Breaking the Rules

by Lewis, Jennifer

  Every surface in the apartment was crowded and cluttered with things. Boxes, candlesticks, icons, vases, trinkets of every size and description.

  Heavy lace covered the windows and ancient floral wallpaper peeked out from behind the many pictures hung on the walls or simply stuck on with tape. Susana stood against the far wall, her back stiff, her eyes darting first around the room and then to him.

  “It’s not a big place,” she started apologetically.

  Joe cut her off. “It might be if it didn’t have so much stuff in it. I thought gypsies were supposed to travel light?”

  “I guess this is what happens when they stay put too long.” A nervous smile played about her lips. “I never could get her to part with anything.”

  She glanced around the room and a tremor of sadness passed over her features. “She came here from Europe in the 1940s. She’d been imprisoned by the Nazis. She had nothing and all her family was dead.”

  “Jesus.” Joe raked a hand through his hair.

  “This was her refuge from a world she didn’t trust. I guess she piled up all this stuff around her as protection, to keep her from having nothing, from being no one again.”

  Joe blew out a blast of air. The cloying atmosphere in the room threatened to suck the breath from his body.

  “She raised her family here. She had three children. And she raised me.”

  “And now you can’t bring yourself to dismantle the world she created.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will eventually.” She removed his sweatshirt from her shoulders and folded it up. The apartment was warm, oppressively so.

  She set it down on a chair and smoothed a hand over her T-shirt, tucking it tighter into the waistband of her long skirt.

  Joe’s breath hitched as the action pulled the stretchy fabric tight against her breasts. Uh-oh, there he went, thinking about her breasts again. He was beginning to suspect they were on the large side. With no bra restraining them.

  He shifted as his jeans tightened. Remember the rules.

  He respected her rules. This was her home, her sanctuary. They barely knew each other.

  But damn she’d felt good in his arms.

  The tiny hairs on his arms pricked up at the memory. Susana held tight in his embrace, warm and soft, all woman.

  He’d kissed her on impulse, an irresistible urge to taste her berry-colored lips. He’d lost track of his own rules. He was surviving on impulse now.

  And he didn’t regret acting on it. He’d kissed her, and she’d kissed him back with a heat that threatened to engulf his own.

  “Can I offer you some tea?” Her rather formal request clashed with his steamy thoughts and startled him.

  She tucked a lock of hair nervously behind her ear.

  “Uh, sure.” Maybe tea would help calm the fever that raged in his blood as he remembered the hot, sweet taste of her mouth.

  Are you a virgin?

  The question remained unanswered. His eyes tracked Susana as she slid into the tiny kitchen, disappearing from view.

  There couldn’t be too many twenty-three-year-old virgins left in New York City.

  But then there weren’t many twenty-three-year-old gypsy fortune-tellers who lived with their grandma either. Sure, the old woman had been dead a few months but…

  He glanced around the room. A layer of dust covered the tops of the cluttered furniture. He’d bet nothing had been moved in here in a decade or more.

  A picture on top of a large, dark dresser caught his eye. A youngish woman stared hard at the camera, two black braids hanging beside her face. He took a step toward it.

  Something about her expression intrigued him. It was impossible to date the picture from her clothes. She wore a blouse and a long skirt like the one Susana had on today.

  Aggressive. Her stare was so fierce he could almost hear her speaking. Curious, he reached out a hand to pick up the tarnished silver frame.

  A terrible scream suddenly rang through the apartment, tearing the air and causing Joe to jump back two steps.

  “What the hell?”

  “Oh, be quiet, Milos.” Susana’s voice drifted in from the kitchen.

  “What?”

  A flapping sound made him turn, and for the first time he noticed a large, black birdcage, hung high in one corner of the room.

  A big gray parrot glared at him with beady eyes every bit as intense as the woman in the photograph.

  It flapped its wings again and a stream of guttural sounds emerged from its mouth in an unsettling mimicry of human speech.

