The Good Daughter (15 page)

She laughed. “You think.”

“
I know.” He took a step closer, leaned toward her. “And besides . . .” he paused and looked into her eyes, a look that made her suddenly feel faint.

“
Besides . . .” he repeated as if he’d lost his train of thought. “I can’t do this to Sandro,” he whispered before he pulled her into his arms.

And kissed her. The sudden unexpected, yet oddly gentle assault made her head spin. Already close to falling from the dizziness of long denied needs, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Then she was kissing him back, her lips as demanding as his while their tongues dueled in a mimicry of raw, wild sex . . . until she remembered Murray the faithful doorman was an audience. She jerked away, drew deep breaths, forced a calm back to her limbs she absolutely did not feel. Willed her heart rate to slow.

“
So is this a plan?” she asked, her voice husky in spite of her best efforts to sound normal. “Kiss me and pump me for information?”

For the briefest instant, Dave looked as puzzled and disheveled as she felt, but he recovered fast enough. “Is it working?” he asked, with just the right tinge of boyish charm and hope in his voice.

“
You have one thing right. You can’t do that to Sandro. He’d punch you.”

“
Are you saying it’s okay to kiss you?”

“
Only goodnight. And since you’ve already had your kiss. . .then goodnight.” She turned to walk off, concentrating on a dignified retreat.
Get away, get away, get away. Just past the gym door and around the corner to the elevators.

“
Forgetting something?”

She paused, looked back over her shoulder. He patted his pocket where the property listings were. She also caught sight of Murray, who no doubt by now thought they were having a lover’s quarrel.

Shrugging, she started forward again, focused on getting away. “Keep them,” she called. “I’ll get another copy.” She remembered enough of the addresses to send Sandro on a search until she could. She glanced at her watch. If she didn’t get upstairs soon, a shower was out of the question.

“
Where are you going?” He fell into step beside her.

“
Isn’t it obvious? I
do
live here.”

“
And then where?”

“
No. Where.”

“
Luigi?”

She clenched her teeth, hating he brought that up. “I never go to Gigi’s until later. I have time to nap first.”

“
Is Sandro meeting you here then?”

They passed the gym entrance, turned the corner and the elevators were in sight. “No.”

“
You keep looking at your watch. What are you late for?”

“
Questions, questions. I’m late for a shower, and then bed. That’s all I have on my mind.” And bed in more ways than one since his kiss. Unfortunately, Dave was a fantasy and Luigi was her reality. She swallowed a lump of distaste.

“
I don’t believe you.”

“
Fine. Wait down here. See if I leave again.” She focused on the elevator button, she was within ten steps.

“
And let you slip out the garage entrance because you know I’m waiting out front? I don’t think so.” He rushed ahead and punched the button, which lit under his finger.

She stopped, crossed her arms and stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“
I’m going up with you. You lost me earlier. You’re good, I’ll give you that. And you in heels, too.” He glanced down at her feet then back to her eyes. “I can’t risk losing you again. You’re going to need me.”

His words sounded suddenly ominous. “You think so?” she forced out past the sudden chill.

“
Trust me. You will.”

He didn’t know how close to the truth he was; she had to convince Sandro of the fact.

The ding echoed in the quiet marble-lined hall, the elevator doors opened. Dave urged her inside.

She sighed. “Look, Dave . . .”

The doors slid closed. “What time are you going to meet Sandro?”

She punched the number for her floor. “I’m not--”

“
Stop lying, Princess. And don’t think you can pacify me and make me leave by getting in the shower and pretending to get ready for bed.”

The elevator surged upward. She tottered on her heels at the motion. Distracted by Dave she forgot what a rocket-like launch these elevators had. “What if I really plan to go to bed?”she asked when she regained her balance.

“
I’ll sleep on your couch. Unless you invite me to share your bed?”

“
Don’t get your hopes . . .” she paused and glanced at his crotch before meeting his gaze again . . . “or anything else . . . up.” Yes, she thought she pulled that off nicely.

“
You have a dirty mind. I like that.” He grinned. “What time are you meeting Sandro?”

“
Why do you insist I’m meeting--”

“
My guess is midnight.”

Her gaze sharpened. She had to admit his persistence was wearing on her. “What makes you say that?”

“
I’ve noticed you have a thing for midnight.”

She still hoped to get rid of him. “By midnight, I plan on being asleep.”

He crowded her into a corner and leaned close. “You wouldn’t be lying, would you?”

She couldn’t stop focusing on his lips. Lips that moved closer and closer until they touched hers. Again.

And she wasn’t objecting. Again.

“
What do you think?” she whispered against his mouth, not giving an inch.

She needed to object.

“
I think you’re definitely lying,” he said before he turned the teasing into another real kiss. His hand encircled her throat. She arched into him in spite of herself. He deepened the kiss, and she still didn’t object.

No matter how she tried to keep her distance, there was something about him that made her want to get as close as possible. In spite of his sometimes crude behavior which she suspected was just an act to keep his distance. She sensed his goodness, and it had been a long time since she had been close to anything good.

It was that thought which forced her to break away from firm, warm lips that had the power to melt her bones. “Don’t. We can’t do this.” She struggled for control, more obvious this time than the last.

While in contrast he barely looked flustered. But she had felt his erection against her stomach.

“
Why?” he asked. “You weren’t serious about the goodnight thing were you?”

She knew his composure was an act, just as likely as his jerk routine was an act. He was good at both.

