by Nora Roberts
“You were crying.”
“Alexi.” She touched a hand to his face. “You didn’t just overpower me. You overwhelmed me. No one’s ever made me feel more wanted. More irresistible.”
“I can’t resist you, but I’m sorry I put bruises on you.”
“I don’t mind—under the circumstances.” After another luxurious sigh, she glanced around the room. “I don’t know how I’ll ever work in here again, though.”
Now he grinned, wickedly. “Maybe it’ll inspire you.”
“There is that.” She shifted to straddle him and watched his sleepy eyes skim down to her breasts and back. Possibilities, she thought. There were definite possibilities in that look. “Being a cop, I imagine you’ve been through arduous physical training.”
The possibilities had occurred to him, as well. “Absolutely.”
“And you’d probably have amazing recuperative powers.”
His brow lifted. “Under the right conditions.”
“Good.” To be certain she created them, she ran her hands over his still-gleaming chest.
With a half laugh, he caught her wrists. “McNee, wouldn’t you rather pick this up in bed?”
For an answer, she leaned over, letting her lips hover a breath away from his. The tip of her tongue darted out to trace the shape of his mouth, to dip teasingly inside, then retreat. Slowly, she tilted her head. Softly, she tasted his lips. Achingly, achingly, she deepened the kiss.
“Does that give you a clue, Detective?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I can’t believe you want to spend the best part of a Saturday morning in a sweaty gym.” Alex was stalling, even as he walked with Bess up the iron steps that led to Rocky’s.
“It’s your sweaty gym,” Bess said, and kissed him.
The past few days had been almost like a honeymoon, she thought. If she took out the hours they’d both been at work. But they’d made the most of what time they’d had together, snuggling on the couch in her place, cooking a meal in his, wrestling in bed in both.
She was starting to hope that he believed she loved him. And, once he did, she wanted nothing more than for them to take that next step. The step that would lead to an authentic honeymoon, with all the trimmings.
“You picked me up at my gym yesterday,” she pointed out.
“That wasn’t a gym.” There was the faintest trace of a masculine sneer in his voice. “That was an exercise palace. Fancy lighting, pipedin music. All those mirrors.”
“At least I’ll be able to see when my butt starts to drop.”
He gave it a friendly pat. “I’ll let you know.”
“Do, and die,” she said smartly, and pushed through the frosted glass doors.
She immediately thought of every bad boxing film she’d ever seen. The huge room echoed with grunts and slaps and thumps. It smelled of mildew and sweat and… She took a testing sniff and decided she didn’t want to know what else. There were exposed pipes along the ceilings and walls, and there was a hardwood floor that looked as though it had been gouged by spikes. The boxing ring that was set up in one corner was already occupied by two compact, dancing men in tiny shorts who were trying to pop each other in the eye.
A trio of punching bags hung at strategic points. A half-naked man with a body like a cement truck was currently trying to whip the tar out of one of them.
Weights were being employed as well. She watched tendons bulge and muscles bunch.
They didn’t worry about mirrors and lighting here. Nor did she spot any of the high-tech equipment she was accustomed to. This was down-and-dirty—squat, sweat and punch. She sincerely doubted there would be a juice bar in the vicinity, either.
“Had enough?” Alex asked. He was obviously amused at the thought of her stripping down to her leotard and having a go with the boys.
Bess closed her mouth, then answered his grin with a cool stare. “I haven’t even started yet.”
It was his turn to drop his jaw when she peeled off her sweatshirt. Beneath she wore a snug, low-cut crop top in zigzagging stripes of green and purple. As she shimmied out of her baggy street shorts, he shoved the discarded shirt in front of her.
“Come on, Bess, put your clothes on. Sweet Lord.” The bottom half was worse. Over formfitting tights she had on a teeny strip of spandex that covered little more than a G-string. “You can’t wear that in here.”
“Is it illegal?” She bent over to stuff her sweats into her gym bag and heard the heavy thump of weights as they were dropped. Maintaining position, she turned her head and smiled at the pop-eyed man staring at her.
