“Why? What happened?” Max asked.
“One of the guests was attacked in their room.”
Immediately Max shot her a look. Arianna ignored him. She didn’t need to see his eyes to hear the silent “I told you so” hanging between them.
“How?” she asked. Surely when he said “attacked” he meant by a fellow guest. Someone staying in the room.
“From the looks of things, they kicked in the door.”
Kicked in the door... He was exaggerating, right? “What about security? Why did they not stop them?”
“What security? We’re not talking five stars here. She just left in an ambulance,” he said to Max. “You’ll be able to go in as soon as they’re done processing the scene. Although, honestly, I would consider someplace else if I were you.” Arianna didn’t miss the way the policeman’s gaze slid to her as he said the last part.
“Don’t have to tell us twice,” Max replied. “Come along, Arianna.”
Trailing behind him was becoming a habit as, once again, Max took hold of her hand and led her away. At least this time, she matched his long stride immediately. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t think I’m letting you stay at that place now, do you?”
She didn’t know he’d been given the authority to let her do anything. “I can’t afford to stay anywhere else.”
“You let me worry about that.”
Except it wasn’t his job to worry, was it? Or his decision.
Yanking her hand free, she stopped in her tracks, arms folded across her chest. “I appreciate the concern, Mr. Brown, but don’t you think that where I sleep is my business?”
“Are you...?”
Whatever he intended to say, he bit the words back and took a deep breath. “Did you miss the part where the cop said she left in an ambulance?”
“Of course not. I heard him.” It scared her half to death, too, the idea of being alone in her room while there was an attacker on the loose. If she hadn’t been able to sleep soundly before, there was no way she would sleep at all now.
“Then why are you being stubborn?”
Because she had been tossed around by circumstance enough these past few days and needed to keep some tiny bit of control over her life, that was why. “Surely, whoever did this isn’t coming back. I mean, the police are standing guard...”
“Sweetheart, you don’t think that cop is going to stay, do you?” He flashed her an indulgent look that, under different circumstances, would have infuriated her. Unfortunately, she was too unnerved by his comment to be angry. “They might do that where you come from, but here, the police are way too busy to stick around longer than necessary.”
Where she came from, there wouldn’t be an attacker. He would be stopped by security before he even entered the building.
But this was New York, and here she lived in a cheap hotel where men kicked in doors. Looking around, she saw a small gap between cars, and wedged herself onto the curb.
“Hey, buddy,” she heard the taxi driver say, “are you coming or going?”
“Give us a minute, will ya?” Max replied.
A second later, she felt his warm body wedging itself into the space next to her. They sat so close that Arianna thought he might wrap an arm around her shoulders. Looking over, though, she saw he had both arms tucked awkwardly between his long legs. Like a perfect gentleman. Although it shouldn’t have, the thought left her feeling even more tired.
“You think I am being a stubborn brat, don’t you?” she said.
“What I think is that you’re tired and not thinking straight. Plus...” He straightened his legs with a groan. “I’m guessing circumstances make trusting strangers difficult.”
“I trust you,” she replied. Strange as it sounded.
“If that’s the case, then let me take you to stay somewhere else. At least, for tonight. I’ll sleep a lot better knowing you’re somewhere safe.”
Arianna looked down at her lap. She was being a child. It wasn’t only about her anymore. She had another life to think of.
And she was tired. So very, very tired. “I would like a good night’s sleep,” she said, shoulders sagging.
“Same here. So, what do you say?” The narrow space must have gotten to be too much, because he stood up and offered his hands. “How about we tuck you in someplace safe, so we can both sleep soundly.”
Why not? She was too tired to argue. Without his body pressed against hers, she felt cold and empty.
Letting out a sigh, she took his hands. “Just not someplace too expensive,” she said, struggling to her feet. “I’m staying here for a reason.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” He was already guiding her toward the taxi. “This place won’t cost you a penny.”
Arianna stiffened. What did he mean, it wouldn’t cost her anything? “Why is that? Where are we going?”
Good thing he was holding her hands, because otherwise she would have slapped the smile off his matinee-idol face. “My apartment.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“SEE? ISN’T THIS better than a hotel?” Having punched in the security code on the keypad, Max turned to see Arianna’s reaction.
It’d taken some effort to convince her his intentions were honorable. Thankfully he’d been holding her hands when he’d announced his plan, because based on the way Arianna’s eyes flashed, she’d wanted to clock him. Even after he explained that it was too late at night to look for a suitable hotel, her eyes had remained suspicious.
He could understand why.
Thing was, he hadn’t told her the entire truth. Of course they could find a suitable room, but he wasn’t comfortable with her spending tonight in a hotel, period. When that cop said someone had been attacked, his brain ran through every concern he’d had since she’d told him during her interview where she was staying. Instantly, he’d pictured her being carried to that ambulance, her delicate face covered with bruises. With that kind of image in his head, how was he supposed to then take her to another hotel? He didn’t care if it was the St. Regis itself; she’d still be checking in alone in the middle of the night.
