by Trixie More
Coming for him. That would be nice. No, it wouldn’t. Would not.
She opened the door and stepped through, tugging it closed and locking it, dropping the keys in her bag. She looked at him and smiled.
“Um, we’re in opposite directions,” he mumbled. “Bronx. Brooklyn.”
She took his arm and cuddled close to him. “The subway’s the same either way.”
“Aren’t you taking the bus?”
She slanted a glance at him and tugged herself closer. It had been this way once before. Only she’d been the one a little tipsy, and he’d been afraid to let her head out on her own. He looked down at her shining hair, the shell of her ear, felt the weight of her head tucked against his shoulder, one arm wrapped around his bicep. She squeezed him and pulled back. Instantly, that arm felt cold.
“So, is Sophia home wit’ you yet?” Marley asked.
“She’s not coming home,” Ben said.
“Shoo!” Marley waved her hand before her face. “You been drinkin’, boy.”
“No shit,” he said, and she laughed. Marley was never bothered when his manner became rough. She always laughed.
“So she’s coming home,” Marley insisted. “She will come home, you’ll see.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ben said. Marley’s eyes grew round as she studied his face.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s over.”
“She will come home, it was a mistake,” Marley insisted.
Ben rolled his shoulders. Nobody was going to understand. He’d loved Sophia for so long, how could he expect them to? They weren’t inside his not-marriage with him.
“I’m not going to take her back,” said Ben. “I meant what I said when I told her to leave.”
Marley gave a round mouthed oh.
“You’ve been drinking,” she insisted.
“Yeah, but this decision was a long time coming.” He glanced over at the woman beside him. The streetlights and neon illuminated her face, taking the warm caramel coloring away and shading her like the star of a 1940s black-and-white movie. “She doesn’t love me. Hasn’t for a long time.” He cleared his throat. He could be honest, couldn’t he? “Maybe, she never did.”
Marley blinked at him. Her voice was rusty sounding and quiet. “What about you?”
Marley looked up at Ben Connelly. What was he saying? That he didn’t want Sophia Moss to come back to him? She could barely understand it. Everyone loved Sophia. Everyone with a stick and two balls. It didn’t seem possible that Ben, who had loved Sophia Moss more than anyone, could just change his mind. Could he? So she took up all her courage, which was considerable since having Karito, and asked him.
To her shame, her voice came out throaty and needy. “What about you?”
He looked at her, his eyes a mottled blue and green, pupils wide and black, beneath those golden lashes. Long, golden lashes. “I think I might have made a mistake.”
No! It couldn’t be. If he’d made a mistake, then what had she done? Marley swallowed. “You did love her.”
“Not sure, Marl. Jus’ no’ shhurl.”
“You are very drunk, Ben,” she said. That had to be the reason. They came to a corner, and he headed off in the wrong direction. She grabbed him by the arm. “Not yet. We need to go one more block before we turn.” Ben swung around to look at her, a bit unsteady on his feet, but he was an ironworker after all and he kept his balance.
“I’m going to take you home,” she announced.
He frowned. “I don’t want to go to Brooklyn. Gotta work tomorrow.”
“No, silly, I’m taking you to your place. You’re too drunk to go by yourself.” She put her arm through Ben’s. What should she do? If Sophia didn’t want him, Marley did, and if Ben didn’t love Sophia, then maybe there was a way to change it all. All of it. She pulled him closer. “Okay?”
He looked down at her and smiled. “You know, I took you home once.”
“Oh?” She looked at him as if she didn’t remember.
“Yeah, we sat on a bench because we...” he didn’t finish the thought, though.
“Why?” she pushed.
“You know,” he said. Red splotches appeared beneath his sun-weathered tan.
She took pity on him. After all, he might become hers. “Because I didn’t want it to end.”
“We didn’t want it to end. We were having a good time.”
She hadn’t been having a good time, she’d been having her heart cut out and grafted onto his. She didn’t know what he’d been doing.
“Was that it?” she asked.
“Marley,” Ben said. He stopped and turned to her, looking into her eyes. “I think about that night sometimes.”
She looked away. She hadn’t wanted something so direct, had she? Not until she knew what was happening. She couldn’t trust herself with him. She needed to talk to Sophia.
“Let’s get you on a train.”
They headed down underground, swiped their cards. Marley wasn’t really going to get on the train with Ben. Just see that he was heading uptown. They walked to the platform and stood, only four other people waiting. He turned to her and leaned down, placing his mouth over hers. She could smell the beer on him, knew he wasn’t in his clear mind, but she was weak. She’d wanted his interest for so long, she found she had no strength to turn it down. When the train pulled up, he reached down and grabbed her hand and fool that she was, she followed.
By the time they got to his stop, she was an emotional mess. With every minute, she’d been moving farther away from her mother and daughter. Further away from her responsibility, from where she should be heading. With every minute in his company, every minute she let herself believe there might be a future for her that included a father for her child, a wild and unruly hope beat in her heart. He kept her hand in his and every few minutes leaned over to take another kiss from her. Each time he did, she became more lost than before.
