adrian-run-to-you-v1

by Lara Adrian

  “I guess it’s lucky for you that we met, Ms. Beckham. Otherwise you’d be stuck down here in the garage until someone else came along.”

  Lucky isn’t the first word that comes to mind, even though I have to admit I’m grateful for the save. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of a response, though, I squeeze past him without a word and head for the elevator.

  I feel the weight of his gaze following me every step of the way. When I turn around to confirm it, I find him grinning. And fuck, he’s got a great smile. A little crooked on one side and framed by a pair of boyish dimples that I imagine have charmed the panties off any number of women.

  Not this one, I tell myself, clinging to my irritation for him as we reach the elevator doors. I have to cling to it. If I don’t, I might be forced to acknowledge the attraction that’s been smoldering between us from the moment our eyes connected.

  “After you, ma’am,” he says, pausing to hold the open door.

  I mutter my thanks as I step inside. But I can’t resist giving him an arch look as he enters the car behind me. “As for getting off on the wrong foot, Gabe darlin’? I’ll bet that’s the only one you’ve got.”

  2

  ~ Gabriel ~

  Rush hour is in full swing by the time I make it over the Throgs Neck Bridge from Manhattan to Bayside, Queens. I should have been here an hour ago, but there’s nothing I can do to fix that now.

  I squeeze my black Lexus RC 350 between a pickup truck and a rusted-out Bronco in the lot behind McGilly’s on Bell Boulevard, my old neighborhood. I had intended to stop by my place first and change clothes but getting held up at the Baine Building for as long as I did put the kibosh on that plan.

  I know I’ll catch a lot of hell inside the pub for walking in wearing a suit that costs about as much as most of these folks take home in their weekly paychecks. No telling the amount of shit they’ll deal me if anyone takes note of my recently upgraded car. I bought it used, not that it would matter to anyone inside the busy watering hole. And it wouldn’t be the first time I take it on the chin for being on the payroll of a man as powerful--and wealthy--as Dominic Baine.

  To some people, I sold out going to work for the formidable corporate titan as part of his security team. To others, I’ve done a lot worse than that, turning my back on my roots to make a life for myself on the other side of the bridge. It’s taken me a long time to decide I just don’t fucking care anymore what anyone has to say.

  I make my own decisions, always have.

  I’m the only one who has to live with the consequences.

  As I park my car and kill the engine, I remove the Baine International logo pin from my jacket lapel and drop it into a cup holder in the center console. That’s less of a concession to the contempt it might earn me inside than it is out of respect for the privacy of my employer and friend.

  Even off the clock, I don’t forget for a minute how much I owe Nick Baine. He took a chance on me when no one else would, so my loyalty runs deep. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him if he asked. And that means I’m never officially off-duty.

  As for my service weapon, I don’t bother to stow that before I climb out of the vehicle. No one here will give the pistol a second look, so it stays holstered under my jacket as I walk to the back door of McGilly’s and into the din of a gathering that’s already in full swing.

  A Springsteen classic rasps over the sound system. Competing for attention is tonight’s big baseball game, playing on all four flat-screens mounted high on the dark wood-paneled walls. Aside from a smattering of sports fans wearing blue-and-orange jerseys in support of the favored team, the rest of the bar’s regulars crowded around the tables in the small establishment are dressed in jeans and T-shirts.

  This pub on Bell is as local as it gets, and unless you knew otherwise, you’d never guess the whole damn place is full of off-duty cops.

  As I step farther inside, I glance toward the center of the activity in the room. A large group of men varying in age from twenty-something to seventy-ish are pounding back pitchers of beer in between hoots of laughter and shouted conversation. They’ve occupied most of the tables and nearly all of the floor space--an amazing turnout, and well-deserved.

  Rather than spoil the mood for anyone just yet, I take a seat at the bar and nod at the squatty, dark-haired bartender I knew in high school. “Hey, Tommy. How’s things?”

