Midnight Masquerade Page 16

  Though she had no reason to jump to that conclusion, Rae knew she was to blame. Somehow. Bette Grover was in the hospital because she'd failed to protect her. She'd failed ... again.

  Nick was wonderful, she realized in a numb periphery. He got them quickly to the hospital and handled the details for her. He told the wary nurse that Rae was a relative and then led her along the antiseptic hall to Room 801.

  The sight of Bette Grover stunned her. Nick's arm went about her waist as her knees gave slightly. The always immaculate second Mrs. Grover lay within the white sheets, bruised, untidy and looking well beyond her age. Contusions darkened her brow and jaw as if she'd taken a beating. Miles of IV and monitor lines were strung from her chest and motionless arms. Rae looked away, needing to find some scrap of composure.

  And that's when she saw Detective Palmer.

  "What happened?” she asked weakly, not caring why he was there as long as he had that answer.

  "As far as we know, it was a single car accident. She was driving at a high rate of speed and lost control of her vehicle. It flipped over and landed in a culvert. It was a couple of hours before anyone noticed the car."

  Rae shuddered, imagining the other woman trapped in the car, perhaps conscious and frantic with pain and fear while minutes ticked into hours.

  "What do the doctors say?"

  "I'll be lucky if I get a statement. She's been in a coma since they brought her in this morning. Massive chest trauma and internal injuries. She wasn't wearing a seat belt."

  "She didn't like the way they wrinkled her clothes,” Rae explained, as if the drape of her designer garb justified the price Bette Grover might ultimately pay for her vanity.

  The doctor came in then to check the unconscious woman's vitals. He ignored Palmer's petition that he be allowed to stay. A badge meant next to nothing with a life hanging in the balance. After Palmer left begrudgingly, Rae touched the doctor's arm.

  "Was she in any pain?"

  When he saw the anguish in her expression, the doctor's attitude softened. “I don't think she knew what hit her. A smart-looking lady like that.” He shook his head sadly. “You'd think she'd have enough sense not to mix alcohol and prescription drugs."

  "Alcohol? She'd been drinking?"

  "The car reeked of it from what the reports said. I haven't gotten the toxicology reports back."

  Rae's tone was suddenly stone cold sober. “I'd like to see them when you do."

  "I don't know if I can—"

  She took the prescription pad from his coat pocket and made a quick note on it. “There's my number. Call when you have news."

  The doctor glanced at the digits and at the brief sentence scrawled beneath it. I'm a cop. He folded the paper and put it into his trouser pocket.

  "I'll call."

  "Thank you."

  It wasn't until they had taken the large stainless steel elevator down to the first floor that Rae began to feel the events of the morning catching up to her. Instead of heading toward the garage exit, she noticed a sign that offered more in the way of comfort.

  The chapel was empty yet still welcoming with its scent of oil soap and candle wax. Nick followed her to the second pew from the front, genuflecting slightly before sliding in beside her. She didn't bow her head or appear to pray, but he thought it best to leave her to her private grieving. And when she finally spoke, her words astonished.

  "It's my fault."

  "Rae, how could it be?” he argued gently.

  "We had words when I moved out the other day. She said some things to me that I didn't want to accept. She'd just lost two members of her family. I should have been more understanding."

  "You can't seriously think an argument you had a day ago forced her off the road and into a hospital bed."

  Rae didn't look at him. Instead, she focused on some spot in space. “She never drank, Nick. Never. It was one thing we had it common. Alcohol made her deathly ill, even a small glass of table wine. She must have been more upset than I realized to do something so uncharacteristic and harmful."

  If she had done it at all.

  He considered speaking out, if only to lessen Rae's self-flagellation. But what good would voicing unsubstantiated theories do? He had to come to her with the whole truth. The truth that his boss, Kaz Zanlos, was behind the ruin of the family she'd loved like her own. And that he'd known it from the very beginning.

