by M. S. Parker
I didn't go find Michelle.
Burrowing into the long top coat I'd thrown over my suit, I walked eighteen blocks to my apartment in the frigid cold, needing the time to clear my head and focus my thoughts.
As the neighborhood shifted from the tourist trap that was Times Square, I kept alert, paying attention to those who might notice a big guy in a nice coat – that translated to having money – but either nobody noticed me, or nobody thought I'd be worth the trouble.
And I'd be a lot of trouble.
I'd been a skinny, gangly kid when I'd gone into prison, but by the time I came out, I'd topped out at six-two and heavy with muscle, thanks to all the time I'd spent in the prison yard. Between taking college courses and all the other shit they pushed on a con, there wasn't much else to do but stare at the wall or work out. One could always sit on their ass, but that had never been me. I'd come out of prison looking like I'd spent those years with my own personal trainer.
I'd also come out looking like somebody who knew how to bust in a few heads if I had to – and there had been a couple of times when I'd had to, and I'd hated every second of it. Violence had never appealed to me and appealed even less after I'd gotten out of prison. But getting my ass kicked appealed even less.
I made it to my own neighborhood without any trouble, although I hadn't thought my way free of the tangle in my thoughts. I was a fucking whore who couldn't think past the one woman burning a hole inside me.
The only thing that had really worked to distract me had been the sight of a man I loathed. What I'd wanted, more than anything, had been to close the distance between us and make him tell me what I wanted to know, but he had bodyguards there and the security from the theater was on hand as well. All that would have done was get me arrested. And with my record?
Yeah, I knew how that would turn out.
My thoughts bounced back to Michelle, and I tried to figure out what in the hell I was going to do about her.
I'd scared her the last time we were together. She tried to act like I hadn't, but I wasn't a moron. I'd grabbed her wrist without thinking and held her down. It was something I'd done with any number of lovers, save for Whitley, but I wouldn't do that to her, not with her history.
Of course, her history wasn't too different from Michelle's.
The thought of it turned my stomach, thinking about what Michelle must have gone through – and her uncle. She'd just been a kid.
A fat white snowflake drifted down to land on my nose just as I headed up the steps to my apartment building. Shooting a dark look skyward, I muttered, "You better not interfere with my plans for the weekend."
Not that I had planned much of anything out, other than seeing Michelle.
And I was nervous as hell about that.
Almost scared, to be honest.
How was I supposed to handle touching a woman that I might scare the next time she drove me a little crazy?
Twenty-One
Jake
I stood at the window of my apartment, watching the snow come down in fat, heavy flakes.
I didn't like the look of it.
I'd finally decided what I should do about Michelle and me, and here the sky was looking like it was about to dump a two-foot blanket of snow on the city.
In just over an hour, I was supposed to meet Michelle a few blocks north.
Earlier, she had texted and asked me for my address. Without thinking, I had given it to her although now I wished I hadn't. I lived basic.
I mean really basic. The money I'd earned, I kept aside and tucked into various accounts, or better yet, in stacks of cold, hard cash which was locked into my safe here in my apartment. I had issues trusting the justice system, the law, banks, hell, pretty much anybody.
It hadn't always been this way, but ever since that phone call...
The phone call.
That fucking phone call.
My mind wandered back to that day, hearing Crank's voice, raspy after years of cigarette use, as he said my name. "How ya doin', Jakes? Life on the outside treating you okay?"
"I'm doing okay, Crank. What about you?"
We didn't talk too often, but I still wrote him, called him once or twice a year. He had another five years left before he had a chance at parole, and I wanted to be the friend to him that he'd been to me, so when he called, I always answered.
"I'm good, I'm good, kid. Listen...I got this letter. It's from some guy, Marlon McCrane."
Marlon.
Fuck.
"Don't do this," I muttered, pushing thoughts of him and the call, the letter, all of it out of my mind. I couldn't think about that part of my life and still be level when Michelle got here.
Lately, Michelle had taken up too much of my thoughts, which wasn't good. I had a mission, something I needed to see through to the end, and not being able to focus on it wasn't good, but how was I to push that sweet, wonderful woman out of my head?
Lately, everything in me seemed to be screaming, the mission can get fucked. The mission didn't seem to matter the way it used to.
At least not until I woke up from another nightmare, starting on that long, slow walk to the car, my head crazy and spinning, people around me laughing...then everything went dark, and I woke up in the hospital where they told me my mother was dead, and I was the reason why.
"Do you remember anything, son? Anything at all?"
The answer had been no, and I wished to hell the sheriff who'd been at my side when I awoke had never told me what happened. I wish to hell he had never said a word, that I had never woken up. But if I'd stayed unconscious and unaware, I never would've found out what happened later. I never would have known about the letter, never would have thought things through and realized there was another explanation.
The mission might not exist. The mission...getting answers.
But it was damned hard thinking my way through to the next step when all I could do was think about Michelle.
The snow continued to fall.
