Opting to take the high road, Harley ignored the attitude, smiled. “I guess you could say it’s grown on me.”
“If you say so.” Dante stood up, dragged a hand over his face. “I’m gonna take off for a while.”
“I thought we were working together.” Harley shot him a decidedly suspicious look. “How do I know you’re not gonna try to ditch me?”
“Guess you’re just gonna have to have a little faith, Princess.” Dante lifted his shoulders. “I need to crash for a couple hours, check on Leo. I’ll be back.” Dante drew an X over his chest with a finger. “Cross my heart.”
He could tell by the look on her face that she was a long way from trusting him. That was okay. He didn’t much trust her either.
Chapter 15
The building smelled like his childhood. Like garlic and onions and warm, yeasty bread straight out of the oven. Dante closed his eyes and breathed it in, felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease away. Not all, but some.
He knocked on Leo’s door, listened. Knocked again, louder. He was just about to turn and leave when the door swung open.
“Dante.” Leo blinked up at him with an odd, hazy look in his eyes.
“What’s going on?” Dante looked past Leo and into the apartment. “I called the Station and they said you called in sick. You okay?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m fine.” Leo rubbed absently at his forehead. “Just... got a little headache is all.”
They stood there for a second or two - Leo inside, Dante out - before Dante shifted his weight. “So can I come in?”
“Sorry.” Leo lifted a hand, gestured for Dante to come inside. “Course you can.”
Dante walked through the familiar apartment, his hands shoved into his pockets. There was a layer of dust on the furniture, newspapers stacked on the floor next to Leo’s favorite recliner. And from the looks of it, a couple weeks worth of takeout containers scattered across the kitchen counter.
“Where’s Rose?” Dante asked.
“Rose?”
Dante lifted his eyebrows. “Uh, Rose?” He paused for effect. “Your wife?”
“Right.” Leo shook his head, laughed ruefully. “Sorry. Fell asleep in my chair.” He hooked his thumb back towards the recliner. “Still a little out of it, I guess. Rose is visiting her sister in California, so I’ve been on my own for a couple weeks.”
“Bet it seems quiet around here,” Dante speculated. The place had a kind of eerie stillness about it. Rose was like the energizer bunny on speed. She cooked, she cleaned. The woman baked her own bread for Christ’s sake. No wonder the place - not to mention Leo - seemed a little hollowed out without her.
“Yeah,” Leo said in a low voice. “Pretty quiet. So.” He rubbed his palms together. “You want something to drink? Coffee? Beer?”
“Coffee would be good.” From the looks of it, Leo could use a cup, too. Jesus, he really did look like death warmed over.
Dante followed Leo into the kitchen, leaned back against
the counter. Watched Leo wander around the kitchen, looking lost and slightly dazed, opening one cabinet, then another. He frowned, scratched his jaw, digging out a dusty-looking jar of crystals. “I guess we’re out of coffee.” He held up the jar. “I’ve got instant. That okay?”
“Sure.” Instant was still coffee, right? How bad could it be?
So Leo boiled water and measured crystals, slid Dante a mug, took the second one for himself. When Dante took a drink, Leo asked, “Is it okay?”
Dante nodded, then lied through his teeth. “It’s good.” He set the mug aside, folded his arms over his chest. “So listen, I need a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” Leo asked cautiously.
“Need a little more info on Bobby Vega.”
Leo nearly dropped his mug. “Why?”
“He lied, Leo.”
“About what?” Leo stammered.
Dante snorted, shook his head. “He said he’d never been to Roxi’s, for one.”
“And you know this is a lie because...” Leo gestured for him to go on, eyebrows lifted.
“Let’s just say a little birdie told me.” Dante smirked.
“The blonde from the hospital? Who is she, anyway?”
Dante sighed. The looking up and to the left thing was not conclusive and he knew it, maybe he’d keep it to himself. “She’s just some reporter. Does it matter?”