  He glances over with a look of surprise as he places a pair of light beers in front of a couple of young women with their gazes glued to their phones. “Gabe, shit. Look at you. Civilian life’s treating you real good, I see.” He doesn’t say it with judgment, nor does he expect a reply. “What can I get you, man?”

  “Irish ale. Whatever you’ve got on tap.”

  He pours my beer and brings it over. When I put my money on the counter, he shakes his head. “It’s on me. Haven’t seen you in here since before you deployed. Fuck, dude, that’s gotta be what--”

  “Long time.” I spare him from doing the math, even though I know damn well when I left for Afghanistan.

  It’s been seven years and a lot of road in between. Most of it littered with shrapnel and a million pieces of smoldering flesh and fragmented bone. Not all of it belonging to me.

  “Yeah,” Tommy says quietly, glancing at me as if he’s looking for visible evidence of the injuries that got me medically discharged and ended my military career one year into my second tour. “Anyway, it’s good to see you again, Gabe. Welcome home, since I haven’t gotten to say that to you until now.”

  I nod and lift the glass to my mouth. “Thanks for the beer.”

  Before he decides to travel any further down memory lane, I swivel around to look at the gathering. One of the men seated at the center table stands up to deliver a long-winded toast and congratulations for the newly promoted police commander.

  Through the tight cluster of bodies of all shapes and sizes, I spot the man of the hour. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a deep laugh and a crown of thick ginger hair that gleams like fire in the low yellow lights of the bar, he holds court over the rest of the room like a king.

  Pride tugs at my mouth as I watch my oldest brother, Shane, soaking up his hard-earned glory. Part of me wants to just get out of here and leave, let him enjoy it. I’m the outsider at this party, anyway--never mind that many of these cops are my family.

  There’s a deep blue line running through five generations of Noble men. I was the first, the only one, to break the chain.

  For a lot of reasons, I’ve never fit into the Noble mold.

  That’s never been more evident to me than since I came home from the desert and my entire life blew apart. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to collect all of the pieces of who I used to be.

  And I sure as hell don’t belong back home in Bayside anymore. Not that I ever did.

  I exhale a curse under my breath and down the rest of my beer. Just as I’m about to lever myself off the barstool to make my exit from the pub, one of the guys from the party approaches from the fringes of the packed gathering.

  Twin dimples that mirror mine bracket his mouth as he walks up to me smiling. “Christ, I thought I smelled Armani cologne back here. Look who finally made it.”

  Of all three of my older brothers, at thirty-six Jacob’s the closest to me in age, even though a full nine years separate us. We’re roughly the same height and build, but he’s got Mom’s sable hair and big brown eyes. Everything else about him is all Dad--except for the affection my brother has always shown me.

  He sets his empty mug on the bar and cuffs my shoulder in a gesture that usually passes for an embrace in our family. His black T-shirt strains across his muscular chest, the short sleeves wrapped around solid biceps inked with tattoos. Even half-hidden, the body art betrays the rebellious side of him, since tats on a Noble are almost as cardinal a sin as turning one’s back on the family law-and-order business.

  If I have one ally among my brothers, Jake’s it.

  As he dro
ps onto the stool next to mine, I smirk at him. “Armani, my ass. Unlike you, dickhead, I haven’t worn cologne a day in my life. You’d think a guy aiming to make detective one day would have better skills at, you know, detecting.”

  He chuckles and motions to Tommy for another round of beers for both of us. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

  “Something unexpected came up at work.”

  Talk about an understatement.

  For what isn’t the first time since I left Baine headquarters, I think about her. The leggy brunette with the buttery light-brown skin, silvery-green eyes, and curves that made me want to peel off her dark purple dress and run my hands over every inch of her.

  I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women since I took the job in Manhattan, but to say Evelyn Beckham is beautiful is putting it mildly--and then some.