  “Milos! I’m warning you.” Susana’s scolding voice cut through the parrot’s squawking.

  One beady eye bored into Joe, and he made an effort to stare back just as hard. If you let a parrot stare you down it was pretty much all over.

  “Is it saying words?” he asked, once he trusted himself to speak without sounding panicked.

  “Yes. But it only speaks Romani.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The language of the Rom, the gypsies.” Susana emerged into the room bearing two steaming mugs of tea. Her black hair was tossed behind her shoulders, giving him a clear view of her delicate features and habitual serious expression. His body heaved a sigh of relief to see her again. He took a hot mug and nodded his thanks.

  “What was he saying?”

  “You don’t want to know.” She gave the parrot a stern look. “But let’s just say he’s not crazy about you, so far.”

  “Who’s that woman in the picture?” He gestured to the woman with eyes that seemed to claw right into him as he glanced at her again.

  “That’s my Granna. It was taken not long after she arrived in New York. I think it was supposed to be shown to prospective husbands, though it doesn’t seem ideal for that purpose.”

  “Not unless the idea was to intimidate the heck out of them.”

  “She was a very strong woman.”

  “I can see that.” Joe blew on his tea. He certainly wasn’t going to try picking up that frame again. Or anything else.

  Susana sipped her tea. His insides simmered with heat at the sight of her beautiful, unsmiling mouth closing over the ceramic rim.

  Uh-oh. He had it bad.

  She closed her eyes momentarily as she sipped, and he was assaulted by the image of her writhing under him, eyes closed in blissful ecstasy as he filled her…

  He took a quick sip of the punishingly hot liquid.

  “Ouch! What is this?” The bitterness puckered his tongue.

  “Betel juice tea. My grandmother swore by it.” Her thick lashes flickered as she looked up at him.

  “For what? Destroying her enemies?”

  “You don’t like it?” Her mouth quivered with disappointment, triggering a twinge of guilt in Joe.

  “Not so far. But maybe it’ll grow on me.” He sucked his tongue and prepared for another foray into the acrid brew. “What’s it supposed to do to you, anyway?”

  Susana hesitated, licking her lips in a way that made Joe’s hand wobble slightly.

  “Ow!” He lifted his scorched hand to suck the hot drops off his skin.

  “It has a calming effect.”

  “You mean like a sleeping draught?” His gut clenched. Was she going to knock him out? And then what? He didn’t know this woman, didn’t know anything about her. For all he knew her grandmother was alive and well in the next room and he was being trapped into some crazy con game…

  “No, no, nothing like that.” She smiled, her black eyes gleaming with sudden mirth. “It’s good for you. And it, er…” She licked her lip thoughtfully, triggering a sudden flow of blood to Joe’s groin. “It takes the edge off.”

  “What edge? You mean stress?”

  “Um, yes…” she paused, shooting him a glance that said both “come hither” and “stay back” at the same time. A curl of steam licked up and kissed her face, and Joe suppressed a sudden instinct to do the same.

  The rules. Remember the rules.

  “The tea cal
ms, it eases, it makes one less…excitable.”

  “Less…passionate?” He’d begun to sniff out where this was going.

  “Yes.” A smile flickered across her lips.

  “So this tea is insurance against me jumping your bones? You don’t trust me to obey your rules.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you…” She paused, and her eyes flashed a challenge at him.

  “You should trust me. I’m a man of my word. If I say I’ll do something, then you can damn well believe I’ll do it.”

  But the dark memory of the one time he’d failed to live up to his word suddenly closed over his mind like a hood, threatening to stifle his breath. “If I can do it, I will.”

  “It’s the ‘if’ part that worries me.” Again one slim black brow lifted.

  Joe blew out a snort of air. “You think you’re pretty irresistible, don’t you? Either that or you think I’m so damn desperate I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. I’m not some horny kid fresh off a long tour at sea, you know.”