“Why would it matter?” Leo asked, but for whatever reason, it obviously did. “Vega’s married, you know. Maybe he doesn’t want his wife to know he hangs out at titty bars.”
“So why did he lie about Enzo having a girlfriend?”
“Who says he did?”
“I went through his apartment, Leo,” Dante insisted. “Trust me, there is a girlfriend.”
Leo shrugged again. “So Enzo didn’t tell him.”
“Since when have you known Enzo to have an unspoken thought? Besides, they’re in that squad car eight hours a day. It woulda come up.”
Leo shook his head. “Dante, I don’t know if I can-”
Dante lifted a hand to cut him off. “Just... see what you can find out.” He set his mug in the sink and turned to leave, called back over his shoulder. “And you should take it easy, man. Seriously. You really don’t look good.”
Chapter 16
“Why are we here again?” Harley whined, dragging her feet a little as Dante pulled her along behind him. Roxi’s was crowded tonight, standing room only, and he had his hand so tightly wrapped around hers that her fingers were numb.
“Say the word and I’ll take you home, Princess.” Dante looked back over his shoulder at her, narrowed his eyes.
“We’re supposed to be working together,” she pointed out.
“We are.” Dante managed to snag a table in the back of the room, steered Harley toward an empty chair. Her skirt wasn’t short by any means, but she found herself perching at the edge of her seat to avoid contact between the back of her thighs and the chair itself. As far as Harley was concerned, the ick factor in this place was off the charts. Dante, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to it. He settled into his chair, declared, “Doesn’t make me happy about you being here.”
O-kay. So much for the illusion of a partnership developing between them. Harley tried not to let it sting. “Hey, you say the word and I’m out of here. If memory serves, this,” she gestured between the two of them, “was your idea.”
Dante scrubbed a hand over his face, then lifted it in surrender. “Truce?”
“Whatever,” Harley murmured, rolled her eyes.
“Look, I didn’t mean-”
Before Dante could attempt an apology, a top-heavy waitress - surprise, surprise, another one - approached their table. Instead of taking their order, she slipped Dante a folded piece of paper.
Harley leaned in close, whispered, “What is it?”
Dante read the note, frowned. “It’s from Chablis. She must have seen us come in.” He stood up and took Harley’s hand, pulled her out of her chair. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“This way.”
Harley let herself be hauled back through the crowd again. She kept her mouth shut until Dante pulled her into a small, dark room - some sort of storage closet, maybe? - then muttered, “Are you fricking kidding me?” under her breath when the door swung shut behind them.
With the door closed, the darkness was absolute. It was disconcerting enough that Harley wobbled a little, and in the process of trying to steady herself she bumped into something big and bulky. The damn thing rolled away from her, wheels squealing, but not before something cold and slimy sloshed out onto her toes.
“Eeeww.” Harley wrinkled her nose, scooting back away from the mess - definitely a mop pail - only to slam, ass first, into a wall of hard, solid man.
Harley felt his hand on her hip, the heat from his palm, the subtle pressure of his fingers digging into her flesh. She sucked in a breath, held it for a second or two. She should move, s
he knew she should move, but it felt like she was frozen in place.
“You alright?” he asked, his voice harsh, rusty-sounding.
Was she alright? No, she wasn’t alright. Jesus, he was standing so close she could feel his breath, soft and warm, on her skin.
Then the door swung open, someone reached in to flip on the light, and Harley jumped nearly a foot in the air. Chablis stepped into the closet with them, shut the door behind her. So now instead of two people crammed into a space too small to accommodate them, there were three.
Perfect.
“What are you two doing here?” Chablis hissed, hands on her hips.
Dante whipped the note she’d sent out of his pocket, waved it in her face. The look he shot her was pure any other dumb questions?
“At. Roxi’s.” Chablis took a deep breath before she continued. “What are you doing at Roxi’s. I swear to God, Dante, Richie’ll have a cow if he sees you in here again.”
