Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set

  And there’d be no nights spent dancing to soft, romantic music either.

  He loved the thought of doing that with a woman—with her—but she’d have to have it so loud the neighbors would be calling the cops every night for disturbing the peace.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he pushed away all thoughts of Chloe LaRoche and tried to figure out the bigger picture: who was he going to partner with for the opening of his studio next month?

  With less than six weeks to find someone, he was screwed. He thought of the blond chick who frequented Gyrations nearly every weekend. She was the next best choice. Unfortunately, she came with drama and she was far too young for his taste.

  Dammit.

  Chloe was his only best choice. His perfect choice in every way, except for….

  He grumbled another inward curse, his eyes staring at each uneven red brick passing beneath his feet. The further he got from her gallery, the more he wanted to turn back around and apologize.

  What an ass. Even if he did go back, he knew she wouldn’t accept his apology. He didn’t deserve it anyway. Not after what he said to her and how he treated her on the way out.

  He gave her the cold shoulder, even when he saw the hot tears welling in her eyes. He hurt her. He hurt her bad. And Chloe was not a push-over. He knew she was not the kind of woman who relied on others and she sure as hell didn’t need him. That was apparent the moment he woke up and found her gone from his bed.

  So, why did he feel like he needed her?

  He never needed anyone. Never. But Chloe somehow slipped her pretty little self into his heart and set up camp. Sure, he was desperate for a dance partner, but it went far deeper than that. He needed her in his life. He didn’t like the thought of not having her in his arms anymore. Of not being able to reach out and touch her tiny waist, pulling her elegant body into his, smelling the warm vanilla scent of her hair as he breathed her in.

  Yeah, he was still a goner. A sucker for her beauty, her talents, and her kiss….

  He had to forget about it.

  Had to forget about her.

  It would never work.

  Grayson walked aimlessly, for what seemed like hours, making his way through historic Boston, his mind replaying things over and over; their first dance at Gyrations, their first kiss in the stairwell, their first night together…which happened to be the best night of his life.

  His thoughts didn’t stop there. He rummaged through this afternoon, when he had watched her dance. When he had joined her. And, of course, when he had hot, delicious sex with her. Again.

  She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and lord knows he had seen his share of gorgeous women. It came with the territory of being a dancer and the owner of a successful happening club. Chloe was more than just a pretty face and nice piece of ass. She was independent, a big plus on his scale of first-rate qualities, and if he was tallying traits, he could add intriguing and extremely artistically endowed to the record.

  But how could he be with a woman who couldn’t hear? How could he be with a woman who couldn’t hear music, the most important thing in his very being, his core, his soul? Music was the very entity that made him who he was. He lived and breathed for music, for dancing.

  It didn’t seem possible, the two of them. They were opposite poles that defied the laws of physics, and would never attract.

  “How’d it go this afternoon, Mr. Anders?”

  Grayson looked up from his mundane view of the sidewalk and saw Big Gerry sitting curbside in his taxi, his head out the window. He sighed and looked at his watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be off the clock by now?”

  “Yeah, I am,” Gerry replied as he got out of the car. “As you can see, I’m not offering to give you a lift. I’m asking how your day with Chloe went.”

  “How do you think it went?” Grayson snarled.

  “Well, judging by the look on your face…not too well. I’m just hoping you’re a bigger man than what I have you pegged for right now.”

  “Come on, Gerry. I’m not in the mood.”

  Gerry neared him, backing him against the wall of his building. “You’re not in the mood? Fine. Let’s talk of something else. Like what kind of mood Chloe’s in right now.”

  Grayson stared the cabbie down, knowing he better answer carefully, given Gerry’s threat this morning of kicking his ass. His silence was evidently more intelligible than if he spoke at all because, “You sonofabitch,” was the last thing Grayson heard before he took a solid fist in the mouth, knocking him into next Sunday.

