Want Me (4 page)

Shannon sighed.

He accidentally brushed her arm. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more considerate. I will. I haven’t had to be for a while.”

She stared at the place he’d touched her, and when she looked up again, he knew he was in trouble. She was a very beautiful woman. Not a kid, not a teen. And he’d spent a few hours of sleeplessness thinking about how pale her skin was and if all her hair was as stunningly red. He’d felt weird about that last night, but not now. He wanted her, and he was pretty damn sure she wanted him right back.

She cleared her throat, then hurried into the bathroom and shut the door.

It was a problem. He had no idea what the ground rules were. Except that he had no business being half-hard standing in the hallway. He made it to Myles’s room in case Brady hadn’t gone to his girlfriend’s place last night, but Nate was acutely aware that the next door over was Shannon’s bedroom. That she was taking a shower right this minute. Naked. Pale. Her nipples would be pink. Like the color of her blush.

Shit.

* * *

“W
AIT
,” S
HANNON
SAID
,
pointing at Nate. “Come over here and stand in front of the fireplace.”

“Why?” He glanced at his watch.

“It’ll only take a second. I need a couple of pictures.”

He frowned at her, but he was moving in the right direction. “For what?”

“Neighborhood blog. No big deal, but I edit the damn thing and I need filler.”

“Wait a minute. What are you going to say?” He had reached the brick fireplace and placed his hand on the mantel.

She doubted he even realized he was posing, but she brought up her cell phone quickly, clicking as often as she could between flash charges. “You live a very adventurous and heroic life,” she said, moving a bit to her right to get another angle. Then she zoomed in even closer. He looked great in his dark suit, no tie, off-white shirt with the top button undone. She wished she could have gotten him in his towel this morning, but then again, she probably wouldn’t have been able to keep her hands steady.

She clicked again. “You’re a native son. It’ll make a great story.”

“How many people read this blog of yours?”

“Oh, a lot.”

“I’m not sure about this. There are people I don’t want to see. I was hoping to keep the visit quiet.”

“Oh, well, that’s easy to solve. I’ll run it after you’re gone. And I’ll make sure to say great things about your organization. I looked it up. You guys do fantastic work.”

“Yeah, we do. And they’ll appreciate the mention,” he said, then glanced at his watch again. “I’ve got to go.”

“Fine,” she said, stealing one last picture.

“But I get to read it, and if I don’t like it, you’re not going to run it.”

She wanted to argue, but it didn’t really matter. She could easily skip writing a piece for the blog. This session was about the trading cards. “Deal,” she said.

“Okay. See you tonight.”

“Maybe Molly’s?”

He smiled as he passed her. “Yeah, Molly’s sounds great.”

She watched him as he walked, still stunned at her reaction to his…to him. The thing was, she hadn’t expected the change. He’d been one of those narrow boys, no ass, no chest to speak of. Like most of her brothers. Myles hadn’t been that way, though, at least not after puberty hit. He’d gathered a harem when he got on the junior varsity football team, and that hadn’t all been due to padding.

But Nate, he’d had an average, if slim, silhouette the last time they’d been to the community swimming pool. He’d been seventeen, she’d been twelve, and she’d threatened to drown him if he continued to splash her with his stupid cannonballs.

He wasn’t average anymore. Not a muscle man, either, just, well, sculpted. Defined. Enough chest hair to be enticing instead of daunting, and those guns…who would have guessed?

She’d reacted. As any woman would. But being attracted to Nate seemed every kind of wrong.

She’d make his trading card first thing. Get him out on the market. It probably was good that she hadn’t taken a picture of his naked chest. There’d be a riot at St. Marks.

Her mother’s call from the kitchen snagged her attention, but a quick look at the clock got her moving. She had a huge day ahead, and now she was going to have to put together Nate’s card.

It was possible that would have to wait. The lunch group wouldn’t get together for another week. For now, she’d look at the pictures, make sure she had a winner. She hoped so. It would be difficult to come up with another excuse.

“I’ll have something at the plant,” Shannon said as she got her coat from the peg. “I’ll be in and out all day.”

“Don’t get doughnuts,” her mother said, popping up in the dining room. “Your father can’t say no.”

Shannon opened her mouth to object, then sighed. “How do you do that?”

“I’m your mother. You can’t keep secrets from me.”

“That’s what you think,” she said, putting her phone into her purse.

“You and Steven Patterson. Coney Island.”

Shannon froze. “What are you talking about?”

Her mother laughed. “Don’t try to fool me, missy.”

It was time for Shannon to leave before she started thinking about that tattoo and her face gave her mother more ammunition. She opened the door, but only made it halfway out.

