Play Dirty: Brooklyn Dawn Book 1

by Quinn, Cari

  He was hard for me.

  I could feel it slipping between my thighs and along the cleft of my ass. But he didn’t seem inclined to slide into me, even if it would be the sweetest way for us to connect. Instead, it was all give and no take.

  Maybe that was what finally released the dam.

  I didn’t understand it, but he didn’t shrink away from me. He simply turned me into his arms and held me as I cried. He said soft words in a language I didn’t understand, but it soothed more than anything else ever had in my life.

  By the time I was cried out, the water was finally starting to cool.

  He eased me under the rain hood to rinse away the last of the suds and hair products, the tears, and the pain. I tipped my chin up to meet his stark blue eyes. His inky lashes were starred with wetness. Water sluiced between us, trailing over his silvery scars that slashed over his neck and shoulder into his chest. I knew his back was worse.

  I wanted to know what happened.

  The truth, not the rumors and tall tales that had been drifting around for the last decade. But I didn’t want to ask. I wanted him to tell me freely.

  More things I wanted I wasn’t sure I’d ever get from him.

  He cupped my face and lowered his mouth to mine. The kiss was sweet and soft and all too brief.

  “I don’t know how to turn off your fancy shower, duchess,” he said against my mouth with a crooked smile.

  I reached back for the panel and pressed cancel.

  The deafening roar simply was gone, leaving just our light breathing. Until his gaze drifted over my body to my ribs. His eyebrows snapped down. “What’s this?” He teased his thumb over a purplish mark.

  “Nothing.” I moved to the shower door and found my towel on the warmer just outside. I stepped out and pulled it around me, but Nash jerked it back off. “Hey.”

  “Did someone hit you?”

  “Yeah, a door.”

  “Explain.” The anger was back in his arctic eyes. “You have much to explain.”

  I sighed. And we were doing so well.

  I took the towel back and tucked it around me. “I need something to eat and to be dressed for this conversation.”

  He swore behind me. I didn’t even feel bad when he had to rummage through three closets to find towels. Prick.

  I touched the small electronic plate outside my closet. I had an absurd amount of clothes and had opted for an over the top closet to house them all. The racks of my high-end label and clubbing clothes slid back as my comfort wear came forward. I pulled a pair of yoga pants off the shelf and my favorite off the shoulder sweater from the rack. Then I moved to my lingerie drawers for a pair of panties. I didn’t bother with a bra at this time of night.

  He was watching me, his silent anger infesting my usual place of serenity. I didn’t let men into this space. Hell, I didn’t let anyone in here really. Jamie didn’t count, since she pushed her way into every corner of my life.

  It was just her way.

  Nash? Well, I supposed he wasn’t much different from Jamie. I wasn’t sure I wanted to pick at that too closely.

  Instead, I dropped my towel to step into my panties.

  He drew in a breath. I glanced over my shoulder and my own breath stalled. Water from my wet hair dripped down my breasts. I told myself it was the cool air that made my nipples tighten, not Nash in his bare feet with only a pair of unbuttoned jeans on.

  He wasn’t really a workout guy like most of the men who surrounded me, but he had to do something based on the ropey muscles of his arms and his trim belly. The breadth of his shoulders and chest gave me pause. He didn’t leave his shirt off for very long around me.

  Other than that day at the waterfall, which had been an anomaly in so many ways. For both of us.

  I was still mad at him, but my body definitely wasn’t on track with that particular program.

  I pulled my sweater over my head to shield my reactions to him. Not that it helped much. I’d been fairly blessed in the tits department. They were sensitive as hell and my nipples stood out under the ancient berry colored sweater.

  He crossed to me, his gaze raking over me as I stepped into my yoga pants.

  He bent to pick up my towel. “Are you a slob, duchess?”

  I arched a brow at him. “Sometimes.”

  “Hmm.” He lowered his mouth to mine. I was tempted to bite him, but he’d stopped demanding answers. The kiss wasn’t gentle. That Nash was back in his box. It was deep and consuming. Distracting.

  It was exactly what I needed. And then my stomach growled.

  He straightened, that eyebrow winging up again. “Hungry, I take it?”

  I shrugged. “I can’t really remember when I ate.”

  “All right. Find some shoes for those dainty feet.”

  I glanced down at my ruby-colored toenails. Not many people called my big feet dainty. Being closer to six-feet tall didn’t make anything on me truly delicate. “Where are we going at nearly four in the morning?”

  “This is New York, babe. There’s always someplace open.” He tweaked my nipple through my sweater before turning around to head back to the bathroom.

  Who was this playful guy?

  I tugged on a pair of socks and my sturdy Hunter boots to combat the perpetual wet fall nights in New York. Then I went into the bathroom to find Nash tucking in his dark gray thermal shirt.

  Too bad. I was hoping for a little more skin action.

  I picked up my hairdryer, bent, and flipped my hair forward to do a quick dry.

  “Duchess, I haven’t been inside you in weeks. You keep angling that ass at me and we’re never getting out of here.”

  I smiled up at him but didn’t say anything, just kept fluffing my crazy curls so I wouldn’t be going outside with wet hair.

