by Bonnie Dee
“That’d be a very short story,” she answered smartly.
But a short story wasn’t a closed book, so I guessed I had a chance with her.
Mrs. Heidelberg’s stuffy room smelled of roses, vapor rub, and age. Lying in her big bed, she was as tiny as if she was still that little girl from the portrait. She clutched the stuffed dog in her hands and peered up from white sheets.
I sat on the edge of the bed. “How you doing, hon? Ready to catch some Zs?”
“Bees?” She frowned.
“Get some sleep?” I rephrased.
“I’m so tired,” she murmured, settling deeper into the pillow, then she asked sharply. “Ronnie, why did you dye your hair red?”
I grinned. “Aw, you know, Sonia. Girls like the redheads.”
She clicked her tongue. “You’re such a Casanova. My friends all think you’re the cat’s pajamas, but I told them they’d be better off steering clear.”
A snort came from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Gina with her hand over her mouth, struggling not to laugh.
“I am pretty popular with the fairer sex. It’s a curse. Good night, sis. Get some sleep.”
I stroked back her thin hair and pressed a kiss to her papery forehead. Old folks aren’t my favorite thing, but Sonia was a funny, sweet lady.
We left the bedroom, and Gina walked me toward the front door. I didn’t feel like going. Not yet. I tried to think of a charming line that would get her to invite me into her pants or at least the parlor. But before I came up with one, Gina made the offer.
“Would you like a drink before you go?”
“Sweetheart, I would love a drink.” I grinned.
She put a hand against my chest like a traffic cop warning me off, and looked up into my face with those intense brown eyes that could see through crap to the heart of a person. “Just a drink. Nothing more.”
I held three fingers up in a Boy Scout oath. “One drink with you would be better than sipping nectar with the gods.”
Her lips twitched even as she glared. “You are such a goof.”
Chapter Three
Gina
A hot, sexy, irritating, fascinating goof, I completed silently as I led Micah into the front parlor that looked as if it hadn’t been changed since the 1950s. The classic furniture had clean, straight lines but was covered with fussy crocheted doilies on the backs and arms of chairs and end tables. The busy floral wallpaper made me dizzy to look at, but there was a cool old rotary-dial phone on the table I would’ve liked to own.
Micah stood in the center of the room, studying the décor. “Like a time capsule in here. What’s the story with this lady?”
I crossed to the side table and poured shots of whiskey into two glasses. “This is her family home. She moved back here after her parents died. She’s a widow with no kids or any surviving family members to care for her. Before she was too far gone, she arranged for permanent in-home care rather than a nursing home. So I’m her 24/7 caregiver for the foreseeable future.”
“That’s cool. Tough gig, though. Do you ever get a break?”
He was sounding out whether I had time off, maybe considering asking me out. I didn’t want to encourage the guy. I knew too much about him already. But at the same time, I was flattered.
“Yes. I have hours off. Other caregivers from HomeCare fill in.”
“You have a nursing degree?” He took the glass from me and held my gaze for a moment. His indigo eyes and auburn hair were so different from his brother’s dark looks, they hardly seemed related.
“No. I got…sidetracked from going to college. Now I’m taking classes when I can afford them, mostly online courses. I plan to get a degree in Occupational Therapy.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.” He tossed back the shot.
“So is owning a bar,” I pointed out. “Life’s a lot of work. They don’t tell you that when you’re a kid.”
He tilted his head and assessed me. “You’re, what, about twenty-two or three?”
“Twenty-three. And you’re…?” Older than J.D. I knew that much about the Wyatt brothers from Leah. The boys’ mother had died when they were young. Their dad was a drunk who eventually left them, and the brothers had pretty much raised themselves.
“Twenty-five.” He relieved me of the pressure of his intense gaze and walked over to the fireplace mantel to examine a collection of crystal angels.
“When did you move to Chicago?” I asked.
“Four years ago, soon after J.D. left for the army.” He tossed one of the angels from palm to palm. “Butted heads with my older brother Jonah for the last time and left Kentucky.”
