by Sarina Bowen
Then she blasted him square in the face.
In the silence that followed she could hear a high-pitched voice squeaking from his phone, rising in volume when no one answered.
Nick’s pale blue Oxford was plastered to his chest. Club soda ran off his chin, beaded up and then soaked into the wool of his charcoal-gray suit coat, dripped off the spiky tips of his hair. She was splattered with it when he tossed his head back and whipped the wet ends of his hair out of his eyes, his phone still clutched in one hand.
Slowly, cautiously, she raised her open hands in front of her.
No sudden movements.
Just as slowly, but without a hint of caution, he walked toward her, wiping the phone off on his pants and slipping it into a pocket. She retreated one step at a time until she ran into the hard edge of the table, which caught her just beneath her butt. She leaned even farther back from the hips, certain there wasn’t enough room in this box to escape him. He didn’t stop his approach until he was pressed hard against her thighs, hands braced on the table on either side of her.
Her elbows ached from leaning on them. Maybe hosing him down with club soda hadn’t been the best way to get his attention.
He lifted one hand and wrapped it around her throat.
She sucked in a breath and shivered as the liquid soaking him seeped into her jeans, her shirt. Excruciatingly aware of the hard wedge of thigh that was pressed against her crotch, she shifted slightly and saw an answering fire flare in his eyes. His voice was a growl that thrummed against her nerves and sent heat racing through her system.
“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”
She surrendered. Hooked her ankles behind his waist and used his shoulders to pull herself up.
“If it doesn’t involve getting me naked on this table, I don’t want to know.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. His warm breath brushed her mouth as his face dipped toward hers, eyes half-shut in that slow burn of a smile.
“I’m so glad we agree.” The words slipped out between barely-there kisses. She tolerated that for a moment and then captured his bottom lip in her teeth and nipped, hard. Stay still and kiss me.
The sudden blaring of 80s hard rock from across the room was more of a shock than a turn-on, she had to admit.
“What the—” Nick was prevented from pulling away by her legs, which were still wrapped around him.
“Ignore it. They’ll call back later.” She didn’t normally approve of begging, but if that was what it took…
She ran her hands up his arms, across his shoulders and then cupped his face in her hands, pulling him back to her.
He came willingly, lifting her butt up onto the table behind her for leverage.
“If there’s some theater emergency that requires your immediate attention, I swear we’ll be right back to the part where I strangle you.”
He flexed his hands on her hips, drawing her tighter against him. The thick length of him against her made her groan. She slid her fingers around his neck to thread through his hair as she arched her back, increasing the pressure.
“Those calls get ‘Cabaret.’ Or, hmm, yessss—” His hands slid up her sides until his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts. Her mind went blank, but her lips kept forming the words as her head dropped back and she gave in to the need pounding through her body. “Or ‘Send in the Clowns,’ not GNR.”
GNR.
Guns N’ Roses.
The words registered.
“Sweet Child o’ Mine.”
Her eyes flew open as she snapped forward. Pain exploded as her head cracked into Nick’s. She clutched a hand to her brow as he did the same, a grimace on his face.
For a moment, she forgot the world and simply stared at him. How had she lost her head so completely around this man, and where the hell had Grace disappeared to anyway? That had to be the longest walk for a drink ever. Thank god. Because if Grace had walked in while she was trying to climb Nick like a tree, Maxie would be hearing about it forever.
“Sweet Child o’ Mine.”
The words crashed back into her brain and she jumped off the table and shoved Nick to the side, whooping as she slid over the back of the couch and dove for her bag.
“The babies! Where is my damn phone? One of my sisters has gotta be going into labor. They know better than to call us at the ballpark for anything other than life or death emergencies.”
It was ringing again, Guns N’ Roses was calling to her, but she couldn’t find her phone in her bag before the ringing stopped. She’d call back whichever family member was trying to reach them on the way to the hospital.
“Where the heck is Grace?”
Nick lifted the phone to his ear again as she danced in place and pulled up her call log. Her brother-in-law J.D.’s name topped the list. “Sarah’s baby!”
Damn Nick, didn’t he have any sense of urgency? A baby was on the way and he was just standing there making calls.
At the door, she reached for the knob and jumped back just in time to avoid a broken nose as it crashed open and Grace barreled through, laughing, shouting.
“Sarah’s having a baby! At last, damn,” Maxie said.
“Sarah? Spencer just called me to say that Addy’s on her way to the hospital.”
They stopped for a moment to stare at each other. Both babies?
“Damn. That stuff about women’s hormones syncing up if they spend a lot of time together is some powerful shit.” Maxie shrugged. However it had happened, the babies were on their way and they needed to hustle.
“I’m not in an E-Z Out lot,” Maxie said. “You?”
“I cabbed it. You won’t be able to get your truck out ‘til the game ends.”
“I’ll leave it. Shit. They’re gonna tow it, aren’t they? Oh, well.”
“Maxie.” It was Nick.
“Don’t worry,” she said without looking back, tossing the words over her shoulder as she rummaged through her bag for cash to pay off their tab. Grace was shouting down the hall for their server, who’d disappeared—of course—after practically never leaving their side during the game. “Talk to Heitman,” she continued. “Get your mom to back him up and put a choke chain on Smith and everything will be fine. We aren’t even close to disaster.”