  He crossed his arms and watched me. He really didn’t have a good sense of that whole personal space thing. I tried to ignore the intimacy, choosing to keep going with my usual quick-hit beauty regimen.

  I flipped my hair back and quickly wound it into a loose braid over my shoulder. I dabbed on some moisturizer and lip gloss then turned to him. “Ready.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Is that the only warpaint you’re putting on?”

  “You wouldn’t be saying I need any, would you?”

  “No.” He stepped closer to me, sliding his arm around my waist. He smelled of me, which didn’t quite match his dark and brooding nature.

  “You can go, you know. I have…something in my freezer.” Who knew what it would be? I hadn’t been truly home in months. However, my housekeeper usually kept me set up with some easy to make food.

  “So touchy.”

  I laid my hand on his chest. “It’s been a day.”

  He touched his forehead to mine. “I know. I lost about five years with your friend’s phone call. Especially since it should have been you informing me, not some stranger.”

  “Who?”

  “Jamie.”

  “Really?” Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought she would call him. She didn’t even really like Nash. “How did she get your number?”

  “That I don’t know. She’s a little scary.”

  “Accurate.”

  “That’s not the point, duchess. It should have been you.”

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t seem to care prior to a little backstage drama.”

  “Drama? Is that what we’re calling it?”

  “Alex…” I tried to step back.

  He held me tight. “What happened?”

  “I overreacted.”

  “You’re not the type.”

  I pressed my lips together. He had me there. “No. And it wasn’t that big of a deal—”

  “I beg to differ.” His icy eyes flashed dangerously.

  I lifted my hand to his neck, stroking my thumb along his stubbled jaw. “Evidently, my team agrees with you. It was ugly, but it wasn’t like he came at me.”

  His jaw flexed, and I could practically feel his molars grinding from
here.

  “It was just a ruined poster. But it was more that he got backstage that upset my security people. Add in the itchy trigger finger Ripper Records has with any security breaches and it escalated quickly. And…” I didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire, but I wasn’t sure if the phone calls were part of it or not.

  Most likely not. I hoped.

  His eyes narrowed. “And?”

  “Some weird phone calls.”

  “What kind of calls?”

  “Weird.”

  His hand slid down to my ass to drag me closer. “Care to extrapolate a fucking bit?”

  I shrugged. His Irish was deepening with his anger. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything more, but I didn’t want to lie. “I don’t know how to explain it. Something obviously recorded. Voices in the background. I can’t make them out, but I’d swear it was us.”

  He stilled. “Us?”

  I nodded. “I can’t explain why. Just a feeling.”

  “How many?”

  I tilted my head. “What, are you a security expert now?”

  “No. But are we talking daily calls?”

  “No. It’s only been a couple.”

  “How about a straight answer?”

  “Two for sure. Others were hangups.”

  “And you didn’t change your number?”

  “Yes. That was what I did first. Remember, I sent you the new number last week? There haven’t been any new calls since then.”

  “Right. I never get to keep a number for very long. I didn’t think anything of it. Between people selling my number and losing my damn phone, I’ve had to replace mine a dozen times this year.”

  “Yeah, well, I have one private number, and I’d had it for a damn long time. Pissed me off to change it.”

  “I’m sorry, duchess.”

  “Why? It’s not your fault.”

  He cupped my cheek. “I don’t like it.”

  Ignoring the warmth in my chest was getting harder to do. “And I wasn’t wild about your radio silence this week.”

  “It was a shite week. I’m having trouble with Matthias. He’s having personal issues.”

  “That’s an excuse, and you know it.”

  He tugged me against him. If we got any closer, I was going to be part of his damn skin. The hardness of his thighs, his solid chest, even the bulge that never quite lessened when we were together—all of them were playing dirty with my emotions. “You scare the fuck out of me, duchess. On more than one level. I’m trying to get my head around us.”

  “You’re not the only one, you know.”

  “I’m glad you’re here so I can see you for myself. Know that every hair on your gorgeous head is intact.”

  “Remains to be seen. You do like to pull it.” I eased back and tucked my fingers into his hand. “Now can you feed me?”

  His gaze drifted to my mouth.

  “Food, Alex.”

  “Yeah, food.” He laced our fingers together and brought them up to nip at my wrist. “I’m driving.”

  “Handy. I don’t have a license.”

  “Seriously?”

  I shrugged. “I have George. He tried to teach me, but it ended up more like that scene from Clueless. He gave up pretty quickly.”

  “I don’t really know that reference, but I can imagine it includes much screaming?”

  “Accurate.”

  He shook his head with a long-suffering sigh.

  I grabbed a light jacket on the way out the door. As I was locking up, he caged me in. “You won’t be back tonight.”

  My skin heated and a whole new set of nerves jangled inside me. “Is that right?”

  He nipped at the sensitive skin behind my ear. “I need you under me tonight. So, tell that behemoth you call a driver you won’t be home. I don’t want the cops knocking down my damn door.”

  I didn’t really take anything with me other than my phone, which wasn’t like me at all. I normally had a huge bag on me at all times. As usual, around Nash I didn’t do my typical things.

