by Nora Roberts
There would be dinners and long walks, quiet talks. They’d go listen to music, and dance. Now and again they’d have a lazy evening snuggled up in front of the television.
Nick considered it a sign of his commitment that he hadn’t put sex at the top of the list.
On top of the world, he came out into the bustle and blare of Times Square and decided to use some of his loose change for a little pinball.
The arcade was noisy, and there was a loud rock backbeat blasting over the metallic sounds of beeps and buzzes. Though he’d missed the freedom of being able to breeze into an arcade any time he chose, he had to admit it felt good to be able to spend money he’d earned.
No sneaking around, no vague sense of guilt. Maybe he didn’t have the gang to hang around with, but he didn’t feel nearly as lonely as he’d thought he would.
It wasn’t something he’d admit out loud, but he was getting a kick out of working in the kitchen with Rio. The big cook had plenty of stories, many of them about Zack. When he listened to them, Nick almost felt as though he’d been part of it.
Of course, he hadn’t, Nick reminded himself, using expert body English to play out the ball. There was no possible way he could explain how miserable he’d been when Zack shipped out. Then he’d had no one again. His mother had tried, he supposed, but she’d always been more shadow than substance in his life.
It had taken all her energy to put food on the table and clothes on his back. She’d had little of herself left over once that was done.
Then there had been Zack.
Nick could still remember the first time he’d seen his stepbrother. In the kitchen of the bar. Zack had been sitting at the counter, gobbling potato chips. He’d been tall and dark, with an easy grin and a casually generous manner. Once Nick had gotten up the courage to follow him around, Zack hadn’t tried to shake him off.
It was Zack who’d brought him into an arcade the first time, propped him up and shown him how to make the silver balls dance.
It was Zack who’d taken him to the Macy’s parade. Zack who had patiently taught him to tie his shoes. Zack who’d clobbered him when he chased a ball into traffic.
And it was Zack who, barely a year later, had left him with a sick mother and an overbearing stepfather. Postcards and souvenirs hadn’t filled the hole.
Maybe Zack wanted to make up for it, Nick thought with a shrug, then swore when the ball slipped by the flipper. And maybe, deep down, Nick wanted to let him.
“Hey, LeBeck.” The slap on his shoulder nearly made Nick lose the next ball. “Where you been hiding?”
“I’ve been around.” Nick sliced a quick glance at Cash before concentrating on his game. He wondered if Cash would make any comment about him not wearing his Cobra jacket.
“Yeah? Thought you’d dropped down the sewer.” Cash leaned against the machine, as always, appreciating Nick’s skill. “Haven’t lost your touch.”
“I’ve got great hands. Ask the babes.”
Cash snorted and lighted a crushed cigarette. His last. Since Reece had copped less than ten cents on the dollar for the stolen merchandise, Cash’s share was long gone. “Man, the chicks see that ugly face and you never get a chance to use your hands.”
“You’ve got your butt mixed up with my face.” Nick eased back on his heels, satisfied with his score and the free game he’d finessed. “Want to take this one?”
“Sure.” After stepping behind the machine, Cash began to bull his way through the game. “You still hanging with your stepbrother?”
“Yeah, got a few more weeks before we go back to court.”
Cash lost the first ball and pumped up another. “You got a tough break, Nick. I mean that, man. I feel real bad about the way it went down.”
“Right.”
“No, man. Really.” In his sincerity, Cash lost track of the ball and let it slip away. “We screwed up, and you took the heat.”
Slightly mollified, Nick shrugged. “I can handle it.”
“Still sucks. But hey, it can’t be so bad working a bar. Plenty of juice, right?”
Nick smiled. He wasn’t about to admit he’d downed no more than two beers in the past three weeks. And if Zack got wind of that much, there’d be hell to pay. “You got it, bro.”
“I guess the place does okay, right? I mean, it’s popular and all.”
“Does okay.”
“Must be plenty of sexy ladies dropping in, looking for action.”
