Play Dirty: Brooklyn Dawn Book 1

by Quinn, Cari

  She let out a compressed sound that straddled the line between a breath and a growl. “You’re lucky that’s how you responded. I don’t like people fucking with her. You could say that I have a problem with not resorting to violence when it comes to someone messing with my best friend.”

  “Are you threatening me? And if so, thank fucking God.”

  “Do you enjoy pain? If so, I can oblige you.”

  I rolled over that as if she hadn’t spoken. Truly, I was trying to block it out of my head. “She must be okay. You wouldn’t be worried about making my small and wrinklies a hood ornament if she wasn’t all right.”

  “Say what? Don’t get all Irish on me. I’m not Lindz. That doesn’t get my panties in a wad.”

  “Thank God for that also.”

  She huffed. “Where are you?”

  “In my flat. Where are you?”

  “We just finished our show. You should damn well know where it is, because your woman performed her fucking ass off and it’s your job as head cock to keep an eye on that shit.”

  “You’re in DC tonight.”

  She let out another huff. If she was satisfied that I knew, she certainly didn’t offer any praise.

  But she didn’t insult me further, so I supposed that was progress.

  “What happened?” I asked quietly, balling my free hand in my pocket. I was already shuffling around appointments in my head. Whatever she needed, wherever I had to go, I would do it in a heartbeat.

  “There was an incident. I wasn’t—”

  “Incident?” Rage blew through me like a storm. “What the fuck does that mean? Is she okay? Damn you, tell me every detail.”

  “Whoa. Whoa. I thought I’d call you and find out you had one leg out the door. Instead, it’s some Romeo and Juliet BS. Don’t get your sacrificial knife out just yet. She’s in one piece.”

  I gritted my teeth. In another time and place, I probably would’ve been amused by Jamie.

  This wasn’t it.

  “What happened? This is the last time I’ll ask.”

  “Because I can tell you’re genuinely worried, I’ll allow that. I put some of it together from her and some from Darcy, since Lindz is a goddamn vault when she doesn’t want to worry other people. Which is always. Some asshole showed up here and asked to see her. Pretty sure she assumed it was you, so she took her time to pretty up.”

  The fury and worry causing me to pace like a leashed animal turned to an icy wave of fear that nearly buckled my legs. I steadied myself on the back of the couch, my throat too tight to speak.

  If she’d been hurt when she thought she was meeting me…

  “She’s fine,” Jamie said, correctly reading the direction of my thoughts. “Physically anyway. The cowardly fuck wasn’t in the green room when she got there. But he’d ripped one of our posters in two and burned out her face.”

  “What?” The question was hollow.

  After imagining Lindsey threatened at the very least, the destruction of a poster seemed anti-climactic. But burning out her face? That was different.

  Beyond the level of a quick prank.

  “Yeah, real juvenile shit. But she was rattled. They got too close to her. And we’d all scattered already, so she was there basically alone—”

  “What kind of asinine security do you have? She’s a world-famous star. She should never be alone, let alone at a venue right after a show.”

  “Slow your roll, Romeo. She’s had a bodyguard since she was a kid. Haven’t you seen George? That dude is a literal tank.”

  “Was he in there with her? I’m guessing not. And if not, that makes him worthless. I’m going to call Donovan Lewis.”

  “Excuse me? You’re going to do what now when it comes to our fucking band? You don’t have a say over her life.”

  Just like that, she put me back in my place—on the sidelines.

  “And excuse me if I’m being rude, but you haven’t even bothered to fly out once to meet her in the last couple of weeks. She practically gave you an engraved invitation, but you were too busy working. Yet now you think you have the right to criticize her setup when it’s worked a hell of a lot longer than you’ve been around?”

  The vise around my vocal cords tightened for a whole new reason. “I’ll come to her tonight.”

  “First intelligent thing you’ve said so far this entire conversation. Never would’ve assumed Lindz would go for a stealth dick and a pretty face over brains.”

