DevilishlyHot (13 page)
Authors: Unknown
But he did add, “He was soulless.”
“There’s a difference between conscienceless and soulless,” she said before she thought better of it.
“Is there?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And what is that difference?”
She shook her head, realizing she’d already said too much. “There just is, and you know it when you see it.”
Nick studied Annie, analyzing what she’d said. She’d seen exactly what he had, hadn’t she?
“You knew what I was talking about today, didn’t you?” he said, his eyes roaming her face for her reaction. “You’ve seen them too, haven’t you? The blank expression and empty eyes.”
Her eyes remained locked with his for a moment; then she dropped her gaze to her drink. Her hands tightened on the cup, the plastic bowing in under her fingers, the remainder of her beer going up and down with each squeeze.
Like a pulse.
“Annie,” he said, not sure what more he was going to say, knowing she didn’t want to talk about any of this, knowing that she felt she couldn’t. She thought her life was at risk too.
Instead he reached out a hand to touch her, to comfort her and himself. At the brush of his fingers against hers, he lifted his head, meeting her gaze. And he could see so many emotions swirling like storm clouds in her eyes, futility and sorrow and frustration; but right now, all he could seem to focus on was the longing.
His body responded, filling with the same need. Deep, desperate longing. Slowly he leaned toward her, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought she leaned forward too. Their lips were so close he could feel her breath, feel her warmth.
Then just as their mouths would have touched, he pulled back.
He straightened, taking a deep breath, struggling to pull himself together. Annie did the same thing, pushing at tendrils of hair that clung to her flushed cheeks.
Nick gulped the rest of his beer, and they both managed to compose themselves.
“Maybe it’s time to head home,” he finally said, even though he didn’t want to leave her. Damn, that was the last thing he wanted, but he knew it was the right thing to do.
Annie nodded.
“We could share a cab,” Nick suggested when they got out to the sidewalk, but Annie shook her head.
“That’s not necessary. I just live a few blocks from here.”
Nick knew this neighborhood; a couple of blocks in one direction wasn’t too bad, but go a couple of blocks the other way, and the area got pretty sketchy.
But he nodded. “Okay.”
She offered him a small, uncertain smile, waved good-bye and then began walking down the sidewalk. Nick began walking too.
It took her a few seconds to realize that he was the one strolling along beside her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, a surprised laugh escaping her as a cloud of condensation in the cold air.
“I’m not going to let you walk home alone,” he told her, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Still she tried. “I’m fine. I walk around this area alone all the time.”
“Well, not tonight. After all, I promised your date.”
She rolled her eyes, but smiled, “Tristan was not my date.”
Nick smiled. He liked teasing her.
“I really am fine,” she insisted again, remaining rooted to her spot. Finally when the cold caused her to tremble, she relented. “Okay, but let’s walk fast, it’s darned cold out here.”
Neither spoke as they hurried along the sidewalk, hands deep in their coat pockets, collars up around their faces. Just when Nick was actually finding their silence a bit stifling, they turned onto Waverly Place.
“This is my block,” she said.
She walked past a few historic buildings to stop in front of one that was a large ten-story, pre-war construction built of weathered red brick with brown brick detailing.
“Wow, gorgeous building,” Nick said, thinking of his own studio walkup in a rundown apartment building in Clinton.
“It comes at a steep price, believe me,” she said, and he got the impression she wasn’t just talking about the cost of rent.
He continued to admire the styling of the brickwork as well as the large windows and arched entryway. Absently he pulled his hands out of his pockets, breathing on his freezing fingers.
“Why don’t you come up and get warm for a few minutes?” Annie said, her tone somewhere between welcoming and reluctant.
Nick knew he should say no, but he found himself wanting to see where Annie lived. He’d only seen her in public places; he wanted to see what her private life was like. What her taste was. What made her feel safe and comfortable.
He knew his curiosity was dangerous, and akin to torture since he couldn’t be any more than her friend, but he found that if that was all he could be, he’d take it. And he still wanted to know about her.
Just being friendly in a purely platonic way. Oh yeah, he was torturing himself all right.
“Sure. I’d love to see inside this building.” Somehow that sounded better than saying he wanted to see her place.
She smiled, the gesture still a little uncertain, but she walked up the front steps. She pulled out a keycard, waving the plastic square in front of a sensor.
She shoved open the tall, heavy glass and oak door and stepped into a large foyer. The floors of white and gray marble gleamed from the huge crystal chandelier overhead. To his left was a large desk of carved, dark-stained oak where the doorman sat. To the right was a sitting area with Queen Anne style chairs and a settee. Beyond the doorman’s station was a wall of bronze tenants’ mailboxes.
“This is amazing,” he said. “It looks like something out of an old Hollywood film.”
Annie smiled. “That’s exactly what I said the first time I saw it. I just fell in love with it.”
He didn’t blame her. The place was fantastic.
“Hi there, Annie,” the heavyset, balding doorman greeted as they walked farther into the room. “Cold out tonight, isn’t it?”
