by Kylie Brant
“You don’t really want to continue this line of conversation, do you, Lowrey?” Sully asked tonelessly. The man’s dark eyes widened, and his hands came up in a vain attempt to break the hold. Sully’s fingers tightened, and color washed into the other man’s face as he fought for oxygen. “Because it really isn’t healthy for you.” A tinge of suppressed fury entered his voice as he advised lowly, “We’re not going to talk about that woman, and you’re not even going to think about her. My life, my business. Understood?” He waited for the man’s frantic nod before slowly releasing his grip and sinking back in the booth. He sipped at his cup of coffee while Kale coughed and sput tered, gasping for air.
“You...you’re a lunatic, you know that?” Kale wheezed. He drew in several deep breaths, his fingers soothing his throat. His eyes glittered angrily. “You’re becoming just as crazy as those lowlives you do business with.”
“Present company included, I presume.”
“You’re perfect for this job,” Kale said bitterly. “You really are a bastard.”
“Yes.” There was no humor in the smile Sully gave him. “I really am. I’ll let you know when I hear from Conrad again. You’ll get your part in the action. But I set the terms.”
“You always do,” the other man muttered bitterly.
Sully smiled grimly. “That’s because I’m in charge, friend. You seem to have a problem remembering that.” He reached into his pocket and threw some bills on the table, noting Kale’s involuntary flinch at his sudden action. The show of fear gave him no pleasure. Sliding out of the booth, he stood and said, “I’ll be in touch,” then turned and strode away.
He waited until he was back in his apartment before he allowed himself to examine the scalding burn of fury in his gut. His anger, however, wasn’t directed at Lowrey, but at himself. As he showered away the day’s sweat and grime from his job, the cold taste of guilt pooled in his mouth.
He turned off the water and stepped out of the small enclosure, drying off with abrupt, almost violent motions. He savagely welcomed the burst of pain in his battered ribs. He ripped away the saturated bandage and discarded it. After a quick examination of the pinkish wound, he decided to leave it bare. He’d known he’d taken a chance bringing Ellie here, to his building. He hadn’t seen any other way at the time, and dammit, if he had a chance he wouldn’t choose differently. She’d needed him, and he’d helped her the only way he’d been able to.
He’d never considered a time limit, although he’d realized that Ellie’s stay next door would have to be brief. But first she’d needed time to heal, and then time to get a job. And then...
And then what, Sullivan? he jeered at his scowling reflection in the tiny mirrored cabinet. And then you just got used to having her around and convinced yourself that there was no harm in her staying? That you could successfully keep her existence from anyone with a reason for nosing around?
He padded from the bathroom to the tiny bedroom, his big muscled body moving without a sound. Carelessly he raked a hand through his dark blond hair, before fastening it back in a short ponytail. He drew on underwear, a pair of faded jeans and a ribbed white tank undershirt. Jamming his feet into a pair of dilapidated sandals, he reflected on the fact that there always seemed to be a price for indulgences. He’d given in to his own need to have Ellie close, for just a short time, and by doing so he could easily have placed her in danger. If Lowrey had discovered her existence, then any number of people could have. The thought of Nushawn trailing her here turned his blood to ice.
He took his keys and carefully locked his apartment. He didn’t care what Ellie had to say about it; this was one decision he was going to make for her. He was going to go out, buy a newspaper and find her another apartment. One in a better part of town, with a higher class of neighbors and a cruiser that actually patrolled the street once in a while. A place away from him. A place where she would be safer.
His mouth quirked in a humorless smile. With Ellie across town, they’d both be safer. He moved down the hallway, his ears automatically attuned for any sound coming from her apartment. He was several paces past her door before he stopped and retraced his steps. This time he listened, really listened, and what he heard had the scowl returning, full force.
Silence.
There was no TV, no radio, no sound of Ellie moving about. He couldn’t hear her fixing supper, taking a shower or the faint whir of the throwing wheel she had tucked in a corner of the living room. She wasn’t home.