I went over and removed the fragile angel from him to set it on the mantel. “Why Chicago?”
He shrugged and picked up a different figurine. “I knew a guy here, friend of a friend. He had a business opportunity for me.”
“The other guy who ran the fight club?” I pictured the weasel-faced announcer I’d glimpsed briefly the night of the fire that had threatened a lot of lives, including Leah’s, J.D.’s, and mine.
“Yeah. I eventually bought the bar and partnered with Croft on some things.”
Illegal things like the fights that took place in that firetrap garage behind his bar, and probably other stuff I didn’t want to know about. Micah wasn’t an aboveboard kind of guy. I’d made a mistake inviting him here, and it was time to shoo him out the door.
Micah set down the angel facing another one so it looked like they were about to kiss, and went to the sideboard to pour himself another drink.
“I ain’t that interesting. Tell me about yourself,” he said.
If this colorful character wasn’t interesting, then I was as dull as dishwater. “Not much to say. I’m from Gary. My dad worked at US Steel for years until he got laid off. My mom’s a cashier at Costco. I have three older brothers.”
“That’s your family. What about you?” He brought the whiskey bottle over and filled my glass beyond the two fingers I’d allotted myself for tonight. Was he trying to get me drunk, maybe thinking something would happen between us?
I set the glass down. “I want to thank you again for helping me with Mrs. Heidelberg. You’re really good with her.”
“Glad I could help out. And that I ran into you again.”
“She gets up a lot in the night, so I think I should get some rest while I can.”
He glanced at the ornate mantel clock nestled among the angels. “It’s only eight o’clock.”
“Yeah, but, uh…” I lost my train of thought as Micah moved closer, invading my personal space, his magnetism overwhelming. “It’s been a hectic day. I’m really worn out.”
“Hanging out with an old lady is hectic?” He lifted an eyebrow, and even that little movement made me fluttery inside. He was too blatantly sexy and I was too lonely.
“I do a lot for her. She keeps me busy.” I turned away, picked the fireplace poker out of its rack, then put it back.
He smirked. “You want me to leave.”
“Isn’t that what I just told you?” I said lightly.
“But not because you’re so tuckered out. It’s because I make you nervous.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If you want the truth, I find you annoying. That’s why I didn’t give you my number after that date. So if you don’t mind…” I gestured toward the door, carelessly flinging out my hand. I knocked one of the angels. It toppled off the mantel and smashed on the stone hearth.
“Damn it!” I crouched to pick up the larger pieces. A shard sliced my finger, drawing blood. I cursed and sucked on my finger.
Micah took the fireplace broom and shovel from the rack and swept up the remains of the angel. He deposited it in a wastebasket, put the implements away, then reached out a hand to help me to my feet.
I ignored him and scrambled up by myself.
“Let me look,” he demanded as I applied pressure to my wound with one of my other fingers. He didn’t wait for me to respond but seized
my hand and peeled my fingers apart. He dabbed at the welling drops of blood with the hem of his vintage ’60s sport shirt, heedless of the spreading crimson stains on the splashy material.
“You need a bandage. Where’s the john?” he asked.
“It’s no big deal. I can take care of it.” But I wasn’t in any hurry to pull my hand away. I led the way to the bathroom near Sonia’s bedroom with my hand still wrapped in the cotton fabric of Micah’s shirt.
He rummaged in the medicine cabinet, found bandages and antibacterial ointment, and quickly treated the minor cut. I watched his hands tending mine and tried not to react to every brush of skin against skin, or to stare at the flexing muscles in his forearms, bare below the short shirtsleeves. They were strong, beautiful forearms lightly covered in brown hair I wanted to stroke my uninjured finger through.
He’s an ass. Remember the jokey pickup lines. Remember how J.D. told you straight up what a player he is. Most of all remember that he’s involved in borderline criminal activities. Don’t get excited by how close he’s standing or the chivalrous way he’s doctoring your finger.
It was truly good advice. Too bad I ignored it.
