Brand New Me (24 page)

Deirdre licked her lips. The perfect opening, assuming she had the
cojones
to take it. “Um…about that. About furniture, I mean.”

Docia cocked an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“Well. I found the perfect set of tables and chairs for the shop. And I was wondering if maybe you’d be willing to cosign a loan with me. I mean, I wouldn’t ask, but I’m afraid he might sell them to somebody else, and I don’t have the money right now. But I will. Have the money, I mean.” She heard her voice trail off into nothing. Whatever happened to her ability to negotiate multi-million-dollar deals? Maybe it was different when you needed the money personally.

Docia’s forehead furrowed. “How much money are we talking about here?”

She took a breath. “Six hundred dollars. Well, four hundred eighty, actually, because I gave him a twenty percent deposit.”

Docia stared at her, her forehead even more furrowed than before. “Four hundred eighty dollars.”

“I know it’s a lot.” Deirdre sighed. “Maybe I’ll ask for three hundred and get the rest from my tips.”

“Dee, for god’s sake,” Docia snapped. “I can
give
you four hundred eighty dollars. You don’t need to go to a bank for that. Hell, I can give you six hundred. For that matter, Mama would be glad to front you however much you need to open your shop right now. You’re her only niece and she’s worried sick about you. Why are you nickel and diming yourself like this?”

Deirdre stared down at her hands again. “I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just…I want the shop to be mine. I want to do it for myself. And that means not taking help from the family for once. I spent most of my life letting Daddy have his way about everything. Well, now I want my way. And I want to show that I can do it on my own.” She met Docia’s gaze slowly. “Like I say, maybe that sounds loony, but it’s just the way it has to be.”

Docia’s smile was rueful. “It doesn’t sound loony, sweetheart. It sounds familiar. When I came to Konigsburg I’d just lost eighty grand in a lousy investment orchestrated by my ex-fiancé. I didn’t want to talk to anybody in my family about anything—didn’t want to hear them say
I told you so,
I guess. So I came up here and I opened the bookstore on my own. Invested a lot of my own money, got a loan from the bank, hired Janie, all of it. I felt just the way you feel now—I wanted it to be mine. Mama and Daddy kept trying to give me money, and I kept turning it down.”

She leaned back in her chair, resting her coffee cup on the arm. “It wasn’t easy. I spent a lot of time kicking myself for not asking for help. But now I’m glad I did it my way. And I’ve let Janie buy in as my partner, so it’s not even exclusively mine anymore. But the thing is, Dee, I had some money to begin with.” She took another small sip of her coffee. “I didn’t dip into my trust funds, so it wasn’t a huge amount, but it was enough so that I could do most of the renovations on the shop without having to get a loan. I could wait to go to the bank until I had a business plan and could show them what I was going to do, what kind of inventory I was going to stock. And it didn’t hurt that the bankers thought Daddy would back me up if I didn’t make it on my own.”

Deirdre licked her lips. “I’ve got a lot of the shop renovations done now, Dosh. I’ve cleaned the place out and painted the walls and ceiling, although I’ve still got to finish the storeroom. I’ll enamel the shelves over the next couple of weeks. Then in a few more weeks I’ll be eligible to draw on the trust funds Mama set up, and I can get the coffee roaster and the stock for the shop. If I could just get these tables now…”

Docia shook her head. “No, Dee. I won’t cosign any loan for tables at the bank. That would be a piss poor financial decision on your part. You may need to go to the bank later on for a business loan.”

Deirdre felt as if her chest had gone hollow. She licked her lips again.

“I will, however, give you the six hundred as a personal loan. I’ll even let you write up a note if you insist. I’d prefer to give you the stupid six hundred outright and be done with it, but if you want it to be a loan, it’ll be a loan.”

Deirdre closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her heart begin to beat again. “Thanks, Dosh.”

“No problem. Who has these tables you need to get?”

“His name is Milam Broadus. He’s got a store down on C Street.”

“Oh god,” Docia groaned. “Crazy Broadus. Are you sure you can’t get these tables anywhere else?”

Deirdre shook her head. “They’re perfect, and he’s selling them for way less than they’re worth, although they need a lot of work.”

