A quick stop in the ladies’ room on the third floor allowed her to freshen up. She never knew when she’d run into Vic, but it always helped to be prepared. She fluffed her hair, checked her lipstick and gave herself a once-over in the full-length mirror. She wore the champagne pencil skirt and matching silk blouse her sister-in-law picked out. Not bad. Pretty darn good actually.
Roxann liked helping her choose age-appropriate clothes for the thirty-five-year-old she was, rather than the coed look she’d gotten used to. Gina liked her low-rise jeans and T-shirts, but maybe she was in a rut. A deep one. For four years now.
The romp on the beach with Vic made her realize she needed to make changes. To stop clinging to the person she’d been before Danny died. That person evaporated when a burning building collapsed on her husband and destroyed her world. Accepting the new normal hadn’t come easily, and she’d been fighting it by not altering the tangible things like wearing clothes Danny liked or hanging his uniform in the bedroom closet so she’d see it every day. Keeping things the same meant preserving some part of her cherished husband.
This included focusing on their children. On making them whole when half the parent base had disappeared. Putting their needs first and hers last. Wasn’t that what good mothers did? But somehow Gina the woman got lost, buried under the rubble of a burning building.
The time had come to dig out. Enter Roxann and her all-around good taste. Despite her penchant for classic clothes, Roxann could find things with a little funk to them. She made for a great sister-in-law, and Gina reminded Michael every day he’d better not blow it.
With a final flip of her hair, she left the ladies’ room and headed for Michael’s office. Vic stepped into the hallway, turned and smiled the slow wicked smile that always sent her heart into overdrive. Add the green eyes, the messy blond hair and the oh-so-sexy goatee, and a girl was done for.
“Hey, you,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Gina stopped a foot or two in front of him. Otherwise, she’d get whiplash trying to look up at all six foot five of him.
“I have checks for Michael to sign.”
He glanced toward Michael’s office, then back at her. Something was off. She searched his face, took in the rigid jaw, the crease between his brows and—bam—his eyes. Missing today was the twinkling mischief that promised a girl he’d put a smile on her face but wouldn’t relinquish his emotional armor while doing so.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You seem distracted.”
He smiled the player smile this time. Like that would work on a woman raising three children. Puh-lease. Surely she’d lost her mind thinking he’d admit something to her. “Forget I said anything. If you need to talk, let me know.”
She stepped around him, but he reached for her and a zing shot through her arm. Damn. After that glorious night on the beach he couldn’t touch her without her body betraying her. Not that he’d touched her since then. On the contrary, he usually acted like she had a skin rash.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I am distracted. No big deal.”
“Fine. Just know my offer stands.” She held up the checks. “I need to get these to Michael.”
He pushed a curl from her cheek. What was with him today?
“Look at you.”
“What?”
Vic shrugged. “You look…different.”
Different? What the heck did that mean? “New outfit. Rox helped me with it.”
“Ah.”
Enough of this already. Because, really, she didn’t have time. She was getting nowhere with him when all she wanted was to get somewhere. And then he went and did it. He tilted his head and parted his lips just so slightly and a burst of heat exploded inside her. Suddenly, the hallway seemed tight. Closing in as his stare filled the space. At any second, it would occur to him that he should attempt to mask his feelings. The idiot hadn’t yet realized his ability to hide from her dissolved two years ago in her basement. That had been the first time she’d noticed the look and it still tortured her. Damn him for bringing it all back.
Her fingers twitched at the memory. Kneeling on top of the dryer battling the water that had shot from the pipe and doused her. And Vic staring at her in a way that made her miss having a man to curl up with.
“Holy shit,” he had said.
The words cut through the sound of gushing water and penetrated her focused struggle with the valve. “The handle is stuck.”
His gaze traveled along the ceiling, darting along the pipelines. Slow. Considering.
“Idiot,” she screamed, “the valve is here.”
He stepped around the large puddle forming on the cement floor and stormed to the back corner of the basement. “No kidding, but I’m not getting wet when I can cut the main supply.”
“The main supply?” What?
And suddenly, the river slowed to a trickle. She stared at the pipe, gave it a whack with the wrench. Bastard pipe.
For two years she’d been living as a single mom, dealing with appliances that failed, shoveling snow, getting the car serviced. Never mind raising three kids whose moods shifted like swings in the wind. She been doing it all, hadn’t she?
Without a man.
Until the flipping water valve got stuck. With Michael not around, she’d been forced to call Vic when all she wanted was to take a bat and smash that stupid valve to a million little bits. Just destroy that piece of crap. She pounded her fists on the washer because she didn’t need this evil, blasted, hateful valve making her feel like she needed a man.
Vic stood a few feet from her, hands on his hips. Did his lips quirk? She swore they did. No, sir.
She flicked the wrench at him. “Don’t you laugh. I’ll come down there and beat you to death. You will be bloody if you laugh at me.”
He remained silent. One of his better choices, because she was just mad enough to let him have it. She tossed the wrench down, pushed her saturated hair from her face. “I’m sorry I called you an idiot. That was mean.” She held her hands wide. “Look at me! I’m soaked.”
“Oh, I’m looking.”