  Staggering against the wall, he coddled his jaw. “What the—”

  Gerry grabbed him by his shirt and straightened him against the blunt face of the building. “You want another? Or are you going to step into my office,” he gestured toward the cab behind him, “so we can discuss this in private?”

  “Hey, buddy,” a voice rang out over the ringing in Grayson’s ears. “You want me to call the cops?”

  Grayson looked past Big Gerry’s wide shoulders at a witness with a cell phone in hand, and back at Gerry, who didn’t look the least bit threatened. If anything, Gerry looked as if he was daring Grayson to say ‘yes.’

  “Nah,” Grayson muttered. “It’s cool. I deserved it.”

  “Damn right you did,” Gerry huffed, releasing him.

  Grayson noticed Gerry had a slight hint of remorse in his eyes, but didn’t push it. He simply touched his sore lip and glanced at his blood tainted fingertips. “You want a job as a bouncer?”

  Gerry scoffed and a smile cracked his hardened face. “Hardly. Now, are we gonna talk in private, or you want to finish it out here where we’ve an audience?”

  Grayson pushed off the wall, noticing the small gathering of bystanders around them. He was not in the mood to talk this out with anyone, but he knew he was not going to get anywhere fast without first coming clean with Gerry.

  He waved the lingering spectators off and made haste for the door of the cab. Both men got in from the driver’s side and stared at each other, Gerry in the front seat and Grayson in the back.

  “I’m going to assume by the might of your punch you are, indeed, Chloe’s protective older brother,” Grayson stated, tenderly touching his swollen lip again.

  “Protective? Yes. Brother? No. So, what happened with her?”

  “Why do you care so much?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t like people who take advantage of others.”

  “Considering I had no idea Chloe was deaf, how could I have taken advantage of her? Besides, she doesn’t seem like the type who’d allow for it anyway.”

  “Are you gonna tell me what happened? Or do I have to ask her?”

  Grayson dropped his head back on the leather seat. “Look, she told me she was deaf, I was floored. I didn’t know what to say, I stumbled around on my words…and I just left.”

  Gerry shook his head. “With all due respect, Mr. Anders, you are an asshole.”

  Grayson could hardly argue with the man. “Thanks for pointing that out for me. Are we done here?”

  Ignoring him, Gerry started writing something down. “Do you like her?”

  “What are you, my shrink?”

  Gerry looked at him askance. “I’m going to take that, and the fact that you walked all the way home with guilt and sadness, as a ‘yes’. So, here,” he said, handing him a simple phone number on a business card-sized note. “Call her.”

  Grayson took the paper, looking at the digits like it was a useless string of lottery numbers. “Hello? She’s deaf…”

  “She’s deaf, Mr. Anders. But she’s not a mute to society.” He rubbed his temples. “She runs her own business for God sakes.” The cabbie paused, allowing Grayson a minute to catch up. “When you call the number, you’ll be speaking to an interpreter. It’s a service—VRS. Google it. She or he will interpret your message for Chloe—live—and Chloe’s response will be interpreted back to you. Call her.”

  Amazement settled around Grayson. He ha
d no idea a service like this even existed. He couldn’t help but feel glad for it, for her. After taking that strange revelation in, he sure as hell couldn’t believe he was feeling a certain pull toward her. Just like when he had accidentally seen her late lease notice. For some reason, he had felt concerned for her then and he was still feeling concerned for her now. What was he doing going soft for a woman like this? He was just asking for a world of drama—a noose he swore he’d never willingly feed his head through.

  He looked at Gerry now, hoping to get by on an excuse. “Even if I did call her…I wouldn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “Flip it over,” Gerry suggested. “You can start there.”

  He read the name and the title. “Brigit Sullivan: Interpreter For The Deaf and Hearing Impaired.”

  “That’s my sister. She’s how I met Chloe and why I’m her personal cabbie whenever she needs a lift somewhere. Kind of like you.”

