by Marin Thomas
The trip to Queens had been made in silence. Parnell had slept in the backseat and Anna had dozed in the front, allowing him plenty of time for his brain to stew. He’d mentally replayed his and Anna’s lovemaking, until he’d almost run the car off the pavement making a tight turn. After the near disaster, he’d forced himself to focus on the station’s precarious situation.
When they’d parked at Parnell’s friend’s house, Anna had reassured Bobby that everything would be fine and she’d manage the business until he got back on his feet again. Hell, Anna had been running Parnell Brothers on and off for months.
Later that night alone in his sterile apartment, Ryan decided he was no better than Parnell. He, too, had quit on life, except he preferred to call it surviving. But after making love with Anna, surviving no longer appeared to be a great game plan.
“Little Nicky’ll see you now,” the bartender announced, stepping out of the shadows.
With a nod of thanks, Ryan approached the open door at the end of the hall. Godfather Scarlotto was six feet five inches, with the build of a California redwood. No wonder Parnell had acted nervous when they’d discussed the mobster. Little Nicky pointed his cigar to the chair in front of the desk.
Ryan sat.
“Slick says you got business with Parnell Brothers.”
Slick. Fitting name for a man who appeared to wear the entire contents of a bottle of baby oil on his head. “I’m working temporarily for Parnell.”
Eyes narrowing, Nicky grunted, “Don’t bother me none who you work for.”
“I understand he’s into you for a lot of money.”
“He can keep my money. I’ll keep his business.”
“What if Parnell raises the cash plus interest on what he owes you?”
Fleshy lips curved upward. “I charge a hundred and fifty percent interest.”
“As I said, what if Parnell is good for the money?”
Dark, beady eyes glared. The tick tock of a wall clock echoed about the room. After a full minute Ryan swore his heart beat the same rhythm.
“Who the hell are you again?”
“McKade. Ryan McKade. You might recall doing business with my grandfather, Patrick McKade.”
A beefy hand slapped the top of the desk and Ryan jumped inside his skin. The big ox had lightning reflexes. “Your grandfather paid off Parnell’s debts.”
“Name your price.” Ryan suspected any man with money was a good man in Little Nicky’s opinion.
“I don’t want your money. I want Parnell’s business.”
Time to find out if a mob man had a heart or at least half a heart. “Good people are going to lose their jobs. They’ve got elderly parents to care for and children to—”
“Let them find other jobs.”
So much for the heart angle. He had to protect Anna and the others. Anna more than anyone would be devastated if the station closed. She’d lose everything important to her. Except you. She could have you…if you’d let her. “Why a rubbish-removal company?”
Meaty fingers tapped the desktop. The mobster wasn’t accustomed to explaining his actions. “I’ll ask the questions,” he growled. “What’s a McKade doing poking around in trash?”
Hadn’t he read somewhere that mob families had great respect for their elders? Ryan opted for the truth. “My grandfather believed I needed to be taught a lesson.”
“What kind of lesson?”
“Bravery.”
A lengthy silence ensued as the mobster ogled the wall behind Ryan. Finally, he inquired, “What are you afraid of?”
“Living.” Ryan cringed. The truth was painful. “I was badly burned during the 9/11 attack. A few weeks later, I had a terrible fight with my wife. Not long after, she miscarried our baby and we divorced.”
Sympathy darkened Little Nicky’s eyes to black—or maybe it was a trick of the light reflecting off the dusky patches of skin above his cheekbones.
“I coped by shutting out the world. My grandfather accused me of being afraid of life and sentenced me to a blue-collar job where I’d be forced to interact with people.”
Gaze boring into Ryan, Little Nicky confessed, “My uncle died in the first tower.”
“I’m sorry.” Multiply the sentiment by the thousands for every man, woman and child affected directly or indirectly by the terrorist attack.
“Why do you care if I take Parnell’s business?”
“I respect the employees. They’re hardworking people who want to provide the best for their families.”
“Paying off Parnell’s debt won’t stop him from gambling again.”
“You could refuse him when he asks for another loan,” Ryan suggested.
