Manhattan Mogul: A New York City Romance

by Tara Leigh

  She isn’t mine. Not anymore. I realized that a long time ago, after seeing the way she looked at my brother.

  She isn’t Nixie, either.

  But how can I let Eva bring another man around Madison and Parker? A man who isn’t Wyatt. Who isn’t me.

  It makes sense for us to get back together. Logically, I know it’s the right choice. And I think it’s what Wyatt would want. But, in my gut, it just feels wrong.

  After I carry Madison and Parker into their bedrooms, Eva is waiting for me on the couch, a wine goblet lifted in my direction. I toss Harold and the Purple Crayon on the table and take the outstretched crystal from Eva’s hand. “Madison woke up, insisting she wasn’t tired at all.”

  “She hates that you leave once she’s asleep.”

  I sip at the wine, the sour taste of guilt mingling unpleasantly with the tannins. My eyes travel up the length of Eva’s leg to her angora sweater and finally to a pair of blue eyes as clear and direct as her daughter’s. “Eva, I—”

  A frown travels from her mouth to her forehead, dark brows pulling together and forming a shallow crease down the middle. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Analyze. Rationalize. Boil everything down to the lowest common denominator.”

  “That’s what I do.”

  She leans forward, rubbing the back of my calf with the tip of her toes. Her voice softens. “It’s just me, Nash. Just us.”

  I push out a heavy breath. “Okay.” Maybe Eva’s right. Maybe I should stop thinking so much, forcing the details of my life into spreadsheets and pie charts.

  Eva moves closer, resting her elbow on the back of the couch and leaning her cheek on her palm. A fingertip from her other hand draws an infinity sign on my thigh. “Let’s just see where this takes us.”

  This. I have no idea what this is, but maybe it’s time to find out. To know if what I felt with Nixie was a fluke. I turn my face to meet her gaze head on, unease coiling inside my stomach.

  Eva’s eyes darken slightly as she presses her palm against my chest, her thumb stroking the base of my neck. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

  There is no golden glitter dusting the bridge of Eva’s pert nose, no sunshine radiating from her eyes. She isn’t Nixie. I blink away the thought, the craving. “Me, too.” I mumble the lie into her ear, the tip of my nose sweeping along her smooth cheek.

  She curves her hand around my neck, fingertips raking through my hair. “I’m—”

  I don’t want to hear what she has to say. I have one thought—get to the finish line. Sex is familiar, a unifying bridge to connect two people that life and circumstance have forced apart. Maybe it will bring us back together again.

  Eva’s lips aren’t as full as I want them to be, her taste not as sweet. But instead of pushing her away, I curve my hands around her shoulders, bringing us closer so that her breasts press against me. I kiss Eva deeper, searching for a key to unlock what we once were, my hands plowing along the curve of her skull, gathering her hair into my fists.

  With a surprised gasp, Eva breaks our kiss. “Let’s go to my room,” she whispers, her breath hot against my lips.

  I glance at the screen across from me, straight into a grinning Wyatt, not much older than Parker, running through a water fountain on a scalding summer day. “Good idea.”

  It’s a damn shitty idea, but I’m not a quitter. I have to give this epic disaster in the making a fair chance. And I’d rather do it away from my brother’s unsuspecting eyes.

  I haul myself to my feet and extend a hand to pull Eva up to me. She’s tall, even without heels. She leads me through the living room and down the hall. Past the twins’ rooms and to her own.

  Wyatt has never lived here. I bought the apartment for Eva just before Madison and Parker were born, when I realized I was the closest thing to a father they would ever have.

  I’ve haven’t been in Eva’s bedroom since my walk-through with the real estate agent years ago, and I’m nervous her walls are covered with pictures of Wyatt, too. But thankfully, it’s too dark to see much.

  I close the door behind us and spin Eva around until her back is against it. My lips are on her neck, my tongue licking her racing pulse as her hands clutch at my shirt. Her skin burns my mouth, making me wish I’d downed a tumbler full of whisky rather than two sips of wine. I want to be numb, my taste buds cauterized.

