Mallory Rush - [Outlawsand Heroes 02]

by Dead or Alive

  Noble flicked his ashes. Hmmm. Perhaps there was more than one way to provide for Lori, even if his mother lode of gold dust was dry. Or if by some miracle he couldn't pass the state bar. Already he had absorbed a volume of ground-breaking cases at the law library. Fortunately, the study of law came as easily to him now as it had when he'd graduated, top honors, at Cambridge. The difference was, he now took a bus, not a carriage, as soon as Lori left for work, and returned in ample time to prepare dinner—in the microwave.

  "Poker," he drawled, studying his cigar. "Actually, I'd very much like to play poker with you and 'the boys.' Not that I'm very good at it, but I'd enjoy a respite from watching cartoons and Jerry Springer—though there's little difference between the two that I can perceive."

  "Oh jeez," Ryan groaned. "Something tells me to bring along only as much as I can afford to lose." He glanced warily at the door. "If you want to okay this with Lori before we count you in, no problem. I don't want to rock the love boat, if you know what I mean."

  Actually, Noble didn't. Ask permission of a woman, even one dearly loved, before placing a wager? Unthinkable.

  "Of course you can count me in," Noble blithely replied.

  "It still wouldn't be a bad idea to—" He stopped short as Lori returned, holding a regal-looking decanter filled with amber liquid.

  "I couldn't find the cognac," she said with a little catch to her voice. "Did you put it somewhere, Noble?"

  He had. On the dresser in his room just prior to the tea, anticipating a confrontation with Ryan and stealing time for it as Lori went in search. What he had not anticipated was her retrieving another bottle. "Crown Royal!" Ryan exclaimed. "Tell the truth, Lori. You bought it because it's my most unaffordable vice. Who says men get paid more than women? Hell, you make more than me."

  Crown Royal. Lori's anniversary present to Mick. Ryan did not know this, given the way he dumped the leftover contents from three teacups into Lori's sink. "Gimme that," he demanded with a grin, and then broke the bottle's seal.

  Before Ryan could pour, Noble gripped his hand and returned the bottle to Lori. Bending close, he whispered to her, "save it if you wish. I'll gladly fetch the cognac and bring Ryan along with me so you might have a few moments alone."

  She wrapped an arm around his neck, pressing her anniversary present between them. "Thanks for understanding, Noble," she whispered into his ear, "but I can't keep time in a bottle. I'll do the honors."

  She filled their teacups to the brim and lifted hers. "A toast," she proposed, "to new beginnings."

  "Here, here," Ryan said, looking from one to the other.

  "But let us not stop there." Noble spoke directly to Lori. "Toast with me to happy endings."

  Three teacups touched and then Ryan moved away, seeming to realize this was a moment for two, not three.

  Noble linked his arm through Lori's. Their gazes locked as the two of them lingered over a thoughtful sip that was more a prayer.

  * * *

  "You're going where?"

  "As I said, to play poker with Ryan and his friends," Noble said casually, pulling on a second boot. Standing in his room—where they now slept instead of hers—he clicked his heels smartly. "No need to drive me, Ryan should be here shortly. By the way, thank you again for the driving lesson today. Oh, and have I mentioned I've committed to memory the rule book you gave me on highway protocol and regulations?"

  "Twice." Great, she thought, just great! Another few lessons and Noble could drive himself to a poker game—minus a license, since he didn't have a birth certificate. "Know when you'll be home?" she asked, trying to sound indifferent.

  "When the game is over."

  When the game is over, she silently mimicked as he breezed by her, patting her rear as he passed. He lifted a large-framed print from the wall, removed an envelope pushpinned behind it, and withdrew a stack of bills. Twenties. At least ten of them.

  "This is where I keep my money should you have need of it, or should I meet with an accident—"

  "Don't even say that," she snapped, feeling the whiplash of the past.

  He came to her, his gaze full of the understanding she had come to need so desperately, despite her attempts not to. With each passing day she needed him more, and it terrified her. Even if she didn't lose Noble to another woman, she could lose him to a car accident tonight, tomorrow, next year.

