Sapphire Ice

by Hallee Bridgeman

  Never again would a warm summer breeze blow on her while she made frozen drinks and laughed with college students enjoying the relaxed summer schedule. Never again would another football season crowd so thick force her waitresses to access her through the kitchen door. Seven years of seasons coming and going suddenly ended. What now?

  Tony Viscolli came through the kitchen door and saw her, staring at the patio doors with a mournful expression on her face. He took the opportunity to silently observe her, knowing she would tense up as soon as she saw him.

  She'd worn her hair down today. He had never seen it down, had no idea how long it actually was. It shined around her head, a glowing, cascading mass that fell halfway down her back. He almost chuckled aloud at the romantic description, but anything else seemed too tame. He wanted to feel it entwine itself around his fingers.

  He was losing his mind.

  He'd seen her several times over the past two weeks, at Benedict's and at the bar, and while he made it a point to ensure she did not serve him, he also made it a point to be where he could watch her.

  She'd given him his tip money back, every dime. With his confused receptionist watching, he'd observed the elevator doors close on Robin then laughed out loud. If he wasn't already intrigued to the point of obsession, that would certainly have been the trigger.

  While he'd contemplated the notion of having her researched several times over the last two weeks, he decided against it. He definitely had the resources, but he decided that he would learn what made her tick the old fashioned way.

  When she walked farther into the room, far enough away from the door to prohibit a quick exit, he finally decided it was time to make his presence known. He stepped forward and pretended to cough.

  She turned toward the sound, and he watched her face the very second recognition dawned in those blue, blue eyes. Sapphires. She needed a band of sapphires around her neck, encased in platinum.

  "You!" As their eyes clashed, her face hardened and she froze. "What are you doing here?"

  His eyebrow quirked upward. His lips barely twisted into a sardonic grin. "I could ask you the same question."

  "That's none of your business."

  "Oh," he said, opening the small refrigerator under the bar and pulling out a tonic water. "I disagree."

  She surged forward and slapped her palm on the top of the bar. "You can't be back there." She watched as he reached above his head and pulled down two glasses. "What are you doing? Get away from there."

  He poured half of the bottle into one glass and half in the other. "Here. Have one."

  He stayed behind the bar. It was better to keep something immobile between them. It kept her from scratching his eyes out, and it kept him from touching her.

  She was furious.

  And magnificent.

  "Don't make me call the police, Mr. Viscolli."

  He chuckled. It made her seethe. "And what would you say the charges should be, Robin?"

  "Trespassing, theft. I'm sure there's more. Did you break in?"

  He took a long swallow of his drink, a diamond winking on his little finger. "Sorry. None of those charges would stick."

  She moved behind the bar and snatched the glass from his hand. She dumped both glasses out in the sink and turned the water on. "I wouldn't be so sure," she snapped.

  "Oh, I am. You can't trespass on your own property."

  The glasses clattered into the sink, forgotten. She turned and stared at him with wide, almost panicked eyes. "Your property?"

  He stepped forward and reached behind her. She took a quick step back, then felt color flood her face when he simply turned off the water at the sink. He stood close enough now that she could smell his cologne. "Signed and sealed. They might haul you away for trespassing, of course."

  "No," she said. Her eyes darted to the left and right. "Where's Hank?"

  He inclined his head toward the kitchen, and she turned and ran without a backward glance.

  Robin slammed the kitchen doors open and immediately spotted Hank at the stove. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

  He turned at the sound of her voice and grinned the second he saw her. "Robin! Come in, come in." He had a spatula in his hand, and waved it toward the stainless steel counter. "Barry Anderson, Robin Bartlett." He smiled at her and turned back to the stove. "You're in time to eat one of my burgers."

  She looked at the guy sitting at the counter without actually seeing him. "Hi," she said distractedly, then immediately rounded back on Hank. "Do you have any idea who you just sold your place to?"

  With an expert flick of his wrist, he turned the frying meat over on the grill. "Sure. Tony Viscolli. Nice kid. I like him."

  "He isn't nice and he isn't a kid."

  "You'll like him once you get to know him." He moved to the wall and opened the oven to check on something in there, then shut the door before he turned and winked at her. "He comes across a little hard at first, but then you get to know him."

  "Hank," she started, then remembered she had an audience. Then she didn't care that she had an audience. "Hank, I've served him at Benedict's."

  He whistled under his breath while he set rolls out on the counter. "I forget sometimes that you know several of the more prominent people in the city."

  She wanted to scream. "Hank, listen to me. You can't sell your place to him."