“At least the tattoo wasn’t a tramp stamp,” her mom called out. “That would have been really embarrassing.”

Shannon closed the door behind her and blushed all five blocks to the subway.

* * *

N
ATE
STOOD
BEHIND
THE
barricade that separated the street from the construction zone. He had no idea how long he’d been standing, but when he sipped his coffee, it was lukewarm, leaning toward cold. The sign on the chain-link fence was as familiar to him as the sound of the cranes and earthmovers. Brenner & Gill. Even after he’d inherited half of the firm, the Brenner referred to his father, not himself. And in about fifteen minutes, he would be meeting with Albert Gill, his father’s partner.

Nate had known Albert most of his life. Yet he didn’t know Gill well. The basics, yes. His wife was Patty and he had two daughters, Melody and Harper. There had been Christmas dinners, because the Gills celebrated, and a couple of times they’d had Hanukkah dinners instead, even though Nate’s family were barely observant. But the families had never been friends. His father hadn’t had a gift for friendship, either. It was something of a miracle that he’d gotten married at all, given he preferred to be alone.

That’s how they’d found him. Slumped over his drafting table on a Monday morning. He’d died the Friday before sometime between seven and midnight. According to the coroner’s office, he’d gone quickly, hadn’t felt a thing.

Nate had come back for the funeral, but he hadn’t stuck around. It was a quiet business, and he’d been surprised to find that his mother and Leah had sat shivah for the whole week. Nate had worn a yarmulke, although he’d left it in the box by the door when he’d gone back to his hotel. His mother had made sure his old bedroom was left open for him, but he’d felt no need to stay.

And while he’d mourned his father, it wasn’t what he’d been led to believe was normal. Frank Brenner had been more of an idea than a dad. He showed up at the important events, paid for most of Nate’s college education, but their relationship had been about expectations and conditions. Since Nate had stopped even trying to be his father’s ideal son after graduation, there’d been very little left.

Now he would meet with Albert over lunch, and they’d have an awkward half hour when they tried to reminisce. Nate hoped their meal would be delivered quickly. Food would be an essential distraction until they got to the heart of the matter.

Albert wanted out. It was the details Nate didn’t know, the considerations. He wanted to read Albert as he spoke, figure out what he could before Nate met with his attorney.

There was a lot of money at stake. Building commercial crap paid well. The firm had a great reputation. But it wasn’t going to be close to a handshake deal. Albert had run the business. He’d made the deals, set the terms, got the financing. Nate’s father had designed the buildings, coordinated the construction plans. Albert had many, many friends. He was good with people and he was smart. No doubt he wanted a sizable amount.

What he’d get was his fair share. Nate headed to the restaurant, four blocks from the construction site, prepared to be read in return. He was up for it. He wasn’t afraid of much these days. Too much time spent facing reality.

He had to admit, though, he was looking forward to the game. He’d always liked chess.

4

D
ESPITE
THE
HORRIBLE
DAY
,
as Shannon reached the entrance to Molly’s Pub, her pulse and breathing quickened. Nate was there already. He’d texted her ten minutes ago, which was a good thing, as she’d been so caught up in looking at the receivables she’d lost track of time.

He’d said not to worry, he was relaxing with a pint. She glanced at the window that announced with green lettering that this was Molly’s Shebeen before she opened the heavy wooden door.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and there was Nate, sitting three booths from the wood-burning fireplace that was fed and stoked all winter. She hung up her coat, then went toward him, her excitement mounting.

It would be fun to talk to him, was all. She wasn’t even thinking about how he’d looked in that towel this morning. Okay, she was thinking a little about that, but she wasn’t dwelling. That would be wrong. Foolish. The minute she started truly contemplating Nate as more than a friend, things got uncomfortable. He was family, and while it wasn’t technically inappropriate, it was close enough to make her squirm.

His grin, however, made her light up. “Finally. I’m starving to death.”

“Why didn’t you order something, then?” she asked as she slid into the seat across from him.

“Because I’m polite.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re only polite when you want something. Is Danny coming?”

“Nope.” Nate took a swallow from his half-empty Guinness. “It’s just you and me.”

She picked up the menu although she didn’t need to look at it. Molly’s was literally just down the street from her house, and she’d been coming here long before she’d been legal. Not that they’d let her sit with the customers. She’d been escorted to the back room, where she’d been fed and given cold milk with her dinner, and no matter how she’d explained that in Ireland even kids got to drink beer, she was denied the pleasure until she’d hit her twenty-first birthday. Or so she’d have her family believe.

“How was your day?” she asked, content to listen to Nate all evening.