Micah smoothed the bandage around my finger, then continued to hold my hand. He stood in front of me, big, tall, radiating heat and pheromones, and I slowly lifted my gaze to meet his. That annoying smile apparently never left his lips. It lingered now as he looked from my eyes to my mouth. A kiss vibrated in the air between us, waiting for someone to claim it.
This is ridiculous. You don’t even like this guy. And yet, when Micah’s face slowly descended toward mine, I rose to meet him. And when his lips touched mine, a wild thundering roared through me as if I’d never been kissed before.
In my defense, it had been a long time since Kyle, and before him Josh, and that one-nighter whose name I’d forgotten. And, of course, Jeff. Good old Jeff who’d wheedled me into going to California with him only to throw me over for some actress who’d been an extra in a movie of the week.
Even with my fairly extensive experience with guys, Micah bowled me over. He kissed the way kissing was meant to be—slow and sensual. Languorous is the only way to describe how he teased at my lips until they ached for more. Only then did he probe deeper, demand more with his exploration, awakening every part of me.
I forgot all about how much he annoyed me and clung to his shoulders as if he were a life raft. He might be the biggest player in the world, and I didn’t care. Right then, I wanted to be played, and he was sooo good at it. He even smelled good, a faint whiff of delicious cologne with an earthy underlayment of pure masculinity that made me woozy.
He’d hauled me up tight against him. Every part of me yearned to join intimately with every part of him. Only when I found myself rocking against the bulge in his trousers did I snap out of my lust haze. I pressed my palms against his chest and thrust him back.
“No. Wait. Stop. I can’t do this.”
Micah still leaned toward me, eyes closed, grasping for more. His dark blue eyes shot open to gaze at me, pupils dilated. His chest rose and fell rapidly. “Yes, you can. You were doing just fine,” he panted. “Better than fine. I think we should keep right on doin’ what we’re doin’.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. I don’t want to do this. And certainly not here. I’m on a job. It wouldn’t be right.”
“So you’re saying someplace else? Like my place? Maybe you’d like to go on a date first?” He grinned, and my resolve squished like grape jelly. Damn, this guy had too much charm. When he turned it on me, it was like a high-voltage power line zapping me with energy. No wonder he was so successful with women.
“I doubt it.” I gave him a shove out of the bathroom. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not my type.” Big lie. “I don’t want to get involved with you.” Smaller lie. “Guys like you are no good for me.” Absolute truth.
“Guys like me? Now, sweetheart, where’d you get the idea that I’m no good?” he asked as I continued to steer him toward the door.
“Your brother,” I answered dryly.
Micah tossed out a hand as if waving away J.D.’s opinion. “That boy’s got a stick up his ass about me. Still thinks I’m the same guy he grew up with. I’m not like that anymore.”
“You don’t go through women like they’re bags of Skittles? And you don’t host illegal cage fights and gambling?”
“I don’t host the fights anymore. I’m practically a Boy Scout now.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right.” I opened the door for him, letting in a blast of wind. The night was growing colder. “Thanks again for helping me out tonight. I appreciate it. Bye.”
Micah grabbed his coat from the old-fashioned rack in the foyer where he’d hung it and slipped his arms in. He looked too good in the navy peacoat with the collar turned up. His blue eyes snapped and crackled with energy and drew me like tractor beams as he leaned close.
He was going to kiss me good night. I didn’t have the power to stop him. I leaned toward him, lips tingling.
“’Night, darlin’,” he murmured. “Hope to see you again real soon.”
Then he swept through the door and disappeared into the darkness.
I fell back on my heels with a thump, so disappointed I wanted to howl.
Bad, bad girl falling into bad old habits. I shut the door and locked it with the wolf safely on the other side.
Chapter Four
Micah
Leave ’em wanting more, my daddy used to say. Though why I’d listen to one scrap of advice that deadbeat, low-life asshole offered, I don’t know.
He was good with the ladies. I have to hand him that. The old man screwed his way through most of Russell County before he hooked up with that woman he followed to Nashville. What he did after that, I don’t know. He didn’t exactly keep in touch. If I was to lay odds, though, I’d give two to one he got bored with her and moved on to many others before he took that final dirt nap.