The neighborhood bar ran more to blue-collar workers and families, but Nick played along. “The place is lousy with them. It’s pick and choose.”
Cash laughed appreciatively even as he blew his last ball. “Want to go doubles?”
“Why not?” Nick dug in his pocket for more tokens. “So what’s going on with the gang?”
“The usual. T.J.’s old man kicked him out, so he’s bunking with me. Jerk snores like a jackhammer.”
“Man, don’t I know it. I put up with him a couple of nights last summer.”
“Couple of the Hombres crossed over to our turf. We handled them.”
Nick knew that meant fists, maybe chains and bottles. Occasionally blades. It was odd, he thought, but all that seemed so distant to him, distant and useless. “Yeah, well…” was all he could think of to say.
“Some people never learn, you know. Got a cigarette? I’m tapped.”
“Yeah, top pocket.” Nick racked up another ten thousand points while Cash lit up.
“Hey, I got a connection at this strip joint downtown. Could get you in.”
“Yeah?” Nick answered absently as he sent the ball bouncing.
“Sure. I’d like to make that other business up to you. Maybe I’ll drop by one night and we’ll hang out.”
“Forget it.”
“No, man, really. I’ll spring for the brew, too. Don’t tell me slippery LeBeck can’t slip out.”
“I can get out when I want. Just walk out the kitchen.”
“Around the back?”
“Yeah. Zack’s usually tied up at the bar until three. Two on Sundays. I can get around Rio when I want to, or take the fire escape.”
“You got a place upstairs?”
“Mmm… Your ball.”
When they switched positions, Cash continued to question him, making it casual. The cash went in a safe in the office. Business usually peaked by one on Wednesdays. There were three ways in. The front door, the back, and through the upstairs apartment.
By the time Nick had trounced him three games in a row, Cash had all he needed. He made his excuses and wandered out to meet with Reece.
He didn’t feel good about conning Nick. But he was a Cobra.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Zack stepped out of the shower, grateful the endless afternoon was over. He didn’t mind paperwork. Or at least he didn’t hate it. Well, the truth was, he hated it, but accepted that it was a necessary evil.
He’d made his orders, paid his invoices and tallied his end-of-the-month figures. Well, maybe he was a week or so behind the end of the month, but still, he figured he was doing pretty well.
And so was the business.
It looked as though he’d finally pulled it out of the hole his father’s illness and the resulting expenses had dug. Paying off the loan he’d taken to square things for Nick would pinch a little, but in another year he’d be able to do more than look at boats in catalogs.
He wondered how Rachel would feel about taking a month off and sailing down to the Caribbean. He liked to imagine her lying out on the polished deck, wearing some excuse for a bikini. He liked the idea of watching her hair blow around her face when it caught the wind.
Of course, he’d have to take some time to check the boat out, test the rigging. He thought he’d be able to talk Nick into a day sail, or maybe a weekend. He wanted the two of them to be able to get away—away from the bar, the city, and the memories that tied them to both.
With a towel slung around his hips, he walked to the bedroom to dress. He h
oped, sincerely, that the Sunday dinner at the Stanislaskis’ would crack the kid’s defenses a little more. Whenever Rachel spoke about her family, it made him think of what they—of what Nick—had missed.
All the kid needed was a little time to see how things could be. They were nearly halfway through the trial run, and apart from a few skirmishes, it had gone smoothly enough.
He had Rachel to thank for that, Zack thought as he tugged on a pair of jeans. He had Rachel to thank for a lot of things. Not only had she given him a second chance with Nick, but she’d added something incredible to his life. Something he’d never expected to have. Something he’d—
On a long breath, he stared hard into the mirror. When a man was going down for the third time, he recognized the signs.
Don’t be an idiot, Muldoon, he told his reflection. Keep it steady as she goes. The lady wants to keep it simple, and so do you.
It wouldn’t do to forget it.
“Hot date?” Feigning disinterest, Nick slouched against the doorjamb. He’d been passing and had caught the way Zack was staring blindly into the mirror.