  As my hands grope at Eva’s waist, my mind flashes to Nixie—wondering if her cut has healed, if there’s a sliver of a scar marking her smooth skin. I groan, pushing the thought away as I reach beneath Eva’s sweater, cupping her breasts within my palms. I’ve never gone beyond kissing Nixie, so at least here, I can’t compare the two women. Even so, a rush of bitter longing sizzles at the back of my neck.

  Eva’s nipples pebble, her back arching against me. Abruptly I pull my hands away, send them sliding down her spine to cup her ass. Subtle and firm, it’s barely enough to squeeze. I bring her legs around my waist, stride to the bed, and lay her across its center.

  Enough light comes through the closed blinds to see Eva’s dark hair fanning out against the white sheets, falling over the edge like a leaf-clogged gutter instead of a blaze of fire. I jerk my shirt over my head, blocking out the sight. Throwing it into a corner of the room, I edge a knee between Eva’s spread thighs, resting my weight on hands I place on either side of her shoulders.

  “Nash,” she whispers, her arms reaching around my neck, pulling me down. For a moment, I go with it, letting gravity and pressure work their will. Eva’s lips curve into a shy smile, and it finally manages to pierce through my abandoned conscience.

  I want Nixie’s feisty grin, her sarcastic barbs. I want to break though the impenetrable shield she’d been starting to lower.

  I want Nixie.

  I’ve filled the past month with work and workouts and failed attempts to find a woman who could make me forget her, even for just a few hours.

  And now I’m about to treat Eva like she’s just another placeholder.

  No. I can’t do this. Maybe Nixie’s right, maybe I am a manwhore. I’m cocky and arrogant and a ruthless son of a bitch. But I’m not cruel. At least, not to family. And Eva is family.

  Family first, always.

  I have more respect for Eva than this. Wyatt might be gone, but she deserves someone who will look at her the same way he did—like she’s the only woman in the world. And the twins deserve to see what love looks like, up close.

  I can’t fuck Eva. Not when the woman I really want is Nixie.

  And even though Nixie hates me right now, being with Eva feels like I’m cheating on her.

  Eva’s hands are at the waistband of my jeans, tugging at the button, the zipper. “Eva.” I grab her wrists, pinning them to her sides.

  She stares at me, an unreadable expression in her eyes, confusion radiating from her tense body.

  I blow out an anguished sigh and release her wrists, disgusted with myself. “I can’t, Eva. I can’t do this.”

  A shiver vibrates through her. “What’s wrong? I don’t . . .” Eva pauses, her tone heavy with reproach. “I don’t understand.” She raises her arms to my bare chest, fingers spread. “It’s been a while, Nash. Show me what you want. I can do better.”

  Her breathless plea hits me in the solar plexus. And suddenly I realize something else—all the women I’ve fucked and forgotten, no matter how elegant the room service breakfast, the handwritten lie—I’ve treated them like trash. And no matter what I say to Eva right now, I’m doing it again. “No, Eva. No. It’s not you. It’s me.”

  An unfamiliar laugh bubbles up from her throat, wry and sardonic. “It’s not you, it’s me . . . Really, Nash?” She pushes me away. “You can’t be more original than that?”

  I back away from the bed, grab my shirt. “Eva, I—”

  She rolls over, her voice muffled. “Just go.”

  I am the world’s biggest asshole. “Ev—”

  She lifts her head, dark hair sl
iding against the curve of her neck. “Go!” she yells, the single syllable raw and pained, an electric charge in the still air.

  I back out of the room, close the door, and turn to walk down the hall. Just as I pass Madison’s door, it opens to reveal her round face tilted toward me. “Uncle Nash,” she says in a stage whisper. “I had a bad dream, will you lay with me?”

  My heart stutters to a stop at the sight of my niece, just until a rush of guilt kickstarts it into a heightened rhythm. “Of course.” Swinging her into my arms, I carry her back into her canopied bed, pulling aside the tulle panels and tucking her gently under the covers before arranging myself on top of them.

  “Do you live here now?” The scent of strawberry shampoo wafts up from her hair, and I drop a light kiss on her forehead.

  “No, honey. I was just . . . um, talking to your mom.”

