Authors: Unknown
DevilishlyHot (20 page)
He dressed and headed for the door.
“Tristan,” she said and he turned back to look at her. She lay on her side, the sheet draped over her willowy body. Her pale hair like white silk over her shoulders. She looked almost angelic.
“You asked why I wanted him.” There was, of course not need to state who she referred to.
“Yes,” Tristan said, some of his peacefulness slipping.
“I wanted him because I shouldn’t.”
Tristan nodded, hoping that she’d just told him that because he’d asked. Not because she still wanted Nick Rossi.
Not because he’d become some forbidden fruit that she simply had to taste.
Chapter Nineteen
A
nnie stretched amid her warm sea of bedding, breathing in deeply, some of the sleepiness leaving her limbs. “Is that coffee? Are you bringing me coffee?”
nnie stretched amid her warm sea of bedding, breathing in deeply, some of the sleepiness leaving her limbs. “Is that coffee? Are you bringing me coffee?”
“Ha, I knew something would finally wake you.” Nick grinned.
But all too quickly her lazy happiness disappeared. A wave of concern flooded her. What time was it? Had she overslept? Was there a meeting or an appointment she needed to make, or one that she need to make sure Finola made?
She glanced at the radio alarm clock on his nightstand. A few minutes after ten. Oh God, she never slept this late! Finola would be furious. Annie had to get home and then ready for work. Right now.
She started to shove back the warm covers, then recalled that it was Saturday morning. And she hadn’t heard her phone, which she kept near her at all times. It wasn’t unusual to be spared Finola’s early morning calls on a Saturday. But she didn’t think she’d make it through a whole Saturday without a phone call. A list of demands.
But as long as her phone was quiet, she was going to take a moment to relax. Or try. She stopped pushing at the covers, but still sat upright.
“Wow, if I knew coffee would perk you up so quickly, I’d have brought it in earlier.” Nick said joining her on the bed. “Because I’ve been desperately wanting to do this.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. She moaned, bittersweet desire filling her, because she knew this lovely moment couldn’t last.
Just enjoy it a little longer.
That’s all she wanted.
That’s all she wanted.
When they parted, he held out one of the mugs to her, which she gratefully accepted, holding it between both her hands, tight, her emotions making her a little shaky.
She took a sip, then made a small noise of enjoyment.
“Good?” he asked.
“Perfect.”
He grinned again, that smile of his as delicious as her warm, creamy coffee. This memory, his mussed hair and five o’clock shadow, his naughty little smile. Their lazy morning kiss and this coffee. She’d keep all of this close to her, even as she was forced to let him go.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” he said, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Everything, she thought. She’d liked every moment with him. Loved every moment.
“So I guessed. Lots of cream, and just a little sugar.”
Only then did Annie realized he was talking about the coffee, not their time together.
She felt her cheeks grow a little warm, but she smiled, eyeing him teasingly. “Now how did you know that?”
“You keep forgetting: I’m a detective.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you really investigate things like how a person takes their coffee.” She took a sip, closing her eyes in appreciation. “Although you did make mine just right. Lots of cream and just a little sugar. Perfect.”
“You’d be surprised what minute details have played a role in some of my investigations.”
She didn’t doubt that. She’d watched plenty of crime shows in her life, although she imagined most investigations were nothing like those. But she did know the smallest things could be the big break.
“But in this case, it was dumb luck and the fact that I ran out of sugar,” he admitted and she laughed.
He regarded her so closely that her laughter died on her lips.
“What?”
“I love your laugh,” he said. “And I’m glad you do it when you are with me. I get the feeling you haven’t laughed a lot recently.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she took another sip of her coffee. But when he didn’t seem inclined to say anything either, she decided the best course of action was to make light of the situation.
“Is that another of your detective deductions?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No deductions needed. I’ve witnessed it for myself.”
She stared at him for a moment, again not sure what to say. He definitely hit on a truth, but she didn’t want to talk about all the events and problems that had made her so serious. Not right now.
Not ever. Sharing that side of her life would never be an option.
But unfortunately Finola was on her mind again. Like she always was. Which brought Annie back to the fact that she did have to tell Nick they couldn’t be serious. Not until things changed with Finola. Honestly, maybe not ever.
But just like last night, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to say those words. Those final words that would end what was the best thing that had happened in her life in for as long as she could remember. Maybe ever.
So instead she decided to turn her attention to something else. She took another sip of her coffee, perusing the room that she hadn’t been able to see clearly in the dim light of the night before. Now with the gray light from the window coming in, she could see the furniture and decorations.
Well, okay, furniture. Nick didn’t seem too big on decorating; not even a picture or two broke up the whiteness of the walls. Although he did have nice mission-style furniture in a dark, polished finish. Relatively new, from the looks of it.
“Sorry I’m not much on decorating,” he said, watching her examination of the room. “I’m usually at the station or on a case.”
“Ah, a workaholic, huh?”
He shrugged. “I guess, although more because there isn’t any reason not to be. I mean, do I really want to come home and sit in my undecorated apartment?”
“Well, you could decorate it,” she suggested.
“Mmm, true, but I’m also kind of lazy, so I was hoping to get someone to help me with that.” He leaned in to kiss her, leaving no doubt who that someone was.
Her heart somersaulted in her chest, both from the kiss and from his desire to have her be such a part of his life.
But once they parted, she tried to get her emotions under control and into a realistic place. She couldn’t think about things like being a real couple and decorating and making a home. Not when she knew, for both their safety, it was imperative to put a stop to this.
