Kneel Down

by Chelle Bliss

I’m trying to help.

  Where are you???

  You can’t say you love someone and pretend they mean nothing. Love doesn’t work that way, honey.

  And then the last message, the one that made my stomach drop. The one that told me what a mistake it had been to believe that someone like Trudy would ever disappear completely.

  I threw the phone down when I read the very last of Trudy’s messages. I was convinced she had not let go of Dale. Knowing who he was and how important it was for him to do the honorable thing, he probably wouldn’t let go of her either.

  “I’d do anything for you,” he’d told me when he’d thought I wasn’t listening. Then, “You gotta know…you’re the only one who matters to me” when he knew I was.

  I heard that so clearly in my mind and every utterance of those words ripped through my heart. Now, I knew. He’d said it to me so many times before, and I’d stupidly forgotten how much he meant it and how true it was.

  Words really were just words.

  They meant nothing.

  Before I could convince myself that any excuse he gave me would explain away why he was still in contact with her, I hurried to the closet, throwing on a pair of jeans, my leather boots, and a thick wool sweater and scarf before I tore out of the room, leaving Dale in that bathroom, alone in my hotel room.

  I wouldn’t film today. I’d tell Johnny we’d start over tomorrow.

  Today would be a time for distance.

  Distance from Dale and the words his wife had used to convince him how much they still needed each other.

  Try to push aside your anger and think about the baby. This isn’t her fault.

  12

  Gin

  “That fucker has a vicious right hook.” Johnny winced when Angelo reached for his face, aiming to examine the already purple bruise forming along his jaw.

  “Did I apologize?” I lowered my head, covering my face.

  Angelo cursed for what must have been the fifth time as he stared at his boss’s injury. “Really,” I continued, glancing between the two men, “I am sorry. I had no idea he’d be so…”

  “Possessive?” Johnny asked.

  The word was accurate. I pushed down the swell of heat that bubbled in my stomach at the scene that had played out on set this morning—Johnny and Dale fighting. Actually fighting in front of our crew, on our set, because I’d gone AWOL. Because Dale couldn’t handle me giving him the silent treatment.

  Because he clearly had a child he neglected to tell me about.

  And Johnny Carelli got sucker-punched because Dale wouldn’t listen when security tried to make him leave the set.

  Shit, I felt like a drama magnet.

  “I wouldn’t say possessive, really.” The joke was lame, and I couldn’t make myself look at Angelo when he sent me a glare.

  Johnny caught the look, clicking his tongue before he muttered something low and admonishing to his guard in Italian, sending the man out of the room. “Forgive him.” Johnny poured me another glass of wine. “Angelo is protective.” He toasted me when I picked up my glass.

  Johnny’s housekeeper, a thicker woman with graying hair sporting a uniform and a beautiful smile, replaced the wine in the decanter and set two plates in front of us.

  “Grazie, Mina,” Johnny told the woman, grinning when she patted his shoulder.

  She walked out of Johnny’s sun-room and into his luxury apartment, leaving us alone to eat the impromptu meal she’d made.

  “She dotes on you, doesn’t she?” I asked, anxious for a subject that would relieve me of some of my guilt, if only momentarily.

  The woman had ushered me into Johnny’s home when we arrived. She’d asked four times if I was hungry, told me I was too skinny, and then insisted on feeding both of us.

  “She does, I’ll admit.” He watched her disappear into the living room then out of sight before he looked back at me. “She’s the niece of the woman who helped raise Cara and me. God rest. My father has a staff who are loyal. Sending her to me, I suspect my father thought, would keep me from eating all my meals at Demonte’s.”

  I grinned, remembering the little dive bar Johnny had brought me to my first night in New York. There were too many men trying to flirt with me, most of them over sixty, but they made up a big group of roughnecks who were union that Johnny had hired for the crew. He’d seemed at home there, and it showed.

  “Anyway, all my father’s staff think I need a wife.” He took a sip, motioning to my plate as he started in on his. “I’m not in the market…” Johnny took a bite of his chicken Marsala, releasing a moan. “But, merda, if she cooks like this, I might make an exception.”