“Freezing,” Annie said, shivering for effect. Nick smiled, finding her adorable.
“Chester, this is a friend of mine, Nick Rossi.”
Chester gave him an amicable nod.
“I’m up on the eleventh floor,” she told Nick, leading him to the elevator that also looked original to the building with its wood panels and bronze trim.
Nick busied himself on the ride up admiring the small, stylized details of the elevator. The faded ivory floor buttons, the carved details in the wood, even the carpeting that looked almost art deco. Really, he was trying to focus on anything other than the fact that he was enclosed in a tiny space with a woman he still wanted to kiss.
Behave. Boyfriend. Just keep remembering that boyfriend. He did respect her relationship; if he didn’t, he’d still be back at the bowling alley making out with her like horny teenagers. PDA be damned.
But instead he was here, focusing on every minute detail of an old elevator, determined to keep from giving in to temptation. Thankfully, after a moment, the elevator bobbed noisily to a stop and the door slid open.
“Here we are,” she said with a sigh as if she too needed relief from the small space. She rooted around her purse for her keys, stopping in front of a door marked 11B.
“Actually Bobby should be home by now,” she said over her shoulder, her tone hopeful.
Nick wondered if she sounded so hopeful because she truly wanted to see him, or because she wanted him there to act as chaperone.
Well, there was no better chaperone than a boyfriend, he thought dully.
“Bobby,” she called as soon as they stepped through the door. There was no reply.
“Bobby,” she called again, this time her voice taking on an almost desperate edge. She waited as if somehow Bobby would miraculously appear before them.
After several seconds, she turned back to Nick, giving him an awkward smile. “I guess he’s not home yet.”
“It wouldn’t appear so,” Nick agreed, trying to smile in a way that would put her at ease, but he knew it was more clumsy than comforting.
Still her gaze moved to his lips and stayed there. Her cheeks blushed a pretty pink, while her eyes darkened with misgivings and something else ...
No, he wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t acknowledge the longing he knew they both felt. Not again. That took them to very dangerous places.
“So show me around,” he said. They needed to stay busy and focused on things other than each other.
“Oh. Yes.” She nodded, or maybe she was trying to shake off the desire surrounding them, as palpable and overpowering as the hot steam in a sauna.
She led him out of the small foyer area down a short hallway.
“This is the kitchen.”
To his right was a decent-sized kitchen, although what it lacked in size it made up for in style. Cherry maple cabinets and a granite countertop with flecks of rust and black and gray took up two walls. The room was saved from being too dark by opening through to the living area, separated by a granite-topped breakfast bar. The dining room contained an antique table with an ornately carved center pedestal. Around it were mismatched chairs that still managed to work perfectly with the table.
“And this is the living room,” she said, waving a hand to present the room.
The living room was comfy and warm with oversized chocolate-brown furniture in a soft microsuede, the dark color broken up with lots of pillows in light rusts and creams and beiges. Between the honey-stained maple floors and the warm beige walls scattered with light-framed black-and-white photos, the place was cozy and richly colored, but not dark.
Nick’s overall impression was one of homey warmth, but the place was also interesting and a little artsy. He could see Annie in every decoration and small detail, and he liked it very much.
Even as he told his mind not to go there, he could see himself curled up on the sofa with Annie, watching a movie, talking. He could see them sharing the morning paper and coffee at the antique dining table.
And he could see them making love in every room.
Just like she probably did with her boyfriend, he reminded himself. That image cooled his rising libido almost as effectively as a bucket of icewater over his head.
Or at least it did until he glanced back at Annie.
She walked over to a stereo in the entertainment center under the wall-mounted TV. He watched, admiring the way her tight little jeans hugged her cute ass and long legs. She bent over to turn on some music, and he closed his eyes, trying desperately not to think about going over and grabbing her hips to pull her back against him. That perfect ass against his hard cock.
“Do you like classic rock?”
He blinked, realizing Annie had straightened and now looked at him quizzically.
“Umm—sure. Definitely.”
She made a slight face at his obvious confusion, but then asked if he’d like a drink.
“I might have beer. I definitely have wine. Coffee. Juice?”
She walked past him to go to the kitchen and he realized her formfitting T-shirt was as distracting as her jeans, clinging to her nicely shaped breasts and slim torso.
Stop it, Nick. Stop it now.
He really wanted a stiff drink, but he managed to say, “Coffee, if it’s easy to make.”
“Super easy,” she said, throwing him a smile across the breakfast bar. Nick remained on the opposite side, deciding a large slab of stone between them was probably a good thing.
“I bought one of those single-cup coffeemakers,” she told him, seemingly oblivious to his libidinous thoughts. “Because most mornings I don’t even have time to wait for a pot to brew before Finola is calling to demand that I do something.”
She bustled around the kitchen, getting mugs and spoons.
“Finola must be hell to work for,” he said.
Annie laughed, the sound humorless. “Hell is an apt word, that’s for sure.”
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