Grace reappeared without the server and shrugged. Turning to Nick, who was now standing behind her, she thrust out the money she’d gathered from purse.
He waved it off. “Ladies,” he said.
“Just take it, will you?” She shoved the fistful of bills at him, not sure why he wouldn’t stop talking and take it.
“Aunties.”
That caught both of their attention.
“Go two blocks east on Addison. At the corner of Fremont, on the south side of the street, my driver is waiting for you.” He nodded to Maxie. “You’ve seen Tommy. He’ll take you to the hospital. And if you give me your parking ticket, I’ll get your truck out of the lot.”
Maxie heart thumped an extra beat. She rubbed at the sore spot in her chest with the edge of her fist, telling herself it was the emotion of the moment, nothing more. She tried to say thank-you but couldn’t get the words out.
Grace didn’t hesitate. She threw her arms around Nick and smacked a loud kiss on his cheek.
“Nick Drake, I love you more than Kerry Wood.” Grace’s infatuation with the Cubs’ relief pitcher from the nineties was family legend.
“I’m flattered,” he said with a smile, giving her a kiss on the cheek, too. “Now, get out of here. Call me with the good news.”
Calling out their goodbyes and thanks, Grace tugged Maxie out the door. She broke free for just long enough to run back inside and say goodbye to Nick the way she really wanted to. She flung her arms around his neck, rose up on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.
“Thank you,” she said, and then gave a sharp yank on his tie. “And if you kiss my sister again, I’ll cut your heart out,” she whispered in his ear.
“Duly noted. Now go.”
He smacked her ass. The sweet sting only made her laugh.
Sprinting through the crowds at Wrigley, Maxie and Grace elbowed and bumped their way down the long ramps to the ground-floor exits and then jogged down the sidewalk on Addison, both of them on their phones, trying to find out which sister was in labor.
Of course, it turned out that both Addy and Sarah had been hiding labor pains all afternoon, not wanting to alarm anyone until they were sure that their babies were coming.
And coming right now.
“Thank god they’re both at Northwestern.” Maxie laughed as they tumbled into Nick’s car, calling out directions to the driver. “If I had to pick which one of them to visit, I’d be hearing about it from the other one until my dying day.”
“I hate to break it to you, dear. They’re not going to be in the same room. You’re still going to have to choose.”
“They can’t share a room? Princesses. Fine, we’ll do shifts. Trade rooms every hour. Deal?”
“Hey, I don’t want to be guilt tripped any more than you do. Deal.”
The hospital was enormous. There also seemed to be a preponderance of idiots on staff, none of whom were able to provide them the most basic information about Addy or Sarah. Grace did manage, however, to find her husband and kids. The group of them, even larger once their mom arrived, made such a stink that a large woman in flowered scrubs cornered them at the reception desk and explained that the Tyler sisters were not, in fact, the only patients in the hospital.
By the time they finally made it to the labor and delivery floor, it was clear that someone had telephoned ahead with a warning. Two R.N.s met them at the elevator doors and took command like drill sergeants. Maxie clamped down on her normal urge to give directions, not take them.
She had to admit that, in this particular scenario, she might not know best.
As the hours blurred, Maxie learned more than she ever wanted to know about the stages of labor and dilation and epidurals. The latter seemed to provide immediate relief to Addy, who looked up at her for the first time in hours and asked for the final score of the Cubs game. Sarah, who was three doors down the hall, had waved off the epidural and was still powering through her labor pains, pacing slowly back and forth across the linoleum floor.
Toward the end, when matters were unfolding with an astonishing rapidity and teams of people were sweeping in and out of rooms with drill-like precision, Maxie found herself mostly holding hands: Addy’s, Sarah’s, Addy’s husband Spencer’s, her mother’s. Sarah’s husband, J.D., didn’t do handholding but his calm-under-pressure attitude kept them all from getting too overwhelmed. Watching from the sidelines as her sisters found their way without much help from anyone, she felt at once useless and amazed. Addy cursed when she heard that Sarah had already delivered, giving a last enormous push that sent a squalling, sloppy baby into her doctor’s waiting hands.
Maxie burst out of the hospital doors at 3:00 a.m., hugging herself and wondering how it wasn’t broad daylight. There should be a parade and confetti. Maybe even fireworks.
The street outside the Galter Pavilion of Northwestern was empty. The rest of her family had left an hour ago, but she hadn’t been able to tear herself away from the quiet rooms where her sisters were resting with their new families. She wondered how she was going to find a taxi. Or, for that matter, get her truck back.
While she was debating the likelihood that Nick would answer her call in the middle of the night so she could pick up her truck, a familiar black Lincoln Town Car slid to a halt in front of her. Seconds later, the friendly face of Tommy the driver popped up to smile at her across the roof of the car.
“Mr. Drake thought you might need a ride.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, and then gave up and climbed into the backseat of the car, muttering all the way.
“It’s enough to make you suspicious, how that man thinks of everything.”
“He doesn’t miss much, no, ma’am.”
