Smart, Sexy and Secretive (14 page)

“
Thanks,” I say.

I pull on my overalls and get Paul’s
helmet from the closet. The bike is down in the garage under the
building, but there’s no guard and no delay this time of the night.
I run down the steps, hoping the damn thing starts when I try
it.

The bad thing about cars and things
with engines is that I can’t hear when they start. I can feel the
vibrations, though, and I put my hand on it and turn the key. It
hums for a second, and then it stops. Of course, this would happen.
I’m wrapped like a pig in a blanket and the fucking bike won’t
start. I turn the key again, and the bike revs to life. I look
behind me at the black smoke billowing from it and straddle the
machine, kicking it off its stand. It’s cold as a witch’s tit in a
brass bra, but I have a bad feeling about sending Emily home with
Trip. I just do. I don’t know why. But it’s there, and I need to
get to her.

The city keeps the streets pretty
clear, and cars have been on them all day today. Except for some
black ice, I’m not too worried about the roads.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to
get to her house. I see the tail lights of the limo pulling away as
I drive up. Henry opens the front door and looks out as I stop
Paul’s bike in front of the door, looking through the window for
Emily. She must have already gone upstairs.

Henry motions me forward. “Bring that
thing inside,” he says. He points to the bike and points to the
inside again, like he’s not sure I understand. “If you leave it out
there, someone might steal it,” he reminds me.

It’s a small bike, but it’s going to
leave wet tracks on the tile if I bring it inside. He nods at me in
encouragement and jerks his head, gesturing me into the
lobby.

I kill the engine and push the bike
into the foyer. He points to a storage room, and I roll the bike
toward it. He takes a bucket with a mop sticking out of it from the
same room, and goes behind the wheels really quickly, cleaning up
my mess.

“
Sorry about that,” I
say.

“
No worries.” He cocks his
head at me. “Why weren’t you with Miss Madison?” he asks, his brows
drawing together.

“
Technical glitch,” I say,
pulling my knit cap from my hair. I blow into my hands. They’re
fucking freezing, even though I had on thick gloves.

He motions for me to come close to the
heater blow his desk. “Warm up a bit. Then you can go
upstairs.”

I look at him out of the corner of my
eye, as if I don’t care about the answer to my next question. “Are
Emily’s parents upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “Just that man. The
little fucker.” Henry is a New Yorker through and through. I never
can tell, since I can’t hear accents, but I can tell when men start
dropping the f-bomb where they’re from. A laugh bursts from my
throat.

“
Oh, you have no idea,” I
say.

“
I do know. He threw a fit
yesterday when I wouldn’t give him a key.” He shakes his finger in
the air like he’s just remembered something. “Speaking of which, I
have your key.” He reaches into a drawer, takes out a small brown
envelope, and places it in my hand with a flourish. I could kiss
him, I’m that happy. I shake the key into my hand and thread it
onto my key ring.

“
Thank you,” I
say.

He nods his head toward the elevator.
“You better go up. She didn’t look very happy when they came
home.”

“
What makes you say
that?”

“
He had icicles hanging from
his nuts, if I’m not mistaken,” he says with a grin. “That girl
isn’t giving him a second glance, much less any action.”

I really will have to kiss Henry for
that. I reach for him, and he jumps back. He’s spry for someone as
old as he is. “Save that for Miss Madison,” he says with a
laugh.

I unhook my thermal overalls and step
out of them. “Can I put these with the bike?” I ask. He opens the
storage-room door back up, and I drape them over the Suzuki. I look
at Henry. He looks tired.

“
Do you ever go home,
Henry?” I ask. It seems like he’s here every time I show
up.

He smiles softly, but it doesn’t quite
reach his eyes. “My wife had a stroke recently, so I work to pay
for her medical care right now.” He shrugs. “They offer me the
extra hours, so I take them.”

“
I’m sorry to hear about
your wife,” I say. “Will she be all right?”