Dante frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t know why.” Chablis shook her head, shrugged. “I don’t care why. I just don’t want to have to sit across from him and explain why you’re back again when I was supposed to get rid of you.”
Dante glanced at Harley, then back at Chablis. “Okay.” He nodded. “Tell me who Enzo’s seeing and I’m gone.”
Chablis looked at the wall, down at her feet, anywhere but in Dante’s direction. “I told you, Richie has-”
“A rule.” Dante raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, you said.”
Chablis was quiet for a moment, then sighed in defeat. She muttered something under her breath about getting her fired before she admitted, “I think she’s been seeing one of the waitresses. Sophie.”
“Is she here?”
“No.” Chablis rubbed at her temple, frowned. “And even if she were, you can’t see her. You’ll get us both fired.”
“Where then?”
“Be at the diner around the corner tomorrow at noon.” Chablis opened the door to peek outside, then looked back over her shoulder. “And when you leave? Use the back door.”
* * * *
Harley shoved the bar door open, barreled through it into the parking lot; Dante trailed behind her. “What is your problem?” she hissed over her shoulder. She’d felt his eyes boring into the back of her head - not to mention other parts of her anatomy - all the way through the bar.
Okay, so she wasn’t his type. That much was glaringly obvious. But he was pissed about it? Well screw that, screw him. She was pissed, too.
“Maybe you’re my problem,” he snorted. “Ever think of that?”
“Oh, right.” Harley turned, walked backwards through the parking lot, her nose wrinkled. “The cleavage is a deal breaker, huh?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Harley kept walking backwards, kept talking, as though she didn’t hear him. “Or maybe it’s my clothes. Maybe my skirt should be shorter, or my blouse tighter.” She stopped, frowned for a second. “You know what? I don’t even care. You’re not exactly my type either.” She shook her head, then turned and walked away, hips swaying.
“Wait a minute. Just... wait a goddamn minute.” Dante grabbed her arm.
“Why? Is this little conversation gonna somehow change your obsession with strippers and big-breasted waitresses? No? I didn’t think so.” Harley jerked her arm free, stalked off again. She was ten, fifteen feet away when she heard him laugh.
Harley stopped dead in her tracks. She spun around to face him, pressed her palm to her racing heart. “You asshole. You think this is funny?” she breathed. “Oh my God, you do. You think this is funny.” Stunned, she shook her head.
She was beyond embarrassed. She wanted to scream, to hit him. She wanted to hurt him, almost as much as she wanted to take her next breath. Instead she pulled off a sandal and whipped it at him, as hard as she could.
“Jesus,” Dante hissed. He dodged to the left, just a little, and it flew past him, missing his head by inches, bounced off the hood of a nearby car. At least he was done laughing.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t anywhere near done wanting to hurt him. Hurt him? She wanted to annihilate him.
“Aw, what’s the matter? Not quite so funny anymore?” Harley stood on one foot, pulled off the other sandal. Said, “Maybe this’ll help,” and threw it, too. But this time he was ready. He snatched it out of the air like he played in the majors, scooped the other one up off the ground and went after her.
Before Harley knew what was happening Dante had scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. “Put me down,” she squealed, clutching at his shirt one minute, pounding on his back the next. “Put me down right now.”
Dante didn’t respond except to stop for a second and roll his shoulder, shifting her weight a little before he kept going. “Swear to God,” Harley hissed, squirming, “if you don’t put me down I’ll... I’ll...”
“Unless you’re next words are shut up and listen to reason,” he said, still walking, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Shut up? Listen to reason?” Fuming and indignant, Harley’s voice got louder, shriller. The fact that no one seemed to notice spoke volumes about the neighborhood.
She twisted and squirmed - anything to see where they were going - but between her hair hanging in her face and the proximity of his ass - which was beyond distracting - it was useless. It wasn’t until he dropped her onto the hood of Enzo’s car that she realized just how far he’d carried her.
“Sit,” Dante ordered.