  For once, I wasn’t going to worry about it. I had two days before I had to be back on tour.

  Maybe we’d come back so I could pack a bag. Or maybe we wouldn’t.

  Go with the flow was my new motto. At least for tonight.

  He opened the car door for me, and I settled in the oversized leather seat. I took out my phone and quickly dashed a text off to George, as well as one to Jamie.

  Having a cop on Nash’s ass wasn’t nearly as intense as having a Jamie. Seemed safer.

  When he got in, I fastened my belt. “Does this mean you’re taking me to your secret lair?”

  He gripped the wheel, the leather squeaking under the pressure. “Yeah. If that’s all right?” he asked gruffly.

  Now he asked. Typical. I was curious enough to see the ultra-private residence of one of the most infamous hermits in the industry that I didn’t call him out on it.

  “Feeding me first, right?”

  “Yes, duchess. I’m going to feed you.” He started the rumbling engine and pulled onto the nearly deserted street.

  The trip into the city was quiet. He seemed to know streets I’d never heard of in my life, and I’d lived in New York for twenty-seven years.

  Finally, we pulled into a side alley that looked as if it was the setting for an episode of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. But then a bright neon light buzzed out of the night. Sid’s was all it said.

  He parked, jumped out, and came around to open my door. I could get used to this Alex. He tugged me in for a quick kiss, then smiled against my lips. “Hope you like breakfast.”

  “I love it.”

  “Then you’ll love this place.” He slid his hand down my arm to link our fingers.

  Yeah, I was in so much trouble with this version of Alex.

  Twenty-Seven

  Of course he brought her here.

  A billionaire who loves to eat at a dive is charming and makes women toss their panties at him.

  Even this pedigreed woman. The way she watched him. The way she leaned into him to try his food.

  My fingers clenched and ached at my sides. Pain was my constant. Tight, scarred skin stretched over frayed nerves reminded me daily.

  As if I could ever forget.

  Flinches from people on the street reminded me even when I avoided the mirrors.

  I clung to the shadows. The stench of old oil and rotting meat hung in the air and now my skin as I peered around the rusty metal Dumpster. The ancient window with the hairline crack framed them like a fucking movie.

  The long, perfect line of her throat as she laughed, a glance from under her long lashes as she reached for his hand.

  Weren’t they precious?

  Until they fucked.

  More for me to record and use later.

  My cock twitched. Her choked screams played in my ears as I watched them. The original wasn’t much to work with, but I had a gift in the studio. Everyone lauded Alexander Nash, but I was an artist too.

  Until he’d taken that away from me too.

  The bulk of her breathy moans had been lost in my original recording. It was delicate work, but I’d snatched them back and brought them into sharper definition. Knocked back the rushing water, amplified her moans, and finally, those screams after he cut off her air for those precious seconds.

  The memory became sharp with the auditory reminder.

  I often wondered what it would be like if he didn’t stop squeezing her throat. If the screams went on and on...

  The jangle of the bell over the door dragged me back to the piss-soaked alley where I hid.

  Her laughter floated out into the night as they stepped outside.

  I scrabbled back like a rat. The roughness of the wet brick against my shoulder burned. My back and arm were always alive with pain. Nerve damage, the doctors had said. The agony would become more tolerable, they’d said.

  Lies.

  Always lies.

  But the pain made me str
ong. Kept the goal in sight.

  I peeked around to see the Jeep. His shoulders blocked me from seeing her, but I could hear her breathy laughter. The wet noises of their kisses.

  Finally, he stepped back and got in on the driver’s side.

  I didn’t rush to follow them. I had a small tracking device on his Jeep now. I hadn’t figured out how to do it until his recent accident.

  The idiot drove everywhere in the city. Who the fuck drove in Manhattan?

  I hated the car. But he made me drive. To follow him.

  Now I could keep tabs on him without tailing him.

  I opened the app on my phone to track their movements. I expected him to go back to her place. No one knew where he lived. Even I rarely got to see the inner sanctum.

  But I’d been in there enough. Had found ways to leave my mark, like leaving the small cameras I’d designed.

  The hours were long when the screams of metal were my constant companion. I dreamed about the crash. The blood. The screams and the smoke.

  Dragging him out of the car as my face melted.

  Falling over him in the explosion.

  Alcohol swimming in our veins, burning me from the inside out.

  I’d trusted him.

  I’d protected him.

  I hated him.

  The blip on the small map headed deeper into Manhattan instead of Brooklyn.

  He was taking her home.

  And the hate burned hotter inside me.

  Twenty-Eight

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “It looks like a place where bodies are disposed of.”

  Nash slanted me a look. “Bodies?”

  “We passed warehouses that look like they might actually be bomb shelters. Possibly worse. Crack den, anyone?”

  A low rumbling laugh escaped him. A rare occurrence except for tonight. The little dive of a diner he’d brought me to was perfect if I didn’t think too hard about the layers of ancient grease.

  Being on the road so much had definitely lowered my squick factor about eating establishments. I looked at adventurous choices as an exercise in keeping my immune system working on high. Especially with Jamie’s garbage disposal of a stomach.