Rock Chick 04 Renegade (16 page)

He wasn’t looking at me that way. He was looking at me in an entirely different way. A way that made the butterflies come back, this time the good ones seemed to be at war with the bad ones and it was up in the air which ones would win.

He hadn’t changed clothes which was one for the side of the bad butterflies. I worried that I looked like I was trying too hard.

Final y I said, “Both doors were locked, how did you get in?”

He started walking toward me but didn’t answer.

I was right by the counter. I backed up a step and my hips ran into it.

“You don’t have to break in, you know. You could knock on the front door like a normal person,” I told him as he arrived at me.

I thought he’d stop but he didn’t, not until he got into my space,
way
into my space. So into my space I could feel the heat from his body and he leaned into me, putting his hands on the counter on either side of me.

I leaned back and tilted my head to look up at him.

“Hel o? Crowe? Are you in the room?”

“Shut up,” he said and I blinked then my eyes narrowed.

“What did you just say?”

Then his head dropped, his mouth hit mine and he kissed me. He didn’t touch me, not with his body or his hands though I was acutely aware of the position of both.

No, he touched me only with his mouth and kept me locked to him there using his macho man tractor beam in cahoots with his talented tongue and the good butterflies got an advantage.

His head moved away an inch and he murmured,

“Tequila.”

Fuck.

Sucking face with a recovering alcoholic after a shot of some serious spirits was probably not a good thing.

“Crowe –” I said.

“Crowe –” I said.

His head dropped again and he ran his tongue across my lower lip.

I stopped breathing.

“I like it,” he said low and he moved back a fraction and looked at my body then up to my eyes. “I like al of it.” Then he came in close again and his face did the same. “You look good, you taste good.” His mouth came closer and his eyes stared into mine. “I bet other places taste even better.” Oh my
God
.

The good butterflies started to beat the shit out of the bad butterflies.

I pul ed back a bit. “I’m sorry about the tequila. I had some friends over…” I partial y lied, not about to impart the information on him that I needed liquid courage for our date.

“Jules, people drink. I don’t. Don’t worry about it,” he said like he wasn’t worried about it at al .

“Okay,” I replied softly.

Then he did something strange. His hand lifted and he ran his fingers through my hair at the side of my head al the way down the back. Then he pul ed some over my shoulder and started to play with it, twisting one of Indy’s curls around his fingers just above my breast al the while he watched his hand as if his mind was somewhere else.

It felt nice. It sent tingles along my scalp and skin, sexy tingles but something else too, something warmer, sweeter.

“Vance?”

His eyes came to mine and I realized his mind was
not
somewhere else.

I swal owed.

Then I asked, “Are we going out or what?”

He grinned, his fingers stil playing with my hair and I could feel the heat from his hand on my chest.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Shouldn’t we, like, go?” I went on.

He kept grinning. “Yeah,” he repeated.

I waited. He didn’t move.

“Wel ,
are
we gonna go?” I asked.

“You got a jacket? We’re on the Harley.”

My stomach fluttered, not butterflies, just excitement. I loved motorcycles.

His forcefield intensified when he caught sight of my obvious excitement and he moved in so our bodies were now touching.

“You like bikes?” he asked.

I nodded, trying to be cool (but probably failing).

“You got a jacket?” he repeated.

I nodded again.

He grabbed my hand and moved away.

“Let’s go,” he said.

* * * * *

I’d been there only once before. Nick had taken me there for my sixteenth birthday.

The Broker had been around for years, a fancy restaurant built into the bank vault in the basement of the old Denver National Bank building. You even had to walk through the cage and round steel door of the old vault to get into the seating area. It had burgundy leather, button-backed booths and rich cream tablecloths and napkins.

They gave you a big bowl of huge steamed shrimp as a complimentary appetizer.

I was pleased that I was wearing something nice. One didn’t do jeans at The Broker, unless one was Vance Crowe who looked in jeans like most men looked in a tuxedo.

