Fever (2 page)

Jace cleared his throat. “If the shoe fits . . .”

Mia pounded him on the shoulder. “I’m so going to tell him you said that!”

Jace laughed again. “The man would probably admit to being a complete pussy when it comes to

you
. And that’s not a bad thing. I want him to treat you right.”

They were interrupted when Ash stepped in, sweeping Mia into his arms.

“My turn,” Ash proclaimed. “Gabe’s only going to wait so long before he reclaims her, so I’m

getting my dance in now while his parents have him occupied.”

Jace leaned forward and kissed Mia on the forehead. “This is your night, baby girl. I want you to

remember it forever. Have fun.”

Her smile lit up the entire room. “Thank you, Jace. Love you.”

He touched her cheek and then moved back as Ash swept her away.

Jace retreated to the far side of the room and stood back, observing the goings-on at the party. It

was small—what Gabe and Mia wanted—a night to celebrate their love.

It sounded corny as hell, but then one only had to look at the two to know they were complete

goners. He still wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about his best friend hooking up with his little

sister. There were fourteen years separating them and he knew damn well what Gabe’s sexual

demands were.

He cringed, remembering the scene he’d walked into when he’d gone to Gabe’s apartment

unannounced several weeks earlier. He needed bleach for his eyes because there were just some

things a brother never,
ever
needed to see regarding his baby sister.

He still had concerns over whether Mia really knew what the hell she was getting herself into, but

Gabe was a complete mush pile when it came to her. Hell, the man had humbled himself in front of

half of New York City to get her back, so Jace guessed Mia would be able to handle whatever Gabe

dished out.

Jace was just going to not think about it.

He sighed as his gaze wandered over the crowd and the festive environment. Mia had been a huge

part of his life ever since their parents had been killed in a car accident. She had been a late-in-life

“oops” baby, but she’d been adored by him and their parents. When they’d died, it had been a life-

altering event for both him and his sister.

At a time when he’d been in college and only focused on beer, girls and having a good time with

Gabe and Ash, he’d been forced to take responsibility for six-year-old Mia. Gabe and Ash had both

been a huge source of support for him and perhaps in a lot of ways Mia had cemented their friendship.

So he supposed it was only fitting that he’d be giving her into the care of his best friend now that she

was an adult and making her own life.

It would be an adjustment for him, now that Mia wasn’t solely his responsibility. Not that he

planned to go anywhere, but things were different now. She was in a serious relationship and she

wouldn’t be turning to him with her problems. It should be a relief, but instead sadness settled into his

chest at the idea that his baby sister no longer needed him as she once had.

His gaze settled on a young woman picking up glasses and plates from the tables. It was the second

time his eyes had settled on her that night though she hadn’t been out much, just periodically to do

cleanup. She wasn’t one of the servers. He hadn’t seen her circling with trays of hors d’oeuvres or

champagne. She was dressed in black pants, a white shirt and an apron.

He studied her a long moment before realizing what it was that had interested him. She looked

completely out of place. And he wasn’t entirely certain what gave him that impression. The longer he

stared at her, the more he thought she looked like she should be an attendee at the party. Not cleaning

up after the participants.

Her hair was upswept into a messy bun like Mia wore sometimes, secured with a clip, and the

result was a sexy mass of mussed hair that begged a man’s hand to tug at it and set it free. Midnight

black, unruly curls, some of which had escaped the clip and tumbled down her neck.

She was slight, not as curvy as he usually liked his women. Narrow hips and small breasted but

enough curves straining at the white button-up shirt to be tempting. The rest of her was small. Dainty.

Almost fragile.

When she turned, presenting him with a view of her face, he sucked in his breath. Her bone

structure was small. Delicately rendered. High, prominent cheekbones, almost as if she were

underweight, and a small chin. But her eyes. Jesus, her eyes. They were enormous in her otherwise

small face. A brilliant shade of blue. Shock blue, like looking at ice. They were startling against the

jet black of her hair.

She was mesmerizing.

Then she hurried away, her arms straining at the weight of the tray that held all the dishes she’d

cleared from the tables. His gaze followed her across the room until she disappeared through the door

for the kitchen staff.

“Not your usual fare,” Ash murmured beside him.

Jace broke from his reverie and turned to see that Ash had already finished his dance with Mia. A

brief look toward the dance floor told him Gabe had reclaimed Mia and that the two were once more

solidly glued together. Mia’s eyes were alight with joy and laughter, and some of his earlier tension

eased. She was in good hands. And she was happy.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jace said, an edge to his voice.

“The chick bussing the tables. Saw you checking her out. Hell, you were practically undressing her

with your eyes.”

Jace frowned and remained silent.

Ash shrugged. “I’m game. She’s hot.”

“No.”

The denial came out more emphatic than Jace would have liked. He wasn’t even sure where the

emphasis came from or why he was suddenly tense.

Ash laughed. “Loosen up. It’s been awhile. I’ll go work my charm.”

“Do
not
approach her, Ash,” Jace growled.

But Ash had already sauntered away in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Jace standing there,

fingers in tight fists at his sides. How the fuck was he supposed to explain to his best friend, a friend

he regularly shared women with, that he didn’t want Ash within a mile of this one?

chapter two

Bethany Willis rubbed her palms down her worn pant legs and briefly closed her eyes, swaying as

she stood in front of the basin containing all the empties she’d collected from the ballroom.