“Huh? Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Zack dragged a hand through his wet hair and scattered drops of water. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“I’m on at six.” For reasons Nick couldn’t understand, he was swamped by the memory of the times he’d stood in the bathroom watching Zack shave. How it had made him feel when Zack slapped shaving cream on his face. “Rio’s got beef stew on special tonight. Too bad you’ll miss it.”
Zack grabbed a shirt. “You take my share or Rio’ll make me eat it for breakfast.”
Nick grinned, then remembered himself and smirked. “You take a lot of crap from him.”
“He’s bigger than I am.”
“Yeah, right.”
Watching Nick in the mirror, Zack buttoned his shirt. “He likes to think he’s looking out for me. It doesn’t cost me anything to let him. He ever tell you about how he got that scar down the side of his face?”
“He said something about a broken bottle and a drunk marine.”
“The drunk marine was going for my throat with that broken bottle. Rio got in his way. The way I see it, I owe Rio a lot more than putting up with his nagging.” Tucking in his shirt, Zack turned, grinned. “And you’re getting paid to put up with it.”
“He’s okay.” Nick would have liked to ask more, like why a drunk marine had wanted to slice Zack’s throat, but he was afraid Zack would just shrug it off. “Listen, if you get lucky tonight, don’t worry about coming back.”
Zack’s fingers paused on the snap of his jeans. Tucking his tongue in his cheek, he wondered how Rachel would take his brother’s turn of phrase. “Thanks for the thought, but I’ll be home.”
“For bed check,” Nick muttered.
“Call it what you want,” Zack shot back, then bit off an oath. Come hell or high water, they were going to get through one conversation without raised voices. “Listen, I don’t figure you’re going to climb out the window. Hell, you could do that while I’m here. It could be the lady won’t want company overnight.”
Mollified, Nick hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “They didn’t teach you a hell of a lot in the navy, did they, bro?”
In an old gesture they’d both nearly forgotten, Zack rubbed his knuckles over Nick’s head. “Kiss my butt.” With his jacket slung over his shoulder, he headed out. “And don’t wait up. I’m feeling lucky.”
Long after the door shut behind Zack, Nick was still grinning.
Rachel was just unlocking the outside door when Zack strode up behind her. “Good timing,” he said, and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.
“For you, maybe. Everything ran over today. I was hoping to get back and soak in the tub before you got here.”
“You want to soak?” The minute they were in the elevator, he had her against the wall. “Go ahead. I’ll scrub your back.”
“What a guy.” When his mouth closed over hers, it hurt, somewhere deep, reminding her just how much she’d wanted to be with him again. “You smell good.”
“Must be these.” He pulled a paper cone filled with roses from behind his back.
Her heart wanted to sigh, but she resisted. “Another bribe?” She couldn’t resist the urge to bury her face in the blooms.
“There was a guy selling them a couple of blocks down. He looked like he could use a couple bucks.”
“Softy.” She handed him her keys so that he could unlock her door and she could continue to sniff the roses.
“Keep it to yourself.”
“It’ll cost you.” After kicking the door closed with her foot, she dumped her briefcase and laid the spray of roses on a table. “Pay up, Muldoon,” she demanded, tossing her arms around him.
There was such joy in it. Heat, yes. And the sweet, sharp ache of need. But the joy was so unexpected, so fast and full, that she laughed against his mouth as he twirled her around.
“I missed you.” He continued to hold her, inches off the floor.
“Oh, yeah?” With her hands linked comfortably around his neck, she smiled. “Maybe I missed you, too. Some. How long are you going to hold me up here?”
“This way I can look right at you. You’re beautiful, Rachel.”
It wasn’t the words so much as the way he said them that brought a lump to her throat. “You don’t have to soften me up.”
“I don’t know how to tell you how beautiful—except that sometimes when I look at you, I remember how the sea looks, right at sunrise, when all that color spills out of the sky, kind of seeps over the horizon and falls into the water. Just for a few minutes, everything’s so vivid, so…I don’t know, special. When I look at you, it’s like that.”
