The Wicked Bad (Crimson Romance) (9 page)

Fantasy #3 concerning Nick:
On stage, thrusting those muscular hips, and wailing sexy, suggestive lyrics. Veronica squirmed in her seat. Her determination to be in that damned inviting king-size bed of his with his king-size body wrapped around her just amped up her arousal.

Nick was certainly resolute about keeping things casual between them. Isn’t that what she wanted? Yes — or no. Damn it, she was confused. Nick baffled her. Live for today? Not a problem. What was all the talk about the picket fence and the sedan? Guess he put it out there that he’ll never be shackled or tied down. At least he was honest, to a point.

Veronica pulled into the parking lot of Tyler’s apartment building. They needed to have a talk. If she was going to see Nick on a casual basis she wanted her brother to know.

Parking her car, she reached in her purse and headed for Tyler’s. Slipping the key he’d given her in the door, she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Veronica knocked, unlocked Tyler’s door and entered.

“Tyler?” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he answered.

She found him in the living room, sitting on his sofa, staring out the window with what appeared to be a glass of whisky in his hand.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, you know me, I have my moments. Just thinking about things. You came over to talk, what about?” He placed his drink on the table.

Veronica shook her head. Maybe this discussion wasn’t a good idea. “I don’t think now’s the time.”

“It’ll keep my mind off my troubles. You came all the way over here, go ahead.” He sat back and placed his hands behind his head. “I’m a hell of a listener.”

Veronica smiled warmly. “I remember. I guess — I’m seeing someone, sort of.”

Tyler raised a golden eyebrow. “Already? Who?”

“Nicholas Crocetti.”

Tyler stood abruptly. “Nick Crocetti? That biker trash? Since when? How? Why?”

Veronica sighed. Of course, this would be Tyler’s reaction. She now dreaded the rest, whatever Tyler knew about Nick that she didn’t.

“Sit down, Tyler. Jeez, overreact why don’t you? He came in the bakery, we talked, and he asked me out, simple as that. We went out to dinner. I’ve been to his place. He wanted to show me the bar and where he lives. Are we going to see each other again? Yes, I’m going to his place tomorrow evening. We’re going to watch movies.”

“Oh, right. Movies!” Tyler snapped.

“Stop over-reacting. You’re acting like my father, not my brother.”

“Dad would have been mortified. Nick Crocetti.”

“Don’t you dare bring Dad into this,” Veronica whispered. “And don’t mention it to Mom. I’ll tell her when I’m ready. What’s so horrible about Nick? Tell me, what do you know? Or is it only the damned rumors?”

“Isn’t that enough? You heard the stories and still you went out with him? What rumors did you hear?” Tyler demanded.

Veronica hated when he used that tone of voice, his
cop
voice.

“That he deals drugs. He denied it, he said he doesn’t allow drugs in his bar and I believe him. Have you been in his bar? It’s classy in a retro sort of way, not some biker’s dive.”

“And where do you think he got the money to buy that bar, did he tell you that?”

“He said he had money and borrowed a little from his uncle.”

“And how did he make that money?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Tyler! Just spit it out, quit dancing around the fire.” Veronica cried with frustration.

“After he got out of jail — you did know he was in jail?”

She rolled her eyes. “He told me, he was eighteen and stupid.”

“Eighteen — and an adult. He has a record. Anyway, he headed north. Wound up in Newark, New Jersey. For four years he was muscle, a leg breaker for the Lucci family. Fenced stolen goods and might’ve been involved in a warehouse robbery. He also was the driver for the oldest Lucci son, Salvatore. We have a file on Nick Crocetti and so does the Newark Police Department.”

Veronica felt like she’d been hit the face with a two-by-four board.

“Was he arrested for any of this?” she asked softly, her voice shaking.

“No, nothing was proven. He was brought in once by the cops in Newark, but they had nothing on him and he wouldn’t talk so he was let go. After that, he wound up back down here and bought the bar,” Tyler replied.

“Has Nick broken the law since he returned to Rockland?”

“No.”

“I get the impression, though Nick won’t talk about it, that he didn’t have an easy time of it. I saw nothing in his bar or where he lives that indicates he’s up to no good. Tyler, his place is wonderful, classy and modern. He collects classic stereo equipment and music. He has a mind boggling collection of music, records, reel-to-reels, eight-tracks, cassettes, CD’s, and the movies … ”

Tyler laughed cynically. “How do you think he affords all that media bling? You think he’s making that much money from his dinky little bar?”