He wanted her with him. Where he could keep an eye on her. And okay, maybe take things a little further, if Arianna wanted the same. After all, it had been a long cab ride, with her body sliding up against his every time they turned a corner. He had barely recovered from sitting next to her on the curb.
So, while some vein of compassion might have suggested the arrangement, the male part of him longed to take advantage.
Arianna was surveying her surroundings. While he’d been punching the keypad, she’d walked from the foyer into the living room, stopping at the sectional sofa. Yesterday’s suit jacket lay draped over the back from when he shucked it off, along with his shoes, which lay on the floor nearby. This morning’s coffee and newspaper sat on the coffee table. “Sorry. I wasn’t...”
Why was he apologizing? His penthouse was one of the most impressive ones in the city. What were a few pieces of clutter? “The spare bedroom is behind the kitchen. You should find spare toothbrushes and things in the bathroom.”
“Do you host a lot of overnight guests?” The suspicion had moved from her eyes to her voice as she stepped around the sofa to look through the windows lining his back wall.
“Not in that bedroom.” He couldn’t help but flash a grin when she glanced over her shoulder. They both knew exactly what he meant. “Anyway, I’ve only had the place about nineteen months.” A birthday gift to himself. The culmination of years of blood, sweat and tears, not all of which had been his.
“It’s lovely. Especially the view.” In the distance, the tower lights on the Empire State Building glowed Christmas red and green.
“That’s one of the things that sold me on the place,” he said, joining her at the window
. “The windows and deck wrap around three walls so you see practically all of Manhattan. There’s a lap pool on the terrace as well. It’s closed up for the season, but in the summer it feels like you’re swimming on top of the world.”
“I imagine it does.”
The tone of her voice, casual and blasé, made him feel like a bragging idiot. None of this was out of the ordinary for her, was it? Not the million-dollar penthouse or the breathtaking view. With all the business about the Dunphy, he’d forgotten, but seeing her now, he realized how overwhelmingly natural she looked amid the luxury. It startled him, and raised a million questions, not the least of which was why a beautiful woman so obviously from a world of breeding and wealth would want to leave that world? She said she wasn’t in trouble? Stupid him for dropping the subject earlier.
He watched as she took in the view, mesmerized by her profile. Despite her pallid skin and the dark hollows beneath her eyes, she remained the most captivating woman he’d ever seen. The way she stood, head high with near-regal bearing, inspired a kind of reverence in him. That had to be why he wasn’t peeling her coat from her shoulders.
Instead, he found himself moving toward his kitchen. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’m going to grab a drink. You want one? Beer? Wine? Herbal tea?”
“You keep herbal tea here?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m in the restaurant business. We spend our lives anticipating guests’ needs.” Actually, the tea was something he’d grabbed at the last minute when he’d cooked dinner for a yoga instructor, thinking a woman into meditation and Zen wasn’t the caffeine type.
He found the tin pushed to the back of a kitchen cabinet. A little dusty but unopened. Apparently he and the yoga instructor never got to dessert. “It’s something called Moroccan mint,” he called out. “Will that do?”
“Wonderfully,” she called back. “I love mint.”
“See? Anticipating guests’ needs.” Although, from the way her enthusiasm sent pleasure rippling through him, you’d think he’d delivered on a promise to give her the moon.
“I would have taken any flavor so long as it was not chamomile.” Her answer sounded unexpectedly close, causing him to nearly drop the teakettle. Looking behind him, he saw that she’d moved to the island that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living space. She’d shed her coat as well as her shoes, if the height the marble countertop reached on her was any indication. Her uniform looked more like a cocktail dress than ever, the shiny fabric blacker next to the white marble.
Or was the marble whiter because of the black?
Realizing he was staring, he turned back to the stovetop. “Bad memories?” he asked, turning on the flame. She’d been drinking chamomile when she got sick the other day.
“I seem to have developed a dislike of the smell. Mint is far more soothing.”
“If you say so. Personally, I’d rather a nice cold beer.” To prove his point, he reached under the island to take a bottle from the built-in cooler. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
Good, because he needed a drink. Popping the cap, he tilted his head to let the cold liquid run down his throat. Slowly, his insides relaxed.
A part of him felt uncomfortable, enjoying the occasional drink the way he did. With every bottle or glass, he had to remind himself that he wasn’t the old man. That a drink did not a drunk make.
Tonight was one of those nights when he had to remind himself twice. All that talk about Shirley and the stupid things people did for love.
It’d been callous of him, pointing out that her parents’ marriage ended as unhappily as all the others. He’d spoken the truth, though, hadn’t he? Sooner or later “true love” kicked you in the teeth. If you were lucky, the person simply died and left you alone. The unlucky ones got to stick around for twenty, twenty-five years before a heart attack set them free.
So why bother, right?