When the train stopped in the Bronx, she’d become confident that she would stay the night, would call her mother and beg her to forgive her. Would ride to work a woman who had finally told the truth.
It was a short walk to the building he owned with Derrick. They had to pass the empty garage that once had belonged to George Connelly. “What will happen to that building?” she asked.
Ben sighed. “Deb’s working on finding a buyer. That will get some debt off of her and help her catch up.”
Marley swung her arm. Ben’s hand was wrapped warmly around hers and their arms swung together. She swung again, entranced by the image.
“You help her?” Marley asked.
“Sure. Ma and Pa too. We do what we can.”
She swung her arm again, back and forth. Ben stopped and turned to her.
“We’re here,” he said.
“Yes.”
He kissed her again, his mouth warm and firm, her heart pounding in her chest and echoing in the ache between her legs. “You don’t have to come up.”
“I know.”
He opened the door and together they walked up the two sets of steps that led to the first landing, and then two more, to the top of the stairs. He opened the door and held it for Marley. As soon as they were through the door, he pinned her against the wall.
“Tell me no,” he said.
She shook her head.
“I’m broken, Marley,” he said, but she knew it was a lie. He was whole. He was all still there.
She put her hand on his chest. “No. You’re not.”
He stepped back and rubbed his hands across his face. “I, I need to wash up,” he said and headed to the kitchen, flicking on the lights as he passed and headed down the hallway. “I’ll be right back.”
The lights coming on shocked her. The apartment was nothing like hers. The furniture was new and modern. It was pale browns and mauves, wood accents, and oak tables. It was Ben and Sophia. It was a slap in her face, for the fool that she was.
She moved quietly, and the door made barel
y a sound as she let herself out. She hoped she’d be in the subway before he got to the street.
Chapter 19
Doug was waiting for Sophia from the coffee shop on the corner. He took a table with a clear view of the front of her building and bided his time. He had no idea when her day ended, but when she wasn’t with the first wave of civil servants, he knew he was in for a long wait.
She’d ordered him to stop following her, and frankly, he could have stayed home and called, except he couldn’t shake his worry. Since his court appearance his concern had just increased. She’d spoken to him in front of the courtroom the day he was released. Anyone could have seen her. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit the memory of her whispering her acceptance of him didn’t play into the burning need to see her. Concern, fascination, it was all becoming a muddle for him.
Alice was right; he needed to focus on the fact someone had tried to frame him, that’s where the danger would come from.
He also needed to chase down his cash, find the damn server which, if he was right, would be freakin’ empty. Proving that the electronic equivalent of half his holdings had gone on to other accounts. Doubly so, he needed proof he didn’t kill that mechanic. More than that? He needed to make sure that his stunt in the park hadn’t put this woman on Camisa’s radar.
Doug leaned back in his chair, nursing his expensive coffee, and thought about it. How had his blood, hair, and prints been on the body? He doubted anyone got into his apartment and cleared out a comb. Besides, his hair was nothing more than stubble. He didn’t even use a comb. His beard wasn’t long either and he couldn’t remember bleeding since he got released.
He sat up straighter. The last time he’d bled was in prison. Doug clenched his jaw. Jose Luck. How the hell had Luck got the blood and skin out of lockup? That had to be how it happened. Screw the fat man, Doug needed to know who Jose Luck worked for. He gave up his waiting and texted Sophia. No answer.
Outside, the last of the sunset faded into twilight, and finally a tall woman, the woman he wanted, walked to the glass doors and came out onto the street. Beside Sophia was a slender dark-haired man. They stood in front of the building, talking for a while before he turned and headed away.
Doug stood, watching her. Last time he’d done this she’d headed directly uptown, her long legs taking her quickly toward her hotel, but tonight she was dithering. Her steps were slow and short. She fiddled with her purse and dropped it, glancing behind her as she recovered it. Then she turned around and headed after her coworker.
Doug eased out of the coffee shop, keeping his shoulders hunched, his knit cap pulled low on his head. He kept his distance, curious.
The wind was bitter tonight, and her hair lifted and twisted when it gusted. She grabbed at it roughly and turned it into a ponytail. Something about her fist around her hair went straight to Doug’s groin. He could imagine the silky weight of it wrapped around his hand. He didn’t even bother to consider if she would be kneeling before him or waiting on hands and knees. Nothing like that was ever going to happen. All he wanted to do was to make sure she stayed safe until they figured out who killed George Connelly.
Across the street, Sophia stopped and turned abruptly into a store that sold high-end kitchen stuff, bowls, gadgets, furniture. A few doors down, her coworker walked into a parking garage. He gave something to the attendant and turned to loiter on the sidewalk. To Doug’s right, shallow steps led to a fountain and some benches decorating the setback of a large charcoal gray building. He moved upward, hesitating near a seat, keeping an eye on her. Five minutes later, a black Ford SUV pulled out, and the man got in, driving off. Sophia emerged. He couldn’t see her expression, but he could read the frustration in the set of her shoulders, the angle of her leg. The stamp of her ivory booted foot confirmed it, as she pulled out her cell phone. His smirk faded as soon as he saw the beat-up Toyota wedging its way to the curb in front of Sophia. For the second time since he’d met her, Doug bolted across the street. She was talking to the driver. Doug twisted his head left and right, darting across the intersecting road. She opened the rear door; he ran flat out.
