Robin Kaye Bundle

by Robin Kaye

  Rosalie held him, made love to him. Took what he offered and gave all she had. She opened herself up and invited him into her heart, her soul. Why, she didn’t know. Maybe because he’d asked. Maybe because he’d met her halfway. His kisses breathed life into her. Their bodies moved as one, and they came apart together, clinging to each other and holding off the dark cloud that loomed over them.

  Later, Rosalie awoke alone to the alarm clock. When she reached for Nick, she felt only cold sheets. He was long gone. She wondered if it had all been a dream. The way he’d looked. The way she felt. The way they’d made love. A shiver of apprehension ran through her. She reached over to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. A pile of his boxers lay neatly folded next to her thongs. Relief rushed through her. For a moment, she’d thought maybe last night had been his way of saying good-bye. She laughed at herself. She was being ridiculous. He’d had a bad day and was a little quiet. It wasn’t the end of the world.

  She stretched and called for Dave. When Dave didn’t jump up on the bed, she smiled. He’d taken Dave to work with him. She bet he’d even buckled the big guy in.

  Nick hadn’t fallen back to sleep after he and Rosalie had made love. He’d spent the rest of the night holding her and memorizing the way she felt against him. The enormity of what had happened still had the power of a fist in the gut. Their lovemaking had always been incredible, athletic, and rang bells he’d never heard before. Last night had felt like the beginning of the end. It was as if she’d known it, too. It was more tender, more touching, more intense. Hell, it was so powerful, the memory alone brought tears to his eyes. He’d never felt anything so deeply, and he knew he’d never feel that with anyone else. Only Rosalie.

  “Nick?” Rosalie called his name and saw that he was somewhere else. Again. “Nick?” She reached across the pizza box and gave him a shake. His eyes focused as he came back from wherever he’d been—probably the same place he was since his strange behavior had begun Monday night. She knew that something was up with him, something he wasn’t sharing. She’d asked once, but it had come across loud and clear that the subject was off-limits. She just hoped he wasn’t feeling guilty about screwing her, her career, and Premier Motorcars over.

  “Yeah. Um . . . what did you say?”

  “I asked if you wanted a beer.” He looked more sad, preoccupied, and restless than guilty. His gaze shot to the pizza between them as, if he’d never seen it before.

  “Yeah, a beer would be good.”

  Rosalie got an IPA for him—one of those disgustingly dark beers she could stand a spoon in—and a Hefeweizen for herself. She sat down, put the beer on the coffee table in front of him, and gnawed on her crust while she watched him peel the label off his beer bottle.

  He’d hardly touched the pizza. This distance between them was driving her nuts. He’d been acting as if he wanted to be somewhere else. Maybe it wasn’t guilt at all. Maybe he was moving on. Hell, from the looks of it, he’d already moved on—in spirit, if not in body.

  Rosalie tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs refused to work. Could she be coming down with pneumonia again? It felt as if a lead weight had landed on her chest, making it almost impossible to breathe.

  The pizza in her stomach suddenly felt as if it might make an unscheduled appearance. She tossed her napkin on her plate. “Are you done here?”

  Nick made no response.

  “Okay, fine.” She got up and collected the pizza box and plates, and put everything away in the kitchen. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m going to take Dave out.” Rosalie threw her coat over her shoulders, grabbed Dave’s leash, and stepped into her shoes, not stopping to put Dave’s leash on until they were outside. She took a deep breath and then another, trying to calm her racing pulse. She’d had it. Nothing she’d done reached Nick—hell, one time, she’d even sat on him, and all he’d done was hold her and stare off into space. He didn’t laugh anymore. He didn’t play. It was as if he’d had a personality transplant. He still held her at night, and they still made love, but that was different, too. It was serious, sad.

  Rosalie took Dave for a long walk. She walked until Dave tugged her back in the direction of home. He was done, and unless she wanted to carry him, she was, too.