The catcalls and whistles started immediately, the sound swelling and bouncing off the cinder-block walls. Alex was very much afraid there would be a riot—one he was likely to incite himself. “Damn it, put something on before I have to kill somebody.”
“They look harmless.” She straightened again and lifted her arms to tie the short curls at the nape of her neck into a stubby ponytail. “Anyway, I came to work out.” With a challenging grin, she flexed a muscle. “How much can you bench-press?”
“McNee, don’t you dare—” He broke off with an oath as she blithely strolled across the room to chat with the weight lifter. The two hundred pounds of muscle began to babble like a teenager. Alex had no choice but to send out a warning snarl, much as a guard dog might to a pack of encroaching wolves, before he went after her.
She pulled it off, of course. He should have known she would. The men started out drooling, kicked over into laughing and finally wound up competing with each other to show her the proper way to perform squat lifts, chin-ups and leg curls.
Before an hour was over, she’d been shown pictures of wives and children, listened to sob stories over sweethearts and stopped being ogled—unless it was at a discreet distance.
“You sure you want to do this?” Alex asked again, tapping his gloved hands together.
“Absolutely.” She smiled at Rocky as he himself laced up her gloves. “I couldn’t leave without one sparring match.”
“You watch out for his left—it’s a good one,” Rocky advised her. “Kid could’ve been a contender if he hadn’t wanted to be a cop.”
She winked at Rocky. “I’ve got fast feet. He won’t lay a glove on me.”
Two of her new admirers held open the ropes for her so that she could step into the ring. Enjoying the sensation, she adjusted her padded helmet. “Aren’t we supposed to wear those funny retainers?”
“The what— Oh, mouth guards?” He couldn’t resist, and he leaned over and kissed her to an accompaniment of hoots. “Baby, I’m not going to hit you.” In a friendly gesture, he tapped his gloves to hers. “Okay, put your hands up.” When she did, lifting them toward the ceiling, he rolled his eyes. “It’s not an arrest, McNee.” Patiently he adjusted her hands until they were in a defensive position.
“Now, you want to guard, see? Keep your left up, keep it up. If I come in like this—” he did a slow-motion jab at her jaw “—you block, jab back. That’s it.”
“And I fake with my left,” she said, and did so.
“If you want.” Lord, she was sweet. “Now try for here.” He tapped his own chin. “Go ahead, you don’t have to pull it.” When she punched halfheartedly, he shook his head. “No, you punch like a girl. Put your body behind it. Pretend I’m Dawn Gallagher.”
Her eyes lit, and she swung full-out, only to come up solidly against his block. “Hey, that’s good.” Impressed, she swung again. “But I’ve got to move around, right? Fake you out with my grace and fancy footwork.”
She did a quick boogie that had the onlookers clapping and Alex grinning at her. “You got style. Let’s work on it.”
He was enjoying himself, showing her the moves. And it certainly didn’t hurt for a woman living in the city to learn how to defend herself with something more than an ammonia-filled water pistol.
“It’s fun.” She ducked her head as he’d shown her and tried two quick jabs with her left.
“Always room for another flyweight,” Rocky called out to her. “Come on, Bess, body blow.”
Chuckling, she aimed for Alex’s midsection and dodged his light tap toward her chin. “You look so cute in gym shorts,” she murmured.
“Don’t try to distract me.”
“Well, you do.” She danced around him again, and, laughing, he turned toward her.
“Okay, that ought to—” He ended on a grunt when she connected hard with his jaw and set him down on his butt.
“Oh, God.” She crouched instantly, battering his face with her gloves as she tried to stroke it. “Oh, Alexi, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
He wiggled his jaw, sending her a dark look. “Right cross,” he muttered as men climbed through the ropes to cheer and hold Bess’s arms in the air.
“I’m really sorry,” Bess said again as they started down the iron steps. But she was fingering the little bit of tarnished metal Rocky had pinned—with some ceremony—to her sweatshirt. “You said not to pull my punches.”
