Brutally Beautiful

by Lynne Connolly

  As he left, something fell to the floor with a flirtatious tinkle. He bent and picked it up, then wished he hadn’t. That fucking ring. He should have left it where he was. He still wasn’t sure why he carried it, except it reminded him of what he could have become, a place he never wanted to go. He’d carried it around all his life because he didn’t want to end up the way his mother had, and this was a constant reminder. Shoving the piece of jewelry in his pocket, he strode away.

  His mother hadn’t even been married, so fuck knew what she was doing with a wedding ring.

  Chapter Seven

  Coming out of his lecture after pausing to answer the questions of a few of the students, Nick allowed himself a self-indulgent wallow in euphoria. He enjoyed teaching, much to his surprise, and he never passed up an opportunity to savor it.

  That was when his phone rang. Pausing in the hallway outside the lecture theater, Nick checked the caller, then thumbed the Answer button and ducked into a nearby storeroom. “I didn’t know you were up this early,” he said.

  “Who do you think runs this club?” Odell demanded. “Santa’s little helpers?”

  “Odell’s little helpers.” Naked and greased and ready to go. A little different from an elf in a red hat.

  “Anyhow, I have some news. Not welcome news, but you’d better know. Come around and chat.”

  “Now?”

  Nick sighed, his mood of well-being collapsing like a week-old balloon.

  “Now.” The urgency in Odell’s tone warned Nick that he needed to know this, fast. A sense of foreboding gripped his stomach, and he recalled the ghost of the ulcer he’d finally vanquished three years ago.

  “I’m on my way.”

  Odell met him at the back door, the one the strippers used. Nick enjoyed the double take when the club owner saw him in his college get-up. “Overdoing the student?”

  He often wished for the days when he’d just run a razor over his baldpate, but he couldn’t risk it. People would recognize him. “Nobody thinks a guy with floppy hair is dangerous.”

  Odell picked up a corner of the thick cotton plaid shirt. “Or someone who dresses in a shirt a size too big for him.”

  “Two sizes. Know how long it took me to track these suckers down?”

  Odell regarded him distastefully. “You look like a tiger in kitten’s clothing.”

  Nick gave him a shameless grin. “Oh yeah.” It added to the way he kept as much under the radar as he could. Already people took him for granted; he’d been in the department for so long. He’d come over to do his degree at DUNY, carried on with his masters, and transferred to the doctoral course when he wanted to develop his dissertation. He had the reputation of being bright, also of not needing grants or jobs. He’d let it be known that he’d inherited money, but not too much. Didn’t want to attract attention, just give a plausible reason for his lifestyle. So far it had worked. He didn’t see any need to explain any of that to Odell.

  The man led the way to his office and offered a drink. Nick accepted a bourbon and lounged on the sofa he’d occupied with Gen the other night. Already he felt like that was history, that they’d discovered so much since then. Stupid. He hardly knew her at all, but the thought didn’t help. The sooner he got this meeting over with, the sooner he could prep for dinner tonight. “So what couldn’t you tell me on the phone?”

  “The guy you caught slipping a mickey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s dead.”

  A pause, but Nick controlled his reaction of utter shock. “How?” His brain clicked into analytical mode, the mind that had controlled groups of supposedly uncontrollable people and had to be bigger, tougher, and cleverer than any of them. “I know it wasn’t my punch. I barely clipped the guy.” He just wanted to shut the fucker up and get back to the woman who’d fascinated him from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.

  “It was the mickey. He was asleep for sure, so I had somebody take him home. We found his address in his wallet.” He shrugged. “Stupid, eh?”

  “What if it wasn’t his address?” Nick wanted to know.

  “Didn’t care. It was somewhere to get rid of him without dumping him on the street or at the nearest hospital. The keys fit the locks on the apartment. Scuzzy little place, apparently. My guy took him in, dumped him on the bed, and left. So I didn’t find out until earlier today.”

  Ah, that explained it.