We were shown to a half-oval booth. I stared at it and bit my lip. This meant we’d be sitting side-by-side and I wasn’t sure this was a good thing.

I didn’t say anything and slid in. Vance came in after me and settled, arm along the back of the booth behind me. I leaned forward, slipped off my blazer style black leather jacket and threw it to the side of me with my purse and kept my body forward, the better to stay out of reach.

The waiter asked what we wanted to drink. I wanted tequila neat with a side of Valium and a time machine that took me back to that moment when I shot out Sal Cordova’s tires so I could rethink my actions.

I ordered a cosmopolitan.

“Sir?” the waiter asked, his glance going to Crowe.

Vance didn’t reply. I looked over my shoulder at him. His eyes were looking down and toward my bottom. I glanced around, saw my skin exposed, my torso shot straight and I leaned back against the seat.

Fuck
.

Vance’s eyes came to mine. They were soft and sexy and a little amused.

His look scored one for the good butterflies.

Then his gaze moved slowly to the waiter. “Cranberry juice.”

The waiter nodded and walked away.

Vance turned back to me. I snatched my napkin out of the wine glass and arranged it on my knee with obsessive attention to its placement and smoothness.

“Jules.”

“Mm?” I asked, stil smoothing at my napkin.

“Jules.”

I looked at him.

“Relax. I’m not going to tear your clothes off in a booth at a steak joint.”

I stared at him.

The Broker Restaurant was hardly a “steak joint”. It was a wel -established, highly-rated gourmet restaurant. They had more than just steak, they had fish and lamb and pasta too.

And complimentary steamed shrimp. No one gave you complimentary steamed shrimp. They weren’t rinky-dink shrimp either. They were the good shrimp, the big meaty ones.

I shook off thoughts of defending The Broker’s greatness. “I came here for my sixteenth birthday,” I told him in an effort to lead the conversation away from tearing my clothes off.

He got closer and gave the impression he was supremely interested in this trivial comment. I didn’t realize that it was the first time I’d shared anything personal with him that he hadn’t had to force out of me.

“Yeah?” he asked.

I nodded. That was it. The extent of my conversation.

“What are you doin’ this birthday?” Vance asked.

I was so nervous without thinking I blurted, “Going for drinks with Heavy and Zip.”

It was his turn to stare at me and he did so as if I’d just announced I was going to hula dance on the moon.

“Heavy and Zip,” he said.

Damn. Not good.

“They’re –” I started, thinking fast for a lie. I didn’t figure there were dozens of men in Denver nicknamed Heavy and Zip but I was going to make two of them up, no doubt about it.

“A retired PI and a gun shop owner. I know who they are.

Jesus, Jules,” Vance shook his head.

Too late for the lie.

“They’re my friends,” I said.

“They’re in on this with you.”

“They know what they’re doing,” I told him.

“Yeah, Heavy knew what he was doing about five years ago when he should have retired. Instead he retired last year when he was wel passed it. Zip’s just a lunatic,” Vance said.

I felt my blood pressure rise. “Zip is
not
a lunatic. He’s a good shot.”

“It al comes out,” Vance muttered.

“And Heavy used to be a cop before he was a PI. He stil has friends on the Force and his ear to the ground. Not to mention, he was a semi-pro boxer.”

“And his wife was a speed freak and he couldn’t get her clean so he scraped her off to save himself even though he didn’t want to and it fucked with his head. Now he’s using you to exact vengeance.”

Wow. I didn’t know that.

I didn’t let Vance in on the fact that this was a revelation.

“That isn’t true.”

“Which part? Her bein’ a speed freak or you bein’ his instrument?”

I turned my body to him and my eyes narrowed. “Me being his instrument.”

Vance’s head went around and he watched the waiter putting down our shrimp bowl. Then without a word to the waiter, he turned back to me when the waiter moved to leave.

“Jules –”

“Vance, we’re not talking about this,” I warned.