  "Lori," he said firmly, gently, "you can't live in the shadow of fear, else it will dwarf all that is bright and good. What might be, is just that. What is, is all that's certain. And for a certainty, I absolutely adore you and can't wait to awaken you upon my return. Now give me a kiss for luck. The sooner I collect my winnings, the sooner I'll collect your affections in bed."

  Fat chance, she wanted to tell him. Instead, she bit her tongue and said, "What makes you so sure you'll win?"

  "I'll win. After I deliberately lose a few rounds." His smile was smug as he leaned down. "My kiss?"

  She gave him a peck on the cheek, then turned away before she said something bitchy.

  Noble's hand shot out and he whirled her around. "With a kiss like that, I'll be lucky to break even."

  "What's this? You're superstitious?"

  "No. But I am perplexed as to your behavior. Could it be that you actually begrudge me an evening away from you when you spend most of your days away from me?"

  "That's different." She hated this conversation. The best thing she could do would be to give him a big kiss and send him off with a smile. But no, here she was sounding like a shrew. "I go to work to make a living and you're going out with a bunch of beer-swigging guys to play poker."

  "The more they swig, the better, so they might forget to guard their expressions. Bloody hell, Lori, much as I relish a good game of poker, I'd far rather be with you. However, as you've pointed out, you go to work to make a living. I, on the other hand, am currently denied the same privilege. Do not resent me for seeking what earnings I can by what means are available to me."

  You've got a gun, so go work for the mob. Ashamed that she'd even thought such a thing, Lori said, "sorry, Noble. I hope you win big tonight."

  "But not just for myself. Please understand, I do this for us. It grieves me greatly when I hear you say, 'I wish I could stay home with you instead of going to work.' You say it each morning, and each morning I long for the day when I shan't hear those words again. That day will come, Lori, I vow to you it will. Be patient. Indulge me tonight. And remember, I keep my vows."

  She was considering how to explain that she really liked her job—and even if they got past all their hurdles, got married, and he won the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes, she'd still want to work—when a horn sounded outside.

  Ryan. No big surprise he'd honked instead of knocked. The chicken.

  "You'd better get going," Lori said, knuckling his strong, stubbled chin. "Good luck, Noble. Come home with lots more money than you left with, and a few shirts thrown in."

  He smiled. Seductively. "Actually, I am a bit superstitious when it comes to cards. Will you grant me luck with a kiss to match what winnings you wish me?"

  She laid one on him.

  The horn honked again.

  At the door Noble patted his pockets. "I'll win," he told her. "And return with a few shirts added to my wardrobe."

  Lori didn't doubt it. After all, he'd played each and every card right with her.

  He took her heart out the door with him and she knew there was no getting it back.

  * * *

  Lori glared at the clock Ten o'clock on the p.m. With a disgusted snort, she threw down the cross-stitch sampler her mother had given her two Christmases ago. For therapy.

  Therapy was not stabbing her finger with a needle while she waited for a man to rack up his winnings and come home. Therapy was shopping. Therapy was eating a box of chocolates and watching old Cary Grant movies. Therapy was doodling on cover models' faces.

  But most especially, therapy was unloading on another woman who could pr
ovide sympathy as well as shrewd advice.

  Besides, she and Jenn needed to have that heart-to-heart she'd been too busy with Noble to have. Jenn, a sharp cookie but not exactly a rocket scientist, had swallowed the excuse that Noble was breathing but wasn't up to company since his brain had yet to completely thaw out.

  More than thawed, he continued to blow her mind. Lori didn't doubt at all that even now he was blowing a hole through Warren's and Jacob's pockets. Jennifer deserved the next introduction. Maybe she'd put their meeting off because the next step would be for Noble to meet the rest of her friends, gal pals included. First driving, then poker, the inevitable socializing at her hangouts wasn't far behind.

  "Hey, Jenn, wanna hit the Kick and Kaboodle?"

  "Say, gal, where've you been? No, don't tell me, you've been having a mad, passionate affair with the hunka-hunka burning ice while I've been painting my nails."

  "Yep. If you want the scoop, meet me at the club in an hour."

  "Make that fifteen minutes. I'm already out the door."

