The Marker: Book One in the Bridge Series

by Howes, Ann

  “Of course I have a choice. I’m not going to your mother’s.”

  “Her house is better suited for your situation and that’s where you’re going. Period.”

  “I’m going to Cass’s.”

  His face hardens. “Who the fuck is Cass?”

  “My girlfriend, weren’t you listening?”

  That’s when he stands. “Don’t see you for ten years, then you land yourself in a mountain of shit and who do you call?”

  Oooh…here it comes.

  “I didn’t land in it. It landed on me.”

  “Same difference. Whose phone rang yesterday afternoon?” His voice is soft, but laced with anger.

  “Um…”

  The air’s gone all crackly again, and to make things worse, he’s coming around the island. When he’s inches away he clamps my shoulders and swivels my stool so I’m facing him, then leaning into me he traps me between his arms as he rests his hands on the granite behind me, forcing me to either stare at his broad chest or look up. I look up.

  He asks again, “I’m waiting, Shelley.”

  “Yours.” I whisper because, truthfully, I couldn’t say anything else. “I called you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I couldn’t think of anyone else at that moment”

  “That’s right.” He stares down, holding my eyes. “You thought of me. And you know why you thought of me?”

  I swallow, because I do indeed know why, but I’m not going to tell him that, as it isn’t the only time I’ve thought of him since the funeral. “You said I might need you.”

  “Yeah.” He’s really close now, just a few inches away. “You might need me. Now accept that because I’m not in the mood for your crap.”

  My crap? For some reason that rubs me wrong and I take approximately three seconds to think about it before I straighten my spine and snap.

  “You’re not in the mood for my crap?” I shove against those hard shoulders. Regretting it immediately because, not only does he not move, but my hands hurt, dammit. Though I’m not going to let him know that, even as it sure as hell fuels my temper.

  “In the last few days, I’ve been beaten, threatened, stalked, molested by a fucking goose, almost run over by a car, and Billy’s in the hospital because of me! So don’t talk to me about not being in the mood for my crap. And if that’s not enough, I’m gonna owe you a fucking marker ’cause we both know how this works. There’s no freebies in this life, especially from men like you.”

  He straightens and folds his arms, but stays silent, going all alpha badass on me glowering down with that scarred eyebrow cocked. And because I have no sense of self-preservation, or sense in general, I continue.

  “And…” I throw my hands in the air, “you went through my underwear drawer.”

  Gianni turns to face the window and cracks his jaw. “Anything else you wanna get off your chest since you’re in the mood?”

  “You didn’t pack any shoes.”

  He sucks in those gorgeous cheeks covered in all that delicious stubble as his lips twitch. And it’s a long moment before he turns back. “No shoes, huh? Well, fuck me, I didn’t pack any shoes. So that’s what you’re really pissed about.”

  God.

  “No! I mean…yes. Maybe.”

  “Good to see you still got some fight in you.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up.”

  “No, you shut up.”

  “You’re cute when you’re pissed.”

  Dammit.

  He’s not supposed to say things like that. It’s not fair. So I deflect. “I don’t think Vicodin agrees with me.”

  He’s not biting and deflects back. “And you have some pretty sexy underwear.”

  See! How am I supposed to fight against that?

  “But I wanna hear more about what this goose did to you.”

  “No, you don’t.” My cheeks begin to burn, as that was not my finest moment.

  “I most certainly do, especially now that you’re blushing.”

  Damn-the-fuck-it.

  “Fine.” I let out a puff of air. “It bit me on my ass.”

  “It did what?” Then the bastard starts to laugh. Out loud. And he’s got an amazing laugh that does flip-floppy things to my belly. Warm and rich and almost infectious. Almost, because I’m too mortified to enjoy it.

  “It’s not that funny,” I say after a lot of seconds have passed.

  “Yeah, it is,” he says, still chuckling, but making an obvious effort to clamp it down. “I can’t wait to hear the full story.”

  “Shut up. You’re not getting it from me.”