  “We have the local radio station on in the day. The cleaners like the music. I heard a report on the news. Man found dead in bed in Queens, or something like that. Suspicion of foul play. So I came in here and reached out to a friend. As far as I can work out, he never came round. Just slept to death.”

  “GHB can do that.”

  Odell finished his drink and put his glass down on his desk a little too firmly. “That’s the thing. The preliminary report said it wasn’t GHB or any other kind of date-rape shit. It was poison, from the pathology, probably strychnine. They found a vial of the stuff in his apartment too.”

  Nick knew a bit about toxicology.

  “Strychnine leads to violent convulsions.” He smelled a rat. “You can’t miss something like that.”

  Odell shifted uncomfortably. “That’s why I wanted him off the premises. He had a fit in his sleep. We thought maybe epilepsy, so when he’d recovered I had him taken home.” He picked up the bottle, poured another drink, and offered it to Nick.

  He shook his head. “So they know somebody hit him and he had strychnine in his system. Anything else?”

  Odell shook his head. “My employee’s too experienced not to use gloves as a precaution.”

  “But once he’d had a seizure, you decided to get rid of him.” That made sense. Nick would have done the same, got the guy off the premises, although he might have dumped him in an alley somewhere. Odell obviously took more care with his customers. Not enough to ensure that he wasn’t poisoned, but then, who’d do that? “Someone wanted Gen dead.”

  “Yeah.”

  Nobody used strychnine as a date-rape drug; it only had one purpose Nick knew about, especially dropped into a drink in a nightclub. He felt no regret about making the bastard drink the poison, because he’d meant it for Gen.

  Nick didn’t consider himself paranoid, but a certain amount was necessary, even now, so he did wonder if the dead guy had been looking for him. Someone carrying around GHB, sure, after a sadistic kick, but someone carrying strychnine? Only one reason for that he could think of.

  However, there was no connection between Gen and himself up to that point. If anyone had discovered Mick O’Donnell, they’d have waylaid him on the way home and driven a knife between his ribs or shot a bullet into his brain. “Strychnine isn’t exactly discreet,” he pointed out. “Maybe someone wanted to leave a message.”

  Odell shrugged. “Or get me into trouble. If the authorities’d discovered a dead woman or the man on my premises, they’d have closed the club while they investigated it. I have to look into this.”

  Nick got to his feet, knowing better than to stop him. “I’ll do it too. Don’t disturb any rocks. We don’t want anybody to know we’re looking. Give me what you have on him.” He stretched out his hand, palm up, waiting. Odell met his gaze, his clear brown eyes stony. Waited.

  Nick had played this game too often to lose. He kept his hand steady, his stare steadier. He knew the particularly midnight blue of his eyes was hard to counter for long, had often used it to his advantage. Eventually, Odell sighed. “Okay.” He grabbed a piece of paper from a drawer and scribbled on the back. “Name and address. I didn’t do any more. I wanted to know what you had to say.”

  He owed Odell for that. He pocketed the paper. “That night was the first time I laid eyes on Gen. I wanted her, made it clear I did. I saw the guy drop the mickey before I had a chance to make a move on her.” At the thought that she could have died before his eyes, he shivered inside and for once had difficulty suppressing his horror. But he did it. “So that drug was meant for her. L
ikely you’d have got her home, the same you did with the dead guy, and left her there. Or I would’ve.” He got to his feet. “You concentrate on him. But like I say, don’t move any rocks.”

  He got a cab to the university, staring out at New York passing by, lost in his thoughts. He was glad of his plans to cook for her instead of going out. He wouldn’t risk her going anywhere on her own until he knew more about what Odell had just told him.

  “Hey, are you getting out or what?”

  He thrust a banknote at the cabbie and climbed out. “Thanks.”

  He’d chosen the entrance nearest to her department, and he strode in through the main gate, forgetting to conceal his customary swagger. Despite the clothes, people got out of his way. He straightened his shoulders from the slight stoop he used here, and took the stairs two at a time to arrive outside the lecture theater. He didn’t have to wait more than ten minutes, and he took the time to scope out the place and think about the events of the last few days. But he didn’t wait patiently.