  * * *

  "Last call!"

  Ignoring the call, just as they had a dozen dance offers, Lori and Jennifer continued to huddle over the small table.

  "Okay, Lori, from what you've told me, this guy is to die for."

  "If he dies, I'm dead, Jenn. He is so under my skin, it scares the hell out of me. After Mick, I just barely survived. But now I'm living again. Really living, like never before. Only, if I lose Noble, I'll—"

  "Survive. You'll survive, Lori. Only the strong survive and you're one of the strongest people I know."

  "That's what Noble says, but I don't feel strong. When he touches me, I can't think. When we're apart, he's all I can think about. And when we're together, I'm so happy I could cry. Sometimes I do, but mostly I laugh. He makes me laugh. He makes me think. He makes me ache. He makes bread."

  "Know what, Lori? If I were you, I'd be scared too."

  "If you're trying to make me feel better, you're not."

  Jennifer gripped Lori's hand. "Look, toots, the best advice I can give you is to hang tough and hang on to that man." Jennifer got up. "Go home, Lori. There ain't nothing around here to compete with this Noble of yours."

  Lori took a look around. "Know what? You're right."

  "Damn right I'm right. Now be a good girl and go home."

  Lori gave her a high five. "Better yet, I'll go home and be a baad girl."

  * * *

  She was awake, tossing and turning in the too empty bed, when she heard Noble's tread on the stairs.

  Unlike most men coming home at four in the morning, he didn't try to sneak in. He gave her a soft kiss while she pretended sleep; she listened to the domestic sound of him tossing off his boots along with the rest of his clothes.

  Climbing in beside her, he palmed a breast and whispered, "Are you asleep?"

  Even if she had been, she wouldn't be now. The feel of his chest to her spine, his lifting of her leg, and the partial arousal he wedged between her thighs before closing them back, was more than even a zombie could ignore.

  "I won several hundred dollars tonight," he confided in a murmur. "It's not much, but it is a beginning. There's so much, Lori, so very much I want to give to you."

  "Then give me," she demanded, nuzzling as close as she could get. "Give me you."

  Chapter 15

  "Are you kidding me? Noble, you can't be serious."

  "But I am," he said, sloughing off lather and whiskers into the bathroom sink. So much had changed in the six weeks he'd lived with Lori that he found himself holding stubbornly to old habits, disdaining such things as electric razors and plying his whiskers with a straight razor and hard soap. He took another sweep, then paused when he saw her glaring at him in the mirror. To her reflection, he repeated, "I am serious, Lori. Though I appreciate your endeavors to gain me a new identity, I have no intention of assuming it."

  "Why not?" she demanded. "You had two before."

  His wince earned him a nick. Controlling his expression, Noble said reasonably, "my past is just that and I make no apologies or excuses for who I am now—Noble Zhivago, son of Boris and Diana Zhivago. As for the birth certificate you got a copy of, it belongs to Barry Jones, who, were he living, would surely not want me to take his name and birthdate any more than I wish to steal them."

  "You're not stealing anything, you're just... borrowing some identification."

  Noble narrowed his gaze at her reflection. "Believe me, I know the difference between stealing and borrowing. To take a man's name and rob him of his birth date, that is stealing."

  "Okay, call it what you want. But the man is dead and has no use for them anymore. You do. Without that birth certificate you can't take a driving test and get the license you're so hot to have. And without a driver's license you can't write checks or—"

  "Enough." He threw the razor into the sink and faced her squarely. "I am who I am, and that is that. I am not an actor pretending to rehearse his role for a movie. Neither am I Barry Jones, for he is dead. But Noble Zhivago? Why, he's quite alive. I am a proud man, Lori, one who is equally proud of his identity and heritage."

  "Fine! You should be proud of it. Just be careful to keep it to yourself. I've told you, how many times, what could happen if the wrong people found out the truth about you. They'd be all over you and—"

  "Just let them try." He sneered. "I have no fear of these people, though they should fear me should they attempt to steal my freedom."