  “Mommy likes when you talk to her.”

  After tonight, I’m not sure that holds true. “I like talking to her, too.”

  “Uncle Nash?”

  “Yes?” I brace myself for whatever question is knocking around her skull.

  “Are you going to be my Daddy Nash one day?”

  Christ. It’s a whopper. “No, sweetheart. I’m always going to be your Uncle Nash. You have a daddy. He’s just in Heaven right now, so you can’t see him.”

  “I do see him. I see him all the time.”

  My eyebrows climb up my forehead. “You do?”

  “Yes. In pictures. And on the ’puter.”

  Right. The photographs on the wall, the montage in the electric frame. My throat feels like it’s filled with broken glass. “Right. That’s good.”

  “But I want a daddy that lives here, with us. All my other friends have daddies. Why doesn’t my daddy want to be with me?”

  That broken glass doesn’t stay in my throat. It’s everywhere, shredding me to pieces. “He does. I know he does. I bet he’d give anything to be here right now.”

  “Mommy says that if you want something bad enough, you have to work real hard and make it happen. Can you tell Daddy to work harder?”

  “I wish I could. But when you go to Heaven, you don’t get to come back.”

  Madison doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I almost start to believe that I’m through the worst of it. Until, in a much smaller voice, she says, “I want a new daddy.”

  What the hell do I say to that?

  “Close your eyes, Maddie. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

  She gives a sleepy yawn, curling against me as her thumb creeps into her mouth. “I love you, Uncle Nash.”

  “I love you too, Princess,” I grit out, cursing myself for following Eva into her bedroom. And cursing myself for not staying there.

  Once Madison’s breaths become deep and even, I slip my arm from beneath her head and slide off the bed, then walk softly down the hall.

  In the darkened living room, the light of the picture frame is like a beacon. I walk over to it, letting the photographs bring up memories I’ve long since forgotten. I reach out a hand, slide my fingers over the animated screen. “Goddamn it, Wyatt. I miss you, buddy. So fucking much.”

  Back in my apartment, I head straight for the shower, turning the water to scalding. Steam rises up around me and I breathe in its thick vapor, scrubbing at my skin like I’ve gone for a swim in the toxic waters of the Hudson River.

  It doesn’t do any good.

  The filth I’m trying to wash away is inside of me. It’s in my blood, my brain, the marrow of my bones. I can’t get clean. And I can’t erase the feeling that I’m dishonoring my brother somehow.

  In Eva’s bedroom, I’d been so certain I was doing the right thing by leaving. By stepping aside so she could find someone who would worship her, as my brother had.

  Until Madison’s mournful plea—I want a new daddy—flipped the script.

  Am I just being a selfish prick by not running straight to City Hall and giving Eva and the twins exactly what they want? How will Eva ever find someone who loves Madison and Parker as much as I do?

  For years Eva was the girl that got away. And I resented the fuck out of Wyatt for taking her away from me. But I didn’t want to lose a second brother, so I swallowed my emotions and got over it.

  Then Wyatt died, and his children were born. Those kids have me wrapped so far around their tiny dimpled pinkies it’s almost embarrassing.

  I have to step up for the twins. They are my brother’s kids and if he can’t be here to raise them and keep them safe, I’m not about to let him down. But anyone else . . . no. No. No. No.

  Eva wants a father figure for her kids. Wyatt’s kids. That’s supposed to be me. She wants a man in their lives. If not me, then who?

  Eva’s words haunt me, too. Maybe you’ve given up on love, but I haven’t. And I won’t.

  My feelings for Eva were snuffed out, years ago. Can they be rekindled? Could I ever love her the way she deserves?

  Would she eventually make my nerves skip, all synapses firing on high, my dick jerking to attention the way Nixie does with one glimpse of her fiery hair swaying against her soft skin?

  Christ. I shrug into jeans and a henley, barely taking the time to smooth my wet hair back, and head to the elevator.

  What I really need to do is get Nixie out of my head. Maybe I want her because she’s the only woman to turn me down in . . . I can’t even remember how long it’s been. Or maybe I just need to check in on her, explain the situation, and get some damn closure. Whatever is necessary—I need to get it done. Tonight, before I lose my mind.