Michelle and I were supposed to be seeing each other very soon, but with snow as thick as this was, I had a feeling a whole lot of New York wasn't going to be doing much of anything for the next twelve hours or so. It was supposed to snow clear through early morning, and it would take at least through dawn to get the roads cleared.
There was a time when seeing all this white stuff would've made me so happy I would've been stupid with it. I'd never seen snow until I move to New York City. By that time, that innocent kid in me had been long dead. That innocent kid who would have loved to build a snowman, maybe gone to Central Park and played in that cold shit all day long. Played the way I'd seen others doing as I trudged around the city, first on my way to odd jobs when I worked under the table, then when I was meeting various clients.
The knock at the door caught me off guard. Hardly anybody knew where I lived. Hell, hardly anybody other than my clients even knew I existed.
I didn't exactly cultivate friendships. And none of those clients were going to come here for a visit or to see if I wanted to go grab a cup of coffee – most of them probably didn't even know this piece of New York even existed.
But even as I crossed the floor, I realized I was wrong.
There was somebody I knew via the business who knew where I lived.
I couldn't call her a client, but she did know me through my work. I'd told Michelle where I live. Just over an hour ago. But why in the hell would she be coming here? I'd been checking my phone looking for some message from her that we would have to cancel plans for the night.
Checking the phone, expecting the message, dreading it all the same.
It hadn't, though. Not yet.
My apartment didn't exactly run toward security guards, and the speaker system had long since been broken. The landlord wasn't likely to fix it anytime soon either. So anytime somebody came to visit, they had to climb the two flights of steps to see me. Fortunately, not too many people came to see me. Which, again was how I liked it.
&n
bsp; Opening the door, I mentally brace myself for what I might find. But there was no bracing myself for who I found on the doorstep.
It was, indeed, Michelle. Huddled inside a floor length coat the color of fog, she stood there shivering. Her long hair hung free to her shoulders and there were snowflakes in her hair. She looked...beautiful. Achingly, painfully beautiful, and I wanted to grab her, pin her to the wall and kiss her. Then I wanted to sink my dick inside her and promise her...anything. Whatever she wanted, I wanted to give it to her.
And she stood there, looking so beautiful in the dingy, dirty hall of my miserable apartment building.
Without thinking, I said the first thing that came to mind. "You don't belong here."
She flinched, mouth parting slightly on a gasp.
I cursed myself inwardly and reached out to grab her arm in case she tried to leave.
"I don't mean it in a bad way. It's just...this is not exactly the nicest neighborhood." Ushering her inside, I dusted the snow from her coat.
"I...I..." Her teeth chattered. "I just wanted to see you for a few muh-minutes."
She continued to shiver as I pulled her against me.
"I'm sorry, darlin'. I wasn't trying to be rude." I pressed my lips to her temple. "It's just this...hell, it's not the nicest place in the city." I had no idea what else to say.
"I had a taxi drop me off. It's not like I walked," she said, her voice muffled against my chest. "I just wanted to see you for a few minutes. I figured you'd end up wanting to cancel our date with the weather."
I chuckled. "Here I was thinking that you'd be calling to cancel." I held her against me, easing away just long enough to push the coat open so it no longer posed a barrier. She sighed in pleasure and snuggled in closer.
"The authorities are warning people not to go anywhere unless they have to. They're talking like we might get several feet of snow. I wanted to see you before I got trapped in my apartment all weekend by myself." She smoothed her hands up and down my sides, tucking her face into my chest, her breath warm against my skin.
"So don't be by yourself," I said without thinking about the words. I was too busy taking in the feel of her against me.
"What?" she asked, staring and lifting her head to look up at me.
In for a penny, in for a pound. "Stay here. You and I can stay here. After all," I said, crooking a grin at her. "You already said the authorities don't want people out unless they have to be. I've got plenty of food and there's no reason the two of us can't be here together."
"I wouldn't want to impose," Michelle said, but there was a glitter in her eyes.
"If you were imposing, I wouldn't have offered." Bending down, I kissed her. As I did so, I caught both her hands and squeeze them. "Stay." I whispered the words against her lips and held her there until she answered me.
"Okay." Her lips moved against mine too. "Okay," she said again. "I'll stay. After all, one should always listen to the authorities."
I took her coat and placed it on the row of hooks behind the door. "Let me give you the grand tour." Turning to the single room studio apartment, I swept out a hand. "This is my home. It ain't much." I looked back at her, thinking of the sweet pad she had for herself, probably close to two thousand square feet, if I had to take a stab at it.
Mine was just over a quarter of that. I didn't have a separate bedroom, dining space or an office, and my bathroom was tucked into an area that would fit inside just one of her closets. I could afford better if I wanted, but I didn't see the point when I was rarely here. I didn't have my mind on a lot of material things anyway. Actually, up until recently, my mind had been on one thing, my mission.
Michelle wasn't looking around the apartment. She was looking straight at me. "Now that the grand tour is over, what are we going to do?"