“Interesting.” He pulled out the
New York Times
classified section where he’d circled a bunch of listings. “It’s never not going to be insanely expensive to live in this city.”

“You’re right,” she said as she noticed Ellen coming over with two beers on a tray.

“How are you, Shannon?”

“Good, thanks.”

Ellen put a perfectly chilled and poured Guinness in front of her, then gave Nate another. “You two want food?”

“God, yes,” Nate said. “Cheeseburger with blue for me.”

Shannon started to order her regular spinach salad, but said, “The same for me, please,” instead.

Nate’s brow rose first, then Ellen’s.

“I’ve had a bad day. I’m hungry. So you can both be quiet.”

Ellen left, and Nate leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What happened?”

“Don’t want to talk about it. Tell me what you’ve found in the paper.”

“Ah,” he said, frowning at the real-estate section. “Everyone told me this is the best time to buy, because everything’s going for rock-bottom prices. Rock bottom of what? I can’t find a decent two-bedroom town house with an on-site manager for less than a million and a half.”

“It’s still Manhattan,” she said. “People keep coming, and they keep paying.”

“Crazy is what it is.” He looked up at her with wide eyes, and even in the dim amber light, she could feel his interest. In the conversation, of course. “Your house has got to be worth many millions. You could sell that sucker and retire tomorrow, all of you. Move somewhere, pretty much anywhere but London or Paris, and live like kings for the rest of your life. And if you sold the plant, too?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen. The house has been with us for generations. We’re not about to let it go. Not the plant, either, dammit.”

His open mouth closed and his excited gaze turned to concern. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” he said. “I wasn’t serious.”

She drank some so she could get her equilibrium back. After she patted the foam off her upper lip, she smiled at him. “I know. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. As I said, bad day.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

Shannon blinked at him. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“You used to get cr—out of sorts when you waited too long to eat. When we were kids.”

“I admit, I did get cranky years ago, and all right, yes, I probably should have eaten more today. How did you even remember that?”

“Funny, huh, what sticks?” He tapped his temple. “Let’s just say I have a lot of blackmail material stored away up here.”

She feigned covering her mouth for a cough that didn’t do much to hide her saying, “Underoos.”

“Ouch,” he said. “Although, I seem to recall a My Little Pony phase that went on for an incredibly long time.”

“Those were adorable. And very appropriate for a child my age.”

“I wasn’t wearing Underoos to high school, you know.”

“No, I didn’t,” Ellen said, and Shannon and Nate looked over at the grinning waitress. She put their silverware down and patted Nate on the head. “It’s good to have you back for a visit,” she said, then wandered off.

“I never realized how much the sawdust dampens sound,” Nate said.

“I imagine everyone in the bar will be talking about your underwear in the next couple of days.”

“And people wonder why I stay overseas.”

Shannon reached for a napkin. She did wonder why he’d stayed away. And why he was so keen on selling Brenner & Gill. But she didn’t want serious tonight. She wanted to relax with her…friend.

* * *

N
ATE
WANTED
TO
PUT
HIS
ARM
around Shannon as they walked back to the house. It was close to midnight, stupidly cold, and he was so drawn to her it was a bad joke. Instead, he kept his hands in his pockets and tried to stop watching her long enough to prevent walking straight into a streetlight pole.

“I shouldn’t have had that last beer,” Shannon said.

“No, you probably shouldn’t have.”

She slowed her step and bumped his shoulder with hers. “You had more to drink than I did.”

“We weren’t talking about me. I should have stopped after my second Guinness. But come on. Guinness. At Molly’s Shebeen. How am I supposed to resist that, hmm?”

“You’re right,” she said. “You were perfectly justified. I, on the other hand, was reckless and foolish. I should be ashamed.”

“Well, hell. If you’re going to waste shame on something like having an extra beer, you should give up right now.”

Her laughter warmed him like a hot toddy. “What, you want me to rob a bank? Steal a car? Have an illicit affair?”

“Those are all legitimately shame-worthy, yes. Although I never said that shame had to come along with a prison sentence. You still need to have good judgment. So that leaves illicit affairs.”

“I don’t have anyone to be illicit with.”

“No?”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him close. There wasn’t enough beer in Molly’s to slow down his heart.

“You almost walked into that pole,” she said as she released him.

“Damn, I thought—”

“What?” she asked, and he shook his head. “You thought what?”

“Nope.”

She studied him for a second. “Coward.”

“Yep.”

She laughed. “I could get it out of you if I wanted.”

“Hey, go for it. I welcome the challenge.” Suppressing a smile, he kept walking. She hated a dare, and he doubted that had changed.