  By the time the doors opened and the students started to pour out the two double doors, he’d reached a stage of anxiety he rarely experienced these days, his stomach twisting, his throat tight. He wanted her with him, safe.

  Ignoring the curious stares from the people around him, he dragged her into his arms, bringing his mouth down in a kiss he knew was possessive. And he didn’t give a fuck. It worked for him right now.

  All he’d really wanted was a reminder that she was here, alive, and moving sensually in his arms. He doubted she realized his needs, because she responded like a starving woman even though he’d fucked her only a couple of hours ago. Well, that went both ways. He wanted her too. Heedless of their situation, he palmed a breast, savoring the soft, giving feminine flesh through her top and her bra. “You should go braless,” he murmured against her lips, drawing away long enough to regain a semblance of sanity.

  She stared up at him, heavy-lidded. “For you, I might put up with the inconvenience.”

  He growled and kissed her again, but kept it brief this time, letting her taste seep into him. Old habits died hard, and he needed her under his protection. Out of danger, and there was only one place he could ensure that. He grabbed her bag. “You’re coming home with me.”

  “We weren’t supposed to meet until later.” But she took his hand and let him lead her away.

  He heard the low murmurs and the occasional cheeky whistle, but he didn’t bother to glance at them. “They’ll have to get used to it,” he muttered as he bundled her into the cab, nervous of keeping her in the open air, away from the rudimentary protection of the university. Not that they’d thank him for saying so, but the security in this place was much too comfortable with itself.

  Fucking busy time of day. School-run time, or shopping time, or end-of-work time; there was always something. New York always had its busy times, even in the early hours of the morning. And they were in an ordinary cab, where anyone could get at them.

  He’d even started to think like the man he used to be. She took his hand, and he turned to smile at her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “You think there’s something wrong?” he countered, wondering how she could know him so well after so short a time.

  “I can see it in your eyes. Trouble.”

  “Sweetheart, I was born trouble.” Not a lie, but he decided another kiss was in order, and they finished the drive in each other’s arms. After a quick stop at her apartment to pick up some clothes, he took her to DUMBO and his apartment.

  He would have dragged her straight inside his building, but she halted, tugged at him until he stopped and turned to her. “What?” He wanted her indoors. Anxiety clutched him.

  She stared up at his building. “You live here?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Not the penthouse, so if you were expecting anything fancy…” He tried a smile, inviting her to join in.

  “I remember when they converted these warehouses. I even went around one of the show apartments when they opened it for viewing. Fuck. How can you afford this?”

  He told her what he told everyone else. “A legacy. That’s how I could afford this and the university course. I’m not endlessly rich, but I have enough.”

  “Enough?” She turned a shocked gaze on to him. “How much are you worth, anyway?”

  Depends if she meant what he could put his hands on right now or what he had stashed away. “Maybe a bit more than I tell most people.”

  She allowed him to lead her inside. He nodded to the concierge and slapped his palm against the button to call the elevator. It didn’t take long. It never did. He didn’t let go of her all the way upstairs.

  The elevator opened directly into his apartment, facing the reason he’d bought this particular place. She stood completely still, drinking in the view. “Wow. That is amazing. Whatever you paid for this place, it’s not enough.”

  Chapter Eight

  His voice sounded low from behind her. “Glad you like it.”

  She stood in an open-plan space, the kitchen area to one side, a living area to the other, and right in front, a smaller room jutted out, maybe eight feet square, no more, its floor covered by an oriental rug. A low, open-backed bench, loaded with pillows and a throw, was its only furniture. All it needed, because three walls and the ceiling were glass. The river floated below them, and the arches of the bridge soared to one side. DUMBO meant Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass, not very glamorous sounding, but shit, this place had it all and then some. She’d seen similar views, but she’d had to pay for them and only got a short time to enjoy them.