I had that pattern down cold myself—a three-date-and-out rule of thumb. Of course, it wasn’t always so exact. Some of my no-strings lady friends were happy to screw on occasion without fear of them getting too attached. Some were one-nighters, never to be seen again. But the ones who took a bit of work to land made the challenge fun.
I knew from the moment I met Gina she’d be worth the tussle. A smart catfish who wouldn’t get hooked too easily. I liked her wise-ass attitude on our first date. Now there was more to admire in the way she soothed the poor old crazy lady she looked after. Not only sexy and sassy, Gina had a real sweet and gentle side.
But right there was a problem. She was a little too nice for me. Besides, she was a close friend of Leah, who was practically married to my brother. If I got involved with Gina and ended up breaking her heart, it’d piss off J.D. and Leah.
Best to leave that fish alone, I warned myself as I walked away from that fine old house. But, damn, Gina was hot and eager, and I wanted her bad. Besides, I never was too good at following wise advice.
There was a text on my phone that took my mind clean off the dark-eyed girl with the plump lips and saucy hips. It deflated my erection like a punch to the groin.
Stop fucking around. Meet me tonight, asshole.
My sometime business partner, Dale Croft, had been trying to arrange a meeting for days. I’d ignored or stalled as long as I could. Now he was calling in the huge favor I owed him for taking the rap on that incident at the match. To be fair, the garage did belong to him, but it had been mostly my idea to set up a cage fight ring. Dale was the one who got arrested after the fire for hosting illegal games. I paid fines and bribes to get the charges dropped, but the rap was one more strike on Croft’s sheet, not mine. And he was the one who got stuck doing community service.
He’d given an address. I typed in my RSVP and headed toward a very different part of the city. Derelict buildings and destitute people squatted only a few miles away from the old lady’s neighborhood as the crow flew but might as well h
ave been in some war-ravaged third world country. My car wasn’t anything special, but I still cringed at the thought of parking it anywhere in the area.
My dread mounted as I reached my destination, double-checked the address, and verified the building by the photo Dale sent.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
If there was ever a building that appeared haunted, this was it. If there was a warehouse that looked more like the sort of spot a drug lord would torture prisoners, I couldn’t picture it. The abandoned storage building was huge, hulking, dark, and windowless, a haven for rats and pigeons but not much else. It sure as hell wouldn’t do as a new location for our matches. Hell, the fighters would be scared to come here, let alone any paying customers. What was Dale thinking?
I parked around the side, where hopefully any meth heads prowling the area wouldn’t spot it. I took my pepper spray from the glove compartment and tucked it in my coat pocket. For good measure, I slid in a police baton, like the one I keep behind the bar.
Fingernails scraped my spine as I got out of my car and headed for the back exit of the building where Croft had told me to meet him. A whispering voice of doubt asked me if I was nuts. It was possible Dale wasn’t as cool as he’d claimed to be about taking the rap for me. Dale didn’t generally have a violent temper, but it was possible he’d brought me here to pay up.
The hair on my neck rose as I made my way along the shadows at the side of the building. I took out my phone and used the light to find my way to the back. I just about jumped out of my skin when Dale suddenly loomed out of the doorway.
“Took you long enough.” He gestured at the building. “Whaddya think?”
“About what? There’s no way we’re setting up here. No one would come.”
My phone light reflected off his glasses so I couldn’t see his eyes.
“Will you put that thing away?” he snapped. “Come inside.”
Dale disappeared into the building. I took a breath and plunged after him, but I kept my fist curled around the baton in my pocket.
A moment later, I was nearly blinded as he flipped on a bank of lights. I squinted at the empty building. No abandoned machinery like you’d find in a factory, just a few pallets and stacked boxes and a couple of oil drums someone had dragged in and used for heating. Graffiti decorated the walls. An old mattress lay in a corner. Needles and glass vials crunched underfoot. I grimaced at the stench of cooked meth that lingered in the air. On the plus side, there was no scurry of rats running away. Nothing here for them to munch on.