“Better you than me, kid.” Docia covered her hand with her own. “I know you don’t want people giving you things, but I wish you’d let us help you a little more now and then.”

“You can come to the Faro.” Deirdre gave her the best smile she could manage. “Come dance in the beer garden like you did last night. That’ll help me a lot. The more people, the better the tips. And the Toleffsons seem to draw the crowds.”

Docia grinned at her. “Oh I think we can probably manage that. It’s a tough job, I know, but believe me, the Toleffsons can do it!”

The band on Saturday night wasn’t as famous as Frankie Belasco, and the crowds weren’t as big. But nobody threw any punches and the dance floor stayed full, so Tom figured they were ahead.

Clem stayed later than usual, trying out a new combination of bar food—sliders with chipotle sauce, quesadillas with slices of peach and brie, seafood nachos with shrimp and crabmeat along with two kinds of cheese and her own salsa.

Tom was pretty sure this qualified as bar food only if the bar in question was in Las Vegas, but he was willing to give Clem her head. He figured the Faro was working its way up to a dinner menu, slowly but surely. And Clem definitely helped with the classing up part of things.

With no cover charge to collect, Chico was back to watching the dance floor, his arms folded across his massive chest. Tom hadn’t asked him if he’d gotten over the bruises from the fight. He figured Chico might take that as an insult. Midway through the evening, Sylvia appeared at his side with a bottle of Topo Chico. Tom restrained himself from pointing out that she was supposed to be covering the main room, watching Chico take the bottle from her fingers with a half smile.

Well, that’s an interesting development.
He wasn’t sure whether a romance between Sylvia and Chico would screw things up personnel-wise or not, but it seemed harmless enough.

Deirdre moved through it all like a moonbeam. He was no longer bothered by this weird impulse toward poetic similes whenever he was around her—it seemed to be part of the territory. His main problem at the moment was keeping his mind on his work and not fixating on her and memories of last night, as well as plans about what he wanted to do after everybody finally went home.

At one point he glanced up and saw Chico and Sylvia moving in a sort of ponderous two-step around the edge of the crowd. He shook his head—things seemed to get a little weirder every day, but business was booming.

The crowd had thinned out by one o’clock, and the band began packing up at one-thirty. Tom yawned. The only compensation for keeping the insane hours he had at the Faro was the chance to catch some extra sleep in the morning before heading in for the lunch crowd. But he hadn’t been able to sleep that morning after Deirdre left. The bed had seemed too empty.

He blew out a breath. Obviously, he was heading into very dangerous territory, the kind of country you only entered if you were really sure of your guide. He wasn’t sure of much anymore, except that he wanted Deirdre in his bed as often as he could convince her to go there.

She perched at the bar next to him, watching him transfer the last bunch of glasses from the dishwasher rack Leon had brought out from the kitchen to the shelves behind the bar. “Are you almost done here?” she said brightly.

He blinked at her. She sounded much peppier than she should have, given how little sleep she’d gotten the night before. “Pretty much.” He opened the gate at the end of the bar and stepped through. “Did you take a nap or something? You look a lot more awake than you should be.”

She laughed, the sound moving over his skin like the brush of her fingertips.
Goddamn poetry.

“Can you help me move some tables tomorrow? I found just the right ones, and I need to pick them up from the store.”

He shrugged. “Sure. We can take the truck.” He opened the door, holding his arm high so that she could duck through. Her hair brushed his arm, sending faint shivers through his muscles.

Okay, enough already. She’s hot. I get it.

Main stretched before them, illuminated dimly by the mercury lights on the corners. The night heat seemed to shimmer around them. From somewhere on the far side, he thought he heard an owl, hooting softly.

“I love this time of night,” Deirdre murmured. “I never used to be out this late—always in bed by midnight at the latest. I never knew what I was missing. It’s so quiet. But not exactly. You know what I mean?”

Tom shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a Konigsburg special. You wouldn’t see it or hear it this way in a city like Houston.”

“I believe it. I’m so glad I’m here.” She glanced up at him, her smile glowing.

“I glad you’re here too,” he murmured, his voice suddenly thick in his throat.

