Speak Easy (10 page)

But just when I thought he was over the edge, Enzo pulled up my dress and hitched up my right leg, hooking my knee around his hip and holding it there. I had to throw my arms across his shoulders to stay balanced on the toes of my left foot. Our insatiable mouths came together again as his other hand snuck under the loose edge of my step-in. I gasped when he brushed the sensitive skin beneath the lace, and panted softly when he slipped one fingertip inside me. Shallow, feather-light strokes left me breathless and immobile. Clutching the back of his neck, I thought my left leg would give out with the unbearable pleasure of his touch. My breath stilled as he slid the fingertip up to rub the tiny spot that made my belly tighten and my legs tremble. His tongue slipped into my open mouth as his wet finger traced soft little circles on my throbbing clitoris. A divine pressure began building deep within me, and his name fell from my lips.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God…

“Still want to leave?” he asked.

“I’m going to scream,” I whimpered, fisting my hands in his coat.

He bit my lower lip. “Good.”

He wants me to scream. He wants me to lose control first. He wants all the power.

Summoning every ounce of strength I had, I dropped my leg to the floor and let go of him. “On second thought, I don’t think I’ll give you the satisfaction.” Because I was panting so hard, my words didn’t have quite the sting I wanted.

“Oh no? And why’s that?” He brought his arms to the wall again, boxing me in.

“Because this is all a game to you. And it’s my life.”

I waited for him to spout some nonsense about life being a game, but he didn’t. After a pause, he dropped his arms and backed off. Although I still couldn’t see anything, I sensed movement and figured he was buttoning his pants.

“I’ll pay you the six hundred dollars as soon as I get it.”

“Fine.”

“Are you going to tell your father I was short?”

“Not tonight.”

My heart thumped an irregular beat. “What does that mean? You might tell him tomorrow?”

Enzo sighed. “I do a lot of things well, Tiny, which you would know if you ever let us finish what we start, but not even I am good at divining the future. I have no idea how I’ll feel about this tomorrow.”

Rage shook my body. “You can’t keep doing this! Kissing me one minute and then making threats the next! You went behind my back and stole Al Murphy’s business from me, making it impossible for me to get the ransom money, and tonight you play the hero?”

“It seems to me you’re playing some games of your own as well.” His tone had gone serious, and he threw the deadbolt with a loud, angry thwack. When he opened the outer door, streetlight spilled into our private little space. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get back to my table.”

I scooped up my purse where it had fallen and rushed up the steps two at a time. My heels clicked on the cement as I hurried through steam rising from the street without turning my head.

The metal door closed behind me with a bang.

Chapter Ten

I drove home in a fog, my hands shaking on the steering wheel and my legs nearly numb with shock. What had I done? What was I thinking? No good could possibly come of fooling around with Enzo like that. My father was trapped somewhere at the mercy of the DiFiores—had I lost my mind? One minute I hated Enzo, and the next minute I couldn’t keep my hands off him. Yes, he’d lied to protect me tonight, but I had the feeling that was more about his desire than his guilt or sympathy. He could rat me out any time he felt like it. And handsome as he was, I had no idea if he was one of the good guys. He was partly responsible for my father’s suffering, wasn’t he? He’d lured me into Angel’s trap, hadn’t he? Stolen my business? And he had a girl he was betraying every time we were alone, whether I liked her or not.

I had plenty of reasons to stay away from him, and only one to go near.

But when I was in bed later that night, it wasn’t his faults or transgressions I thought about as my hands wandered over my yearning body. No one had ever made me feel so free and yet so restrained, so powerful and yet vulnerable, so delirious with pleasure and ache all at once. It was too much—his magnetism clouded my judgment worse than any alcohol I’d ever tasted. I had to stay away from him. I had to pay him back, and forget his existence.
Forget about how he touched me here
—I brushed my fingers over one breast—
and here
—I ran a hand up my inner thigh—
and here
—I placed my palm between my legs and pressed with the heel of my hand, trying to relieve the tension that had settled there since I’d pushed Enzo away.

Stop it! This isn’t helping!

But I couldn’t stop—I thought about his broad shoulders and hooded eyes and sculpted lips and whisky kisses and talented fingers and the way my hands wrapped around his hard—

Crack!

I sat upright, my heart pounding. What the hell was that?

Crack!

Crack!

Something was hitting my windowpane. In the few seconds of silence that followed, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and got to my hands and knees. Crack!
Someone is throwing rocks at the glass
, I realized as I crawled toward the wall.
Damn Joey for not getting me a gun!
The window was open at the bottom. Curling my fingers over the ledge, I pulled myself up and peeked through the screen into the dark yard. A sliver of moon lit the figure on the grass beneath me.

“Stop!” I yelled in the angriest whisper I could muster.

“Tiny, thank God.” Joey’s shoulders slumped.

“You’re a little late!”

“I’m sorry—can I come in?”

“No. The girls will wake up.”

“Please. I have to talk to you.” He touched his forehead. “And I think I need something for my head.”

