing in its way. Though he was hardly the uncultured swine she had initially assumed him to be, still there was something volatile and appealing about taking Lorenzo Alcazar to the Met. She’d always found the gentile trimmings and rituals of opera in New York at odds with the art form’s essence and her own recollections of the powerful men she’d known who had embraced it. Having Lorenzo on her arm would add a new layer of excitement to the evening’s entertainment.

Alexis returned her attention to her own reflection and the makeup she was in the midst of applying, and Lorenzo continued to watch her transform herself. Of course the most mysterious preparations had gone on behind the closed door of the bathroom, but even those she was willing to undertake in plain view fascinated him. For forty-five minutes he'd watched her contending with her hair, attacking it with brush, dryer and styling cream. He was sorry to see the wet, messy curls surrender, but he liked the sleek, straight hair that alchemized, too. Who was he kidding? He'd like it any style as long as he could thrust his fingers knuckles deep through her hair as he kissed her.

After the events of the day, he was cautiously optimistic about the evening. If he could manage not to screw it up again, if he could keep his impulses in check, he might finally make her his wife in whole. There was a part of him that hesitated, but it was no match for the force his desire had reached. Though he still fought to convince himself that he didn’t really want her and reminded himself again and again of all the reasons why he shouldn't have her, he’d been doing his damnedest to woo her into bed for days. Well, he already had her in bed. Woo her to his side of the bed. Naked and passionate. Not that it had to be in a bed at all. Couch, floor, kitchen table, wall, car, desk, shower, plane. Any of them would do. All of them had done at one time or another in his imagination. He wasn't fussy. And he was certain she wanted it, too. Well, almost certain. There was a chance she was playing him -- in fact, he was almost certain she was playing him – but that didn’t mean her desire wasn’t real. She was excited about the evening, and he knew it went beyond her enthusiasm for the opera. Her eyes were unusually bright, her skin glowing. She looked radiant.

Keeping one eye on her continuing activities, particularly the moment when she dabbed perfume between her breasts, Lorenzo stood up, shed his robe and began to dress himself. He finished knotting his tie just as Alexis stood up from her dressing table, hair and makeup finally done, and turned around. She looked him up and down, evaluatively, as he did the same to her with a far less critical eye.

“You look very handsome,” she said, light dancing in her eyes. “Except – “

“Except what?” She was eyeing his tie with dissatisfaction, and his hands moved to his neck protectively.

“Except this. Let me.” She stepped close and reached for his tie, brushing his hands out of the way. He stood there obediently as she unknotted and re-knotted his tie, but he had to work hard to keep his eyes up and his hands at his side. Her short robe hung loose, barely belted anymore, offering a glimpse of her black lace underwear and the full length of her black-sheathed legs.

“So did you always love the opera or was it a New York thing?” he asked, trying to distract himself with conversation as she worked.

She looked up at him briefly, giving him an odd look he couldn’t identify. “My brother, Stefan, took me to the Met to see Faust when I turned eighteen. That was the first opera performance I remember seeing, but the music was always there, even when I was a young child.” She tugged on the twin tails of his tie, adjusting them until she was satisfied they were straight, and then she took a step back to give him a final inspection. "My father was very fond of the opera."

chapter 8