She was tired. So damn tired. And hungry. The best part of this gig—besides the fact it was cash

paying—was the food. She was allowed to take leftovers, and judging by the amount of food bustling

in and out of this place, there was going to be plenty.

Rich people always did things in excess. There was no way the number of people invited to this

party justified the amount of food and booze being fronted. She mentally shrugged. At least she’d get a

decent meal, even if the stuff was too fancy for her palate.

There’d be enough for Jack too.

A wave of sadness engulfed her and just as quickly, guilt. She had no business feeling this way

because Jack had come back around. He did that. Disappeared for days and then reappeared, usually

when he needed a place to crash, a friendly face. Food. Money . . . Especially money.

Her chest squeezed because she knew what he did with the money he asked for even as he hated to

do so. He never looked her in the eye. Instead he dropped his gaze and he’d say, “Bethy . . . there’s

this thing. I need . . .” And it was all he’d say. She gave him money because she couldn’t do anything

else. But she hated the way he said “Bethy.” Hated that nickname when it had once been one she

adored because it had been given to her by someone who cared for her.

Jack. The only person in the world who’d ever tried to shield her from anything. The only person

who’d ever given a damn about her.

Her brother. Not by blood but in every way else it counted. He was hers just like she was his. How

was she supposed to ever turn her back on him?

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

There was a sound at the side door, the one that opened to the alley where the trash was taken out.

She glanced up to see Jack leaning against the frame, his head tilted back so he could glance down the

alleyway. That was Jack. Always one eye on escape. He never went into any situation unwary and

without his escape route planned.

“Bethy,” he said in a quiet voice.

She flinched, knowing why he’d come. She didn’t say anything and instead reached into her pants

pocket for the wadded-up bills she’d stuffed there. Half up front. Half when she went off duty for the

night. Jack would get this half. The other half would have to feed her until she found another gig, and

she didn’t know when that would be.

Hurrying to where he stood, she pressed the bills into his hand and watched uncomfortably as his

gaze skated sideways, not making eye contact with her as he shoved the money into the ripped, torn

jeans. His stance was uncomfortable. She knew he hated this. She hated it too.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “You okay? You got somewhere to sleep tonight?”

She didn’t, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. So she lied instead. “Yeah.”

Some of his tension eased and he nodded. “Good. I’m working on it, Bethy. I’ll have a place for

both of us soon.”

She shook her head in denial, knowing it was what he always said, and also knowing it wasn’t

going to happen.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. For a long moment, she closed her eyes and imagined

different circumstances. But that was pointless. It was what it was and wishing for it to be different

was like pissing in the wind.

“I’ll be checking on you,” he said.

She nodded. And then, as he started to melt back into the shadows of the alley, she looked up and

said, “Be careful, Jack. Please?”

His smile was just as shadowy as the night. “Always, babe.”

She watched him go as the knot in her throat grew bigger. Damn it. Rage built but she knew it was

also a useless emotion. Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides and the itch invaded. The need,

the craving. She fought it, but it was a hard battle. A victory that wasn’t completely solidified. She

hadn’t thought about the pills in a long while, but tonight the need was there, ensconced in hunger and

emotional pain.

The need for oblivion. Just that short window of time when everything felt better and more

manageable. When things looked up, even if for a few short hours.

She couldn’t go back to that. She’d fought too hard to make it out and she’d lost everything in the

process. Some might say that would be even more reason to allow herself that slow slide back into

the inky past. But she had to be strong. She wasn’t that person any longer.

“Your boyfriend?”

The dry question startled her and she whirled around, her heart racing as she took in the man

standing across the kitchen staring at her.

He was one of the richies. A guest at the party. More than just a guest, as Bethany had seen him

close to the couple celebrating their engagement. And God, but the man was gorgeous. Smooth.

Polished. Like he’d stepped right out of a magazine solely devoted to everything beautiful and

wealthy. A world she damn well didn’t belong in.

He shoved his hands into those expensive slacks and continued to stare at her, his pose indolent

and arrogant. His green eyes flicked over her as if judging her, almost as if he were considering

whether to deem her worthy. Of what? His notice? It was a ridiculous thought.

He had blond hair. And she’d never really been attracted to blond men, but his hair wasn’t simply

blond. It had at least four different shades, ranging from muddy to wheat and all shades in between.

He was so gorgeous that it hurt to look at him.

“You going to answer me?” he asked mildly.

Mutely, she shook her head and, to her surprise, he laughed.

“Is that no you’re not going to answer me, or no he’s not your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she whispered.

“Thank fuck for that,” he muttered.

She blinked in complete surprise and then her eyes narrowed as he advanced toward her. Quickly

she moved to the side so she wouldn’t be pinned against the door. She couldn’t leave, so running

wasn’t an option. She needed the other half of her pay too badly and she wanted that food.

But just as quickly he closed in on her again, moving into her space until her pulse leapt erratically

and she began to eye the alley door, suddenly uncaring whether she’d get paid or not.

“What’s your name?”

She glanced up at him. “Uhm, does it matter?”

He paused a moment, cocked his head to the side and then said, “Yeah. It matters.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because we’re not in the habit of fucking women we don’t know the name of,” he said bluntly.

Whoa. There was so much wrong with that statement she didn’t even know where to begin. She put

her hand up in automatic defense before he could get any closer.