Just a little longer, she told herself. Just a few more moments of fantasy.
She turned her attention back to him. This time, her attention stopped on the tattoo on his upper arm and shoulder. She could finally see that as well. She leaned sideways slightly to get a better view of that shoulder. It was ...
“A gargoyle?” she said, not really sure what else to call it. The artwork and detailing was very well done, depicting a strange face with horns and squinting catlike eyes and a wide, almost sinister smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that before.”
“Which is good,” he said, sounding serious, but when she frowned up at him he smiled.
“It’s just some odd thing from my imagination.”
Annie studied the creature a little longer, then lounged back against the pillows. “I’m not sure I’d want to be in your imagination.”
He glanced down at the ink drawing that took up a majority of his shoulder and bicep. “Me neither.”
He smiled again, but once more she got the impression he wasn’t totally joking.
She decided maybe it would be better to just change the subject altogether.
“So tell me about your family.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, like he was lost in thought. Thinking about his tattoo? The truth was it must mean something to him, otherwise he wouldn’t bother to have it put on his body forever.
After a moment he seemed to realize she’d spoken. “I, um, come from a big family. Six of us. Four boys, two girls. I’m the one of the middle children.”
“Wow, that is a big family,” Annie said.
“Yeah, your typical large Italian family. Always something going on.” He smiled. “Loud. They are going to adore you. Overwhelm you too, but they will like you very much.”
Her smile slipped a little as intense longing filled her chest. She wanted to meet his family. She wanted to see what his childhood must have been like. So different from hers.
But that wasn’t going to happen. It was too dangerous.
Still she couldn’t help admitting, “I always wanted a big family. I was raised on a farm with just my grandparents, and I always imagined what it would be like to have brothers and sisters.”
“Your grandparents? What happened to your parents?”
“My mother got pregnant at sixteen,” she said. “She wasn’t ready to be a mom, so she gave me to her parents—my grandparents—and she ran away to California with her boyfriend, who was not my father. I’m not really sure who my father is.” She shrugged, surprised how little her mother’s lack of interest bothered her. “We’ve talked a few times over the years, but my grandparents are the ones I think of as my real mom and dad. They really were wonderful parents. They still are, although I haven’t seen them in three years.”
Guilt and sadness made her pause, but she rallied and quickly added, “But they understand that I’ve very busy at the magazine and I am able to send them financial help, which I feel good about. But tell me more about your family.”
Instead he said, “Finola keeps you so busy you can’t even go see your family?”
Annie shrugged, trying not to show how much it bothered her. “Well, it’s hard in the fashion industry. It’s all so fast-paced and I just find it difficult to get away for anything, really.”
“I think Finola is totally unreasonable about the amount of time she expects her employees to work. And that seems to apply to everyone at the magazine.”
She opened her mouth to tell him again that that was just life in the fashion world, but her words were cut off by the faint sound of music.
A song she knew all too well. Chosen for its appropriate message. “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” by the Rolling Stones. She frowned, knowing who was calling her, and the lyrics had never seemed so prophetic.
“I have to get that,” she said, already scooting herself toward the edge of the bed. “Where is my purse?”
“The living room,” Nick said, standing so Annie could slide past him. “I moved it out there, because it was going off like crazy all morning. And I didn’t want it to interrupt your sleep.”
Panic rose up in her chest, acrid and making it hard to breathe.
“All morning?”
Oh God ... oh God. Finola. She’d been calling all morning and Annie hadn’t answered. Oh God. She was in trouble. Big, big trouble.
“Why didn’t you
tell me
?” she cried, not keeping any of the fear and dread out of her voice.
tell me
?” she cried, not keeping any of the fear and dread out of her voice.
Nick followed Annie as she raced to her purse, which he’d placed on his cluttered coffee table. She rifled through a side pocket until she finally located her phone. But by the time she did, it stopped ringing.
She stared at the silent phone, her gray eyes round. “Oh God ... five missed calls.”
She pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. Then she swayed slightly as if she might pass out.
Nick strode to her side, putting an arm around her waist.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
“No, I ...” Her skin looked chalky, and she weaved again. “I’ve got to go.”
“I don’t think so.” He led her to the sofa. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, or worse.”
She allowed him to ease her down onto the worn cushions of his couch. “Let me get you some more coffee.”
But she suddenly seemed to realize she was seated and started to stand. He sat down beside her, placing a hand on her bare thigh to stop her.
“Annie? Just wait. What’s going on?”
“I,” her breath was still reedy, “have to get home now.”
He didn’t move his hand. “Is it Bobby?”
She blinked at him as if she didn’t even know who Bobby was.
Finally she shook her head. “No.”
“Finola?” he asked.
She nodded, this time slipping away from his hold and coming to her feet. “I have to go.”
She didn’t wait for his response as she scurried to the bedroom as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. He rose from the sofa too, following her. Leaning in the doorway, he watched as she scampered around gathering her clothes.
“Where is my other shoe?” she asked, her voice an octave higher than usual, her movements agitated.
Again Nick crossed over to her, catching her wrist and forcing her to stop her manic search.
“Your shoe is right there,” he said calmly, pointing to the edge of his bed. The toe peeked out from the disheveled bedding that had slipped off the bed from her wild escape.
She made a noise, a combination of relief and thanks, but as she started in that direction, he held fast to her wrist.
She jerked to a halt, then spun back to him.
“Nick, please, I have to go.”
“Not until you tell me what you are suddenly so panicked. Not to mention, you aren’t going to be able to go anywhere. There has to be a foot of snow outside.”
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