  Maybe I pushed it too far with her, playing the inflexible cop in the garage, then insisting on riding up with her to the thirty-fourth floor. I could have taken her word that she was, indeed, who she claimed to be. There was enough family resemblance between her and Andrew Beckham to back her up, even if I’ve never once considered that Beck might have a sister with the face of an angel and a body that had my cock’s full attention the instant she stepped out of her car.

  Her fiery, confident personality only added to her appeal. If she’d bent rather than pushing back when I confronted her, I would have done my best to put her at ease. I’m not a total dick, although I’m sure she’d never believe that now. I told her I was just doing my job, but if I had been, I would have used my access card to clear her for the executive suite, then sent her on her way alone in the elevator.

  The truth is, I was glad for the interruption in my day. Glad for the excuse to delay the inevitable family reunion here at McGilly’s. If I didn’t respect and admire my brothers so much, I wouldn’t have needed any excuse to skip the festivities completely.

  Our beers arrive and I pick mine up, gesturing with my chin in the direction of our eldest brother as another of his law enforcement colleagues gets up to toast his promotion. “Shane’s never looked happier. Leave it to him to make Commander by the time he turned forty-two. Dad must be pleased as hell about that.”

  Jake glances that way and nods. “You have no idea. Mom is too. They’re hosting a cookout for Shane and Lisa and the kids at the house next weekend. I think Mom invited the whole damn neighborhood.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  “You’re going to be there, right?”

  I shrug and take a drink of my beer. “Depends on work, I guess. And other things.”

  He grunts. “Work and other things. I swear, brother, sometimes you’re as elusive as that ‘shadow mogul’ billionaire you work for. Looks like you’ve even got the wardrobe.”

  Because the jab is good-natured and not unanticipated, I let it roll off me. I also let the tabloid-inspired nickname for Dominic Baine go without comment. Nick’s reputation as a reclusive genius and ruthless corporate raider isn’t totally unwarranted, but the fact is he’s changed now that Avery Ross is in his life. No one who knows him would say he’s been tamed or mellowed, but there is a peace about him that hadn’t been there when I first met the man a little over a year ago.

  His other, more private reputation--the darker one whispered about away from mainstream news headlines and business profiles--is a topic best kept between him and his fiancée.

  God knows, I don’t have any room to judge when it comes to someone else’s personal kinks.

  “I can’t stay long,” I murmur, eyeing Jake over the rim of my glass. “I should head over and give Shane my congrats, then get out of here.”

  Jake lets out a low whistle. “Two minutes inside the door and you’re already angling for the fastest way to make your escape. That’s got to be some kind of record.”

  He’s right, and I’m not going to deny it. “I came because I had to. For Shane. For Mom. Hell, even for myself. I know what this promotion means to our brother.”

  “And to Dad,” Jake says, slanting a sober look on me. “He wants the best for all of his sons. He wants to see all of us succeed.”

  I scoff into my glass. “Some more than others.”

  I sound bitter, but damn if I can help it. Things have never been good between me and my father, but over the past couple of years, our disagreements and apparent dislike for each other has expanded into a bona fide estrangement.

  My gaze strays into the pub, spotting the old man. He’s seated at the table next to Shane, his meaty hand wrapped around the same mug of beer he’s been holding since I arrived. He’s beaming under the praise being heaped on his eldest son, chuckling at every joke, grinning as the revelry and celebration continues. From all appearances, having the time of his fucking life.

  He’s grown a short beard since I saw him last. Most of the whiskers have come in gray instead of the coppery hue of his thinning hair. And the beard doesn’t quite disguise the leanness of his face, the thin, aging sag of his jowls.

  “He’s losing weight,” I remark, swiveling back around to face the bar.

  “You think so?” Jake frowns, throwing a quick glance in Dad’s direction before looking at me again. “I guess you’d see it before any of us, considering how long it’s been since you’ve been home.” He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Shit. That came out wrong. I don’t mean anything by it, Gabe.”

  I shake my head and polish off the rest of my beer. “Don’t worry about it. You’re right, it’s been too long. I should make a point to come around more--for Mom, if nothing else.”