  I hurried to swallow more wine, smelling the delicious garlic wafting in the sauce, and the plump mushrooms and tender chicken of my own dish. “I’ll have to find a kickboxing class here in the city.” I took a bite and closed my eyes when all those delicious flavors hit my mouth. “And do three extra classes.”

  “That sounds like you’re staying.” Johnny stared at me, abandoning his meal.

  I copied him, not sure what to make of his expression.

  I’d never thought about my plans beyond this shoot and packaging several episodes to present to the studios we planned to pitch the show to. A month, maybe two, was all I’d planned on. I hadn’t even thought about finding a place to rent, but things were going well. I liked New York. I liked the crew. I liked almost everything about being here and doing this job.

  Except who wouldn’t be here if I stayed.

  “I don’t… God, I wish I knew. Everything is so…” I glanced at Johnny, my attention shooting straight to his purple jaw again. Guilt returned in a flood inside my chest. “I did apologize, right?”

  “Bella,” he said through a sigh. “I have to say, I’m not surprised. Hunter is a bastard with a wicked right hook, but he isn’t stupid, and if I found myself in his shoes…” Johnny stopped there, narrowing his eyes as he shrugged. “Not for nothing, Italian leather, designer shoes, but his shoes nonetheless, then si, maybe I would have clocked some chooch I thought was trying to lay claim to the woman I thought was mine.”

  “This is a mess,” I whispered, hoping the rim of my wineglass covered the groan in my words.

  And it was a mess, an unmitigated disaster of my own creation.

  I’d left Dale alone in my hotel room after reading Trudy’s messages. He’d have known I’d read them. They’d been new. He would have seen his phone on the bed where I left it. He would have seen the messaging app open the second he unlocked his phone. Seen the messages he hadn’t read had been read by someone. Since I was the only person in the room, the resulting conclusion was obvious.

  I hadn’t returned, despite how many times he called me. Despite the endless messages. Despite how my body ached from the memory of him over me, in me. I’d left and stayed gone. Didn’t bother returning to the set. I’d ignored him completely, and by two o’clock, I turned off my phone and spent the night at Cara’s empty apartment, telling Johnny I wanted to take advantage of the spa in the building.

  So when we returned to the set this morning and Dale showed up a half an hour later, Johnny was completely unaware that anything had happened between us. All he knew was that Dale was mad. That he looked a little unhinged, and that he directed all his tired energy at me the second he spotted me.

  “There a reason he thought that?” Johnny asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “Thought what?” I asked, watching him, distracted as the image of Dale’s wide, intense eyes came back to me.

  I’d never seen him that angry or that desperate to be heard.

  “Hunter. Why did he act like I was trying to steal his woman?”

  “You have to listen to me,” Dale had started, ignoring Johnny at my side and David as he and his producer stared at Dale and how quickly he cornered me. There had been bags under his eyes and red streaks lining the whites and around the iris. “I spent all day and night looking for you.”

  “This isn’
t the time or place,” I’d said, dismissing him.

  “Gin, you got it wrong…”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t look at him, finally realizing that the gleam of hope our night together had given me was a flicker, not a flame. “I got a lot of things wrong.” Even that small spark was ash now.

  “Bella?” Johnny leaned against the table as I stared at nothing.

  My eyes burned as I remembered the twitch that took over Dale’s cheek when Johnny had grabbed his arm as Dale reached for me.

  “Hmm?”

  “You and Hunter?”

  “Oh,” I said, finishing off the wine, my voice flat. “Because, Johnny…” I looked at him across the table, drying my face when the tears spilled. Johnny pushed Dale first. You don’t do that to a SEAL. It could be deadly. Dale reacted. “I slept with him.”

  I don’t know what I expected. Johnny Carelli was a dangerous man. He could be scary, given the right circumstances. I’m sure if there was a woman he wanted to claim, he could be jealous and controlling.

  But Cara had shared that her brother and his friends had no interest in keeping company with the same woman for more than a night. In fact, they tended to spread the wealth when it came to beautiful women.