He took a quick look at his watch; it was eight already, even later than he’d thought. She was always home by sixthirty, even if she stopped to pick up something to eat. He knew her routine, and it was branded on his mind.
He pulled his keys out and selected a copy of the one he’d given her the day he’d moved her in there. Without compunction, he opened the door and walked into her apartment. It was warm and humid inside, the window unit rattling as it churned out its pitiful efforts to cool the air. It took only a few seconds to ascertain what he already knew. She wasn’t there.
He roamed around her small living room. This was ridiculous; Ellie had a right to her own life, and she certainly could decide to change her routine on a whim, if that’s what she chose. He knew it was the recent mention of her by Kale that had his instincts twisting with anxiety now, but he wished like hell that he knew where she was.
The window unit sputtered, gave a death rattle and went still. Swearing, Sully strode over to it and gave it a sharp bang with his palm. Unlike on some previous occasions, it failed to respond to that method of resuscitation. His hands on his hips, he surveyed it with all the frustration he was currently feeling. The urgency of his earlier plan for the evening abruptly vanished. Apartment hunting could wait for now. There was no way he was going out while she was missing.
He crossed to her tiny kitchen and yanked open the drawer next to the stove. There, in a neat little bundle, was her meager collection of tools. He grabbed them and returned to the air conditioner. Already the warm air in the apartment was turning more moist, and he could feel his undershirt clinging to him. Kneeling down in front of the unit, he used a screwdriver with barely restrained violence, removing the front panel and setting it ungently on the floor.
He knew he was overreacting. He had no reason to trust Kale, but he didn’t think the man would tell anyone about Ellie. At least not yet. He was still jockeying for a high-profile part in the next deal Sully ran for Conrad; hopefully his ambition would keep him silent for a while longer. Grease smeared on Sully’s fingers as he thrust them into the dirty coil of the air conditioner. The thought failed to settle his unease. If Kale had found out about Ellie’s proximity, there was no telling who else had, or could. He had to get her out of here before someone on the street became too nosy and decided that Sully might be made vulnerable through her. He couldn’t do his job with the constant worry of protecting her, as well. He just hoped like hell that she wasn’t in need of protection right now.
One hour, he thought grimly, as he carefully cleaned the coil and tightened it again. He’d give her an hour before he went out looking for her, although he hadn’t the slightest idea where to start.
And he’d give himself one week. He gave the bolt he was tightening a vicious twist. One week to find her another apartment and move her to a place where she’d be safer, more secure. One week to return to his accustomed solitary way of life.
The wrench slipped, slicing a shallow groove across the fleshy pad of his finger. Blood welled rapidly, but he barely noticed the pain. He was too busy fighting the deeper agony inside.
One week. One week to cut her out of his life again.
Chapter 5
“Where the hell have you been?”
The snarled words, coming from what should have been an empty. apartment, startled her, and Elizabeth dropped the sacks she’d been carrying, grasping the doorjamb for support.
Sully stepped out of the shadows in the small living room, a wild pendulum of worry and rel
ief swinging inside him. Although he had no idea what had caused her unusual departure from her normal schedule, the sight of her temporarily allayed his fears. She was obviously all right, although not fully recovered from the scare he’d just given her. Which was nothing, he thought grimly, compared to the one she’d put him through.
Leaning against the doorjamb,, she drew a shaky breath. “You’re going to put me in an early grave, Sullivan.” Bending to retrieve her sacks, she missed the sudden bleakness in his eyes. “With your unexpected appearances, you’d be a smash working with Copperfield.”
She dropped her parcels on the love seat, then went back to close the door. Turning to face him, she continued, “Am I to assume from your cordial greeting that you’ve been waiting for me?”
Tamping down the fear and frustration that had been roiling inside him for the past hour, he lifted a shoulder. “When I checked, you weren’t home. Then the air conditioner gave out, and I’ve been fixing that.”