“The Hell I will.” Harley was seconds away from a total meltdown and she knew it, a childish round of you’re not the boss of me so close she could almost taste it. She made a desperate, last ditch effort to get off the hood, to remove herself from the situation, but in the process found herself pressed up against his body.
His hard, solid, fully aroused body.
Harley’s mouth dropped open. She should... what? Speak? Whimper? Beg? Instead she sucked in a shallow breath, her gaze drawn to his mouth, lingering there for a second or two before she let it out again.
A muscle in Dante’s jaw twitched and jerked, and something - hunger? please God, let it be hunger - flashed in his dark eyes. He slapped both palms down on the hood, one on each side of her narrow hips, effectively pinning her in place.
“My brother might be dying,” he said, his voice sandpaper-rough. “Jesus, he could be dead, right now, but all I can think about is this...” he gestured between them with his chin, “this heat. I don’t understand it.” He dropped his chin to his chest, closed his eyes for a second. “Am I crazy?” he whispered.
He looked up at her again, frowned, moved his hands from the hood of Enzo’s car to her thighs. He was barely touching her, his fingers just brushing her skin, and she could hardly breathe. “Tell me I’m crazy and I’ll stop. Tell me you don’t feel it too and I’ll...” What? Walk away? Stop touching her? She wasn’t sure she’d survive.
“You’re not crazy,” she breathed, shook her head. “I don’t-” She was going to say she didn’t understand it either, but before she could form the words, he was kissing her.
Thoroughly.
Intensely.
Even desperately.
There wasn’t anything gentle or refined about it - or him, for that matter. Nothing tentative or, God forbid, polite. He kissed her like it was... necessary. Like she was necessary. Like he wouldn’t survive another minute, another second, without his mouth on hers.
It was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Harley leaned her body into his, ran her hands over his arms, his shoulders. Snaked them around his neck, into his silky hair. Pulled him close, closer.
Harley felt his heart beat, so fast, felt the heat radiating from his body. When she felt his hands slide up under her skirt she moaned, only vaguely aware that the sound was being swallowed up by his kiss. By the time his nimble, talented fingers slid inside her panties, inside her, she was nearly gasping for air.
One finger,
then two, an inventive circular motion administered by a very talented thumb. Harder now, deeper, Jesus... when she came it was like fireworks. Fireworks on steroids.
Sublime.
Or at least it would be, she supposed, if they weren’t in a parking lot. On the hood of a car. She pressed her face into his shoulder, cringed.
A couple of cars away someone mumbled a drunken, “my turn, man,” before he let loose a sloppy stream of obnoxious, raunchy-sounding laughter. “Jesus, Harley,” Dante hissed angrily, tugging at the hem of her twisted skirt with still shaky hands.
Mortified, more by Dante’s reaction, his regret, than the drunk’s, Harley slapped his hands away. “Stop it,” she snapped, sliding off the hood. She glanced down at the ground, at her hands, at the car next to Enzo’s, anything to avoid eye contact. If he looked at her with disappointment, or worse, pity, she’d die of embarrassment.
“Here.” He shoved her sandals at her, scowled. “Put these on.”
She rolled her eyes and slid them on, then stood next to the car with her arms folded over her chest. Waited.
“Look, Harley.” Dante scratched his jaw. “I’m not-”
“Unlock the door, Dante,” she ordered, as though he hadn’t spoken. “We’re done here.”
Chapter 17
Harley was on her third cup of coffee when the bell chimed over the front door, drumming her fingers on the scared tabletop to an aimless, caffeine-fueled beat. She sat facing the door, but didn’t look up. Not because she wasn’t curious, but because she was stubborn. Too stubborn to admit that she’d been waiting for him, watching.
So she sat there, breath held, until the moment the footsteps stopped next to her table. Then she looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Dante.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he said, taking the chair across from her.
“You’re not the only one with a dog in this fight.”
“Guess not.” He nodded to the waitress, gestured for coffee. Stretched his legs out in front of him.
Conduct Unbecoming Page 8