“I know what I said.” He’d be lucky if he didn’t have a bruise, Alex thought. And how the hell would he explain that? “You only got through because I was finished.”
She ran her tongue over her teeth and stepped outside. “Uh-huh.”
“Don’t get smart with me, McNee.” He snatched her up and swung her around. “Or I’ll demand a rematch.”
Wildly in love, she tossed her arms around his neck. “Anytime.”
“Oh, yeah? How about…” He trailed off with a grimace as his beeper sounded. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” She only sighed a little as he tracked down a phone and called in. As she stood beside him, watching his face, listening to his terse comments, she realized that their plans for a picnic in the park and some casual shopping were about to go bust.
“You have your cop’s face on,” she said when he hung up. “Do you have to go in?”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t tell her they’d found another victim. It was bad enough that he was spoiling their plans for the day. “It’s probably going to take a while. I’m really sorry, Bess.”
“Look.” She framed his face with her hands. “I understand. This is part of it.”
He brought those hands to his lips. “I…” But he didn’t tell her he loved her, because she would echo the words, and it made him nervous to hear them. “I appreciate it,” he said instead. “And I’ll make it up to you.”
“Tell you what—why don’t I finish up what I have to do, then stop by the market? I’ll make dinner. Something that won’t spoil if it has to be warmed up a couple of times.”
Though his mind was already drifting away from her, he managed a pained smile. “You’re going to cook.”
“I’m not that bad. I’m not,” she insisted with a bit of a huff when he grinned. “I only burned the potatoes the other night because you kept distracting me.”
“I guess it’s the least I can do.” He kissed her lightly once, then again, longer. “I’ll try to call.”
“If you can.” She waved him off, then stood watching while he jogged down into the subway. With a quick laugh, she spun around, hugging herself.
She felt just like a cop’s wife.
“I hope you don’t mind me dropping by.”
“Of course not.” Rachel took a look at the bulging shopping bags in Bess’s hands. “Been busy?”
“Whenever I get started with that little plastic card, I can’t seem to stop.” She dumped her purchases inside the apartment door. “You look wonderful. How can you look wonderful less than a week after going through childbirth?”
“Strong genes.” Pleased in general, and with Bess in particular, Rachel kissed her on both cheeks. “Come sit down.”
“Thanks. I— Oops.” She dipped into the bag and pulled out a gold-foiled candy box. “For Mom.”
“Oh.” Rachel’s eyes took on the glow a woman’s get when she looks at a lover—or a five-pound box of exclusive chocolates. “I think you just became my best friend.”
Chuckling, Bess dug into the bags again. “Well, I know that people tend to drop by with baby gifts.” She held out a box wrapped in snowy white with bright red lollipops scattered over it. “And, though I couldn’t resist the tradition, I figured you deserved something really sinful for yourself.”
“I do.” Rachel tucked the baby box under her other arm. “It’s really sweet of you, Bess, and unnecessary. You and Alex already brought Brenna that wonderful stuffed dragon.”
“That was from us. This is from me. It’s a girl thing. I saw this tiny little white organdy dress with all these flounces and little pink bows and I couldn’t resist.”
Rachel’s new-mother’s heart melted. “Really?”
“I figure in another year she might want to wear motorcycle boots, so this may be your only chance to play dress-up.”
“I swore that whatever I had, I wouldn’t make sexist decisions in dress or attitude.” She sighed over the box. “White organdy?”
“Six flounces. I counted.”
“I can’t wait to put her in it.”
“Ah, company.” Mikhail strode out of the bedroom with Brenna tucked in his arm. “Hello, Aunt Bess.” He kissed both of her cheeks, then her mouth.
“You said you wouldn’t wake her up.” This from Rachel, who was already leaning over to coo.
“I didn’t. Exactly. What’s this?” Recognizing the gold foil box, he flipped it open and dived in.