  That wasn’t my style.

  But even if I wasn’t Johnny’s woman and he didn’t have any interest in changing that, he still seemed irritated by my admission. I spotted the tight line that stretched across his mouth as he watched me, absorbing my confession like a sour olive.

  “You’re disappointed,” I said, surprised.

  He didn’t deny it. He kept his focus on my face, finally relaxing his features so that his mouth eased into a smile. “I think your standards are too low.” When I lifted my eyebrows, Johnny shrugged, moving closer to the table, the flame from the candles in the centerpiece throwing soft light around his beautiful face. “You deserve someone who will spoil you, bella. Someone who will give you the world.”

  “I’m fine with acquiring that on my own, Mr. Carelli.”

  His grin widened, and Johnny waved his hand. A surrender to my will that I was sure by now he would have gotten used to. “Fair enough, but I think you underestimate my intentions.”

  “Are you talking about your angle?”

  “I have angles?”

  “Forgotten already?”

  He poured another round between us. “You’ll have to forgive me. I was injured today by some asshole.”

  “I seem to recall you explaining all men have angles.”

  He filled my glass, motioning for me to drink, and I accepted.

  “All men, according to you, are plotting things. Typically, nefarious, filthy things, I’m guessing.”

  Johnny considered my words as he sipped his wine. I didn’t know what to make of the wolfish smile he tried to hide behind his glass. “Well.” He licked his lips. The motion distracted me enough that, for a second, my bad mood lifted, and I forgot about Dale punching Johnny and Johnny kicking him off the crew. “I’ll admit my angles can be filthy, but you, tesoro, I make exceptions for.”

  “And why is that?” I sat back, relaxing even more when Johnny came to my side of the table, kneeling next to me.

  He took my hand, bringing it to his mouth. “You are special, Ms. Sullivan, truly rare. And I only love the rarest of treasures.”

  My mind told me to leave this place. There was nothing here for me.

  Johnny Carelli wasn’t someone to play with. He couldn’t be trusted. He was plotting things I didn’t want to be part of. He wasn’t what I needed.

  So why couldn’t I make myself stand up? Why was I becoming so fascinated by the smooth arch of his thick eyebrows and the wide bridge of his nose? Why did the small, dark freckle underneath his left eye grab my attention? Why did the sudden image of Johnny out of that designer suit, a thin smattering of black hair over his chest, and the carefully arranged dark waves of his hair tousled against his pillow hold such fascination for me?

  “I’m not…that’s not…” I swallowed, my throat going dry. I nodded a dismissive thanks at Johnny when he handed me my glass.

  He was affecting me, and he knew it. He likely enjoyed the effect his presence, his handsome face, and expensive cologne were having on me. The bastard was good. Too damn good.

  “We…could be good together, my little spitfire.”

  “Johnny,” I warned when he leaned close.

  “You and me, bella, the things we could do…” He touched my face, the flat of his thumb sliding across my cheekbone. “I could make you forget everyone else.” He moved in, making me hold my breath.

  I curled my fingers around the arm of my chair as he pressed his thick, warm lips to my forehead.

  “Tomorrow night, I will take you to dinner. It will be our first date.” When I didn’t respond, still hadn’t unwrapped my fingers from the chair, Johnny grinned, laughing under his breath. “You think on it, spitfire, and let me know.”

  Then Johnny stood, taking my hand to lead me out of his apartment and down to the parking garage. He walked me all the way to the waiting limo and once again kissed my forehead as he told me goodnight. It wasn’t until we’d cleared the garage and were halfway to my hotel that I realized I was heading right into the lion’s den.

  13

  Dale

  She never worked this late back in Seattle. Neither did Kit.

  Not once. Six o’clock rolled around, and things shut down. That was a rule the network put into place because they were family-oriented. Whatever Carelli was trying to do wasn’t, because it was a mafia-funded gig.

  There was a family involved, but not a good one.