Her eyes had darkened with an emotion she couldn’t begin to analyze. All she could do was rest her cheek against his. “Zack.” His name was a sigh, and she knew she would cry any minute if she didn’t lighten the mood. “Roses and poetry, all in one day. I don’t know what to say to you.”
Enchanted, he buried his face in her hair. “That’s a first.”
“We’re not going to get—”
“Sloppy,” he finished for her, laughing. “Us? Are you kidding?” But when he sat on the couch, he kept her cuddled in his lap. “Let me see that bruise.”
“It’s nothing,” she said, even as he tilted her head for a closer inspection. “The worst of it was that the word got out and I had to deal with all this sympathy and advice. If those cops had kept their mouths shut, I could have said I’d walked into a door.”
“Take off the jacket and sweater.”
She arched a brow. “You’re such a romantic, Muldoon.”
“Can it. I want to see your neck.”
“It’s fine.”
“Which is why you’re wearing a sweater that comes up to your chin.”
“It’s very fashionable.”
“Peel it off, babe, or I’ll have to do it for you.”
Her eyes lit. “Ah, threatening a public official.” After kicking off her shoes, she tossed up her chin. “Try it, Buster. Let’s see how tough you are.”
She didn’t put up much of a fight, but the initial wrestling was enough to arouse them both. By the time he had her pinned to the couch, her arms over her head and her wrists cuffed in his hand, they were both breathing hard.
“I took it easy on you,” she told him.
“I could see that.” Her jacket was crumpled on the floor beside them. Smiling, Zack began to inch her sweater upward, letting his fingers skim over the silky material beneath.
Her breath caught, and released unsteadily. “That’s not my neck,” she managed as his hand cupped and molded her breast.
“Just checking.” Watching her, always watching her, he teased the nipple until it was hot and hard. “You’re quick to the touch, Rachel.”
His touch, she thought, trembling. Only his.
Slowly, determined to savor every moment, he slipped the sweater up. He released her w
rists to tug it off, then clasped them again.
“Zack.”
He ignored her flexing hands. “My turn at the helm,” he said quietly. “I told you once I wanted to drive you crazy. Do you remember?”
He was. He already was. “I want to touch you.”
“You will.” He skimmed a fingertip over her neck first, carefully studying the bruises. They were fading to yellow. “I don’t want to see you hurt again.” Gently he lowered his head to trail a necklace of kisses over the marks. “Not ever again.”
“It doesn’t hurt.” Her pulse jackhammered under his nuzzling lips. “I don’t need to be seduced.”
“Yes, you do. But you’re afraid to be, which makes the whole idea damn near irresistible. You’re just going to have to trust me.” He shifted so that he could unzip her skirt and slip it off. “I have places to take you.” His mouth lowered to hers, rubbing, then nibbling. “Strange, wonderful places.” Then diving deep.
The journey wasn’t calm, but she had no choice but to go where he took her. This eagerness for pleasure, this immediacy of need, was still so new that she had no defense against it. His hand slid over her, lingering here, exploiting there, while his mouth devoured hers with a relentless hunger.
No escape, she thought desperately as he brought her close, painfully close, to that first tumultuous release. She was trapped in him, utterly lost in a tangled maze of sensations. She writhed beneath his hand, too steeped in her own needs to know how deliciously wanton her movements were.
“I didn’t have time to appreciate these last time.” Zack trailed his fingers up the sheer stocking to the pristine white garter. She would think them practical, he knew. He thought them erotic.
With an expert flick of his fingers that had her moaning, he released one stocking, then the other, before tormenting them both by peeling them, inch by lazy inch, down her legs.
He had to kneel on the floor to taste her calves, the backs of her knees, the glorious satin skin of her thighs. She cried out when he slid his tongue beneath her panties to sample the hot, sensitive flesh underneath. Fighting impatience, he tugged them off to give himself the freedom to taste more of her.