  “I know.” An apologetic tremor hung in her voice, but she tossed her head defiantly, lifting the dark mane of hair for a moment before it settled down her back again.

  “I’m thirty years old. I’m divorced. I’m jaded, worn-out, beat-up and not going anywhere fast.” He glanced at the steaming mug of pungent tea in his hand, then back up at her. “Believe me, life has taken the edge off me and filed me pretty blunt. I don’t need a cup of some witches’ brew to do it.”

  “I’m not a witch.” She shot him a look that might have hurt if he didn’t have all his shields up right now.

  “I didn’t say you were. But I’m still not drinking it.”

  He spotted a mangy looking houseplant sitting on the sill of a lace-hung window, and he strode forward and poured his tea onto the mossy soil. It sank in quickly, steam and bitter fumes rising to insult his nose.

  He heard Susana gasp behind him, but when he wheeled around her expression was impassive.

  “I guess it’ll be interesting to see if that plant is still alive in the morning.”

  “My grandmother tended that plant for more than twenty years.”

  “It looks it.” Its crinkled brownish leaves looked offended as he turned to glance at it.

  “It’s a rare herb from the Mongolian steppes. Smoking its leaves promotes mental clarity, strengthens the third eye.”

  “Do you smoke it?” He couldn’t picture Susana rolling a spliff of crinkly brown plant leaves and lighting up. Though the image made a chuckle swell in his belly. He tamped it down.

  “No.” She stared at him, eyes narrowed, “My third eye is strong enough already.”

  A chill seized him, as if he suddenly expected a third eye to appear in the middle of her smooth forehead.

  “You won’t miss the plant then,” he quipped, lifting his chin.

  “No. I suppose I won’t.” Susana very deliberately took another sip of her tea. “I’m not good at letting go of stuff, either.”

  “It’s not easy to get rid of things when a person has died. I know my mom kept my dad’s closet just as he’d left it. She couldn’t bring herself to throw anything away.”

  “How long before she changed it?”

  Joe sucked in a breath. “I don’t suppose she ever did. She died a couple of years after he did. I was away at sea, though. Everything was gone when I got back.”

  The dull ache of that pain still tugged at him. He’d kissed his mom goodbye, left his childhood home…and never seen either of them again.

  “Oh.” Concern wrinkled Susana’s brow. “That’s terrible. What happened?”

  “The landlord needed to rent the place, I guess. He kept some photos for me, important papers, that kind of thing. It’s okay with me. I don’t need a lot of stuff to remember them by.”

  “People you love are always with you, aren’t they?” Her eyes searched his face, hungry for solace.

  “Yes,” he said, trying to reassure her, wishing he could reassure himself.

  All in all, he’d rather think about her breasts.

  “So where am I sleeping?”

  “Um,” she licked her lips nervously. He liked thinking about those, too. His jeans tightened again. “I guess I’ll put you in Granna’s room.”

  His jeans suddenly grew loose. “Oh-kay. Think Granna would mind?”

  “Undoubtedly.” She giggled nervously. “But she’s not here to complain.”

  Joe wasn’t so sure. The stern warning her picture had glared at him made her presence uncomfortably vivid. And then there was her parrot.

  He glanced at the feathered monster perched on its bar in the menacing cage. It shifted from foot to foot, eyeing him, but mercifully keeping its thoughts to itself.

  “Are you afraid?” A smile quirked the corner of Susana’s mouth.

  “Never.” He drew in a breath and rose to his full height. Jeez, it was a New York City tenement building. People were going about their business in their own apartments not more than three yards away.

  Funny how he couldn’t hear any sounds from outside the apartment. Not even traffic.

  Must be double glazing.

  “Would you like to see the room?”

  “Sure.” His stomach tightened, but he forced a smile.

  “This way. She turned, her skirt twirling behind her and momentarily molding itself to the curve of her backside.

  Ah, that’s more like it.

  A flush of warmth soothed him as he followed her through the apartment.