  The elevator chimed, and for the fifth time in more than two hours. I jerked my attention down the hall, irritated when the guys I’d seen leave earlier returned with white bags that smelled like Greek food tucked under their arms. They nodded at me, and I didn’t bother to give them one back. Didn’t much care if they’d planned on hauling security up here to get me to leave. Turns out when you wear a Navy T-shirt that’s probably a size too small, and you tear off your jacket when you’re pissed off and sweating because of it, and everyone around you gets a good look at you…well, hell. Suppose it’s good enough to look don’t-fuck-with-me sometimes. Especially when you aren’t in the mood to be fucked with.

  At least, that was the running theory.

  Carelli had a steel jaw. I told myself that asshole hadn’t hurt me when I’d clocked him, and he didn’t. Much. But what tore me up more than anything was the look on Gin’s face when I tried to explain the shit she’d thought she read from Trudy’s message.

  Think about the baby.

  Fucking hell. That little face flashed into my head, and guilt crowded me, crushing my insides like they’d been struck by an anvil. She was too young. Too beautiful and if I had to choose between her and Gin…damn. I knew the choice I had to make.

  Hand in my hair, elbows on my knees, I didn’t bother looking up when the elevator bell signaled, sure that it wouldn’t be her. I’d spent two hours in this hallway. All kinds of scenarios of where Gin had been and with whom swirling in my head. They ran the gamut. They were stupid and horrible, vomit-inducing and disturbing. None gave me comfort. None did one damn bit of good when all I needed was a five-minute conversation to explain what had been going on over the past year with my ex-wife.

  “Why are you here?”

  I jerked my head up, climbing to my feet to stand in front of her. Christ, she was beautiful and so fucking pissed off at me. One glance at her red-blotched face told me that.

  “You need to leave.”

  “That ain’t happening,” I said, trying not to grin like a fool when I spotted the way she kept slipping her attention to my arms, then back over my chest. She might be mad, but I knew damn well Gin was thinking about us together in the room right behind this door.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she started, moving the keycard into the lock.

  “Good,” I tried, holding my hand
against the door when she opened it. “Because I want you to listen to me.”

  “No.”

  But she walked past the threshold, and I followed, closing the door with my foot, coming behind her as she moved inside.

  The room had been cleaned, but from where she’d kept her bags and the planner left open to the same page it had been when I’d left the morning she disappeared on me, I could tell she hadn’t been back here.

  I closed my eyes, telling myself I wouldn’t ask the question.

  Telling myself I had no right to know.

  Telling myself it would do no good to know the answer.

  Hell. I couldn’t help it.

  “You fuck Carelli?” I turned to face her.

  She was in the middle of taking off her necklace but stopped, holding her hands behind her neck to jerk a glare at me. “Excuse me?”

  The question was already out there. No sense in taking it back.

  I’d had Gin in this room two days ago. She gave me everything she had. She’d taken everything from me. What she did to me, what she let me do to her, that didn’t come easy. That wasn’t simple. That shit was real and raw and couldn’t be forced. It wasn’t pretend. No way she didn’t feel what I did.

  I had to know the truth.

  Two steps had me in front of her as she dropped her hands. I ignored the fire blazing bright in her eyes as that glare turned into venom. I’d be a dead asshole if that look were lethal.

  “You and Carelli, last night. You let him fuck you?”

  Gin opened her mouth, rage cresting and full as she watched me. I knew this woman. She’d been my best friend for years. Her warnings were easy to make out. Right then, she jumped over annoyed, maybe even pissed, and landed right on “You are dead to me.” But she’d have to get over it.

  I wanted the truth.

  “That isn’t your business.”

  “Like hell.”

  “It. Ain’t,” she said, that East Tennessee showing up as she curled her top lip and pushed me aside to get into her closet. She didn’t care that I watched as she shimmied out of her skirt and shirt like she forgot that undressing in front of me wasn’t something we always did. “Last time I checked,” she said, standing in front of a mess of clothes she didn’t seem to see at all as she flipped through the hangers in nothing but her bra and panties, “I wasn’t anyone’s wife, didn’t belong to a blessed soul. You and I, Mr. Dale Damn Hunter, at one time, were just friends.”