  “Definitely not from you, because you’ll give me the abridged version. I want the details.”

  No doubt Billy will share those details when he’s better. “Why are you doing all this?”

  I hear him take a deep breath. When he lets it out it, he’s stopped laughing. “Told you before. You’re gonna have to figure it out yourself.”

  I swallow and look up at the change in tone. All traces of that laugh have gone and his eyes are back to serious.

  “This is a fuck-up, De Luca. I’m not sure you’re comprehending how dangerous Melnikov is.”

  “Uh…hello. Look what he did to my face.”

  “It’s much worse than that.” Before I can ask how much, he keeps going, “Okay, I’ll compromise. You call your girl, but you’re still going to my mom’s. She can visit you there.”

  “Only for a few days,” I counter back. “I have to go back to work at some point.”

  Oh crap…work. How am I going work with my hands like this?

  “You'll stay as long as I tell you to stay.”

  “Gianni, I’m not going to let Dean, or you for that matter, dictate my life.”

  “Ugh.” He tips his head back and growls to the track lighting on the ceiling. “Do you not understand the conversation we just had or the depth of the situation you’re in?”

  “I do, it’s just that I have to pay rent.”

  “Rent is the least of your problems.”

  “Um…no, it’s not. I’m still building my clientele, so money is a bit tight right now and I can’t afford to lose my apartment. You know what rents are like in this city.”

  He plants his palms on the counter and leans in towards me. “Is that why you got involved with him? Because he has money?”

  My body jolts at his accusation. “You think I use men for their money?”

  “Do you?”

  “Wow.” I blink and look away. “That’s really insulting. Obviously, you don’t know me.”

  “Stop deflecting and answer the question. If it wasn’t about money, what was it?”

  “Stop being such an asshole. Not that I do use men for money but what would it matter to you if I did?”

  His look bores right through me, like he’s trying to see past my skull, trying to decipher whatever code is written there. Find some evidence to justify his question.

  But instead of answering me, he gives a quick shake of his head then pushes away from the island.

  “I liked him,” I say softly to his back. Maybe I saw it wrong, but I would swear there was a hesitation in his step, but not enough to make me stop. “Dean was charming and sweet at first. I fell for it. I fell for him. Didn’t know he was psycho until he hit me.”

  He’s stopped at the kitchen sink, facing the window. I assume he’s staring at the view and it’s a few beats before he speaks again. But those few beats carry a lot of tension.

  “So…let me get this straight,” he says to the window. “You want me to believe my idiot brother didn’t warn you?”

  As that penetrates, my head tilts. “Warn me about what?”

  He turns and pins me down. “Being coy isn’t gonna work on me, Shelley.”

  “I’m not being coy, Gianni. I don’t understand what you’re referring to. Warn me about what?”

  After what seems an eternity of studying me with something definitely n
ot happy in his eyes, he leans his back against the counter.

  “Fuck me.” His shoulders drop a little, then he rubs his face. “You don’t know.”

  Now it’s my turn to get impatient. “Know what, Gianni?”

  “That prick you let put his dick in you, Shelley, was Joey’s partner.”

  I stare at him, more than a little taken aback by his tone, because that tone sounded a lot like jealousy, but I push it aside. Filing it for later.

  “You’re joking,” I whisper as goosebumps erupt on my skin. I don’t know if it’s because of the maybe-jealousy or the information he just imparted.

  “Nope,” he confirms.

  “You mean by partner, he was Dean’s supplier?”

  “Yep.” His eyes get narrow but remain stuck on me.

  “How long have you known?”

  “Not until recently when I heard them on the phone. Melnikov wasn’t pleased Joey wanted to quit, wouldn’t leave it alone. But that wasn’t all. They were arguing about something else as well. It got pretty heated”

  “About what?”

  He shrugs, but the way he’s looking at me suggests he knows a lot more than he’s willing to say.

  A chill begins at the base of my spine, moving up, as I remember Joey’s words to me when I told him I was seeing someone. Know that. I can’t help feeling they were arguing about me.