She seemed to really look at him for the first time, and noted the towel he held clenched in one hand. He waited tensely for her to demand to know why he’d come in her apartment in the first place, mentally readying himself to counter her curiosity. But the question never came. Instead, her gaze slid away. She offered a murmured “Thanks,” and turned back to her packages.
He stilled, his eyes narrowing. Her movements were awkward, and her manner self-conscious. But there were other differences, more obvious ones.
“What’d you do to your hair?” New bangs teased her forehead, flirting with her dark brows.
She sent him a quick glance over her shoulder. “Cut it.” She reached up and released the pins, allowing her hair to topple from its knot. But it didn’t cascade to her waist; it fell to a length that just brushed her shoulders when she swung her head. “Do you like it?” Her voice held a hint of anxiety.
Feeling like he should tread carefully without knowing why, he countered, “Do you?”
She ran a hand up to her nape, and let the shorter strands trickle through her fingers. “Yes,” she said decidedly. “It feels...free.”
His gaze fixed on those strands, and his palms tingled. He could still feel its silkiness when it had been crushed in his palm. To distract his hands from the urge to repeat that action, he transferred the packet of tools from one hand to another, and back again.
“I went shopping, too,” she said unnecessarily. She smiled a half embarrassed, half pleased smile. “As a matter of fact, I’m wearing one of my purchases.”
She bent over to retrieve the sacks she’d dropped. One had partially spilled its contents, a brilliant tangle of lace and silk. A heat owing nothing to the humid air arrowed deep within him, and a very familiar need coiled in his gut.
“I felt like celebrating tonight. Help me?”
With eyes made deliberately blank, he examined the bottle of champagne she held up. “What are we celebrating?”
She moved to the kitchen to take two glasses from the cupboard, and wrestled with the cork on the bottle. When it popped, the champagne bubbled up and over the narrow neck. Ellie put her lips to the bottle and dammed the flow.
Razor-edged lust sliced into him. The need to escape was just as primal as the need to protect, both her and himself.
“We are celebrating—” she held the bottle high, before lowering it to pour the sparkling liquid into two glasses “—new beginnings.”
He remained rooted in place, and she approached him, handing him a glass. His fingers opened to take it, being careful, very careful, not to touch hers. He watched her sip, watched her nose wrinkle as the bubbles tickled it and took a savage breath. One drink. He owed her that much.
Taking a healthy swallow, he asked, “Did you win the lottery?”
She shook her head, and he watched, fascinated, as the ends of her hair swirled across her shoulders. “Better. Much better. I might, just might, have someone interested in stocking some of my pieces.”
His pleasure was simple and genuine. “Good for you, Ellie. Who is it?”
She finished the champagne in her glass and crossed to the kitchen to pour herself some more. “A friend of Monica’s. He’s got a very upscale shop, just minutes from the gallery. Sells all kinds of handmade gifts, crafts and such. He said he’d take a look at them. I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up but...” She raised shining eyes to his. “This could be the break I’ve been waiting for, Sully.”
He’d never grown used to the emotion that overcame him at the sight of her, dreams in her eyes. He didn’t have a name for it, but it filled a place in him that was usually empty and cold. “You deserve it, kid. I’ve always known you were talented.”
She laughed then, and drank recklessly. “Let’s just hope that Simon Boze thinks so.”
He cradled his glass in his palm as she finished off the contents in hers. “Maybe we should go out and do this in style.”
“I don’t want to go out.” She brought the bottle to him and tipped some more champagne in his glass, before refilling her own. Then, kicking off her sandals, she sat down on the carpet, leaning against the love seat. “You can help me celebrate right here.”
“If you don’t take it easy with that bottle, tomorrow your head’s going to feel like a jackhammer’s taken up residence.”
She merely smiled at him, noticeably more relaxed than she’d been when she’d entered the apartment. Toasting him with her glass, she said, “Just this once, I’m willing to take that chance.”