“Sophia!”
She turned, her expression changing from confusion to pissed off the moment she recognized him. Too bad.
“You’re following me again!”
He shrugged.
“You are so arrogant,” she said. “I told you to stop that.”
“I have to ask you something.” He wasn’t going to dignify the accusation by correcting her.
Her eyebrows rose. “If I wanted to answer, I’d have texted back.”
“I think I know who framed me.”
Sophia hesitated, one foot in the back seat.
“1347 Howard street, Elizabeth. Jersey,” she said to the driver. “Put it in your GPS.”
He reached out and grabbed the top of the door, trying to push his way in, thinking he could shove her across the bench seat. She didn’t slide easily. She was bracing one foot against the tunnel and leaning hard into him.
“Get away from me,” she growled.
“Hey!” The driver of the car’s eyes could be seen in the rearview, large and round.
“Stay out of this,” Doug said. He still had one foot outside of the car.
“You just drive,” Sophia said at the same time. She shoved hard into Doug’s side.
The driver must have already known where they were going because he didn’t miss a beat when she said they were leaving the state. Doug, however, felt his breath catch. Sophia looked at him in triumph.
“That’s right, sweetheart. We’re leaving Manhattan, so you can’t come.” She shoved at him one more time, and he stepped back, but he kept his hand on the door.
He would be leaving the city and violating his bail terms if he went with her. He rolled his shoulders.
“I’m concerned,” he said. What choice did he have, he had to level with Sophia. “If I’m right about Luck… we have to be very careful.”
“There’s no ‘we,’” she replied; her chin lifted. She tugged on the door.
“Where are you going?”
“None of your business.”
Doug pushed his hands into his hair. She was so obstinate.
“Just tell me if it’s related to my case,” he asked, remembering Jose Luck’s face, twisted in anger and the power in the man’s fists. Doug’s heart was pounding. Don’t be ridiculous, Doug thought. You don’t know if this has anything to do with him.
“No. It’s related to mine.”
“Is it about George Connolly?”
“What other case is there?”
Sophia yanked on the door, getting it out of his hands.
“Damn it Sophia,” he said. The car door shut and the car drove away, but Doug was busy entering the address she’d said into his phone. He looked it up. She would be there in a half hour. Mass transit could get Doug pretty close to the address in a half hour if he left Penn Station. He had to get there first.
Doug started to run.
The inside of the Uber smelled freshly cleaned. Sophia slid to the passenger side of the car so that she could see the driver from the back seat.
She smiled at him, but his face remained as it was, pleasant, friendly. Not bothered by her looks. Maybe her looks were fading. First Doug and now this man.
“So, who was that guy? I was getting ready to get out and pull him off you,” the driver asked.
Sophia had serious doubts anyone could move Doug if he didn’t want it. The question was hard to answer. Who was Doug to her?
“Nobody,” she tried, but the guy just raised his eyebrows. Her phone chimed; it was a text from Doug.
This is about George.
She smiled at the abruptness of it, the assumption that implied. Should she answer? In the end, the idea that he was out there waiting for her to respond was like an itch. She had to scratch.
Yes. Why are you still following me?
Bubbles came and disappeared: typing, stopping, typing. H
e was having trouble explaining himself, and Sophia smiled. His text finally arrived.
For real?
She smirked at her phone. “Chicken,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?” the driver said.
She glanced up. “Oh, talking to myself.”
You aren’t as tough as I thought if you can’t answer that, she typed. Inside, she felt a voluminous balloon of happiness. She was so fucked up.
I’m loyal as fuck though.
Sophia’s finger paused, the balloon deflating. Was he? She thought about the alley. Absolutely not.
Not to me. You betrayed me.
Aren’t we done with this? You can’t lose your family over a guy like me.
I was humiliated.
Sophia. He sent her a sad face. How could you be humiliated when the man who turned you down was a man your family loathes?
Exactly, she texted.
She was tired of this. The alley was over. They’d moved on. She’d kissed every place on that handsome face. She’d pressed her mouth to those muscular thighs, stark white against the blue of his briefs. It wasn’t as if she’d considered what her family would think. Even if she’d known he was going to reject her behind Mastrelo’s, she wouldn’t change anything that had happened. She wanted that kiss. Her experiences of desire, in the alley and in the barren apartment, had shifted something. Between her legs, a dull ache started. Her heart rate rose, her chest and back felt tight. Longing. She wouldn’t have missed those wild seconds in the alley for anything. They were her memories, and she didn’t want to erase them. After, of course, she had told her family the truth, because that’s who she was. It had nothing to do with him.
She dialed his number.
“I love you,” he said. He was out of breath.
Shock hummed through her. “What?”
“I just want to tell you once.”
His voice. Good lord, it made the ache between her legs much worse. She felt herself yearning, the sensation delving inside her. It had been ages since she’d wanted like this. She’d never wanted like this.
She could hear people around him, voices, and the sound of feet pounding out a rhythm.