  When they returned home, she tossed her coat on the couch. Nick watched her. He didn’t get up and hang her coat, and he didn’t tease her. He just watched. She cleared her throat and shifted from foot to foot under his scrutiny. “I’ve got a long day tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”

  “I’ll turn in, too,” he said and rose from the couch.

  Nick followed her into the bedroom. She undressed while he brushed his teeth, and he was in bed by the time she was done in the bathroom. Rosalie climbed into bed and fought the urge to cuddle up to him, fought the urge to smack him, fought the urge to cry.

  Nick was miserable, and worse yet, he knew he was making Rosalie miserable. At dinner, he’d been unable to eat, trying to decide what to do. He wasn’t ready to leave. She was lying beside him in bed, and for the first time since they’d been together, she wasn’t on top of him. He missed the way her hair caught in his five o’clock shadow. He missed the way she felt against him. Hell, he even missed that little noise she made when he moved and jostled her.

  It seemed to take hours, but she’d finally fallen asleep. He heard it in her steady breathing. She rolled on top of him, and he was able to relax for the first time all day.

  When he’d met Rosalie, his relationship with her brother was an inconvenience. Not telling her about it was simpler than digging up the whole mess. Nick was almost sure she wouldn’t hear about the hints he’d dropped about Premier Motors. There was nothing in writing. So, okay, he felt guilty about it, why, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if he knew Rosalie was the rumored interim CFO. But, his luck being what it was, he’d be better off confessing all right now, before Rich came home. For reasons Nick didn’t want to examine too closely, he wasn’t ready to cut Rosalie loose. So, he’d take his chances and tell her everything. Even if she tossed his ass out, it would be better than this incessant waiting.

  Nick just wasn’t sure how to go about telling her. He’d never seen the point in explaining his actions to a woman before. It had always been easier to leave. Vinny had been married to Mona since Nick was a kid. Knowing Vinny, he’d become such an expert at doing the explanation mambo, he could be an instructor on Dancing with the Stars. It was going to be as embarrassing as hell, but Nick would have to ask for advice. He hoped Vin didn’t make the experience too humiliating.

  At least now he had a plan. He’d come home tomorrow and begin the weekend doing the ol’ explanation mambo, which would lead to Rosalie getting fighting mad, him apologizing, and if he were lucky, the two of them having make-up sex. If he wasn’t, at least he’d put an end to this torment.

  Nick ran his hand over Rosalie’s hair and let the ends curl around his fingers while his other hand skimmed over the thigh she’d thrown over his and headed for her ass. He fell asleep in that position—with one hand in her hair, the other on her ass, and a smile on his face.

  Nick got up early and stopped at Vinny’s on the way to work. He parked down the street and walked Dave a few houses up the road. Before they made it to the top of Vinny’s stoop, Nick saw the error of his ways. This was not a good time. Every light in the house was on, and Mona was already yelling at the kids. Nick turned around and would have made a clean escape, if Dave hadn’t lifted his leg on the fire hydrant in front of the house. Before he could pull Dave away, Vinny stepped onto the porch to pick up the morning paper and gave Nick the once-over.

  “Who died?”

  Nick opened his mouth and closed it. He shook his head and turned to walk away. A big beefy hand reached out and grabbed his collar.

  “Oh, no, not so fast. You don’t show up on my doorstep at six a.m. and walk away without a word. I smell woman trouble. Come on, let’s go to the restaurant.”

  Nick sat at the bar with
one hand wrapped around a coffee cup and the other holding up his head while Dave lay behind the bar and snored.

  “You’re an idiot.” Vinny stood behind the bar, leaning on the counter, took a sip of coffee, and topped off Nick’s with a shot of Jack Daniels. “Let’s recap. This whole thing began when you picked up Rosalie in the wrecker on your way home. The next day you brought her here. Am I right?”

  Nick nodded and took a swig of his spiked coffee.

  “So that kiss I walked in on—you know, the one so hot I could have brought in a brass band and neither of you would have noticed—that was your first kiss?”

  Nick nodded.

  “Is she always that hot?”

  Nick shot Vinny a warning look, and then, disgusted with himself, he nodded.