“We are. You want to get serious, you come into the office. Mace or Luke wil work with you.”

That was not going to happen. “I’m fine with Zip, Heavy and Frank,” I said, not wanting to work with Mace and Luke mainly because they’d kick my ass.

I looked at Vance and saw his expression had changed from just disbelief to disbelief mingled with anger.

“
Frank?
” he said low.

Whoops.

“Um…” I stal ed.

“Um…” I stal ed.

“Please tel me you are not working with Frank Muñoz.”

“He’s a good guy,” I defended Frank.

“He makes Zip look adjusted.”

“Okay,” I gave in a smidge, “so he’s a little intense.”

“A little? He has stockpiles of arms, water and canned goods in his basement.”

“He does?” I asked.

Vance nodded.

See? I knew Frank was thinking about destroying the world.

Damn.

“From now on, you’re workin’ with Mace and Luke,” Vance stated as if that was that, moving away from me and leaning back as our drinks arrived.

“I’m not. I’m fine where I am.”

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.

I looked down at my menu which I hadn’t even opened.

“No,” Vance said shortly.

“
Thank you,
” I finished for Vance.

The waiter moved away.

Vance turned to me again and got even closer than last time. “Jules, Zip’s son OD’ed in the eighties. Heavy’s wife was a speed freak. They’re out for revenge and using you to get it. Frank is just a nutcase.”

I didn’t know Zip’s son OD’ed either. I hated it that Vance knew more than me.

“Crowe –” I started.

“You keep this up you need to work with people who have their heads in the game.”

“Like Mace and Luke aren’t their own kind of crazy,” I said.

His eyes flashed.

Yikes. Again, not good. I’d definitely said the wrong thing.

“Mace and Luke know their shit, understand their limits and play to their strengths. They do what they do because they’re good at it. They could teach you a few things.” I was sure they could. Stil .

I looked away, picked up my menu and started to read it like it was the most fascinating novel ever written, nonverbal y making the point that our discussion was over.

Vance pul ed the menu out of my hands and tossed it on the table, nonverbal y making the point that our discussion was
not
over.

“I was reading that,” I protested.

“In a minute.”

“Now. The sooner we order, the sooner this date is over, the sooner
we’re
over.”

At my words I watched, fascinated in a kind of passing-a-car-accident way as he leaned in and his eyes went hard.

If I thought I’d made him angry earlier with my (admittedly stupid) comment about his friends, I’d thoroughly made him angry now.

“We’re not over because of an idiotic fight.”

“We haven’t even begun, Crowe, and this isn’t an idiotic fight. You’re trying to tel me what to do.”

“I’m tryin’ to help you.”

“Then maybe you can find a better way to communicate that than saying nasty things about my friends.”

“I haven’t said anything that isn’t the truth.”

“They aren’t using me.”

“Jules, they are.”

“Then they are, but stil , they like me,” I said and I said it in a way that made it sound like I desperately needed to believe it and if it was anatomical y possible I would have kicked myself.

His chin dipped, his head went back in a slow jerk and he stared at me a beat. Then something happened to his face, the anger just disappeared. Vanished. Gone. In its place was something else, something softer, something I couldn’t read.

“Jules,” he said quietly.

I grabbed my menu, entirely unable to deal with the something else in his face.

“Let’s just order,” I snapped, opened it and studied it.

After the waiter had taken our orders, I sipped my cosmo and stared at the tablecloth of the booth across from us.

Vance al owed this for a few seconds then his arm came from the back of the booth, wrapped around me and his hand cupped my shoulder. He curled me to face him and (
again
) got in my space.

“Excuse me,” I said, al haughty.

“We
have
begun,” he said, his eyes staring into mine.

“No,” I stated.

“I don’t know what shit you’re workin’ through but I know it’s there. I know you’d rather not even acknowledge it and definitely don’t want me to be a part of the process. I don’t care. Princess, this is happening between you and me.”