He drank, while reflecting on what else he could do. “We need to get some food in you.”
“I bought some meat, cheese and crackers. If you ask real nicely, I’ll let you cut them up.”
He crossed the room and dug through her bags cautiously, finally finding one with a market’s name emblazoned across it. He was as familiar with her kitchen as he was with his own, and before long he had a plate loaded with slices of summer sausage, cheese and crackers. He took it over to her and set it on the floor in front of her. Not trusting her to eat without persuasion, he took the glass out of her hand, set it out of her reach and sandwiched some of the cheese and meat between two crackers. He handed it to her silently.
She was surveying him with amusement dancing in her eyes. “You sure know how to ruin a good buzz.”
“Yeah, I’m a fun hater. Just eat.”
She obeyed, taking the food he offered and sinking her teeth into it. Crumbs scattered over her lips, and Sully’s body went tense. It would be so easy to dip his head, to clean those crumbs away with a swipe of his tongue. Too easy.
Releasing a breath, he got up and went back to the kitchen, needing distance to clear his head. He busied himself cleaning up the small mess he’d created when he’d prepared the food, and pushed her packages aside. He saw the envelope among the bags and picked it up. “What’s this?”
She glanced up, diverted from the task of piling a slice of cheese on a piece of meat. “That, my friend, is the start of a whole new life.”
His brows pulled together, and he reached in to take the papers out and scan them. Emotion shifted inside him. His eyes squeezed shut once, hard, then he opened them and directed a glance at the woman on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Ellie.” The words were as difficult to say as they were to mean, and they sounded hollow, even to his ears. There might have been sorrow circling in the emotions swirling through him, but it wasn’t for the fact that her marriage was officially over. It was for the pain he knew she was feeling. The relief that flickered inside him made him the worst kind of SOB. He pushed the knowledge aside. He was too aware of his own flaws to give them much consideration.
“You should be,” she said, brushing the crumbs from her mouth. “You cut enough food here for a half-dozen people, and you haven’t taken a bite yet. Are you trying to get me fat, as well as sober?”
He stared hard at her. He was a man unused to offering comfort, but she meant too much to him not to try. Slowly he returned to sit down on the floor across from her,
leaning against the footrest of the recliner. “I know it’s hard for you,” he said, searching for words. “But you made the right decision. And I’m here.” He stopped, made even more uncomfortable by her clear, direct gaze when it met his. His next words were little more than a mutter. “If you need me.”
His heart hitched in his chest when she smiled at him, one of those brilliant, thousand-watt smiles that never failed to make him feel like he was going under for the third time. He tore his gaze away and dragged some oxygen into his lungs. And felt her hand cup his jaw.
“Sully.” He didn’t look at her, couldn’t. He knew he’d see the tenderness of her voice reflected in her eyes. He remained motionless, every nerve in his body screaming with tension. His first impulse, as always, was to pull away from that soft touch. It would leave a lingering warmth in its wake that was impossible to erase, impossible to forget.
“You’ve always been there. You’re such a wonderful friend. But you’re wrong.”
He reached up for her wrist and moved her hand away, even as he directed his gaze back to hers. When he released her, she slid her fingers down to catch his palm. Leaning forward, she said seriously, “You think I’m sad about the divorce being final. I’m not.”
Her words almost diverted his attention from her fingers linking through his. Almost. “It’s normal to feel sad when a marriage is over.”
“It was over six months ago. This just finalizes it. Thanks to Monica, I had several hours this afternoon to sort out just what I am feeling.”
“And that is?”
She paused, as if considering her words. “Free. I’ve been building a new life for myself, but it was still like there was something hovering over me. Now that the divorce is final, there’s this incredible sense of anticipation.” A laugh bubbled out of her. “It’s like I have all these paths open to me, and each one leads to a new adventure. It’s... exhilarating.”
He pulled his hand away from hers under the pretext of reaching for his glass. Suddenly his throat was parched. “That’s the champagne talking.”