  I didn’t want to pay any attention to her blathering. It was obvious I was being baited. But she had mentioned my cock, and I was, unfortunately, male. If there was a piece of catnip I would find irresistible, that was it.

  “What did she say about my dick?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? By the way, she’s on her way back to New York. Getting a flight out now. Maybe you can tie up your work and actually, I don’t know, make yourself useful for a change.” Without saying goodbye, Jamie hung up.

  Shaking my head, I went into the bedroom to grab an overnight bag, then haphazardly started tossing in clothes.

  When Lindsey arrived in town, I would be ready. She wasn’t going to be alone tonight.

  I still didn’t feel like I had the full picture of what had happened, especially in light of all the odd things occurring with me. I hadn’t yet connected all the dots. But I would. That was a certainty.

  One thing, however, was crystal clear.

  I hadn’t met the parents yet—nor would I ever, most likely—but I could say without a doubt that meeting the best friend had been equivalent to the seventh realm of hell.

  Twenty-Six

  George pulled up to my brownstone. It was indulgent and stupid for me to take the trip to New York, but as usual George never complained. Even when I killed the plans with his niece. I just really needed to not be Lindsey York, rockstar for a few days.

  I needed my space, my scents, my clothes, for God’s sake.

  I hadn’t bothered with anything other than my small travel bag for the trip back. Everything I needed was inside my home.

  I owned all four floors of the brownstone as well as the building next door, which George lived in. It kept him close enough for his piece of mind as well as my own. And because I owned both buildings, we had a garage between them for George’s baby—aka the tricked out Mercedes he used when we were in town. One of his buddies had dropped it in temporary parking for us so we didn’t have to try to find a cab or Uber at the airport.

  Another car was parked in front of my house. While not completely out of the ordinary, off-street parking was almost nonexistent in Brooklyn. Not to mention, I knew that Jeep intimately.

  “What the hell is he doing here?”

  George perked up. “Who?”

  I pushed open my door without answering him. George hurried out and stalked toward the wide stone steps where a man sat on the third step. “Can I help you?”

  Nash stood. He was wearing a hip-length leather jacket against the brisk October wind. His inky hair was hidden under another beanie, adding to the skulking intruder factor.

  He ignored George, anger vibrating off of him as he gazed at me. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course.”

  George blocked me from the stairs.

  Nash was a little taller, but George had him on muscle and pure menace. Mostly. Nash seemed even pricklier than usual.

  He came down the stairs to meet George, their chests brushing as they stood toe-to-toe. Nash tilted his head, cracking the bones in his neck.

  “All right, back it up.” George held his hand out to me, shoving me behind him.

  “Who the fuck is this, duchess?” Nash peered down the blade of his nose at George.

  “For God’s sake.” I walked around both of them and stomped up the stairs to my front door.

  “Lindsey.” George’s deep baritone had me pausing with my fingers over the keypad.

  “He’s…an acquaintance.”

  “Fuck that, I’m damn well more th
an that and you know it.” Nash’s Irish was thick and jagged.

  “It’s fine, George. He’s mine.” Though I loathed to admit it right now. I was tired and pissed. Not one goddamn reply to my texts since last night. He knew I had a couple days off and still hadn’t bothered to commit to any time together. Now he thought he could just show up?

  Nash took the stairs two at a time until he crowded me at the door.

  “How the hell did you know I was here?”

  He grabbed my elbow and turned me to face him. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?” His icy blue eyes were a bit wild in the dim security light shining on us.

  George was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his arms crossed, his face stony. I peered around Nash. “Honestly, I’m fine. This is Alexander Nash.”

  George’s shoulders relaxed fractionally. I was positive he’d heard me talking about him with Jamie. Then again, he’d also heard me bitching about Nash. And his gaze was directed on the proprietary hand on my arm. “Do you want him here?”