  Grayson took a deep breath, flipping the card between his fingertips. He had so many mixed emotions right now, about Chloe, about him and Chloe together, about everything. And sitting in the backseat of a cab, with Big Gerry hovering, was not helping him. He tucked the card into his breast pocket and stared out the window, looking at nothing.

  “She wasn’t always deaf, you know,” Gerry added. “She used to be a dancer. A good one from what I understand. Ballet, or something like that. Had a promising career.”

  Grayson’s heart melted. A dancer…it all made sense now. “How’d she lose her hearing?”

  “Some sort of brain tumors when she was in college. Bilateral something Neuroma. I dunno. Brigit knows the term. Ask her. Chloe tried to keep dancing, but after the surgery, she lost her equilibrium and her hearing. The balance comes back, I’m told, but the permanent hearing loss comes with the removal of the tumors. Most times the hearing loss isn’t so severe. But in Chloe’s case, the tumors were so large they had to cut into her skull from behind her ear to remove them.”

  Grayson felt about as low as a man could feel. How could he be so insensitive? He tried to put himself in her place and but couldn’t imagine having to give up dancing. It must have been excruciatingly difficult for her to accept and doubly hard to pick herself up from rock bottom and carry on. He thought of her paintings, her new life as an artist—a remarkably talented artist—and the struggles she was having establishing herself.

  He cursed himself, recalling the way he had treated her. The way he had left her standing there, tears in her eyes, as if she couldn’t possibly say anything worth his time.

  God, he was an ass. An egotistical bastard.

  “I have a lot to think about.”

  “Well, while you’re pondering, perhaps you could squeeze in a little thought for Chloe. You know, think of someone else besides yourself for a change. Because if I know you, and I’m pretty sure I do, your only thoughts are on how this affects you. I think Chloe deserves a little bit more than that.”

  Grayson nodded and exited the cab. After closing the door, he put his hand on the roof and leaned toward the driver’s side window. “Thanks.”

  Gerry smiled sardonically. “Don’t mention it. It was my pleasure.”

  “I’m sure it was.” Grayson tapped the roof twice, still feeling the dull ache in his jaw. “See you tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter Nine

  Chloe stared at the label on the flattened Winsor & Newton tube of paint as if it held an emotional significance. For any other painter, Naples Yellow Light No. 426, was just another dull shade on the color spectrum. For her, it would always remind her of what she had and lost.

  MINE. She had spelled it out on the plane of his stomach, and, for a few blessed moments in her life, she thought he actually welcomed the idea. Sure he did. Else he wouldn’t have dared her to prove it. But somewhere between his playful challenge and his abrupt withdrawal, she had let him slip through her fingers. By the look in his eyes, she knew she’d never see her Adonis again.

  Choking back the overwhelming urge to cry, she tossed the empty tube of paint in the trash on top of the carryout order from The Bistro. She had lost her appetite, unable to stomach one bite of the turkey sandwich. The only thing that hadn’t vanished were thoughts of how he had found her so quickly and how he came to know her regular Sunday meal. How could a man who was so meticulously thorough in his investigation be so shallow?

  Like it mattered now….

  Tying up the garbage bag, she said farewell to the meal and the nostalgic pastel hue she had used on both him and the canvas. Never again would she look at that color the same, nor could she keep looking at her “Adonis At Rest” sitting on the easel. Though she had painted it for the sole purpose of holding onto a blissful memory, she couldn’t bear the pain that was now associated with it. Like the empty tube of paint, it had to go as well.

  Her eyes drifted longingly toward the canvas, its subject, though quite passive in nature, taunted her. She’d never painted anything as beautiful as her sleeping divinity, nor had she ever produced a work of still life art in a matter of hours. Being a perfectionist, she’d normally paint for days, if not weeks, altering brushstrokes, smoothing gradations, and fussing over shadows. This piece came out of nowhere, in the same manner Mr. Gyration had come into her life. Unfortunately, he left just as swiftly, leaving behind an aftermath of tears and open wounds.