“He deals with me because I treat him fair and his roots go deep in the community. I don’t use a baseball bat to resolve disputes. If I send him away, he’ll find another bookie who may not be as well mannered.” The man grinned, showing off a gold eyetooth.
“What does the mob want with a garbage company?”
“If I told you, McKade, I’d have to kill you.” Little Nicky chortled at the lame joke.
“Parnell has people who are concerned about him. People who will guarantee he receives help for his gambling addiction.”
“Good for him.” The mob boss checked his watch. “We’re finished.” He stood.
“Will you at least consider allowing Parnell to keep the business if he pays the money he owes?”
“No.” Flat. Cold. Final.
“Would you consider—”
“Tell Parnell he has until November 5. Now, scat, rich boy.”
“This isn’t over,” Ryan threatened.
“Perhaps your grandfather got your lesson wrong?”
“How’s that?”
Respect shone in Little Nicky’s eyes. “It took balls to come here.”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t seen the last of my balls.” Ryan exited the room before he got real ballsy and told the mob boss to shove his loan where the daylight didn’t shine.
Chapter Twelve
Following his nonproductive meeting with Little Nicky, Ryan had gone back to the job site—a cleanout on the west side of Queens. He’d brushed off Leon’s complaint that he’d spent too long to purchase a sledgehammer at the hardware store.
The sledgehammer had come in handy, as Ryan used an interior wall to purge his anger at Parnell and his gambling obsession. In record time, he’d crushed the partition separating the living room from the kitchen, leaving Leon and Eryk gaping.
Now, after eight hours, Ryan was sore, tired and eager to see Anna. Leon guided the truck into the station garage. The second dump truck rested in its bay. While his coworkers went to collect their lunch boxes, Ryan went in search of Anna, who never left the office until all the guys checked in at the end of the day.
Ryan missed Anna. Missed her touch. Her scent. Her sweetness.
After they’d made love in Atlantic City, he’d selfishly hoped Parnell wouldn’t surface so he and Anna could spend every hour, minute, second of the weekend together. She’d awoken in him a deep need to connect with another human being. A need he’d sworn had shriveled up and died after his divorce.
That need had eaten at him all week, until he believed he’d go crazy if he didn’t spend some time with Anna—even a quick dinner before catching the train to Manhattan later that night.
The front office was empty, Anna’s desk neat and tidy. Her coat was absent from the stand in the corner, and the coffeepot had been switched off. Frustrated, he entered the break room. “I guess Anna left early.”
Eryk tapped the pink sticky note on the front of the fridge. Have a headache. Went home early. See you tomorrow.
Did Anna have a for-real headache, or…Don’t jump to conclusions. They’d made love forty-eight hours ago. Too early to confirm if his one slipup had resulted in Anna becoming pregnant.
“You okay, Jones?” Eryk dropped into a chair at the table. “Sit before you pass out.” He glanced at Leon. “He eat lunch?”
“Heard the flu’s going around.”
While Leon and Eryk exchanged flu stories, Ryan’s heart bounced against his chest wall. The baby idea had materialized out of left field and had blindsided him. A second chance at fatherhood. The idea both excited and terrified him. Considering his screwed-up psyche, he’d probably make a mess of fatherhood.
Anna would guide you.
Part of Ryan ached to invest in the dream. But a child deserved two parents, and the thought of marriage—of trusting a person to stay by his side through good and bad—terrified him. He accepted the blame for his divorce. But in his defense, he’d reached out to Sandra after the news of her miscarriage. He’d made an attempt, albeit a feeble one. It had been too late. Ryan wondered if, with time, he could learn to trust Anna with his heart.
“You want a lift to the train, Jones? It’s on my way,” Leon offered.
“No, thanks. I’ve got an errand to run.” Ryan intended to check on Anna.
“Flip the bottom lock on the side door when you leave,” Leon instructed, then he and Eryk walked out.
Before closing up the station, Ryan grabbed a fast shower and changed into the extra set of clothes he’d stored in his locker. He caught the bus near the Muddy River Café and got off in Anna’s neighborhood shortly thereafter. A brisk five-minute walk and he’d arrived at the brownstone apartment. He rang the bell, pressing his finger against the button longer than necessary.