Squinting, I realized that blood was dripping down one of his cheeks. “Jesus! OK. Go to the kitchen door.” I threw on my robe and tiptoed into the hall, making sure my sisters’ bedroom door was shut tight before descending the stairs two at a time. In the kitchen I unlocked the door and opened it, sucking in my breath at the sight of Joey on the stoop, battered to hell and holding his hand to his head. Angry as I was at him for leaving me to the wolves, pity squeezed my heart.

I pulled him into the kitchen, which still smelled like burnt bacon. Turning on the light, I set him in a chair and looked him over with a critical eye. His face was marked with a couple minor scrapes and a nasty cut under one eye. A big ugly welt was swelling at his temple, and a jagged slice just above it oozed blood. His hair on that side was matted with blood, and his clothing was soiled too. But the wounds appeared superficial, and I didn’t believe he needed stitches. “What happened to you?”

“I ran into some trouble.” He grabbed my forearms. “What happened with Angel?”

I pursed my lips and pulled my arms away. “After waiting an hour for you on the street, I had to give Angel an envelope that was six hundred light.” I went to the sink and scrubbed my hands to the elbow, soaking the sleeves of my thin summer robe. Briefly I considered taking it off, but I was only wearing a flimsy chemise underneath. And no underwear.
It stays on.

“And?”

I dried my hands on a dishtowel and went to the pantry for the first aid kit. “And I handled it.” Eventually I’d tell him what happened—in the office anyway—but I wanted to look at his injuries first. Setting the small metal box on the table, I retrieved a clean towel and wet it. “Now hold still.” Gently, I tilted his head and dabbed at the blood on his face.

“Ow. I can do it myself.” He tried to grab the towel, but I held it away from him.

“Be quiet! I’ll do it.” Staring him down until he dropped his arm, I returned the wet cloth to his cheek.

He sniffed. “You burn something in here?”

“Yeah. Dinner.” When he grinned, I frowned at him. “I said hold still. Where were you tonight?”

“I went with Sam and a few guys to collect at a couple different places. One asshole didn’t want to pay, and he had some friends. Ow!”

“Sorry.” Easing up on the pressure, I wiped his skin clean of blood, holding his thick matted hair back with the other hand. I leaned closer to examine the slice on his temple. “What was the weapon?”

“A broken bottle.”

I sighed. “That’ll do it.” Reaching into the kit for a cotton swab and some iodine, I dotted some along each of the cuts on his face, rolling my eyes when he winced at the sting. After putting a bandage over the bottle cut, I rinsed the towel. Wringing it out, I returned to him and wiped some of the dirt and blood from his hair and neck. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks. You know, I could do this myself.”

“Shut up already. Coat off.” He shrugged out of his brown jacket and pulled his gun from the waistband of his pants, laying it on the table. Gooseflesh spread across my arms.

“My God, Joey. You’re lucky
they
didn’t have guns! I’ve got no experience with bullet wounds.”

“They did have guns,” he said. “But nobody was willing to shoot first tonight.”

Tomorrow night could be another story.

I clenched my jaw. Would Joey have to participate in the rum heist? I hoped he wouldn’t, but something told me he would insist on it, the idiot. I moved in front of him and stood between his knees, running the wet cloth under his chin and behind his ears. His shirt was already loose at the collar, but I undid another button to wipe the back of his neck.

“Somehow I pictured this moment differently, you undressing me. But I do like your outfit.” He was staring at my chest, his wicked grin in place.

I looked down and noticed my belt had come loose and my robe was hanging open.
“Enough.”
I slapped the cloth onto the table and tightened my robe again. “Or I’ll beat you myself.”

He laughed, clutching his ribs. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Take a few punches in the gut, did you?”

“One or two.” He looked up at me quickly. “But I gave as good as I got.”

“I’m sure you did.” I backed up. “Now take off your shirt.”

“Removing my pants would be more fun, don’t you think?” He stood and slipped both braces from his shoulders at once.

“Will you stop? I want to check for bruises.”

“Sorry.” He tugged his shirt from his pants and began unbuttoning it. “It’s actually a relief to hear you razzing me. I was worried about you tonight.”

I ignored the tug in my chest at his words and the quickening in my stomach when he took off his shirt. Underneath he wore a white, athletic-style tank that hugged his chest and torso. His shoulders and biceps were thick and defined with hard curves, and I was tempted to touch them.

Stop it, you’re the nurse here. And this is pain-in-the-ass Joey, not Enzo.

But I was still worked up from tonight’s twin episodes of sexual frustration, and Joey was right here in my kitchen. And probably willing.

The thought unnerved me. “Take off your undershirt too,” I snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.” He grabbed it from the back and yanked it over his head. “Are you going to be this bossy when you’re a real nurse?” he asked as I circled him, checking for bruises or other abrasions.

“Only to problem patients like yourself.” But the problem was
me
—or at least my reaction to him. His chest was as muscular as his arms, and the lines on his abdomen made my insides flutter. I resisted the craving to run my hands over them and instead examined a red and purple patch of skin on his left shoulder blade. “Deep breaths.” He did as I asked, without wincing. “OK. You’ll hurt for a while, but nothing looks serious. Let me see your hands.”