Veronica blinked. It never crossed her mind. Her heart contracted in pain. Was Nick a closet thug? She suddenly felt sick.

Tyler must’ve seen the devastated look flutter across her face, for he touched her arm gently. “You care about him, don’t you? Just how much? Are you in love with him?”

“Love? No! I mean, I barely know him. It’s only been two weeks, if that.” She gulped. “I care, Tyler. I’m trying not to.”

“You had sex with him. Jesus, Ronnie. He’s not your type. Does it seem a coincidence that you pick a guy the polar opposite of William Titus with his Brooks Brothers suits?”

“Look, I know I made a mistake with William Titus, I know the pitfalls. I won’t mistake great sex for love ever again. I won’t allow myself to be hurt here. We’re keeping it casual, both of us agree.”

Tyler shook his head. He picked up the rest of his drink, threw it back, and his face grimaced at the burn.

He grabbed his shoulder where he’d been shot and winced. “Be careful, Ronnie, for god’s sake.”

• • •

That night at Nick’s bar, he kept his intense gaze focused on another man with an Irish accent. This guy had been in the bar the last couple of nights. Why these Irish were here in town he couldn’t figure out. The blue-collar jobs they used to jump the pond for had all but dried up in the last decade. Granted, Nick read Ireland’s economy wasn’t doing so well, but he didn’t see the need for these guys to come here looking for work. Unless things were worse than he thought.

Was this prick looking to sell drugs like that dead-eyed bastard did last week? Nick watched him closely. The man was nearly as tall as him, but slimmer. Nick could see the muscles under his sweater. This guy would be no pushover. He, like the other Irish, had long hair to his shoulders, hair any woman would envy. It was thick, wavy, and a shade of mahogany brown, almost the color of Nick’s wood floors. The man could almost be categorized as pretty, but those blue-green eyes showed no real warmth. Irish had an aura of shrewd menace about him. Enough speculation, Nick threw down his bar towel and strode to the man’s table where he sat alone.

“Get you another beer?” Nick asked in a clipped tone.

“Aye, why not? And get one for yourself while you’re at it,” the man replied in a sing-song, lyrical, Irish accent.

Nick returned with two beers and sat at the table. He told Kevin to stay behind the bar. Friday night was Nick’s busiest night. Usually both he and Kevin worked.

“I had another Irish in here a few nights ago, dead-eyed prick with criss-cross scars on his face with hair as long as yours, only black. Know him?”

“Depends, what’s he done or said?”

“Tried to sell drugs in my place. I told him to take it out to the alley. He didn’t like it much.”

“I’ll not lie, mate. He’s my feckin’ cousin, Ronan McCarthy. Sorry he caused you grief. He doesn’t like to be told what to do.”

Nick snorted in disgust. “Yeah, I got that. Basically told me to fuck off. I wanted to snap his spine. Your name McCarthy, too?”

“No, I’m Lorcan Byrne. And you are — ?”

“Nick Crocetti, this is my place. I don’t allow drugs in here, using or selling. Just so you know.”

Nick could see Byrne looking him over and sizing him up.

“Fair play. My cousin and I aren’t exactly close. Has he been back?”

Nick shook his head. “No.”

Lorcan shrugged. “Well, if he does, snap away, mate. I’ll not kick.” Lorcan inclined his head toward the pool table. “How about a game?”

Nick considered it, why not? “Rack ‘em up, Irish. We could make this interesting.”

Lorcan laughed. “Ah, mate. Sounds like you wish to bet some nicker. How about fifty dollars a game?”

“Sounds fair. Best of five. And the loser also buys a round. For the bar.”

Lorcan laughed again. “Thank Christ there’s only eight guys in here. Just don’t be calling all your mates over if I should lose.”

Nick stood by and watched Lorcan shoot the breaking ball. Yeah, mates. Like who? Nick had been a loner all his life, never let anyone get close. So why this guy? A kindred spirit perhaps. What was the harm of game of pool?

As the night progressed, Lorcan kept up his light-hearted banter, fed the jukebox, and selected songs Nick could find no fault with. He found he liked the guy.

They talked, joked, and played pool. Both were considerably skilled. Each kept winning games. They were tied two apiece when they started the fifth and final game.

Lorcan took his final shot. Applause broke out in the bar for they had attracted quite a crowd. Bets were being passed back and forth, intermixed with the applause were a few moans.