  Susana drew in a quick breath as she placed her hand on the doorknob. She turned it and flung the door open wide as if trying to banish demons.

  Joe bit the inside of his mouth hard and leaned forward to peer in.

  “Oh.”

  The single word escaped him as he absorbed the shock of seeing a totally white space, devoid of furniture except for a single bed spread with a plain white spread.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected but that wasn’t it.

  “Where’s all the stuff?”

  Still hovering in the doorway, Susana looked at him, a little apprehensive. “It is a gypsy tradition to burn all a person’s belongings after they die.”

  “So you burned all the stuff in her bedroom.”

  She nodded. “I know it must seem odd…”

  “What seems odd is that you only burned the stuff in here but left the rest of the apartment piled high with clutter. It sounds like you had a great opportunity to redecorate from the ground up.”

  “You’re coldhearted, Joe.” Her accusatory stare made his heart bump.

  “I know.”

  Coldhearted and hot blooded, he thought, as he watched her chest heave beneath her T-shirt. She was struggling to contain some emotion she didn’t want to share, and all he could think about was the inviting roundness of her curves.

  Maybe he should have drunk the tea after all. He should be ashamed of himself. Then again, it was reassuring that at least one part of him was still in good working order. Unlike his heart and his head.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even noticed a woman. He’d thought all those kinds of instincts had dried out and shriveled up along with his faith in humanity. But Susana had got his blood pumping again.

  Maybe there was hope for him after all.

  “If you don’t want to sleep in here, I understand.” Her wary expression belied her calm voice.

  “I’d be happy to sleep here. Looks good to me,” he lied.

  Susana forced a tight smile. “Great. Let me get you a candle. The overhead light doesn’t work.”

  Joe stepped into the room and dumped his leather bag on the floor beside the bed. He raised his arms over his head and stretched, joints cracking loud as he flexed his muscles. What the heck, he’d had enough of hotel rooms.

  And this room came with the promise of breakfast with Susana.

  She returned with a thick white candle in a tarnished brass holder. She lit it with a match and placed it o
n the floor next to the bed.

  “I hope you don’t need to get a lot of reading done.” She shrugged apologetically. “Granna didn’t like electric light.”

  “Sleep is top on my agenda.”

  “Is there any particular time you’d like me to wake you?”

  “Any time you want.” He winked. And regretted it when she stiffened and looked at him sternly.

  “I’ll be locking my bedroom door.”

  Joe chuckled. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

  “Not much. I like you though.” Her hair hid her sudden smile as she twirled away from him and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

  Joe sank down onto the bed, a goofy smile spreading across his face. He liked her, too. She’d taken a chance on him, which is something no one else had been willing to do lately.

  He eased off his shoes and jeans and stretched out on his back, hands behind his head, elbows akimbo. Trying to relax.

  The candle flame guttered a bit in an invisible breeze, casting long shadows over the plain white walls. Spooky. This whole apartment was kind of spooky. Susana was pretty spooky, too, truth be told.

  Adrenaline snaked through him as he sniffed the air.

  Did he imagine it, or was there a cloyingly sweet aroma of incense curling its way under the door?

  She must have lit something out there. Hopefully it wouldn’t make his balls shrivel up like raisins while he slept. Wouldn’t have worried him yesterday but now there was a chance he might need them again.

  Or not. Susana didn’t seem like the type to put out easily. Or at all.

  Was she a virgin? Probably.

  But how long would she stay one?

  The question tickled his imagination and warmed his tired body as he sank into an exhausted slumber.

  Susana sat awkwardly on her bed, fists buried in the folds of her nightgown, listening for any hint of sound that might sneak through the wall from Granna’s room.

  From Joe’s room.

  Her body tingled with excitement at the thought of Joe’s big body stretched out on the bed.

  Of his guttural breathing, snoring maybe, stirring the air with its masculine vibrations.

  But the thick plaster walls of the old building meant she could hear them only in her imagination. An imagination that had suddenly become shockingly vivid.