He held them out, and oddly, it was the sight of his hands that finally proved too much—I had to touch them. I ran my fingers over each one, saddened at the cuts and swollen knuckles. Images of them working in the moonlight flickered in my mind. “Wash them.” I pointed toward the sink. He soaped and rinsed his hands while I stared at his naked back, watching the muscles flex.
It would be so easy. I could go up behind him, press my breasts against his back, run my hands around to his stomach, lay my cheek on his warm skin.
I swayed to the side before catching my balance and grimacing.

What is with me tonight?

Turning around as he dried them, he asked, “Now can you tell me what happened at the club?” He set the towel aside and picked up his undershirt from the table, and I was grateful when his chest disappeared under the white cotton. The last thing I needed was to mess around with Joey right in the middle of this. Even if his body was swoon-inducing.

“Like I said, I walked into Angel’s office with an envelope that was six hundred bucks short.” I sat as far as I could from him, on the opposite side of the table.

“What did he do?” He grabbed his blue shirt and shrugged into the sleeves, but left it unbuttoned when he sat down.

“He handed it to Enzo, who counted it and said it was all there.”

Joey’s wide mouth fell open. “You’re kidding me.
Enzo
covered for you?” He grimaced. “Now you owe him. You don’t ever want to owe these guys a favor,” he scolded, like it was my fault Enzo had lied about the money.

“Thanks for the tip, but I didn’t ask him for a favor. He just did it.”

“Nobody
just
does a favor like that in this business. He must want something.”

Damn right he does.
I blushed under Joey’s menacing stare but said nothing.

“Who else was there? Did it look like Angel had a lot of muscle?”

“Guarding every room,” I said, glad to move off the topic of Enzo’s want. “The only other guy I recognized was his son Raymond. And Raymond’s friend Harry. Don’t know his last name.”

Joey scowled. “Coupla idiots, both of them. Nasty mean streaks, though.” He rubbed his chin, which was shadowed with whiskers. “You hear anything about the rum?”

“Yeah. Raymond said it’s tomorrow night.”

Joey blinked at me. “Raymond? How’d you get him to do that?”

“Hidden talent, remember?” At his shocked expression, I said, “Don’t worry. I didn’t have to do anything drastic. A little flattery goes a long way with a guy like that.”

He didn’t look convinced but let it go. “All right.” He stood as he buttoned his shirt. “I gotta go tell Sam.”

“Right now?” I checked the kitchen clock. “It’s two in the morning! You’re hurt and you need rest!”

He tucked in his shirt and stuck his gun back into his pants. “I’m fine. Thanks for the help, and I’m sorry I didn’t show tonight.”

“Turns out I didn’t need you.” Anger bubbled to the surface of my skin, hot and itchy. Why was he choosing to put himself at the center of this mess when he didn’t have to? It’s not like he didn’t have other options—his mother ran a boarding house with a restaurant. He could work for her, or for Henry fucking Ford, or for
anyone
with a legitimate business where he wouldn’t have to carry a gun in his pants!

He reached for his jacket. “Are you all right here by yourself?”

“What difference does it make?”

As he shoved his left arm through the sleeve, he winced a little. “Because I can come back.”

I crossed my arms, jerking my chin at him. “Forget it. I don’t need you.”

He looked at me, his expression a mix of apology and irritation. “Yes, you do. I’ll negotiate with Sam so you can make your money this week.” Digging into his coat pocket, he pulled out a stack of bills and tossed it on the table. “Here. Pay Enzo back. Immediately.”

I stared at the money on the table, wishing I didn’t have to accept it. How badly I wanted to tell him to take his cash and his gun and his stupidity and go jump in the lake. But I had no promise from Enzo that he wouldn’t tell his father I’d been short. Better to pay him than to risk Daddy’s life. “The whisky I couldn’t sell is at the boathouse,” I told Joey. “It’s yours.”

“No. You need to sell that whisky. This money’s just a loan until your pop’s back.” I opened my mouth to argue but he held up his hand and raised his voice. “Enough backtalk. You’re gonna take that and pay Enzo off, and then we’ll figure out how to get the next five G’s,
capisce
?”

Without thinking, I raised my voice too. “I really hate it when you tell me what to do like that. I’m not a child!”

He dropped his hand. “I don’t think you’re a child.”

“Tiny?” The small voice at the kitchen doorway made us both jump.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joey said softly.

“Mary Grace, what are you doing up?”

“I heard noises, and I was scared.” She rubbed one side of her head, where her hair was twisty and matted. When she’s nervous about something or can’t sleep, she twirls her hair in the same spot, which gives her tangles that take forever to comb out. “What happened to your face, Joey?”

“I’m clumsy as heck, that’s what happened. I opened the door of my car too quickly, and smack!” He mimed the door hitting him in the face. “Right in the kisser!” Mary Grace giggled. “Your big sister the nurse was helping me get it bandaged up.” He leaned toward her and whispered. “But she’s awful bossy about it.”