“You won, Lorcan, fair and square. Great game, sit at the bar and I’ll get you a drink.”

Lorcan’s mouth quirked. “Irish whisky, perhaps?”

“No, but I’ll tell you what. I’ll get some in just for you. Even get that creamy Irish ale, too. You’ll come back, a rematch?”

Lorcan nodded. “Aye, I’ll be back. You still have to explain baseball to me yet.”

“A round on the house!” Nick yelled above the din. Cheers broke out as the men all bellied up to the bar.

And so it began. As unlikely a friendship as either could imagine.

Saturday night and Nick had his employee covering the bar for him. Kevin was flexible and dependable, what more could you as for in an employee? Picking Ronnie up on his motorcycle was becoming pure damned torture, not even back to his place yet and his arousal roared at a high temperature. Having her wrapped around his body on the back of his bike affected him. Nick wasn’t sure he could last through a movie or two. He wanted her now, in his bed, above him, under him, and in front of him. All night. The swiftness and depth of his excitement stunned him.

After a quick peek in the bar, he noticed Kevin seemed to be handling things fine as usual, so he lead Ronnie up the stairs. He hung her light jacket in his closet. He took her hand; his thumb caressed the top as he led her to the movies on the shelves.

“Pick one out,” he rasped huskily.

Ronnie scanned the shelves and studied the titles. Damn, she looked beautiful. He loved it when she wore her hair down as she did tonight. She wore black jeans and a silk blouse, a light peach color that complimented her skin.

Finally sensing his gaze, she shyly looked up at him.

“Hi,” Nick whispered.

He heard it, a tiny moan bubbled up her throat. That slight sound nearly brought him to his knees. To hell with watching a movie. He cupped her face and began to kiss her, passionately, thoroughly, and more deeply than he had any woman, even with her. Nick flicked his tongue at the corner of her lush, freckled lips and she immediately opened and invited him into her warmth. His hands left her face and ran down her sides until they cupped her rear. He lifted and brought her right against his iron-hard shaft.

Ronnie threw her arms around his neck and moaned. Their tongues danced seductively, they all but inhaled each other. Nick wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands supporting her ass.

He pulled his lips away enough to gasp, “No movie?”

Ronnie kissed his face, her hands roamed through his hair.

“No movie.”

Nick ran toward his bedroom while Ronnie kissed him frantically. He lowered her, and her body ran down the whole long length of him while her toes felt for the floor.

Her cupped her face again, a gesture he could not seem to stop. He gazed at her face and studied every adorable freckle. Her glasses slid down her nose, he laughed. Reaching up, he gently removed them.

“Can you make love without them?” he whispered. “If not, I’ll put them back on because I want you to see everything I’m going to do to you, and with you.”

• • •

Veronica gazed at Nick, never seen such emotion in his eyes. He usually guarded his feelings. He probably wasn’t even aware he showed them. Could she see desire, yearning and maybe more?

“We’d better keep them nearby, just in case.”

Nick started undoing the buttons on her blouse.

“I’ve fantasies about you,” he growled. “Wearing a certain outfit. Do you want me to show you?”

Well, that sparked her curiosity.

“All right, it won’t take long will it?”

Nick jumped into his large, leather swivel office chair in front of his computer. He brought it out of sleep mode and typed the address in the URL line, his long fingers clicking away on the mouse.

“Only take a minute,” he murmured.

Veronica picked up her glasses off the desk and put them on, then looked over his shoulder.

“You know the website address by heart?”

“Yep.”

He gave one last click and a picture appeared on the screen. She leaned in closer, her breasts touched his shoulder. Nick moaned.

“Sorry,” she laughed, backing up a bit.

“Don’t be.”

“Nick — is that — a girdle?”

Veronica couldn’t believe it. He was on a vintage lingerie site
. Lingerie for that feminine, classic look.

“It’s a sort of girdle, a corselet if you will.” He reached around and brought her to stand between his spread legs, his hands roamed all over her body. “You’ve got the curves baby, to pull that look off.”

Veronica stared at the model. She wasn’t skinny, but she wasn’t fat either. The outfit was all white, from the body-hugging open girdle to the garters, white stockings and white high heel shoes. The model also wore sheer white gloves past the elbow and a string of glistening white pearls. Very classic indeed, right out of the Fifties. Well, Nick was certainly full of surprises.