“I think I see where you got the idea for the Fox Club,” Arianna said. While he’d been lost in thought, she’d left the kitchen island and walked to the opposite wall, where his vintage film noir posters were hung. Her swanlike neck curving as she looked closer at his favorite, Call Her Murder, a 1940s movie about a murderous femme fatale that showed the killer lounging like a cat in a blue evening gown beneath the title.
“Or did owning the Fox Club inspire buying these?”
“A little bit of both. The movies inspired the club. The club financed buying originals.” He took another drink. “You know, a lot of people thought I was crazy when I first opened the club.”
Too risky, they’d said. Opening a high-end restaurant during a recession. Who would want to eat in a club that looks like it’s from the 1940s?
“I owned a stake in a bunch of bars that were considered sure things as far as income. I got a lot of ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’ kind of lectures.” Presented in a far coarser way, of course. Definitely too coarse for a woman like Arianna.
“Looking around, I would say you proved them wrong.”
“That I did.” She didn’t know the whole story by half. About all the years he worked in dive bars and sleazy surroundings before finally breaking free. Self-reliance. Now that was something worth fighting for. He smiled, allowing himself a moment of self-satisfaction.
Meanwhile, Arianna had turned her attention back to the posters, leaving him to study the way her dress drew to a V between her shoulder blades. As his eyes traced a path downward, he mentally counted the knobs of her spine like they were pearls on a string. What he wouldn’t give to run his finger over each tiny bump.
“What made you pick detective movies?” she asked.
“Not detective movies—film noir.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Absolutely. Film noir is a very specific kind of detective movie. Much darker. More cynical.” The door having been opened, his inner film geek stepped out. “And they have a lot more style.”
“You studied film.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call what I did studying.”
A high-pitched whistle cut him off. Turning off the burner, he poured the water into the waiting mug and carried it out into foyer.
“There was a library not far from our apartment when I was a kid. They played old movies every Saturday afternoon,” he said, handing over the cup. Their fingers tangled as he transferred custody of the handle, and he felt the heat swirl around his stomach again.
“I used to go there to hang out,” he explained, trying hard not to focus on the way her lips puckered when she blew at the steam. “Or rather, my mother used to send me there to hang out.”
“Why? Was she trying to get you to study more?”
“More like keeping me away.” Her futile attempt to shield him from reality. In spite of himself, he let out a sigh. “My father liked a quiet house, so the less things there were to set him off the better.”
As if anything his mother could do made a difference. The old man inevitably exploded whether Max was in the apartment or not.
“I’m sorry.”
“S’all right. I didn’t like being around him, either. No one did.”
No one but Mom, that was. He took another drink so he wouldn’t have to see the pity in Arianna’s eyes. Amazing that he said anything at all. Usually if a guest asked about the movie posters, he said he liked detective movies and moved on. His past—especially anything to do with his rat of a father—was best left there.
And yet twice tonight he’d made reference to what his childhood had been like. What Arianna would think if she knew the whole story? If he told her how when he came home from the movies, his mother would pretend everything was normal, as if her hair wasn’t mussed and her eyes weren’t rimmed red. Would she look at him the same way if she knew he came from a world that was cheap
and violent as the movies he used to escape it?
Pushing down the heat threatening his cheeks, he walked into the living room. “Anyway, I used to sneak into the room where they were screening the movie so I could sleep without some librarian bugging me. One afternoon, I couldn’t sleep, so I watched. Some kind of shoot-out, pretty lame as far as gun battles go, but I couldn’t stop watching. After that, I started staying awake.”
“And a fan was born.”
“What can I say? They sucked me in,” he replied, flopping back on his sofa. Stretching his legs out on the coffee table, he let his head lie back against the soft leather cushion and remembered how it felt, sitting in the dark, lost in a world of grit and mystery.
“Sometimes, I wonder if it was the movies themselves or just being able to lose myself in someone else’s story that hooked me. Who knows, maybe if they’d been showing foreign films, I’d have opened a French restaurant.”
“Or a cabaret if they had shown musicals?” Arianna took a seat on the cushion next to him and smiled.
“Exactly,” he replied, smiling back. All of a sudden he was feeling quite relaxed. The alcohol was going to his head.
Why else would he be sharing stories he spent most of his time trying to forget?
“I’m glad they weren’t. Showing musicals, that is,” Arianna said. “I might have ended up applying for a job in the chorus line instead of waiting tables and that would have been a true disaster,” she added, before taking a drink.
“Oh, I don’t know. I bet you’d have made a great chorus girl,” Max replied. He forced himself not to look at her legs as he said so. “We already know you can play the piano. And sing.” Granted, she wasn’t so great that record producers would be banging down her door, but her throaty voice made you want to hear more.
What he’d like right now was to see more. More leg. More of that gorgeous expanse between her collarbones. Giving in to temptation, he traced the length of her with his eyes, only to discover the dress had too much material to give him the view he craved. The skirt spread across the seat cushion like a black satin tarp, covering her legs down to the ankles. He found himself itching for even the tiniest of peeks.
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