  "Okay. Okay, so you're not afraid of them. But I am. Do you hear me, Noble? I am. If they tried to take you away from me—" Her voice caught. He reached for her, but Lori pulled away. "Don't you understand how much you mean to me? Damn you, Noble. Damn you for coming into my life and making me need you and want you so much that it hurts."

  "Might I take that as a profession of love?" Let it be, he silently beseeched her. If she would only tell him that she loved him, fiercely, beyond reason, then he would take the ultimate risk. He loathed this thing between them, his criminal past. He loathed it a thousand times more than this petty bickering over his real identity, which he would have to expose once his secret studies at the law library were done. He loathed it far more than his grinding frustration to search for his gold, something he could not do until he revealed all to her. Which he would do now if she would simply say it.

  "Say you love me, Lori." His eyes spoke a demand, a plea.

  "I—I..." She shook her head, averted her gaze. "I'm sorry, Noble, but I'm not ready to say it yet."

  "Why not?" Gripping her chin, he forced her to look at him. "You sleep with me, you give your body freely to me, share your joys and sorrows. If that is not love, what is it?"

  "It's a lot, that's what. What we have is really special and I need it so much I'm scared it's too good to last. I could love you, Noble, in a heartbeat I could. But once I let it happen, I'll want it all. I'll want forever. You've made incredible strides in a very short time and—and I'm still afraid you might outgrow me."

  He smacked a fist into his palm and fought the urge to shake some sense into her. "For such a fearless, intelligent woman, I am amazed by your aptitude for daftness and sheer cowardice. You refuse to give up your blinders and see what's staring you in the face. And why? Because you choose to be a prisoner to fear. Fear of my progression. Fear of your emotions, fear of mine. Fear of my lack of fear. Bloody hell, Lori, you're so consumed with fear, it's a wonder there's room left inside you for anything else! No, you couldn't possibly love me yet, not when you're so damn afraid to put love ahead of what's eating you alive."

  He turned his back to her.

  "Tell me," he demanded, "should another person ever chance to see my mark, how would you have me explain it?"

  "You'd never show that to anyone," she hedged. "Not unless it was another woman you trusted enough to show it to."

  "And not unless I was rushed to your workplace, bleeding and broken from some accident. Alas, two more of your fears I neglected to mentio
n. Other women and sudden death."

  "It's not that I don't trust you, it's other women I don't trust. Hell, we can't even go into a grocery store without me having to watch my step so I don't slip on the drool."

  Though he wished to empathize with her, as he so easily did, Noble felt none of that now. All he felt was a deep disappointment as Lori once again took three steps forward, two steps back. His patience was wearing thin.

  "Have I not vowed to you, despite your foolish and tiresome belief otherwise, that no other woman but you will do in my life or in my bed? Unfortunately, I cannot vouch for the fickleness of time in meeting one's Maker. Should I meet mine tomorrow, how would you explain my mark to those curious people, save Ryan, who would see it on my corpse?" When she hesitated, he snarled, "dammit, Lori, answer me. The truth."

  "I... I'd tell them it was a tattoo. A botched-up tattoo job. Or something else just as ludicrous, like—like you'd had a wild past and been a member of a gang and it was part of the initiation rites."

  "And you actually believe such excuses would be more laudatory of my past than the true horrors of it?"

  "No." Her palm to his brand was a fire in itself, branding him more surely than his tormentors had. "But if I told them the truth, if by some miracle they believed me, they'd probably take you apart with a scalpel. Rummage around your organs to see what they looked like. Expose your brain to see if brains were different a hundred years ago than they are now, and gnash their teeth because they lost the chance to squeeze you dry for information while you were alive."

  "But what should I care if they wished to dissect me? After all, the dead feel no physical pain."

  "Maybe the dead don't, but the living do. It would tear me up if they tore you apart and treated you like a specimen who wasn't entitled to a shred of dignity."

  Noble tapped his lips. And then he put his on hers. Parting a whisper's distance, he said solemnly, "my dignity belongs to me and only to me. No one can take it away, not even with a knife. But you, Lori, as always you cut too deep. Far deeper than any surgeon's blade ever could. You cut me to the quick and lay open my heart with your tender mercies for this untender man."