  Her tone suddenly reached him, and he stopped all movement and looked full at her. "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm telling you. I served him at Benedict's. Hank, he implied that I could be bought."

  His expression was blank for a moment, before rage over took it. "What are you talking about?" he bellowed.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. "Just that. He implied he could buy me. You'll just have to tear up the contracts."

  "Tony wouldn't do that. You're either mistaken or lying." The man at the counter spoke for the first time, and she whipped her head around to look at him.

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I know." He rose to his feet and she had to lift her head to keep eye contact. "He wouldn't, and he wouldn't have to."

  "He did."

  "I seriously doubt it."

  She recognized him now. He drank a Shirley Temple one night a couple of weeks ago in the bar. Then she suddenly realized where she'd seen Viscolli that day at Benedict's when she'd been sure that she'd seen him before. They'd come in together, a Shirley Temple and a ginger ale. "He all but said the words."

  "That's not the same as saying them."

  Dismissing him, because he was clearly Tony's crony, she turned her attention back to Hank. "Listen to me, he – "

  "What exactly did he say?" Barry asked.

  She sighed, and with an embarrassed flush, she relayed the conversation she'd had with that man.

  Hank frowned and looked at Barry then back at Robin. "You could almost read anything into that, Robin."

  "You can't read anything into it that isn't there."

  Barry interrupted again. "Maybe he was simply flirting."

  "Flirting?" She turned and faced him fully. "Mr. Anderson, I've worked at Benedict's for six years. The men who are members there and who dine there do not flirt with the wait staff. They sleep with them, pay them – or some of them anyway – but there is no casual flirting."

  He raised an eyebrow. "In the last six years, have you ever served Antonio Viscolli?"

  "Not that I can recall, other than that one time."

  "Don't be so quick to lump him into a category, Miss Bartlett. You'll find he doesn't fit."

  Snarling at the man who was so obviously the greaseball's wingman, she turned back to Hank. "Are you not going to pay any attention to what I told you?"

  He glared at her. "Don't be insulting, Robin. I heard every word and I'll look into it."

  "But – "

  "I said I'd look into it."

  She let out a breath and nodded. "Okay. Okay, thanks." She turned and looked at the
other man, but didn't speak. Then she started toward the back door. "I'm going back home and going back to bed."

  CHAPTER 5

  GROWING up, Tony knew nothing of boundaries or rules. When he gave his life to the Lord, he made a personal vow to always play by the rules. Usually, he did. In this case, though, he felt he had to cross a few boundaries – not necessarily break rules, but just toe a line. Or two. Today those boundaries included looking through personnel files until he obtained a certain home address.

  He climbed the threadbare stairs to the third floor, walked down the long hallway, and scanned the apartment numbers on the doors until he came to the one he sought. He paused, took a deep breath and rapped on the door with his bare knuckles.

  He expected Robin to open the door, take one look at him, and snarl. To his surprise, when the door swung open, he came face to face with one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. She stood nearly as tall as he, with long straight black hair, almond shaped eyes, and dark skin. She was obviously of Native American descent, but her green eyes told a story of mixed blood.

  "May I help you?" she asked over the rock music pounding out of the stereo from somewhere in the apartment.

  Giving her his warmest smile, he slipped his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I'm looking for Robin."

  "Robin?" She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

  "Robin Bartlett. She does live here, doesn't she?"

  She grinned at him while she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame. "My sister Robin? A man is here to see my sister Robin?"

  It was impossible not to return her smile. "I would hope that's what I am."

  She laughed and straightened. "Please, come in. If you're a psycho with a knife, just don't sneak up behind me. I really hate that." She held her hand out. "I'm Maxine. Call me Maxi."

  He gave her cool fingers a slight squeeze. "Tony."

  She gestured toward a worn couch as she flipped off the stereo. "Have a seat. I have no idea where she went or when she'll be back, but I'm guessing it will be soon. It's Sunday, and she's always home on Sundays."

  He nodded as he sat on the couch and relaxed against the cushions. "Actually, I saw her not twenty minutes ago."

  Maxine raised an eyebrow. Tony could tell she wanted to ask questions, but refrained. "Can I offer you anything to drink, Tony?"

  "No, thanks." He leaned forward with his knees on his elbows. "I should warn you, though. Robin won't exactly be excited to see me."

  Maxine started laughing. "Oh, this is too good," she said. Still laughing, she gestured at her outfit of shorts and an oversized sweatshirt. "Excuse me while I change into something more appropriate for company." Her voice carried to him as she walked down the hallway. "This is just too good."