  I honestly wasn’t sure. Did I really want to let Nash wrap his damn arms around me? Maybe I could lean on someone for a freaking moment. I was so tired of being strong all the damn time.

  At the same time, I really didn’t want to be the woman he felt guilted into seeing. Obviously, someone had told him about the incident.

  The steely backbone I’d relied on for the entirety of my career activated. I could only count on me. “I can get rid of him if it becomes necessary.”

  Nash bristled behind me, and I gave him a shove with my elbow for good measure.

  I disengaged the security. The scent of beeswax and fresh mint told me the cleaning service I used had been there recently. I was tempted to close the door on Nash, but of course he pushed his way inside.

  “Make yourself at home.”

  “Don’t give me that snide tone, duchess.”

  “What are you doing here, Alex?”

  As soon as the door closed, he had me up against it. I turned my face away from him, anger spiking and rattling inside my already jangling system. I was so tired and now that he was in front of me, I didn’t know what to do with all of my feelings.

  He cupped my face and urged me to meet his gaze. Tears rose up and flooded at the echoing emotions in his eyes.

  Everything with us was so wild and new. And fuck, I’d missed him. I knew he was pushing me away. I could feel it in every text and too-short conversation. I really didn’t want to let him inside my heart any further if he wasn’t going to stick around.

  I didn’t want to want him.

  Or worse, the dangerous emotions signaling something far more serious.

  And as the tears finally wouldn’t be staunched anymore, they rolled down my cheeks, over his fingers. The eye of the storm had been my trip home.

  The scare tactic at the venue.

  Nash pulling away from me.

  Me wanting someone who might never be able to give himself to me.

  Me loving someone who might never be able to be mine.

  And worst of all, having him right here, his wrecked blue eyes hot and tinged with red as well. Staring at me as if I was his lifeline and his worst fear.

  Was that all we’d be?

  A nightmare?

  A cold front and a hot wind bashing against each other until there was nothing left but ruins?

  “What happened?” he asked huskily.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “You don’t cry over nothing, duchess.”

  “I’m just exhausted.” I pushed him back and scraped my hand across my eyes. Now I probably looked like a raccoon, but no one would see me but my damn pillowcase.

  Two of the floors of my brownstone had been combined into one huge, high-ceilinged space. It had been a gut job when I bought it, so I didn’t feel too bad about renovating it to suit me more than the typical Brooklyn architecture.

  But because I loved the history of Brooklyn, the third floor was more traditional since it was my pretty much my bedroom and two guest rooms. The fourth floor was my studio. Backwards for some people perhaps, but it had been easier to soundproof the top floor and make it my music room with a handful of studio capabilities. If I needed the big studio sound, I went to Ripper to record anyway.

  I lifted one of the smart home remotes that were scattered around the house and flooded the room with light. A huge sandstone and shale fireplace dominated the space with a massive U-shaped sectional couch for entertaining. The back door led to my patio garden space. A reading nook and wall-sized built-in bookcases took up one corner while the dining and kitchen finished out the bottom level.

  He followed me into the space, his gaze tracking me instead of looking around the room like most people would. I could feel his laser focus searing my back. I went right to my wine fridge and pulled out a bottle.

  I didn’t even give a shit that he didn’t drink. Not right now.

  At the moment, all I wanted was some crisp, dry wine to settle me. My face was hot with exhaustion and my joints were overstrung rubber bands. I knew the crash was coming. I’d even planned for it at this point.

  My home.

  My space.

  Now he was here, messing up the plan.

  I fought with the cork, my fumbling fingers unable to work my electric corkscrew. He took it from me and uncorked the bottle like a seasoned professional.

  He took down a glass, then filled it halfway with the golden liquid and handed it to me. Crossing his arms, he leaned his hip against the marble countertop. His wide shoulders, tall frame, and jet black outfit seemed out of place in my light-filled kitchen.

  The beachy-colored cabinets and sea glass tiles usually calmed me. Especially since I hadn’t been home in months. The ritual of lights and wine, even a candle and a trip up to my personal tub—that was how I decompressed.