His eyes skitter away from mine. “I
certainly hope so.” His chest fills with air as he sighs. “She’s at
a nursing home temporarily.” He smiles. “I saw her at lunch, and
I’ll go there to sleep tonight.”

I squeeze his shoulder. If there were
ever a man who needed a hug, it’s Henry. In Bro Code, a shoulder
squeeze is the same as a hug. “You should go home. You might rest
better there.”

He smiles and says, “I can’t sleep
without her, so I might as well sleep at the nursing home. I’d
rather sleep in a recliner holding her hand than sleep in the
biggest, softest bed in the world.” He shakes his head. “Someday
you’ll know what it’s like to wake up with one woman every day for
almost forty years.” He points toward the elevator. “You’ll have
the pitter-patter of little feet in the early years.”

I point to my ears and laugh. “I can’t
hear a pitter-patter, Henry.” He looks slightly chagrined. “But I
get the idea.”

“
Miss Madison, she’s the one
for you, isn’t she?” he asks.

My heart swells. “The only
one.”

He claps my shoulder this time. “Then
go get her.” He shoves my shoulder, pushing me toward the elevator.
“Go on now. You don’t have to keep an old man company.”

I smile and wave at him, going toward
the elevator. I turn back at the last minute. “If I can help with
your wife, Henry, please let me know. I have a lot of brothers, and
they’re really good for moving furniture and stuff. When she’s
ready to come home.”

He grins. “I’ll take you up on
that.”

“
They’re not good for much
else,” I shout as the elevator doors close. Except for supporting
me in everything that I do. Except for loving me unconditionally.
Except for when they kick my ass for being stupid. They’re useless,
all right.

I smile all the way up the elevator. I
don’t knock when I get to Emily’s door. Instead, I use my
key.

Emily

Trip gets in the elevator behind me
and has the nerve to try to back me into a corner. His arms go to
each side of my head, trapping me. I turn my face, because he’s had
too much to drink. His breath smells like straight-up Jack
Daniels.

He was really quiet in the limo coming
home, but I have known him long enough to see all the signs. I put
my hand on his chest and shove. “Move back, Trip,” I
say.

He leans down, breathing into my face.
I turn my head and close my eyes. Fighting with Trip when he’s
drunk is like kicking a puppy. A rabid puppy who won’t stop foaming
at the mouth and trying to bite you. It’s the only kind of puppy I
wouldn’t mind kicking in the teeth.

“
I don’t want to move back,”
he says, slurring as he talks to me. “You used to like it when we
were close like this. You said I didn’t show you enough
affection.”

He runs his meaty hand down the side of
my face. “Back up, Trip,” I warn him again. All it would take is
one big push, and he’d be flat on his tail. I’m sure of
that.

The elevator dings, and I duck beneath
his arm. He groans and follows me to the door. “Hurry up,” he
grouses. “I have to piss.”

I shake my head, let him in, and he
runs by me, heading straight for the bathroom. He doesn’t close the
bathroom door, and I can hear him. There’s no need to even try to
talk to him about respect and his lack of it. He’s too
drunk.

I look longingly at the front door. Now
that he’s inside the apartment, I can catch a cab and go to
Logan’s. My heart warms at the idea of it. I turn toward the door.
There’s nothing I need here. My bag is still at Logan’s apartment.
And so is my heart.

Trip grabs my elbow and says, “Where do
you think you’re going?” just as I reach for the door.

“
I’m going to Logan’s,” I
say. There’s no need to lie to him. “Get out of my way.”

He stands between me and the door with
his arms folded, his feet spread wide. Shoot. I should just go to
my room and wait for him to pass out. I turn to walk in that
direction, but he grabs for me again. I jerk my arm from his grip.
That hurts.

“
Stop it, Trip,” I say.
“Just go to bed.”

He grabs my hips and pulls me to him,
grinding himself against me. “I will if you’ll go with
me.”