  As she turned her back on the artistic composition silently tormenting her from the corner of the room, she trudged toward the shower, her head hung, her conflicting thoughts at war. While a small part of her felt angry for the way he had walked out on her, a larger portion pitied herself for not being able to hold on to such a grand specimen of male splendor.

  She knew she shouldn’t beat herself up, for he didn’t deserve to be the focus of her emotional strain. She had enough to worry about as it was, and there were plenty of other men, more worth for the choosing—whether as a love interest or a flesh-and-blood subject to paint. Hell, if one couldn’t be readily found, her wild and creative imagination could just as easily conjure up the next best thing. But when it came to finding a man who finally made her feel alive and special, at this dismal moment no one compared.

  This was why she didn’t do casual sex. It was why she didn’t do casual anything. Casual often included a streak of recklessness, which usually meant she was going to get hurt and have oodles of regret in the end.

  The last thing she ever wanted to do was regret meeting Mr. Gyration.

  Too late for that now.

  ****

  Grayson unlocked the door to his third story apartment and entered his home, the combined noise of pounding hammers and whirling sanders resonating through the floor below. Drawing the chain lock, he had never been so thankful to be away from everyone. Away from the crowded streets of Boston. Away from his nosey cabbie. Away from the adamant contractor who spotted him sneaking up the stairwell and insisted on getting his signature on an approval and a waiver. Everyone.

  So, why couldn’t he get away from Chloe?

  All he could think about was her beautiful face, the way she smiled at him whenever he had taken her in his arms and danced with her. He realized now she was probably thrilled to have been able to dance again, and to have shared it with a man who wanted it as much. Yet, he had brutally cast her dreams aside. He shattered her very soul by calling attention to her impairment and coldly shoving it in her face.

  He threw his keys on the table and walked to his bedroom, stopping short as he saw his reflection in the mirror hanging above his dresser. He stared back at a shallow, self-centered man and he hated what he saw. Many times he had looked in that mirror and saw a man who had so much to offer: money and success; a handsome face on a graceful, athletically built body all rolled into one total package; a decent catch as far as most women were concerned.

  But now…he saw an empty shell, nothing more than a man who was as vacant as a cheap, drive-by trucker motel. He wasn’t worth a second look, and he sure as hel
l wasn’t worth Chloe’s tears, not after what he’d done to her.

  As he methodically unbuttoned his shirt, ready to get comfortable and veg out, he caught a glimpse of something yellow. Like a brand, he saw the smeared paint of the word “MINE” written across his stomach and the downward arrow trailing below his denim waistband.

  He had forgotten all about her playful antics with the paint, the way she seductively painted herself before sliding down his legs and….

  His knees almost gave out just thinking of it. As vivid as if she were there in front of him, he could feel her warm soft mouth taking him in and the look of sheer lust in her beautiful dark eyes.

  As he let one hard breath escape, he staggered to his bed and sat down. She claimed him alright, but it seemed she had seized more of him than what the conspicuous arrow was pointing toward.

  How could this be?

  He had never allowed his heart to be taken by a woman. He had always protected it more than he guarded his wealth, especially once he got older and encountered the lure of one too many charming females. If he lost a few grand over a good lay, it could always be regained some way or another. He didn’t get where he was today by being a piss-poor businessman with less than lucrative transactions.

  Losing his heart was a whole different story, though. No matter how savvy he was in the business world, he would not recover the loss of his heart if he gave it freely.

  Whether he wished to admit it or not, he knew his heart had already been claimed. He sat pitifully on his bedside, wondering how Chloe LaRoche had been able to slip past his guard and capture his heart without him even knowing.

  He fell back against the mattress and stared at the ceiling. There was no doubt he liked her, and despite the heartless discourtesy he showed her, he wanted to see her again and make it up to her. Apologize.

  He may have been a total fool this afternoon, but he wasn’t so gullible as to think she’d actually accept his apology, even if it were from the heart. Given the fact she was deaf, he knew she could easily turn her back on him, refusing to read his lips, and never know a word he said.