  I took a long drink of wine. It definitely wasn’t working right now.

  “Stop staring at me.”

  “I can’t. All I’ve been doing is seeing you in my dreams. The flesh is too much for me at the moment.”

  “Oh, fuck off.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at me, his face lacking expression. The stark emotion that had been bleeding from him before was shored up behind his mask again. Cool blue eyes under raven’s wing black eyebrows matched his ultra-tanned skin. I burned and freckled a little. Nash? Nope, he looked more like he’d spent the last two weeks on the beach rather than the studio I knew he’d been haunting.

  He didn’t bother taking off his jacket or hat. Nope, he was just waiting me out.

  I wanted to smack the blankness right off his face.

  Instead, I turned around and crossed the room to the stairs.

  “Duchess.”

  I ignored him and sprinted up the stairs with my wine glass. I heard him sigh, but instead of giving chase, he slowly followed.

  “Just leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  “Well, then you’ll be spending the night on that couch or the floor, because I’m not going anywhere.”

  I heard his footsteps on the stairs. The light squeak on the fourth stair that I always avoided told me he was right behind me.

  I set my wine glass down just inside my bedroom, shrugged off my jacket, and tossed it on the chaise in my sitting area. I tapped the iPad mini that was charging on the small table. The lights came on, slowly floating from the main space to the lamps next to my bed and finally, to the bathroom.

  I stripped out of my travel clothes, leaving a trail of cotton and denim in my wake.

  Surprisingly, I heard Nash swear and pick them up.

  Odd.

  But I simply didn’t care. I needed to wash off this night. I couldn’t even think about my huge jet tub right now. I needed the cross-body shower heads to get the job done. My face was sticky with tears and leftover makeup and who knows what else from the flight.

  I stepped inside, closing the large glass door behind me. It was pre-programmed with my per
sonal settings. The blisteringly hot water was this side of scalding and I couldn’t get enough of it. I pressed both palms to the marble tiles and tipped my head down to let the water stream down my neck and pummel my back.

  I don’t know how long I stood like that. I practically swayed with exhaustion. Then the door opened and he stood there. My eyes tracked behind him where his clothes were neatly folded on the counter.

  He closed the door behind him and hissed at the temperature. Instead of speaking, he reached for the bottles of bodywash and shampoos and conditioners. He thumbed through them slowly, bringing them up to his nose before finally pouring some into his hand. He started with the roots of my hair along the nape of my neck and worked his way up until my whole head was a mass of bubbles.

  I stiffened against the intimacy, but my level of exhaustion couldn’t fight Alex in a giving mood. He was an intense sexual partner with small moments of softness. He gave orgasms easier than he gave sweetness.

  I didn’t have the armor for this Alex.

  He eased me under the rain hood to rinse the lather away before he selected another bottle and repeated the soothing movements with my conditioner. My curls secretly thanked him even as the woman inside me yearned for what else he had to give.

  The hair of his thighs brushed along my ass as he eased me back against him for a moment. He draped my hair over my shoulder to trail over my breasts. Then he left me to rummage through the admittedly huge shelf of products in my shower. I caught myself shooting a bemused glance at him as he sniffed and recapped many things before settling on my preferred scent.

  I swallowed a laugh when he squeezed his huge hand into one of my washing mitts and coated it with my Tom Ford shower gel. I couldn’t even complain. There would be suds for days, but he was trying.

  Something I never thought he’d ever do.

  The steamy air filled with the spicy night blossoms of the Black Orchid scent I’d been wearing for the last few years. His hands weren’t gentle as he kneaded into locked muscles I didn’t realize I had.

  The warmth of the shower, his touch, and the steam eased me into an almost trance-like state. I was floating on the bliss of relaxation when his touch slowly eased to whisper soft. At some point, he’d ditched the mitt for his hands. The light calluses on his fingertips made me shiver.