  And once she knew, would she allow him close enough to comfort her? Would she allow him anywhere near her if she knew the entire truth, that the Grover incident merely scratched the surface of his sins?

  He was kidding himself if he thought she'd find him to be a good enough risk to walk away from what she had.

  Would she even want to know that the man who'd hired her, who'd brought her off the streets into a posh existence, was behind her many miseries? Was he being naive to think she'd be grateful?

  She sighed heavily and stood. “There's nothing more I can do for her here. Would you take me home, Nick?"

  He almost asked to his home or hers, but he knew the answer. Hadn't she made herself clear on more than one occasion?

  He was crazy to think she'd listen to his talk about caring for her when her stock in trade was bartering affections. Perhaps a ride home was all he could offer.

  She was equally incommunicative on the way back, her thoughts miles away and upon things that didn't concern him, so he stayed silent, too. What could he say to her when he still was on Zanlos’ payroll, when he still hadn't found the courage to come forward with what he knew? His continued silence regarding his role in Grover's death made him a participant in her unhappiness. To console her would add insult to that injury.

  He would drop her off and go straight to Zanlos. Or should he go directly to the police with the evidence in his possession? First, he needed to get Naomi to safety. Then, for once, he'd do the right thing for someone other than himself.

  He pulled over on the sharply angled street outside her house and set the parking brake. Rae didn't move, so he got out and came around to open her door for her. She let him lift her out. The firm warmth of her kindled a reluctance to carry through his plan. How could he sacrifice the pleasure of being with her, near her, touching her? What made him think a man like him could topple the empire Zanlos had erected? A party boy from a small town, small-timer with selfish dreams who had never done a single thing right in his whole life? Would he prove to be any more of an annoyance than a bug flying into the windshield of Zanlos's influence?

  He could be throwing it all away for nothing, his job, his feelings for Rae, his future, perhaps even his life.

  And for what? A taste of highly overrated self-respect?

  Where had decency ever gotten his father?

  He walked Rae up the short sidewalk and then up the carpeted stairs to her rooms on the second floor. He waited while she fit her key and opened the door. And then she turned to him with all that he'd ever desired shimmering in her gaze. And he panicked.

  "I'd better go."

  He'd taken two steps down when Rae caught his sleeve. He'd barely completed his revolution before she was on his lips with a kiss of pure invitation. He returned the pressure and the sweet strokes of her tongue. And then he leaned back to let her tell him her intentions.

  And they led him into a private hell.

  "Come in, Nick."

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  He hesitated there on her steps long enough for Rae to wonder if she'd made a dreadful mistake. She was the one who'd put up the barriers between them. She'd insisted upon the distance. Now she was coaxing him to break the rules she'd laid down. No wonder he looked cautious. But not reluctant. His reaction to her kiss told her that more plainly than any words.

  "Are you sure?” he asked at last, with enough inflection in his voice to betray his anticipation.

  "I don't want to be alone."

  "Oh."

  It was the wrong thing to say. It implied that any warm body would do,
and nothing could be farther from the truth. She wanted him, Nick Flynn, no other. But if she spelled it out, how much more difficult would things become between them? She didn't want to give him false hope.

  And then she heard herself saying, “I want you to stay with me, Nick."

  So much for keeping emotion at bay. Oh hell, what did it matter if he knew how much his mere presence meant to her? As long as he stayed.

  He came in and stood just inside the threshold to have a look around.

  "I like what you've done with the place."

  Boxes lined the wall, things she'd purchased and hadn't had a chance to put up or away. There was an overstuffed striped couch still in delivery plastic. A big Boston fern stretched out on the hardwood floor as the room's only decoration. Sparse and uninhabited, but since Nick had come inside, it no longer felt empty.

  "A true reflection of my personal taste,” she replied with a faint smile.

  "Ah. A minimalist, I see."

  "I've always been one for understatement."