“You have some nerve bringing up good judgment,” she muttered. “I’d like to know where you got your measuring stick.”

He had a totally juvenile remark at the tip of his tongue, which only proved how deeply irresponsible he’d been about the beer. Though the pole—that had nothing to do with drinking and everything to do with the illicit-affair remark. “Experience has taught me not to sweat the small stuff.”

This time Shannon stopped completely. “You must be drunk if you’re throwing that old clunker at me. How do you know what the small stuff is? One extra drink could be devastating.”

“But you’re not driving or operating heavy machinery. You’re walking a block to your home, and you’re safely accompanied by a man who knows how to kick the crap out of anyone who might try anything untoward. Therefore, you having a third beer isn’t a big deal.”

“What do you mean you know how to kick the crap out of anyone?”

“I have skills.”

He couldn’t see her smile in the shadow between streetlights, but he would swear on his life he could feel it.

“Would those be mad skills?” she asked in the most smart-ass, taunting voice he could imagine.

“They would,” he said, realizing that with every word he was digging himself a deeper hole.

“Of the martial-arts variety?”

“And if I said yes?”

She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “You still have every single comic you ever bought, don’t you?” Poke. “You store them in airtight containers and don’t let other humans touch them.” Poke. “You don’t have to rent your costume for Halloween. Ever.”

He grabbed her poking hand and walked her toward a streetlight until he was sure they could see each other well. “I do have a hell of a comic collection, which is worth a great deal, by the way. I do store some of them in a temperature- and humidity-controlled storage facility because of their value. I do not have costumes in my wardrobe, however. But I’ve been known to go to comic conventions and I keep up with the industry. I like comics. I like graphic novels. And someday, if you agree not be bitchy about it, I would like to show you why.”

There was a moment of silence. Not just from Shannon, but from the street, from the city. A fleeting lull in the traffic, the subway vibrations, the chatter of pedestrians. He heard her inhale, sharp and startled, as if the last thing in the world she’d expected was his little speech.

He was surprised himself, so that seemed fair. He’d had no preparation, though, for how she was looking at him. As if he was someone unexpected. Someone interesting in a way he shouldn’t be.

Good. That’s what he’d wanted. And if he hadn’t had the extra beer, he’d lean over right this second and kiss her until she cried uncle. But he was tipsy enough to know that he was treading on thin ice, illustrated perfectly by his use of the word
tipsy.

Both of them having inappropriate thoughts didn’t mean the thoughts were no longer inappropriate. He had one place he considered home in this world, and to risk that, he’d have to be sober as a judge and twice as sure.

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice a breathless whisper in the quiet. “A lot.”

“Yeah?”

Her nod was slow but it still made that gorgeous hair of hers move forward on her shoulder. He raised his hand, but the last vestiges of good sense stopped him from carrying out the gesture. He was going to be at the Fitzgeralds’ for several weeks. There would be time to figure things out. Time to see where the lines were drawn.

The last thing on earth he wanted was to be ashamed about anything to do with Shannon. So tonight, he’d walk her home and he’d sleep it off.

Tomorrow he might curse himself for letting this chance go by, but better safe than sorry when there was so much at stake.

Dammit, he was going to wake up to his second hangover in two days. The sooner he got back to his real life the better off he’d be. He looked again at Shannon as they reached the steps of the brownstone. Then again, as long as he had to be here, he might as well enjoy the visit.

* * *

S
HANNON
HADN
’
T
SEEN
N
ATE
at breakfast, and she was almost late because she’d dawdled, hoping. Then she’d castigated herself the whole way to the plant. Last night hadn’t been a date. She wasn’t sure precisely what it had been, but not a date.

Despite the extra beer, she’d stayed up far too late. Her brain wouldn’t stop. Thoughts of his voice, his scent, how he looked in a suit were only the beginning. She imagined vividly his friendly touch on the small of her back sliding past her waist until his palm slowly brushed over the curve of her behind.

A smile, then as his gaze hit her lips, the heat of his breath, the brush of a tentative kiss.

An innocent look turned smoldering, unmistakable want.

By the time she’d entered her office, she knew her first order of business wasn’t going to be a call to the deputy commissioner in charge of Union Square Park. That and everything else on her list would wait while she turned her total attention to creating Nate’s trading card. Maybe then she could stop obsessing.

He was going to be staying at the house for several weeks at least, and wouldn’t it be nice and smart to hook him up with one of her friends from the lunch exchange? He’d be otherwise occupied while she pulled a new card or two for herself. The next lunch exchange meeting was coming up soon, and she had six new trading cards to prepare including Nate’s.