But she could be as composed as he was, she thought, drawing herself together, calling on years of experience to help her. “I don’t like it.”

A smug grin settled on his face. “You can’t tell the truth, can you?” Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her closer for another kiss.

“
Dave,” she warned when his lips left hers to travel down her neck. He nibbled at the Florentine cross necklace hanging around her neck, her breasts swelled as if in hope his mouth would move lower.

“
I like this necklace,” he whispered.

She blinked to catch up through the haze of desire. “It was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me when she was on her death bed.” Marisa fingered the cherished necklace. He kissed her hand, making her grip the necklace more tightly. “I never take it off.”

“
Never?” The word hung heavy with meaning.

The elevator stopped, saving her from having to answer. She slipped out as soon as the doors opened. At her apartment, she paused. This whole incident with Dave was repeating a familiar, ominous pattern. She couldn’t get involved with a law enforcement official again. The results last time had been tragic.

Better cut it off now. “Dave, follow me if you must. But stop trying to seduce me. You’re not going to throw me off,” she said bluntly.

“
Is that what I’m doing?”

“
Yes, I know you’re not really interested--” at his raised eyebrow she amended, “maybe you’re interested but you won’t act on it. You know you’d be breaking all sorts of rules.”

“
No doubt.” He nodded. “But I bet I’ll be breaking a few when I help you and Sandro with whatever you have planned.”

Did he mean what she thought? “Nia means that much to you that you would risk your career?”

“
I’ve known her since she was a baby. I’d do anything to keep her alive.”

“
Including sleep with me?”

“
You think that’d be torture?”

That was the answer she wanted to hear, she told herself. “Is that why you’d do it, though? To save Nia? She’s Sandro’s wife, you know.” Marisa didn’t want to hear he wanted her for herself. It was easier that way.

And she really tried to believe it.

“
You sound as if her life isn’t important. Do you still love Sandro?”

“
What?”

“
You two were once engaged.”

“
How--”

“
I have my ways, you know that.”

She opened her apartment door. “I’ve known Sandro many years. I love him like my . . . like a brother.” She was compelled to share part of her life with Dave as with no other aside from Sandro. “It was my father’s idea for us to become engaged. My father loves soccer.” Most of what she’d done in her life had been her father’s . . . idea.

“
Yet you didn’t marry Sandro.” Dave followed her inside and shut the door behind him.

She dropped her bag by the accent table and switched on the Tiffany lamp. “I met. . .someone else.”

Dave’s eyes narrowed. “Luigi?”

She was startled. “No. Gigi . . .” She raised her hands, searching for a good answer. “Is useful.”

“
This someone else . . . you didn’t marry him either?” Dave stepped closer.

“
He’s dead.”

Dave stopped.

“
He was a policeman,” she added, careful to keep the pain tucked away.

“
Oh. I’m sorry.”

“
I didn’t tell you for sympathy.”

“
Was it a warning then?” Dave moved closer. “You think you’re bad luck for cops?”

Instead of answering, she made a point of looking at her watch once more, noting the time quickly slipping past. It was becoming obvious she wasn’t going to get rid of him.

“
I’ve had a long day. I’m going to shower.” She turned away, walked toward her room, all the while wondering what Sandro would say about Dave tagging along.

“
Marisa.”

She stopped and turned to face him. The lamplight crested a halo about his dark hair--but he was obviously no saint.

“
If we have sex,” he said boldly, “it will be because we both want it. Not because I’m trying to use you for information.”

Her heart sprang to her throat, and she couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t even think of an answer.

Dave moved closer. She would have stepped back, but he took her arms and held her in place. “If I want information, I’ll just ask you,” he said softly before adding, “And if I want to have sex with you, I’ll just ask you.”

Somehow that seemed far scarier to her than if he used sex as a way to get information.

“
Go.” Dave turned her back toward her room when she didn’t answer. “Get your shower.”

While Marisa showered, Dave explored her apartment. Exquisitely furnished, but cold, he thought, like a magazine ad, the only splash of color was the Tiffany lamp. No pictures, no memories. He felt the apartment was a cover, maybe even from herself. From their kisses, he knew a fire smoldered underneath the cold, beautiful exterior she presented to the world.

Buried with the dead boyfriend, perhaps. Buried too deep? He thought not. But having loved and lost himself--he could certainly understand her need to protect herself.

Marisa’s strength and independence reminded him of Nia, but Marisa had vulnerability lurking beneath the surface that he’d never seen in Nia. It almost made him feel protective toward the Mafia princess, something he’d never experienced with a woman before.

Twenty-five minutes later she walked out of her bedroom, looking refreshed in designer jeans and a casual, expensive sweater.

“
You always blow dry your hair and wear makeup and jeans to bed?” he asked.

“
I’m in a hurry,” she said. “I don’t have time to fool you, and you’re too stubborn to leave. So, follow me if you must.”

She walked out the door.

“
No need to follow you. I’ll just go with you.” He glanced at his watch. “Yep, almost midnight.”

She shook her head. “Men. Why must they always act like such know-it-alls,” she said to the elevator doors.

“
Where are we going?”

They entered the elevator and she punched the button for the first floor.

“
You don’t need to know everything. Just keep quiet and stay out of sight. Sandro’s upset enough as it is.”

“
So what’s new?”

“
He’s armed this time.”

Dave blinked. “He bought a gun?”

“
I gave him mine, but he went to buy another.”