I wouldn’t go to the store with him,
much less to bed. “You’re drunk, Trip. Go sleep it off.”

“
I’m not so drunk that I
can’t get it up,” he says.

Yes, I can feel that much against my
stomach where he’s pressed against me. I take a deep breath and
take his face in my hands, looking into his eyes. “Go to bed,” I
say softly. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He bends his head and presses a kiss to
my neck. Then he bites down, sucking hard on my skin. I shove him
back, covering my neck with my hand. “What was that, Trip?” I
shout. “God, what’s wrong with you?”

“
It’s just a little love
bite,” he says, grinning. “You used to love for me to nibble on
your neck.”

“
That wasn’t a nibble,” I
say. “It’s like you were trying to suck my blood or
something.”

“
I’ll suck on something,” he
says, as his hand comes up to cup my breast.

I can’t help it. I slap him. I slap him
directly across the face. I hit him so hard that I have to shake
the sting from my hand.

It’s in that second that I realize my
front door is open, and then Logan charges across the room like a
bull and hits Trip in the side, tumbling with him to the
floor.

“
Logan!” I cry, tugging on
his shoulder. He has his hands around Trip’s throat and noises are
coming from his mouth that I don’t understand. I’ve never seen him
this angry, but apparently intense emotion affects his
speech.

Trip grunts from beneath him, and I see
what’s going to happen before it ever does. Trip reaches for an urn
that’s on the floor by the couch, and he picks it up to hit Logan
over the head with it. It bounces off his back, though, and just
tumbles to the floor. It’s plastic, so I don’t know what Trip
thought he was going to do with it.

“
Let him up, Logan,” I say,
getting my face down near his. “Let him up. He’s drunk.”

He doesn’t let him up, though. He keeps
his knee on Trip’s chest. He’s not hurting him, but he’s holding
him there. “What the fuck was he doing to you that made you slap
him?” he asks.

“
He’s drunk. Let him up so
he can go to bed.”

Logan takes his thumbs off Trip’s
windpipe, and Trip draws in a huge gulp of air. “Call the cops,
Emily,” Trip starts screaming. Logan tightens his grip
again.

“
He has to shut the fuck up
if he wants me to let him up.” He looks down at Trip. “I hate a
fucking drunk,” he says. “I’m going to let you up, and you’re going
to go to your room. Do you understand?”

Trip nods. Logan steps back, and Trip
scrambles to his feet, nearly falling over in the process. “I
should call the cops.”

“
So I can tell them how you
were assaulting me?” I ask.

He looks confused. “I just wanted to
kiss you,” he whines. He’s not pretty when he drinks. Not at
all.

I shake my head. “But I didn’t want to
be kissed.” I blow out a huge breath. I feel as though someone
pulled the stopper on a big balloon inside me. “Go to bed, Trip.
We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Trip nods, unsteady on his feet. He
goes into his room and closes the door.

I draw in a deep breath, and Logan
pulls me into him. I let him hold me because I think he needs it
even more than I do. I step back and shake out my hand. I really
hit Trip pretty hard, and my palm is still stinging.

“
What did he do?” Logan
bites out.

I shake my head. He’s not going to stop
asking until I tell him. “He tried to kiss me. That’s all.” He lays
his thumb on my lips.

“
He kissed you?” he asks,
his voice soft and reverent. His eyes search mine and I know he’s
watching all my nonverbal cues.

“
No,” I clarify, shaking my
head. “He
tried
to
kiss me. That’s a very different thing.” I unclip the barrette from
my hair and brush it out with my fingers as I kick off my shoes.
“What are you doing here?” I finally ask.

“
I was worried about you,”
he admits. His face is stony. “With good reason,
apparently.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and hug
him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.” He helps me shrug out of my
coat, and his hands on my arms are freezing. “Why are you so cold?”
I ask.

“
I rode the bike over here,”
he admits.

“
A bike?”