“Chill!” a masculine voice called from inside.
The door swung open and Anna’s roommate appeared, wearing a white apron and a chef’s cap and wielding a wooden spoon covered with chocolate. The scowl on the guy’s face evaporated and a curious gleam lit his eyes as his gaze roved Ryan from head to toe.
He was being checked out by another man and couldn’t decide if the experience offended or amused him. “Is Anna here?”
“She’s napping. I’m Blair, her roommate.” He transferred the wooden spoon to his left hand and held out his right.
“Ryan Jones.”
“Anna talks about you—” he rolled his eyes “—all the time. C’mon in.” He waved the spoon and Ryan expected chocolate drops to splatter the walls, but the batter clung to the utensil. “I’m supposed to wake her in a few minutes.”
Once inside the apartment, Ryan hovered near the door, resisting the urge to squirm under Blair’s scrutiny. After the longest ten seconds of Ryan’s life, Anna’s roommate announced, “Keep me company while I finish my lesson.” The man vanished into the kitchen.
Following the scent of baking chocolate, Ryan moved through the room, then hovered in the kitchen doorway. The place was a disaster. Pots, pans, dishes, measuring cups and spoons he’d never seen before littered the counters and tabletop. Amid the chaos, the oven timer bleeped.
“Ah, the first layer.” Blair retrieved a pair of mitts in the shape of fish, then slid a pan from the oven and rested it on a wire rack to cool. “I’m experimenting with a recipe for my midterm exam.” After inserting a toothpick into the middle of the cake, he touched, then sniffed, the splinter of wood. “Perfect,” he announced.
Ryan was unsure what to say, but his stomach spoke for him. The rumbling echoed loud and clear in the tiny space.
“Sit down. You can be my guinea pig.” Blair winked.
Never having been winked at by a man, Ryan chose to ignore the gesture. “If the cake tastes half as good as it smells, you ought to pass the test,” he complimented Blair.
“I prepared the amaretto frosting last night.” Blair fetched a ceramic bowl from the fridge. Next he cut a large piece of still-hot cake. He wielded the spatula as if the utensil were an artist’s paintbrush. The end product was a masterpiece of delicate swirls and spikes.
Blair sat down opposite Ryan at the table, rested his chin in his palm and waited for a verdict. The cake, a unique combination of amaretto and chocolate, melted in Ryan’s mouth. “Unbelievable.”
Preening under the compliment, the chef flashed his even, white teeth. “My own creation.”
“I don’t cook, but I’d give this an A plus.” Ryan didn’t object when Blair placed a second, smaller piece in front of him, then added a glass of milk.
“Thanks.”
“So.” Blair tapped his fingertips on the tabletop. “Tell me about Ryan—the man who’s responsible for Anna singing in the shower.”
Ryan made it a policy to never discuss his women with other men.
“She never said, but I can tell.” Blair leaned forward.
“Tell what?” Ryan was having difficulty following the discussion.
“Anna’s in love with you. I think it’s quite romantic, really.”
Love? The forever kind, or the this-is-new-and-different kind? He believed her feelings were serious—she would have never slept with him if she didn’t care deeply. But love? “I care very much for Anna,” he admitted.
Blair sighed. Again. “I figured you were special when Anna’s portrait family didn’t scare you away.”
“She’s the one who’s special. She’s a survivor.”
“Anna and I have been friends—” Blair paused, narrowing his gaze “—for a long time, so I’m entitled to ask. What are your intentions toward her?”
First Parnell and now Anna’s roommate? Ryan wanted to insist his intentions were honorable, but a chance remained that he’d bail out in the end. “That’s between Anna and me.”
“You slept with her this past weekend,” Blair accused.
“She told you?” Ryan hoped she’d left out at least one detail—how they’d forgotten to use a condom the first time.
“Anna didn’t say a word.”
Resisting the urge to squirm in his seat, Ryan muttered, “I’m not in the habit of discussing my love life with—”
“Gay men?”