  I emerge into the street just as Jay pulls the car up from the underground garage, and slide inside quickly. “Take me to Nixie’s place.”

  His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, hesitating a minute before turning back to the road and shifting the black beast into drive. “Yes, sir.” Forty minutes later we pull to the curb in the middle of a dark street in a questionable neighborhood.

  Jay points at the dilapidated building outside my window. “She went inside that one.”

  Scowling, I take in the broken light bulb over the entrance, the crumbling steps, the cracked glass. “That one?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Which apartment?”

  Jay answers reluctantly. “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t walk her in?”

  “I offered, but she wouldn’t let me.”

  Biting back the angry retort on the tip of my tongue, I get out of the car and slam the door behind me. A steel box, dented and chipping, hangs beside the door, a grid of haphazardly written names with buttons beside each. No Hyde, or Nixie, or set of initials hint at which button belongs to her.

  Before I go through the act of pressing as many as necessary for me to gain access to the building, a man that looks too close to Cauliflower Ears for my liking scurries inside. Stepping over the black trash bag that smells like a rotting corpse partially obstructing the vestibule, I catch the door before it closes.

  I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth by any stretch of the imagination, but I never lived in a dump like this. Figuring I might as well start at the top, I determinedly climb all five flights and knock on the last door at the end of the hall. I’m not even sure Nixie is home, but I checked the hours of the ice cream parlor where she worked. It closed an hour ago so she should be home by now.

  Unless of course she doesn’t work there anymore. Or she stopped to see a friend, or go on a date, or . . . do just about anything, anywhere. I haven’t spoken to Nixie in over a month, and know almost nothing about her, including whether she still lives in this building. Or even in this city. I still don’t know her real fucking name.

  Fuck. Lately, it feels like my carefully ordered life is crumbling to pieces. I need to set at least one thing straight. If she’s here, I’ll find her.

  And if she isn’t . . . I’ll still find her.

  On my eighth attempt, an elderly woman answers my knock in a hot pink silk bathrobe and matching
slippers trimmed in fur. “Hello, I’m looking for—”

  “Oh, my. Good-looking young men must grow on trees these days.” A cigarette hangs from gnarled fingers, a cat making figure-eights through her ankles.

  “Uh. Thank you—”

  “Why don’t you come in? You look like you could use a drink.” She opens the door to a perfectly preserved time capsule from the Sixties. Mustard-colored walls frame a curved lime green sofa housing several other cats. A sputnik-style chandelier hangs above a glass coffee table, an overflowing ashtray in the middle. Bookshelves line two of the four walls.

  “I can’t. I’m actually looking for a girl.”

  The woman’s face darkens immediately. “There ain’t none of that business here. And a respectable young man like yourself should be ashamed—”

  I hold up my hands as if I’m surrendering. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m looking for someone specific. A friend. Her name is Nixie.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? Pretty girl. Keeps to herself—a bit too much, if you want to know the truth. She checks on me sometimes, though. Lives one floor down. 4G.”

  I could kiss her—crusted lipstick, cigarette breath, and all. Backing away from the door, I give an appreciative smile. “Thanks.”

  She leans into the hall, bathrobe unfortunately gaping open. “Two good-looking men asking after her in just one day. That should put a spring in her step.” She clucks gleefully, twirling on her heels and retreating back into her apartment.

  Two? My shoes slap the worn steps, wondering if I’ve made a mistake. Maybe Nixie gave up her no-relationship stance and is seeing someone. Grinding my teeth, I knock on the door to 4G anyway. And then I knock again. As a last resort, I put my ear against the door. Is she in there with someone?

  What I hear sounds a lot like moaning. Or crying?

  What the hell? I jiggle the door handle. “Nixie?” Giving it an upward nudge, it swings inward easily and I step into the apartment. “Nixie?” I call out. “You okay?”

  Immediately a little black dog gives a single woof and jumps off the bed, padding over to me with its tail wagging. I bend down and scratch behind its ears. “Some guard dog you are.”