  Then he did what would always be the one thing she would remember that broke the dam of her reserve. He opened his arms to her and said, simply, “Come here."

  Stepping into the circle of his embrace held the indescribable feeling of coming home. Warmth, care, security, all enfolded about her for a timeless moment she never wished would end. He held her close but not crushingly, letting her direct the intensity. She hugged tight about his middle, burying her face in the crisp white cotton of his shirt. He'd left his jacket in the car. There was something so permanent about a man in shirtsleeves. A coat implied a willingness to leave at any moment, but shirtsleeves were meant to be rolled up for a longer stay. And she wanted him to stay.

  "I'm sorry for what happened."

  She nodded into the comforting curve of his shoulder then sighed to expel the emotion she'd bottled up all morning. “You have no idea how much I needed this ... needed you."

  She felt his lips move against her hair. “Happy to help."

  She could have stood there all day, just breathing in the warm scent of sandalwood and laundry service, but the temptation of him beneath the conservative line of his business shirt teased her from that simple pleasure to ones less innocent in nature. She rubbed her palms from the wide span of his shoulders down to the taper of his waist. He felt good, firm, strong, capable. Male. Earthier needs began to stir.

  "I can't seem to resist you,” was her mild attempt at protest.

  His chuckle vibrated beneath her cheek. “Don't expect me to complain about my good fortune."

  "I expect you to take advantage of it."

  "Whatever the lady wants."

  His palm scooped beneath her chin, tipping her head back so he could sample long and leisurely from the willing part of her lips. When he lifted up, she made a purring sound, her eyes still closed.

  "You make me weak in the knees,” she told him truthfully.

  "You make me weak in the head."

  She suspected he meant to say heart but caught himself at the last moment. That was okay. It was a lot for the both of them to get used to, this sudden companionable intimacy for two diehard, commitment-shy loners.

  "I like your hair down,” he murmured, his fingers playing through the locks that swung several inches past her shoulders. When he brought the dark, coppery strands to brush across his mouth, her resolve collapsed beneath the weight of a sudden urgency.

  "Do you want to see how I've decorated my bedroom?"

  "Not in plastic slip covers, I hope."

  "A little more cozy than that."

  He rocked against her, his pelvis doing a seductive roll. “Couldn't get much more cozy than this."

  "Oh, yes it could."

  And she unthreaded his tie, giving it a toss. He responded by unbuttoning the tiny pearl buttons of her skinny knit sweater. Then she was at the placket of his shirt, hurrying down the even row to part crisp fabric and tug it free from his trousers and slip it from the broad rack of his shoulders. The snug A-shirt underneath nicely delineated his torso, scooping low enough to display a healthy mat of dark chest hair. She combed the fingers of one hand through it while the other traced the whorls of muscle in his upper arm.

  "Pretty cut for a lawyer-type,” she murmured. “What did you do down there in the swamps to develop such an impressive resume?"

  He was unfastening her jeans. “My daddy's brother runs a charter boat service down in Louisiana. I spent the spring building him a new dry dock.” Drying out, was what he didn't tell her. He'd been a mess at the time, barely able to hold a hammer without smashing a thumbnail for the first weeks. But the heat and the work had steamed the alcohol poisons from his system. It had been work or drown in it. He chose the work, making light of it now while it had been a matter of life or death then. “You know, hammer, nail, sweaty physical labor."

  "Ummm. That's the kind I like. Let's get down to some, shall we?"

  Gripping a handful of undershirt, she towed him toward her bedroom. She'd had just enough time to settle into this one room, and the result was obvious and personal. No fluffy feminine touches amid the subtle slate greys and ivory pearl silks and sheers. The big bed sat in a frame of gracefully curved pewter-toned bent metal covered by a simple checkerboard pattern of black and silver. On the wall, she'd hung a metal sculpture of a horn-playing musician riding a sweeping curve of notes. Seeing it, Nick smiled.