Scowling, Ryan finished his sentence. “With anyone.” Then he added, “You have an annoying habit of interrupting people.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Blair removed Ryan’s empty dessert plate from the table and added it to the pile of dirty dishes stacked in the sink. “I have one more thing to say, then I’ll drop the subject.” His face sobered. “Don’t break her heart.”
“I’ll do my best not to.” He prayed his best was good enough.
“And in case the subject comes up…yes, I’m okay with you moving in with us.”
Ryan had trouble picturing himself, Anna and Blair living together. On the other hand, Blair’s cooking would be a bonus.
“Am I missing the party?” Anna rubbed her puffy eyes in the kitchen doorway.
The sight of her, all cuddly like a well-loved teddy bear, squeezed Ryan’s heart. He rose from his chair, crossed the room and hugged her, not caring that they had an audience. Ryan loved how she curled into him when he rubbed her back. “Feeling better?”
“Lots better now that you’re here.”
Her words were a balm to his weary soul. Anna had a way of making him feel needed and desired. And scared. He worried about his deepening feelings for her, yet felt defenseless against the power she wielded over him. “Do you get headaches often?” He didn’t dare ask if she was pregnant. Not with the roommate eavesdropping.
“Not very often. Blair made me his famous hangover remedy, then sent me to bed.”
“I’m glad someone was here to look after you,” Ryan said, ignoring the jealous twinge that caught him by surprise. He wished he’d been the one she’d turned to for help.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“Long enough to sample Blair’s cake. Your roommate’s a hell of a chef.”
Once again, Blair preened under the compliment as he washed the mixing bowls in the sink.
“So the recipe worked?” Anna peeked around Ryan’s shoulder.
“Better than I’d hoped. Sit and I’ll cut you a piece,” the resident chef invited.
“I will later. Right now I want to kiss Ryan.” She snatched Ryan’s hand and tugged him toward the hallway.
One of Blair’s eyebrows lifted in an I-told-you-so gesture.
Shrugging, Ryan grinned, then allowed Anna to lead him to her bedroom at the end of the hallway. Once inside, she shut the door, rolled up on her tiptoes and kissed him.
For two seconds he hesitated, then he lifted her off the ground and walked her to the bed. They should talk, not make love. He suspected Blair could be right. Anna might be halfway in love with him already. And his feelings for her were traveling the same path. She deserved a commitment. At least a promise. But all he cared about at the moment was showing her how much he needed her. As if she were his next breath.
When the backs of her knees bumped the edge of the mattress, he collapsed with her in a heap on the bed. He paid particular attention to her mouth. “I wanted to kiss you as soon as I saw you at the station this morning,” he mumbled, then trailed his lips over the silky column of her neck.
Anna’s heated murmur fueled Ryan’s desire and he worked his hands under her T-shirt, then fumbled with the front clasp on her bra until it popped open and her breasts spilled into his hands. Anna’s sighs switched to earthy moans when he rubbed the pads of his thumbs across her rosy nipples. With her help, they worked the T-shirt over her head. Gathering her close, he feasted on her breasts, convinced he’d never tire of seeing, feeling, loving Anna’s generous curves.
The way she arched her body, seeking his touch, warmed Ryan. He kissed her belly, nuzzling her tummy with his nose, while toying with the elastic band on her pink panties. Then he slid his fingers beneath the silk and caressed the soft blond curls at the juncture of her thighs.
A burst of sanity made him ask, “What about your roommate?”
“Blair won’t bother us.” She traced his mouth with the tip of her fingernail, and he had trouble focusing on her words. “Besides, he approves of you.”
“I’m glad.” Ryan swirled his tongue inside her belly button.
“He’s never allowed any of my other dates to sample his cooking.”
“Your roommate offered me a slice of cake because he approves of me?” Ryan nibbled her hip.
“And—” his hand slid inside her panties again and she gasped “—because Blair trusts you.” Grabbing a fistful of Ryan’s hair, she tugged until he met her gaze. “I trust you, Ryan.”