  Vinny added a shot of Jack to his own coffee, drank it, and sat down. “Damn, if that was your first kiss . . . You say you took her home and never really left. It’s been what, three months?”

  Nick nodded again.

  “So you dropped the bombs to the lenders about Premier before you were practically living with Lee—and way before you found out she took over the joint.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you say she still doesn’t know who you are. She still thinks you’re a mechanic.”

  Nick didn’t bother nodding this time. He was starting to feel like a freaking bobblehead doll.

  “Nick, I never thought I’d say this, but you don’t know jack about women.” Vinny held up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know, you’ve been with half the female population of Manhattan, but I’ve been married to Mona for eighteen years. Let me tell you, there’s not a man alive who can keep his identity a secret from the woman he’s sleeping with—not a smart, Italian woman, anyway. Rosalie knew who you were within forty-eight hours of your first date. No nice Italian girl sleeps with a guy unless she knows his first, middle, and last names—at least, not more than once.”

  Nick had to admit, Vin had a point. Rosalie had never asked his full name. He’d thought she was too embarrassed. What was she supposed to do? Roll over and say, “The sex was great, and by the way, what was your name again?” He’d never questioned it because, well, he was a guy, and it served his purpose.

  “If she’s known all along, why didn’t she say something? Why wasn’t she mad? Why’d she make me lie to her?”

  Vinny poured another shot into both their coffees and shook his head. “Women.”

  “Christ, I’m a fucking idiot. Here I thought I was pulling the wool over her eyes, and all the while, she was the one keeping me in the dark.” Nick stared into his cup. “I’ve only driven the Viper once since I’ve met her. I’ve been running around, changing clothes everywhere I go, so she won’t see me in a fuckin’ suit. I never introduced her to my mother, Nana, or the rest of the family. Shit. If she knew, then how come she never asked for anything? She gets pissed if I pay for pizza twice in a row.”

  “Don’t ask me to figure out women. You can ask Mona if you want. But if you tell her I knew anything about this stunt you pulled, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “Hey, I’ll admit I’m stupid, but even I’m not that dumb. Besides, you’d never get the chance to kill me. She’d do it first.”

  Vinny sat back with a shit-eating grin on his face. “So, you’re in love with Lee?”

  Nick looked up and shook his head no.

  “You like her?”

  Nick liked Rosalie a lot. He nodded.

  “Okay, so you like her. She’s a hot piece of ass.”

  Nick was on Vinny so fast, he made his own head spin. He reached across the bar, grabbed his cousin by the shirt, and lifted him off his feet. Dave woke up and started barking. Vinny only smiled and patted Nick on the shoulder.

  “Yup, you love her. No guy moves as fast as you did to protect the honor of a girl he’s not in love with. Now, put me down, and I’ll tell you what you have to do.

  Nick put Vinny down and gave him his best scowl. Damn. Nick should have known Vin would be anything but helpful.

  “Okay, first thing you need to do is spill your guts. Just remember, never, ever, say anything about the fact that she was the reason you did wrong. You’ve got to suck it up and say the dreaded words. You might want to write these down and practice in front of a mirror.” Vinny handed Nick a bar napkin and a pen.

  “It’s all my fault. I was stupid, and I wasn’t thinking. You’re absolutely right. I don’t want to lose you, and I’ll do anything if you’ll give me another chance.”

  Nick stopped writing; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Why are you looking at me as if I grew another head?”

  “You actually say shit like this?”

  “Nick, you’ll learn that it’s a lot less painful to just get it over with quickly. In her eyes, you’re always wrong. Until you grovel, life as you know it will never be the same. There will be no sex, no peace, and if she’s like Mona, no sleep until you crawl on your belly like the snake that you are—that, my friend, is a direct quote.

  “The absolute worst thing you can do is tell her that if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have been forced to lie this whole time. You need to tell her exactly what she wants to hear.

  “It’s not going to be pretty; expect yelling, tears. You may even have to duck if she loses it and throws something at you. You’ve got your work cut out for you, so you better get your ass in gear.”