  Then Gianni asks, “How long have you known Joey was supplying cocaine?”

  “Um…Billy told me yesterday…right before everything happened.” Something occurs to me and my eyes widen. “Oh jeez. You think Dean killed Joey.”

  “I’m working on that theory.”

  Good God.

  I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. This just keeps getting worse. When at last I open them again, I glance at Gianni and he’s looking down at his feet.

  Perhaps it’s because he looks so tired, or his hair is falling across his forehead, making him look vulnerable. Or because of the mixed signals I’m getting—something that sounded like jealousy, but might not be. I rise from my chair, walk to him and slip my arms around his waist. We’re joined at the hips, with my torso to his and my head just below his shoulder. He lets out a short breath then tenses, every muscle locking up. As his arms slide around me, beneath my ear I hear his heart speed up.

  We stand together for a few seconds like that until I do something stupid. I can’t help it, because his scent and his warmth make me lose my mind.

  I kiss him.

  I just press my lips to that broad pectoral plane, right below his nipple.

  Impossibly, he locks up even more. “Shelley?” The tenor in his voice, low and strained, makes my belly dip. “What are you doing?”

  “Um,” I whisper tilting my head to meet his eyes.

  “Shouldn’t be doing that, babe.”

  I withdraw my hands from his back, sliding them across his smooth muscles, settling them on his hip. As I do, he sucks in air, making a small hissing sound through his teeth. I lean slightly back and in doing so, my pelvis presses closer to his. Our eyes lock and something in his flare.

  “Don’t,” he says, sounding as if he’s in pain.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Start something you can’t finish. You’re injured and full of Vicodin, but dammit, De Luca, I’m still a man.”

  It’s then I become aware of his erection, but can’t make myself move. Our eyes are locked before he closes his and swallows.

  Then he takes in a deep breath through his nostrils and with a grunt that vibrates through his torso, he pushes me away and steps to the side. Since he’s angled away from me, I can’t see his face but I do see the pulse beating on the side of his neck. He drags his fingers through his hair before turning to me.

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention…”

  “It doesn’t matter what your intention was, Shelley. Like I said, I’m still a man. So I suggest you keep your distance and don’t put any more moves on me.”

  “Moves…? That most definitely wasn’t a move.”

  “Your hands touching me and you looking at me like that? That’s a move,” he growls. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” And the look he slides me as he stalks out the kitchen suggests he might do more than just shower.

  Hoo boy.

  I blow a strand of hair out of my face and watch him, my eyes fixed on those flexing muscles in his ass as he climbs the polished wooden stairs until he’s out of sight, then I collapse onto my chair and rest my head on my arms.

  I suppose it’s a small victory I managed to have that effect, although I get the feeling any warm female body would do but it doesn’t stop the space between my legs from tingling, because I still feel him. Feel that hard ridge against me. And that reminds me of my dream.

  Joey’s not the man for you.

  Boy did he have that right.

  Fucking Vicodin! Makes my mind and my body do stupid things.

  One more day, maybe two, then I won’t need the painkillers anymore. Good thing too, as being around Gianni is too damn dangerous.

  Maybe Cass can help me with plan B…

  I freeze as the sound of a door opening and closing sends my heart racing.

  Holy cow…who the hell is that?

  They’re coming from down the hall. Moments later clicking heels, high clicking heels, echo down the hallway.

  HA!

  I instinctively duck underneath the kitchen island. As my knees aren’t as flexible as perhaps they would normally be, I lose my balance and land hard on my butt, letting out a muffled oomph.

  Maybe five seconds later, a woman saunters into the kitchen passing me on her way towards the counter. A black, beautifully cut bob swinging with each step.

  Jeez.

  Two things hit me.

  First relief because it’s not some dangerous killer.

  Yay.

  Then, as if I haven’t had enough humiliation, I realize it’s her. Miss Double D.

  Only this time both stiletto heels are, from this point of view, perfect.