  “She’d like that. I think he would, too, even if he doesn’t say it.” Jake fists his hand and knocks his knuckles into my arm. “Anyway, fuck the family drama hour. Tell me how things are going for you in the city. You doing anything interesting for Baine, or is it just a lot of standing around in pricey suits and sunglasses pretending to look useful?”

  I laugh, because for the most part, he’s got it nailed. And I can’t deny that I’m getting to the point where I’m craving something more. “You sound jealous, bro.”

  He blows out a chuckle. “Yeah, maybe a little. Do you have any idea how much ass I’d be getting if I could say I was working for Dominic Baine?”

  “I must’ve missed that item in the benefits package,” I tell him with a smirk.

  “Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough.” Jake’s never been shy about his voracious appetite for women. He grins, but he’s studying me now. “You know, it’s going on four years since you and Tracy broke up. You’re not getting any younger. Not getting any better looking, either.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  He shrugs, takes a swig of beer. “You need to get back out there sometime. Get back on the horse, so to speak.”

  “Dating advice from you?” I exhale a wry curse. “That’s about as helpful as it was coming from Dad back when I was thirteen.”

  But Jake doesn’t seem ready to let the subject go. He faces me full-on, his brown eyes careful, yet probing. “I know things haven’t been easy for you since you came home. All the surgeries, the year-plus of rehab. I’m not going to act like I can relate to anything you’ve gone through, but don’t think I won’t be here to kick your ass if I think you need it.”

  I feel my jaw tense up at the reminder of my injury. Not that I need reminders. There are times I still wake up thinking my body’s intact. Other times, I dream I’m hobbling over the scorched and bloodied dirt road where my unit’s Humvee hit that IED, trying to retrieve the chunks of muscle and bone that had once been the lower portion of my left leg.

  I’ll never know why I survived and the other guys didn’t.

  It’s taken years for me to stop wishing I’d died with them.

  Jake drains his glass and stares at me like he’s preparing for an interrogation. “When’s the last time you were with a woman?”

  “Singular?”

  His bark of laughter says he thinks I’
m joking. I’m not about to clarify, even to him. Everyone handles pain and other problems in their own way. I’ve definitely got mine.

  Jake shakes his head. “Okay, smartass. When’s the last time you took a woman on a proper date?”

  Now, that is a question I don’t have an answer for, not even in jest. I shrug, realizing the truth would place me somewhere around the time I enlisted. Seven years ago. The night I blurted a clumsy proposal over dinner to the girl I’d been seeing all through high school. Tracy said yes, but she was gone three months after I woke up in a bed at Walter Reed.

  “That long, huh?” Jake says, as if he can tell he’s making his point. “Christ, you can’t be hurting for selection. The city is full of beautiful women. Have you even met anyone you’d consider dating?”

  For some insane reason, my mind instantly paints a picture of Evelyn Beckham’s face. I can still see her pale green eyes flashing in indignation beneath lush black lashes. I can still smell the vanilla-sweet scent of her skin when I moved in closer than I needed to just so I could fill my lungs with more of her.

  I can still hear her rich, velvety voice pitched in irritation as she informed me that in her opinion the only foot I have is the wrong one. I smile to myself, amused at the irony of her remark.

  “I’m not interested in dating anyone,” I tell my brother. “I’m not cut out for relationships. Not that I ever was.”

  As for Evelyn Beckham, she’d be off-limits even if she wasn’t the sister of Nick Baine’s good friend and personal lawyer. I consider Andrew Beckham a friend, too, but that doesn’t mean the man won’t see that I’m cut loose in a minute if he hears I gave his sister a hard time.

  Hell, after the way I pissed her off, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was at the Baine Building demanding her brother and Nick dismiss me right now.

  And if she does, I probably can’t blame her.

  If I didn’t think it would be a further overstep, I’d find a way to reach her and apologize. Not out of concern for my job, but because I left her upset and thinking I was an obtuse, arrogant asshole.