  Vin took a bar rag and started polishing the bottles. “After you grovel, you’re going to need to buy out a flower shop. Call Carmine’s, have him make you up a nice expensive bouquet and keep them coming. Hit the chocolate place on Avenue M. They sell Godiva. Buy twice as much as you think one person can eat in a year. Women have bitchfests when their men do something stupid. They get together to discuss us, compare notes, and sympathize. She has to have enough chocolate to share.”

  Nick didn’t grovel. He didn’t bother telling Vinny that, because obviously, Vin had enough experience groveling to teach a class in that, too. Nick knew what Vinny didn’t—once you grovel, they know they’ve got you hooked. Vinny was a perfect example. Mona’d had Vinny by the shorthairs for years.

  “Why should I grovel? I didn’t do anything wrong— except for not telling Lee who I was in the beginning. But if you’re right, she’s known all along.”

  “You’re telling me that you’re not gonna take the hit? What are you, nuts? You finally find the right girl, and you’re gonna let this blow up in your face? You’re gonna lose her.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nick, you’ve been putting pressure on Premier since the day you were canned because of that no-good Jack Lassiter, Jr. Have you done anything since you found out about Lee’s involvement?”

  “No.” Nick fanned the napkins he’d been writing on and sat up straighter. “But that doesn’t have anything to do with her.”

  “Sure.” Vinny took another sip of his drink and sat back looking smug. “You go right ahead and keep telling yourself that. But if you’re stupid enough to believe it, you’re more of a putz than I thought you were.”

  Nick finished his Jack and coffee, stood, and whistled for Dave. He’d been calling himself enough names lately; he didn’t need Vinny’s help.

  “Look, Nick. Think about what I said. If you’re not ready to cut her loose, then don’t. Try confessing your sins. Pretend you’re talking to Father Francis. Who knows, maybe she’s nothing like Mona, maybe she’ll go easy on you.”

  Who knew that this would be so complicated or would smack so much of commitment? All this talk about love was enough to make him rethink the whole thing. But damn, the thought of the alternative was worse. Shit.

  Rosalie’s intercom beeped and pulled her out of the quagmire that was her relationship with Nick. She’d spent the last week wondering what was wrong with him, and she’d made the decision to find out what it was, even if she had to break every rule in the book to do it. Gina’s voice filled her temporary office.


  “Rosalie, there’s a strange man on line one. He says his name is Leisure, and you’ll know what it’s regarding. He’s even more cryptic than Nick, just Nick. Is he as good-looking?”

  A smile crossed Rosalie’s face. Is Leisure good-looking? She pictured her friend in her mind. Hmm. “Yeah, I guess he is, but I never thought of him like that.”

  “What? Is he your cousin or a priest or something?”

  “No, just a good friend. I’ll take the call. Thanks, Gina.”

  “I live to serve.”

  With the smile still on her face, Rosalie punched the flashing button on her desk phone, slipped her pumps off, leaned back in her chair, and settled in for a good chat. “Leisure. Hi. How’s it going?”

  “Are you alone, Rosalie?”

  Rosalie dropped her feet to the floor and back into her shoes. Sitting forward, she grabbed her pen and pulled out a fresh yellow pad. “Yeah. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “You remember that issue you asked me to look into?”

  “The rumors about Premier Motors?”

  “That’s the one. Well, it took some doing, but I got my hands on their file. It looks as if your suspicions were correct. There are notes about a telephone conversation regarding Lassiter, Premier, and their fiscal position. Are you still seeing Dominick Romeo?”

  “Yeah.” Rosalie cringed, dreading the answer but asking anyway. “What does Nick have to do with this?” She heard the blood rushing though her ears, and her face and hands got clammy. She waited for the answer for what seemed like an hour. “Leisure, you’re scaring me. Tell me what you’ve found, and stop being so damned cloak-and-dagger about this.”

  “It’s him, Rosalie. Dominick Romeo is sabotaging Premier Motorcars. He gave a laundry list of reasons we should no longer extend credit to Premier, Lassiter, and any customers he might have.