Unless I was mistaken, there was a slight innuendo in her voice. I decided I liked it. Taking one slow step at a time, I moved over toward her. Once I reached her, I close my hands over her wrist and guided them behind her back. There was a faint resistance and her eyes were wary, but there was no fear, so I lowered my mouth to hers.
"I can think of any number of ideas, sweet, sweet girl," I said just before stroking my tongue along her lower lip. She was so damned sweet, always so damned sweet. I'd known she would be, from the very first time I'd seen her and caught sight of that shy, nervous smile.
"What..." Her breath hitched, causing her breasts to rise and fall against my chest. "What kind of ideas?"
"That would ruin the surprise," I teased, catching her earlobe between my teeth and tugging.
"Oh. I like surprises," Michelle murmured on a sigh. That sigh turned into a moan when I raked my teeth down her neck. The high sweater she wore barred much of her soft, pale skin from me, but I didn't let that bother me, nudging it out of the way with my chin as best as I could.
My cock pulsed in demand, and the need to give in was...strong. Her hands tugged against the grip I still held on her wrists, but she still didn't seem more than a little nervous, so instead of letting go, I tightened my grip...a little.
She gasped as I tugged on her wrists, forcing her spine to arch as I ran my lips back up her neck. Need grated inside me.
"Michelle?"
"Hmm?"
I pulled away from her. "Maybe we should eat. Otherwise we're not going to. At least not anytime soon. And you need energy for what I plan to do to you."
Actually, I needed time to...calm my brain. No, calm my dick the hell down because, all of a sudden, I wanted to devour her in three greedy bites, and...no.
I had a plan, after all.
Dinner didn't help much.
It was probably because cooking in my small kitchen area required the two of us to stand hip to hip, her body brushing against mine, which just made that beast of hunger rage even higher.
I did manage to get it calmed down – or at least leashed – reminding myself of everything she'd been through, and jumping on her like a ravening beast was out of the question.
For now.
I wanted her to trust me...needed it.
She's trusted you so far. Why are you going to treat her different now?
That calm, rational voice continued to talk to me all throughout the meal and it was because of it that I decided to talk to her after we finished eating – instead of just boosting her up onto the sturdy little table that sometimes served as a desk. She could have been appetizer and dessert all in one, but...first...
Placing my hands on her knees, I slid them up her thighs, moving them slowly upward until my thumbs almost met at the junction before gliding back down. I kept that up until she was arching her hips slightly, moving in to meet my touch – but I didn't grant it.
Not yet.
"Do you trust me?" I asked, keeping my voice calm. What we discussed next was going to set the course for the next few hours, maybe even the next few days...more.
Michelle blinked, clearly caught off guard. Then she shrugged, her eyes falling away. She didn't pull away, and that counted for a lot. Not as much as her words, though. She said in a voice just as calm as mine, "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't very well be here alone in the apartment with you, now would I?"
She looked back at me a few seconds after the last word left her lips and met my gaze head on, her cheeks colored just a few shades lighter than the rosy pink sweater she wore.
"It's not like trusting guys comes all that easy for me, you know," she said with another shrug, this one far less graceful than the first. "So...yes, I trust you. Some part of me has trusted you since the first time we met. Otherwise I never would have met you for dinner that first time, or gone to the hotel room with you."
The simple honesty was enough to lay me low.
"Why?"
She licked her lips, gaze falling away.
Grasping her chin, I guided her eyes back to mine.
"It's...complicated. And it's not. I..." She blew out a breath. "I know who I feel safe with. I have for a long time now. Ever s
ince...ever since my uncle," she finished in a rush. "I can be walking down the street and feel safer stopping to give a couple of dollars to the old homeless guy on the street than the businessman who offers to buy me coffee two or three times a week."
Something told me this wasn't just a made-up example, and I wanted to know where in the hell the businessman offered to buy her coffee.
"I know which guys are watching me and thinking I look like an easy mark and which ones are just wondering if I have a nice rack. Both are rude, but only one group of them are dangerous," she said, lifting her chin a little as she said it. "There's a kind of...look in their eyes. My uncle had it. Once you see it, you can't ever miss it. You...you don't have it."
She paused, then added softly, "Besides...you've trusted me."
"I...what?"
"You told me things about you." She darted another look at me, but most of her attention was locked on the window. "You also mentioned that's what you do. Well, you need confidentiality. I guess it had to have taken some trust on your part to even talk to me, much less keep up with...this. If you can trust me a little, why can't I trust you too?"
Humbled, I caught her face in my hands and pressed my mouth to hers.
"Yeah. I guess I did trust you, didn't I?"
Her lips clung to mine, and I deepened the kiss, pushing my hand into her hair. I could do this now. Her words had helped soothe the beast of need inside me – it wasn't gone. It couldn't be gone. Not when she was sitting so close, and I could feel her need almost as acutely as I felt mine.
But I could talk to her...ask her.
If she said no, then she said no.
Slowly, I lifted my head. As I did so, I reached down and caught her wrists again, lifting first one, then the other to my mouth, pressing a kiss to the inside. "If you didn't trust me, I wouldn't ask. But since you do...there's something I want to try."