  And she has a key.

  She doesn’t notice me. After placing her purse on the counter, she reaches into the cabinets, pulls down a mug and fills it with coffee from the pot.

  I’m thinking I could scoot myself around the corner and out the kitchen door before she sees me. Except…and that’s when the second thing hits me.

  Her perfume.

  My nose twitches and before I can squelch it, I sneeze.

  She pivots, eyes landing on me and if there was any warmth in her face, it’s no longer there.

  She’s beautiful, of course. On a scale of one to ten, I’d put her at a nine point nine-nine with flawless skin and eyes so dark, you could call them onyx.

  “What are you doing down there?” she asks, with no warmth in her tone either.

  I don’t answer because…well, really, what can I say? That I fell on my ass like a fraidy-cat when I heard her coming?

  “Do you speak English?”

  I nod, which makes my nose twitch. Causing me to suck in a breath, gasp three times then sneeze explosively into my hoodie sleeve. That makes her take a quick step back.

  When she’s determined she’s a safe distance from me she says, “God, I hope you’re not contagious. I can’t afford to get sick. Where is he?”

  “Gianni?” I manage before sneezing again. Good Lord, what perfume is she wearing? Expensive for sure but it’s doing a number on my sinuses.

  “Of course, Gianni,” she says in a tone that implies I’m not too bright. “Who else?”

  Well, duh.

  She inspects me, taking in my sweats and socks and untidy hair. No doubt determining I’m no competition. Dammit, even with her lips all prissy and suspicious, she’s still pretty.

  I point upwards towards his room and try not to wince as I pull myself up with the help of a barstool. Halfway up, another sneeze. This one comes from deep in my chest and hurts a little.

  “Seems you’re a little worse than I
first thought. I didn’t notice the bandages last time.”

  “Because they weren’t there. These are new.”

  “I see.” Her lips flatten and those dark eyes narrow. “I never got your name.”

  Oh boy.

  “Uh…I’m Shelley.” I pick up my mug and place it in the sink, not bothering to rinse it. “I’m just gonna…um…tell Gianni you’re here.”

  She says nothing to that, but watches me over the rim of her cup as she sips her coffee. And I feel her glare stuck on me as I leave the kitchen.

  Going up the stairs proves more difficult than coming down. I take my time, as every step’s harder and interrupted by more explosive sneezing.

  The bedroom door’s ajar and since I’m a little woozy from the effort and the sneezes, I lean against the frame to catch my breath. It doesn’t help he chooses that moment to exit the bathroom with a towel wrapped low around his hips. Maybe if I will it hard enough, that towel will loosen and drop to the floor.

  Our eyes meet and his brows pull together. “You okay?” he asks.

  Joy.

  If he has to ask.

  “Um…” I jerk my thumb towards the kitchen. “Your girlfriend is downstairs.”

  His head cocks and that wayward ringlet falls over his eye.

  “My what?”

  “Pretty brunette from the funeral. She let herself in.”

  “Shit.” He grimaces and palms his forehead. “Gina! I forgot she was coming.”

  Sigh.

  Although I’m kinda happy he’d forgotten about her, I’m not so happy she’s downstairs now. I make little popping noises with my lips, finding something interesting to look at on my toes.

  Awkward.

  “We’re supposed to check out a building together,” he explains. “Coincidentally, one in your neighborhood.” I feel his eyes on me until he disappears into the walk-in closet. Then I hear hangers moving, a zipper being pulled and a moment later he exits in ripped jeans that hang just as low on his hips as the towel did. Leaving that sexy V with just a hint of his happy trail showing. The man’s determined to torture me.

  He walks towards me pulling a tee-shirt over his head. That’s when I notice the scar, about the size of quarter, just up and to the left of his heart.

  There’s no time to think about it as he stops a foot in front of me, takes my chin between his thumb and index finger and tips it. His eyes are soft as they stare into mine for what seems like a really long time. “You don’t look so good,” he finally announces.