He got a flirtatious smile in return. “Somepeople call me Goldilocks.”
I tipped my head to one side. “Because of your hair?” I guessed.
“Maybe. Or maybe because I’m always on the prowl for three bears to eat me all up.” He grinned at me. “But mostly, I think, it’s because of my golden lock.”
“Your…?” I raised one quizzical brow.
He stopped playing, stood, and crossed the room to us. He was completely nude, except for a gold and jewel-encrusted phallus facsimile between his legs. Inside that shining case, I realized, was his actual cock. The whole contraption was, as he’d indicated, secured at the base with a golden padlock.
“Lovely to meet you,” he said to Angelo, and held out a hand. After only a moment of hesitation, Angelo shook it. “And you…Baxter Flynn,” he said to me, as though my own name were a proposition. His smile had definitely turned into a smirk. I was pretty sure I’d turned bright red, based on the heat in my cheeks. “Myname, since you’re so interested, is Julianus Aurelius.”
I shook his hand. What else could I do?
“It’s a mouthful, isn’t it?” he continued in a stage whisper. “Just like me.” He waved his hand toward his golden cock before stepping back. “But you may simply call me ‘Julian.’ Now, would you like a drink while you wait for Ciro? Or perhaps a coffee?” Julian turned back to Angelo with a playful smile, as he added huskily, “I makeamazingcoffee. If you were wondering.”
“He wasn’t,” I said coldly. Angelo Messina’s coffee appreciation was as legendary as his abilities, but I didn’t like the inference Julian was making. I also wondered who the hell he was. Ciro Castellani’s lover?
“Oh, I’m sureyoumake a great brew,” Julian said with a chuckle. “How about it, Baxter Flynn? Would you like a little something while you wait?” He turned and went over to a side table where there was a set of china cups and saucers waiting, giving us a clear view of his ass. “I can call down to the kitchens for anything you might like.”
“No,” I said, and when Angelo nudged me, I added, “Thank you.”
There was a noise in the corridor outside now; more Italian, raised voices, and then a door slammed. Angelo turned around to the window again after giving me a hand signal that meantWatch him, and I stood there glaring at the naked blond’s butt while I heard a car start outside, the engine revving, and then squealing tires as it pulled away.
The blond picked up a bottle of gin, glanced back over his shoulder at me, and gave a flirtatious wink. “Nice view, right? Out the window, I mean,” he said before I could stammer out a response. “That was Alessandro Castellani down there, if you were wondering. Arguing with his daddy again, like always. They don’t get on all that well.”
Angelo passed by me and went to sit down on the lounge in the middle of the room. I stayed right where I was. “I see,” Angelo said neutrally. “That’s interesting.”
“Isn’t it?” Julian said, making his eyes go wide and innocent. “Alessandro was the son of Ciro’s first wife, but Ciro has always preferred his younger son, because healsopreferred hissecondwife. That’s her, up there on the wall.” He gestured with the hand that now held a gin and tonic to the portrait of the woman in the sapphire necklace. “She’s very beautiful, isn’t she? A charming and vivacious woman, and her child is all that and more. So you can understand why Don Castellani prefers him.”
“It must cause some familial tension if Don Castellani was so open about his preference for his second wife, and now her child,” Angelo said, after we’d both observed the portrait.
“Well, she’s dead now, too,” the blond said, crossing to look up at the portrait more closely. “Imagine havingtwowives die on you. What do you think that felt like for him?” He seemed genuinely curious, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from straying down to his bejeweled cock. The golden phallus was modelled realistically, with bumps and veins, and I had a horrible realization that it was probably an exact representation of the flesh version underneath it.
“What was her name?” Angelo asked, nodding at the portrait.
“Caroline,” Julian replied, raising a silent toast to the woman’s portrait. “Rest in peace, I guess. She’s a lesson to us all. Live well, die pretty.” He turned back to me and caught me staring at his junk. “You like?” he purred.
“What did she die of?” Angelo asked, saving me from having to reply. But Julian’s response was, again, very strange.
“Love,” he said.
“Love?” I asked.
Julian gave me a look that suggested he’d bitten into slightly-sour grapes. “She died of love. Or at least…that’s what Ciro has always told me. But on her death certificate, it said she drowned.”
I was about to press him further when the door to the library opened and Ciro Castellani walked in. “Messina, Flynn, a thousand apologies for my lateness, it’s unforgivable,” he began, and then he caught sight of Julian.
“Hello, Papa,” Julian grinned.
“Out,” Castellani growled.
Julian gave a mocking salute, set his glass back down on the side table and nodded to me and to Angelo. “It really was a pleasure meeting you both,” he said, and for the first time, I sensed sincerity in his words.
Julian went not to the door, but to the wall behind the grand piano. He touched a place on the side molding, and the whole section swung open silently. He slipped out with one final wink at Angelo.
Chapter Eight
“Imust apologize for my son,” Castellani sighed after Julian had left. He ran a weary hand over his face. “I’m afraid his mother indulged him far too much when he was a child, bless her departed soul. And now—” he waved a hand. “Well, you see for yourself. He loves attention and he’ll do anything to get it.”