“Mine,” Rachel said in a huff. “If you eat more than one, I’ll break your fingers.”
“She was always greedy,” he said over the first piece. “Where’s Alexi?”
“He got called in.”
“Good. Now you have time to sit down. I’ll sketch you.”
“Now?” Womanlike, Bess lifted a hand to her hair. “I’m not exactly dressed for it.”
“I want your face.” Obviously well used to making himself at home, he opened the drawer on an end table and rummaged for a pad. “Perhaps I’ll do your body later. It’s a good one.”
Her laugh was quick. “Thanks.”
“You might as well cooperate,” Rachel told her, and crossed over to take the baby. “Once the artist in him takes over, you haven’t got a chance.”
“I’m flattered, really.”
“There’s no reason to be,” he said absently as he unearthed a suitable pencil. “You have the face you were born with.”
“Thank God that’s not always true.”
That caught his interest. “You had it fixed?”
“No. I just sort of grew into it.”
“Not there,” he told her before Bess could sit. “Over there, closer to the window, in the light. Rachel, when do I get the drink you promised me?”
“On its way.” She stopped nuzzling Brenna long enough to look up. “What can I get you, Bess?”
“Anything cold—and a shot at holding the baby.”
“I can accommodate you on both counts.” Rachel laid her daughter gently in Bess’s arms. “She hardly ever cries. And I think her eyes may stay blue. Like Zack’s.”
“She’s a beauty.” Bess leaned down to brush her lips over the curling dark hair and to draw in the indescribably sweet scent of baby. “Like all of you.”
“Move,” Mikhail ordered his sister. “You’re in my way.”
Shooting off a mild Ukrainian insult, she headed for the kitchen.
“Talk if you like.” Mikhail gestured with his pencil, and began to sketch.
“It’s one of my best things.” She’d already forgotten to be self-conscious. “Where’s Sydney and Griff?”
“Griff has the sniffles.” The pencil was moving with quick, deft strokes over the pad. “Sydney fusses over him, but she says I’m fussing over him and sends me out on errands.”
“Which he does by coming by and plaguing me,” Rachel called out.
“She’s happy to see me,” Mikhail said. “Because she’s lonely, with Zack and Nick over checking on the pro
gress of the new apartment.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re moving.” Comfortable, Bess tucked up her legs. “Alexi mentioned it.”
“We need a bigger place. Of course, it was supposed to be ready a month ago, but things never run on time. I’ll miss this one,” she said, coming back in with a tray of cold drinks. “And having Nick underfoot. But I imagine he’ll like having this place to himself.”
Bess reached for her drink with her free hand, gently jiggling the baby with the other. “I guess he had as big a crush on you as Freddie has on him.”
For a moment, Rachel only stared. Then she let out her breath in a quiet laugh. “Alex said you saw things.”
“Just part of the job.”
Rachel didn’t consider herself a slouch in the reading-people department. “So, how big a crush do you have on Alexi?”
“The biggest.” Bess smiled and rubbed her cheek over Brenna’s. “He thinks I’m flighty. Fickle. But I’m not. Not with him.”
“Why would he think that?”
“I have a varied track record. But it’s different with him.” When Bess lowered her head to murmur to the baby, Rachel glanced at her brother. They exchanged a great deal without uttering a word. “It makes me envy people like your sister, Natasha,” Bess went on. “Those three beautiful children, a husband who after years together still looks at her as if he can’t believe she belongs to him. Work she loves. I envy all that.”
“You’d like a family?”
“I never had one.”
Rachel knew it was the lawyer in her, but she couldn’t help moving along the line of questioning. “Does it bother you that he’s a cop?”
“Bother me?” Bess’s brows lifted in surprise. “No. Do you mean, will I worry? I suppose I will. But it’s not something I could change, or that I want to change. I love who he is.”
“He’s making you sad,” Mikhail said quietly.
“No.” Bess’s denial was quick enough to startle the dozing baby. She soothed her automatically as she shook her head. “No, of course he isn’t.”