  He stayed where she had seated him, but inspected the room in her absence. It could have fit into his closet, he thought, wondering how two girls lived together in such a small space. There was room for the couch, an overstuffed chair, a scarred coffee table, and crammed into the corner was a small television. A bar separated the kitchen from the living room. The kitchen looked like it was just big enough to have the smallest of tables in it. One person would be cramped living here for any length of time.

  Seconds later, Maxine returned, still in the sweatshirt, but now wearing a pair of jeans. "So, what brings you here today, Tony?"

  He toyed with the ring on his finger. "I thought I'd try to convince your sister to celebrate my birthday with me tonight." He glanced at her. "Think I could talk her into it?"

  Throwing herself onto the couch opposite him, she curled her legs underneath her and grinned. "You say you don't think she'll really appreciate you coming by?"

  "Yes, though that may be an understatement."

  She laughed again. "Oh, this will be good."

  He cut her a look from the corner of his eyes. "You keep saying that."

  She reached out with a long arm and playfully poked his shoulder. "Are you sure you're not an ax murderer or a bill collector?"

  He frowned. "I'm afraid not. Why do you ask?"

  "Because you may wish you had some kind of weapon before it's all said and done." She looked at her watch. "If she's not back by two, I'm going to have to call and cancel a date. I can't miss this."

  Remembering the spark in Robin's eyes the last time she looked at him, Tony smiled.

  Both heads turned expectantly as the door opened, and Tony watched a woman walk in whose frame was small enough that she could easily pass for a child. She had curly, curly brown hair and an almost porcelain complexion. She made him think of a pixie.

  "Hello," she said in a soft voice, staring at him with large hazel eyes set behind a pair of wire framed glasses. "Are you Dwayne?"

  Maxine laughed. "No, he's not coming until two." Maxine gestured between the two. "Sarah, Tony. Tony, my sister Sarah." She grinned at her sister. "Sarah, Tony's here to see Robin."

  Sarah's eyes widened and she slowly lowered herself into the chair. "Robin? Really?" She looked at Tony again, a closer inspection, and the wonder on her face grew. "Our Robin? Goodness."

  Tony began to question whether coming here had been a wise decision. He shifted uncomfortably and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "Maybe I should just come back another time."

  Maxine sprang to her feet. "No. No, don't do that." She looked at her sister and back at Tony. "We're not trying to make you uncomfortable. I apologize. We're just surprised, that's all."

  "Why?"

  Maxine shoved her hands in her pockets and ran her tongue over her teeth. "Well … " The door opened, cutting off her next words.

  Tony felt a little anticipated excitement skirt along his spine. This time Robin entered, carrying a grocery sack, her face flushed from the bite of Fall in the air. "You aren't going to believe this," she said. She had her back to them, securing the locks on the door as she spoke. "I was just at Hank's … "

  She turned around and froze. Her eyes darted from Tony to Maxine to Sarah and back to Tony. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"

  He smoothly made it to his feet. "Hello, Robin."

  She bared her teeth at him. "You're like a bad penny. No. A bad dream." She stormed toward the kitchen. "A nightmare."

  Wondering if it was wise, especially considering the innumerable weapons that could be found in a standard kitchen, he followed her. He leaned against the doorway and watched her slam the bag of groceries onto the top of a small table. He watched her open and shut cupboards nearly hard enough to break them off at the hinges as she put the items away. The whole time she muttered under her breath.

  He flinched a little at her colorful language before he spoke. "I talked to Hank right after you left."

  She whirled around, surprised to see him right there. "Did I ask?"

  He continued as though she had. "I feel it is important for us to clear the air."

  The grocery bag was empty and she suddenly had nothing to do with her hands. Feeling like she was at an incredible disadvantage, she leaned against the small stove and crossed her arms over her chest. "So you invade my house and consume my personal time? If you want to clear the air, you can do it during my working hours."

  He straightened and came all the way into the room, filling up the small space, stopping just a few feet from her. "This has nothing to do with business, Robin. It's all personal."

  "Nothing between us is personal."

  He moved forward one more step. She could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. "I think that there is a very serious misunderstanding between us that needs to be cleared up right away."

  She tilted her chin up, almost looked down her nose at him. He had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. "Are you talking about your implication that I could be bought?"

  He held up a finger. "See? There it is. I never implied that."

  "Ha!" She straightened and threw her hair over her shoulder. "Now you're a liar and a jerk. Wow. All of the things I
thought about you are panning out to be true. And they say one should never judge by first impressions alone." His eyes hardened and for the slightest moment, she felt fear. Then she got mad at the feeling. "Go away."