They rounded the corner to her apartment door. He wondered if she remembered inviting him for Saturday night. She hadn’t said anything about it. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more in life than to follow her up the stairs to her empty apartment.

Deirdre unlocked the door, then smiled up at him again. “Come up?”

He nodded, unsure of his voice. He watched her move up the stairs ahead of him, her beautiful behind swaying in her “do-me” jeans, her sneakers whispering on the treads. He figured he’d be using every ounce of willpower he had to keep from jumping her as soon as they were in the door to the apartment.

She stepped inside ahead of him, clicking the light switch at the side of the door. “I still don’t have much in the way of furniture. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” All they really needed was a mattress. Which he’d already supplied. Lucky him.

She tossed her purse on one of the chairs and then turned back to him. “Well…”

His mouth inched up into a grin. “Well…now.”

She ran her tongue quickly around her lips, which managed to send a new jolt of heat to his loins. “Would you like something to drink?”

He shook his head, running his fingers along the neckline of her T-shirt.

She swallowed hard. “Maybe…I don’t know if I have anything to eat except cereal.”

He stepped forward. “I’m not hungry. Not that way, anyway.” His hands slid to her shoulders almost automatically, as if that was where they were supposed to be, and then he brought his mouth down on hers, trying not to push too hard and failing as he did.

She gave a little moan beneath him, maybe of protest. He pulled back to look at her, and got another moan, this one definitely of protest. She stretched her arms to circle his neck, pulling him down to her mouth again.

“Ah, Deirdre,” he whispered, sliding his lips to her throat. “You make me crazy.”

One slender leg wound around his hips, and he felt the edge of her teeth moving over his earlobe. “No, I don’t. I make you happy.”

“Oh yeah, babe, you do that too,” he muttered against her collarbone, dipping his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat.

She buried her fingers in his hair, then pulled his head up gently, licking the tip of his nose, then running her tongue along his lower lip. “What I want,” she whispered. “What I really want is to get out of the living room and into the bedroom. There’s no place to sit down out here.”

Tom leaned down and scooped her into his arms, heading down the hall to his right as she giggled. “Your wish is my command, lady. Particularly if it happens to be my wish too.”

Deirdre lay back against her mattress—the mattress Tom had so thoughtfully provided. She was beginning to think he hadn’t been entirely altruistic in that respect. His hands brushed down her legs, pushing them apart gently as he ran his tongue along the delicate skin at the joining of thigh and hip. She sighed, feeling the gathering of heat at her core. Not wanting to rush him exactly but still…wanting.

Warm breath brushed against her center, and her back arched in pleasure.
Too much, too much.
If she started this high, where could she go?

She felt his thumbs parting her folds, opening her, and then his mouth against sensitive flesh. “Oh Tom,” she gasped. “Oh god. So good.”

“Just starting,” he whispered. “I want you to feel it, sweetheart. Just feel.”

His tongue swept over her and she dug her heels into the mattress. She should be touching him, making him happy too, but her hands were too busy gripping the sheets beside her. “So good,” she murmured.

His tongue plunged deep, and then back to her clit again as he slid a finger inside her. She groaned, digging her heels in deeper. She should be…but she wasn’t. She lay still again, letting him take her where he wanted.

“Tom,” she breathed. “Ah, Tom.”

“Let go,” he said. “Just let go, sweetheart.”

And she did. The pleasure washed over her in a wave, taking her down, spinning her beneath him. She wondered for one hazy moment if she’d ever felt this with anyone before, but it was pretty much a rhetorical question. She knew she hadn’t.

Tom stroked her thighs softly. “Ah, babe, I love watching you. But I love being inside you a lot more.”

She raised her head to look at him. “Then come in. I want you. Hurry.”

He reached beside the bed, pulling open the foil packet almost in a single motion. “I’ll do my best,” he gasped.

She fought the urge to giggle. So
not appropriate.
And then she didn’t feel like giggling anymore. He was pushing inside, opening her, making her his.

Making her his?
Where had that archaic thought come from? She reached up and pulled his head down, fastening her mouth to his as his hips pounded against her. She pushed her tongue against his, echoing his thrusts into her body.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.