“And you’ve just been, what, waiting here?”
“Nah. He asked your brother to let us know when the babies came.”
Which still meant that he’d been parked outside for an hour while she was lingering upstairs. She felt guilty about that for a moment and then reminded herself that there wasn’t any way she could have known.
The cellophane-wrapped bouquet of roses on the seat should have charmed her, especially since it was pinned with a card that read, “Congratulations, Auntie.”
For some reason, she was just annoyed. Being outmaneuvered, even when it was to her benefit, made her cranky.
Enough so that when Tommy reeled off her address and asked if that was where she wanted him to drop her off, she had a better idea. Conveniently enough, her destination was not at all far from the Gold Coast hospital complex.
* * *
The insistent electrical trill of his cell phone tugged Nick from the depths of sleep even as he buried his head under a pillow and tried to ignore it.
Unsuccessful, he slid a hand across the bedside table, groping in the dark. Once he found it, he dragged it back under the pillow, tapping blindly until something connected.
“What?”
“James Robinson and Elizabeth Ann.”
“Wrong number.”
“Personally I was rooting for Esmerelda and Diego. I love how sexy that name sounds. Diego—you know what I mean? But I suppose the parents know best.”
He shoved the pillow off his head and sat up in the dark.
“Maxie?”
“You said to call with the good news.” Her laughter rumbled through the phone. She sounded so close, whispering in his ear in the silence of his room. He glanced at the digital glow of the clock next to his bed.
“It’s three o’clock in the morning. Where are you?”
“Downstairs, having a chat with your doorman.”
After calling the desk to okay his late-night visitor, Nick managed to drag on a pair of dark jeans and a gray T-shirt. In his kitchen, he set a coffee mug, a water glass and a wine goblet on the counter.
That’s when the solid knock landed on his door.
He pulled open the heavy wooden door and then stepped back, looking at her framed in the light from the bright hallway. Her clothes were wrinkled and her eyes were tired, but she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, probably still riding an adrenaline high that would have her crashing any minute. He turned to the side, motioning her in.
She didn’t move.
Chin lifted, she stared at him, an almost visible shimmer of energy rising off her skin.
“I don’t sleep with people I work with. Or for.”
An interesting opening line.
“You know, you don’t really work for me.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and leaned one shoulder against the doorway. He’d thought about this quite a bit in the week during which he’d kept himself away from the project. “I’m more of an outside consultant.”
Her slow grin slid over him like tiny, licking flames.
“See, that’s just what I was thinking.” She stepped inside and closed the door.
Chapter Four
The sparkling Chicago skyline sprawled in front of the wall of windows in the living room. The distant reaches of Lake Michigan merged seamlessly with the dark sky, a horizon that couldn’t be seen, only imagined.
“The view on the forty-sixth floor just oozes wealth, doesn’t it?” She drifted over to the windows. “My view is of the Cigarettes Cheaper across the street.”
He didn’t have any response to that. He wasn’t about to deny enjoying his home.
Having decided to come inside, Maxie seemed unable to settle in one spot, pacing around the room like a cat. She stopped to run a hand over the back of the leather couch, rest a fingertip on the roughly carved surface of the stone obelisk on the large low table in front of the couch, click her fingernails against the floor-to-ceiling glass.
He thought about what it would be like for her to take such a delicate, tho
rough inspection of him instead of his condo, and wished she’d stay still for a moment.
“Tommy brought you here?” The silence needed to be broken.
“Yes, but I knew where you lived.” She turned and started flipping idly through the pages of a coffee-table book—graceful photographs of architectural details, enlarged to lose all resemblance to reality—and looked up at him through dark lashes, her eyes giving away nothing. “You’re not the only one who can run a background check.”
“Excuse me?”
“I figured that out because you knew where I live. I work pretty hard to keep that info off the web, you know.” She dropped the cover of the book and walked back to the window. The room was dimly lit and her silhouette showed as negative space against the city lights. “Do you have any idea how likely actors are to turn up on your doorstep at 3:00 a.m. with a broken heart, looking for beer?”
“It’s past 3:00 a.m. now. If you tell me you’re here because you’re broken-hearted and looking for a six-pack, I’ll be hugely disappointed.”
She laughed and swung around to face him. The lights behind her left her face in darkness.
“No six-packs in your fancy condo?”
She was needling him. Why? The fancy condo insult from any other woman might have led him to believe that she was uncomfortable with his penthouse. It was a pretty goddamn visible display of wealth. But he couldn’t imagine Maxie Tyler, chameleon extraordinaire, being out of her element anywhere.
He wasn’t about to start apologizing for the family fortune he’d rescued through long hours of hard work. He took a deep breath and Maxie froze, as if bracing herself for the sarcastic comment she’d tried to provoke. He decided on a different tack.
He kept his voice mild as he moved into the open kitchen that unfolded off the living room. “I have beer, if that’s what you’d like. Or celebratory champagne. Coffee?” His waving hand took in the lineup of glasses on the marble countertop.
She stayed silent for a long minute.
He could wait.
Finally, she shook her head and walked toward him. The sway of her hips as she strolled was a powerful prod to the imagination. He wondered if it was unconscious or for his benefit.