The rumble in his tone drew her attention and she found him, head tilted, lips slightly parted, eyes focused on her…chest.
The one encased in a soaking-wet tank top.
A white one.
With a sheer lace bra underneath. Lovely. Her very own wet T-shirt contest. She gasped and spun away because…well…Vic. Never before had he done this, and heat poured into her cheeks.
Two years she’d been without a man’s hands on her. Two long years without passion. Without sex that left her loose limbed and quivering. And he had the nerve to look at her like he wanted nothing more than to put his hands on her.
Wait a second. Why not? She deserved attention. Didn’t she?
Besides, he had great hands. Big hands that let a girl know he’d take care of her.
And then she lost her mind.
She jumped off the dryer and charged him. He stepped back. “No you don’t, pal. You started this.”
Grabbing his shirt, she pulled him down and kissed him with the furious lust of a woman who hadn’t had a good screwing in twenty-four months.
He clenched her forearms. “Whoa, Gina.” Yet his mouth was still on hers.
She shoved him backward. “Problem?”
“Uh, no. Yes.”
Again with the tilted-head thing. “You’re doing it again. The look.”
“Hell yeah, because, holy shit, you’re gorgeous. Between the shirt and the wet curls, you’re like some kind of sea nymph. It’s making me crazy.”
“Okay, so we’re on the same page here. The house is empty. Just you and me. Two consenting adults sharing some good old-fashioned fun.”
“But.”
She ran her fingers under his shirt. “But nothing. Wow, you have amazing abs.”
He stepped back again. “Do you seriously want to do this? Because I’ve been hanging back. You green light me and we’re on.”
> Hanging back? “You’ve been thinking about it? With me?”
“You just never noticed. You sure about this?”
“You bet I am.”
He shoved her against the washer, dropped his jeans and hoisted her up for what she hoped would be a good, hot romp.
He didn’t disappoint. On the contrary, he left her feeling just fine about the whole basement-flooding thing. Who knew that she and her brother’s closest friend could spark that kind of inferno?
Vic set her on the floor, pulled up his jeans, and Gina dug a dry shirt out of the dryer. Where her wet one had gone was a mystery.
The sound of footsteps above slammed into her. Michael and Matt yelled and she tracked their footsteps from the living room to the kitchen.
Vic stared at the ceiling. “Crap.”
At any second they’d be down the steps. She shoved her arms into the shirt. Matthew’s. Gah! No time to find her own.
She spun around to button her shorts just as Michael and Matt halted at the bottom of the stairs. She whipped back and faced the openmouthed shock on Michael’s face. His gaze moved from Gina, then to Vic, then ever so slowly to the floor.
Tank top found.
Uh-oh.
“Mattie,” Michael said, taking in Gina’s attire. “Go grab towels.”
“The hose blew,” Vic said.
It sure did. Gina twisted her lips to cage a laugh. How ridiculous could she be? Her brother and son almost caught her having sex and she was laughing? Horrible.
Michael eyeballed Vic. “Are you fucking kidding me? My sister? The widow? With kids?”
Uh-oh again.
He shifted to Gina. “And you? You have to be nuts.”
Don’t freak. “Michael, I got soaked. I had clothes in the dryer.” Stop. She shouldn’t have to explain herself. Not to her brother.
He held his hands palm out. “I walked in here, with your thirteen-year-old son, and it appears we interrupted something. At the very least, it was reckless.”
“Mike—”
“You shut up. I’m not talking to you now.” He put his head down, cracked his neck. “Whatever this is. It’s not good. For either of you. A man with a dangerous job and a vulnerable widow with three young kids…Gina, it’s emotional suicide.” He inched a step closer to Vic. “My goddamned sister? You’ll wreck her life.”
Gina huffed out a breath. “Knock it off. You don’t know a thing about what went on here. You’re completely out of line.”
He snorted. “Am I? Have I said anything that’s not true?”
No, he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. And now, Vic stood before her giving her the look that once again made her feel like the damned hallway had shrunk. After the basement incident Vic had kept those big hands of his, among other things, to himself. He’d been cordial. Disgustingly so. Like too much syrup on a stack of pancakes, and the sweetness made her ill. At times, she caught him staring and it infuriated her because they had never once discussed it. That was how it had been until Mike’s wedding and their second act of spontaneous passion.
Again, Vic went dark, keeping to himself, being sickly sweet. And now she was done.
She grabbed his arm, hauled him into his office and slammed the door. “Different. Could you have come up with a more generic word?”
He gawked. “What?”
“What does different mean?”
“Your clothes. They’re new, right? That’s what I meant.”
Of course. She’d given him the opening to talk about his feelings, to really go there and own up to his part in the off-the-charts sex, but nothing. Typical.
She propped a hip on the desk and sucked air through her nose. A burning sensation clawed from the pit of her stomach. “I’m in a rut. Trying to figure out who I am. All I am right now is Danny’s widow or the kids’ mom.”
Tears slid down her cheeks and she swiped at them. How could she be crying over something so minor? How did she get to this place and where had she lost herself?
“Please don’t cry. I hate that.”