  "New Orleans?"

  "Motown."

  "Jazz or blues?"

  "Both."

  "Compatible musical taste is almost as important as which way you hang the toilet paper.” And with that pronouncement, he went to thumb through her CD collection, nodding in appreciation. “I think I'm in love,” he murmured, summarizing her selection.

  Seeing him standing there in her bedroom in his undershirt, dark head bent over her favorite tunes, she had to agree with the sentiment.

  Settling on the Drifters for common ground, he slid in the disk. The mellow sound of “Up on the Roof” crooned from her stacked music center. Humming along, Nick stepped in close to take her up in his arms ... for a dance. He had a slow, sultry rhythm that was easy for her to follow as he moved them about the room. Glancing out her window, he noted the upper floor of his hotel and grinned.

  "Nice view."

  "I like it.” Her gaze was riveted to the darkly handsome lines of his face. His grin settled into a sassy smile. Then he pulled her in tight and let the suggestive sway of his body speak for him as he continued to slow dance her about the bed. Her eyes closed, her cheek pillowed on his shoulder, Rae let the music and Nick Flynn move her.

  Then the next song began, the prophetic “Let's Get it On."

  As his hips ground in tight, Nick looked down into her smoky eyes and murmured, “Shall we?"

  "Let's shall."

  And as the sexy rumble of the song spun on invitingly, Nick bent to kiss her mouth, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone—all the while shifting seductively to the tempo of both the music and the rising passion. With thumb and forefinger he plucked open the last button on her top then skinned it off her. His hand went to one cup of her lacy bra, form-fitting for a leisurely moment, then teasing out a tempting melody with the roll of those same two talented fingers. His other hand soothed up the curve of her back to deftly unhook that taunting scrap of hot pink. She sighed as he slid the straps down her arms.

  He fast-stepped her through a quick combination then dipped her low over his arm. His mouth fastened hot and wet upon the center of her breastbone where he made a loud, smooching sound.

  Rae laughed. She couldn't help herself. She took such delight in his company, in his playfulness, in the suave charm so sweetly balanced by his compassion. Clutching the back of his head, she let her own drop back so that her hair swept the floor.

  Then with her bowed over his arm in an inviting arch, his mouth followed a scorching trail down her taut belly to the open snap of her jeans. Everything inside her quivered as he created a light suction on t
he soft flesh just above her panty line.

  He stood her up so fast her head spun. But then he'd had her spinning out of control since their first meeting. Covering her lips with a soul-snatching kiss, he tucked one arm under her bottom and the other about her waist and carried her to the bed. After laying her down, he shucked her out of her jeans and took a long look at her stretched out in unashamed nakedness awaiting him.

  "You look so good, I could eat you up."

  Her tongue slipped with a nervous naughtiness along her upper lip. “Please do."

  Too much of a gentleman to refuse a lady's special request, he sank between her bent knees to do just that, using his mouth and the stiff feathering of his tongue to pursue her to a fast, bed frame-rattling climax. He allowed her a dazed and breathless respite while he stripped his remaining clothes down to white cotton boxers. He sucked in a breath as her fingertips traced down the erection straining behind the thin fabric.

  "Are your legal briefs more prepared this time?” she asked. Her voice was low and husky with the rough purr of good, satisfying sex.

  "My briefs are packing, ma'am,” he assured her.

  Her rubbing grew more insistent. “I can see that."

  He fumbled for a condom and sat on the edge of the bed. With the warm nudity of Rae Borden spooned about his backside, he wondered how the hell he was going to hang on long enough to get the damn rubber snapped safely around him.

  "Allow me,” Rae offered, forcing him to do some deep breathing exercises as she rolled the gloving rubber down, obviously taking her time to enjoy the urgent pulse of him beneath her attentive care. She gave it a final tug. “There you go."

  "Mama always told me to wear my rubbers when I went out to play."

  "Smart lady, your mama."