  He urged her gently forward, and she obeyed, not taking her attention from the view. Across the river she saw a living part of New York, not the view tourists got from Brooklyn Heights, but a grittier view that she loved all the more because it was real. A water tower, a dilapidated building next to the river, and the more usual skyscrapers and tall buildings beyond that.

  “What does it look like when it gets dark?” she said.

  “Wait and see.”

  “Yes.” She said it almost without thinking, but kicked off her shoes before she stepped on to the soft, luxurious carpet, the better to feel the fibers under her feet. In the end she hadn’t bothered with the fresh panty hose in her office drawer, so she could wiggle her bare toes in the silky pile.

  Staring around her in wonder, she hardly noticed when he stepped behind her, but when he put his hands either side of her waist, she shuddered. Couldn’t stop herself. His touch, so sweet when everything about him screamed brawn and power, despite his attempts to mitigate it with the clothes. He exuded warmth, and while the temperature here wasn’t exactly icy, it tempted her to move back into his embrace. But she wanted to see. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He kissed the side of her neck. “It’s privacy glass.”

  “You didn’t have to tell me that.” She leaned back, curled her arm around his neck. “A building like this? How could it be anything else?”

  “There are blinds hidden up there.”

  She glanced up and saw the recesses that housed the window coverings. She had no urge to see them working.

  “I’m surprised you don’t have a bed in here.”

  “I sleep here sometimes. But a bed would spoil the effect, don’t you think?”

  She studied the space and agreed with him. Besides, the rug was soft enough, and with the pillows from the bench and the throw—of course, that was what they were there for. She turned in his arms. “This view’s good too.”

  He smiled but urged her back around. “Keep looking. I want to try something. I’ve always wanted to do this, so you’re fulfilling a fantasy of mine.”

  She had little doubt what he had in mind, but she wondered why he hadn’t done it with anyone else. “You’ve never had anyone here before?”

  He chuckled. “I like the double entendre. But no, I haven’t. I usually keep this place private. My own space. I’ve never brou
ght—”

  He broke off abruptly. What was he about to say? Someone special? She let herself feed the fantasy while he reached around her and unbuttoned her blouse. She’d changed into the spare one at work after taking a rudimentary wash in the ladies’. “I haven’t showered.” She thought it only fair to tell him.

  “I want you like this. We’ll shower later. Or bathe. Whatever. I want to explore this place with you, see how different it is with you in it.”

  “You say all the right things.”

  “Do I?” He nibbled a path down her neck to her shoulder, which was now almost bare. Soon it was completely bare as her blouse dropped to the floor, and he dealt with her bra just as efficiently. Cupping her breasts, he lifted them while he thumbed her nipples to urge them into stiff peaks.

  She moaned her approval. “That’s nice.”

  “I should say that. I can see their reflection in the glass. The ghost of me behind you. Feels good.” He stated, didn’t ask, but she’d have confirmed it eagerly. It felt great. “So pretty. You have gorgeous breasts, and they taste good too. So what if people could see us? Is that a turn-on or a turnoff?”

  Her arousal ratcheted. “You know.”

  “Tell me.”

  She closed her eyes, let herself feel what he was doing to her, then opened them again on the panoramic view. A thrill went through her, as she felt his hands busy working her skirt zipper. “On. It’s a turn-on. I never knew—”

  “You never had the chance to find out. That’s all. Let’s see how good it can get.” He kissed a line down her backbone, increasing her sensitivity with each touch of his lips. He helped her out of her skirt and panties and picked them up. She stared out the window to the soft sounds of him undressing and the shadow of his body in the glass, looming over the city like a kinky giant. He must have moved to one side, so she saw his erection as it moved when he came back to warm her with his big body.

  “You loom.”

  “Never woven in my life,” he murmured, touching his lips to her shoulder blades. He reached to one side, and she realized the bench must have castors, because he pushed it smoothly across the rug until it was in front of her. He shoved the pillows off to expose the bare, dark wood. “Lean over. Rest on that.”