He hated it? Please. “Here’s the thing, Vic. You’re back to being the guy who wants to run screaming from me and I hate that. We need to talk about what happened with us.”
He pinched his eyes shut, opened them again. “Why?”
This man was a major challenge. “Because I want to start dating again, have a man in my life, and there are times when you stare at me a certain way and it makes me think you could be that man. I need you to be honest with me.”
He pressed his fingers into his forehead. “About what? I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“I want to know how you feel. I’ve been a widow for four years and in that time I’ve had sex three times. Two of those times were with you, and if it was a blip, a way to pass time, whatever, then fine. But I need to know so I can move on.”
“Who else did you have sex with?”
Was he insane? She’d just begged him to talk to her and he wanted to know who the other guy was. Crazy. “I’m not answering that. I don’t ask you about your affairs.”
He shrugged like she had a point.
“Wait, I will answer that. Why not? He’s an accountant that Martha fixed me up with last year. Nice guy.” She boosted herself off the desk and faced him. “No spark, though, not like on a beach in St. Barth or a flooded basement.”
Vic inched toward her, his eyes on her in that way that made her cheeks fire. This was it. Finally, he’d talk to her.
“You fucked an accountant?”
Chapter Three
Man Law: Always duck and cover and hold on to your ass with both hands.
Shit on a shingle. Did he really say that? He never could deal with women. Blame it on his mother, the heroin addict.
Gina’s eyes widened into big brown saucers. At any second, she’d go off on him. And then, oh baby, her eyes narrowed and she should have had smoke blowing out her nose. He was torn between wanting to jump out the window or tear her clothes off.
“That’s what you’re focusing on?” she yelled. “Who do you think you are asking me a question like that? Are you insane?”
That was it. He was insane. Had to be. He wanted this woman like he wanted his next breath. With that amazing rack and great ass, she had curves that sent his blood bulleting to the wrong places, and all he ever wanted was to touch her.
But it would never work. Not with his lifestyle. He could die at any time and she’d be alone. Again.
He stepped out of her reach. Just in case.
One fucker of a day so far.
“News flash, jackass,” she said. “I wouldn’t have fucked him, as you so eloquently put it, if you’d made yourself available.”
Hey, now. What’s that about? He’d have to play this cool. Contain the energy. Compartmentalize. He became a machine when it came to emotions, or lack thereof.
“It’s my fault you thrashed some nine to fiver?” So much for playing it cool, but, hell, how did he catch the blame for that one?
She poked her finger at him. “You don’t get to talk now.”
All righty, then. She was on a roll, and as pissed as he was, he’d let her get it out. She had one of those tempers that burned out quick.
“What do you expect from me, Vic? I can’t do casual sex, not the way I feel about you, and having a relationship? It’s a joke. Even if you were capable of commitment, which God knows you’re not.”
“I’m capable.”
She laughed, but it was sarcastic. “A relationship requires more than four weeks of dating, and from what I’ve seen, four weeks seems to be your limit.”
“Now you get to do commentary on my life?”
That made her step back. Gina, above all else, was a reasonable woman. Mostly. If he couldn’t comment on her life, why was it okay for her to comment on his?
She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “You’re right. It’s none of my business. Besides, what an awful thing to say.”
He scratched the back o
f his head. “You’re mad. It’s okay.”
“No one is entitled to be cruel to someone they care about.” She leaned back into the desk. “You terrify me. With your job, I shouldn’t let you into our lives. We’d get used to having you around and then one day, you don’t come back, and my kids have lost another man. Bottom line, when you’re ready to make changes and have a relationship with me, then you can ask about my social life. Until then, butt out.”
Mike tore through the door, eyes burning. Shit.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Gina said. “We’re talking.”
“Yeah, hello, half the floor can hear you talking about fucking some accountant.” He glared at Vic. “What the hell? This is an office. I warned you about this.”
He opened his mouth, but Mike had turned to Gina. “Whatever this is, take it outside my building.”
Gina’s shoulders flew back. “Michael!”
“No. I told you too. He’s not going to give up playing cowboy. You know it. You’ll give in, though, and when he comes home in a body bag, you’ll grieve all over again.” Michael shook his head. “I guess losing your first husband in a collapsed building wasn’t enough for you.”
Now he’d gone too far. Mike had an explosive temper and sometimes said dumbass things, which Vic could tolerate, but not this time. He put his hand on Mike’s chest. “You made your point. Shut up.”
Michael pushed him off. “You’re screwing up my sister’s life.”
“He is not,” Gina said in a loud voice.
Michael grunted, locked his lips together and stormed off.
Vic eased his head back and stared at the ceiling. Could it possibly still be the same day? “Not good.”
Gina put her hands over her eyes. Please don’t cry. Please. If she started to cry, he’d put a bullet in his head.
“Are you okay?”
Heading toward the door, she said, “No, I’m not. I’m seriously pissed at you.”
That evening Vic pushed through Mike and Roxann’s kitchen door just as she slid a tray of lasagna into the oven. The smell of cheese and garlic assaulted him and his stomach howled. Roxann ordered the food from a restaurant, because, even though she enjoyed hosting family get-togethers, everyone knew she couldn’t cook.
Man Law Page 2
