by Tessa Bailey
Peering down at her frayed jean skirt and sandals, she felt hideously out of place among the sea of business suits, but no one seemed to notice. It made her want to return in a clown suit juggling pineapples to see if she could garner the attention of at least one cool New Yorker, but somehow she doubted it.
After Daniel left, she’d felt the need to escape. Jack’s apartment, being far from cheerful to begin with, had felt too quiet. A perfect space for dark thoughts to fester. So she’d unpacked and started walking, finding Grand Central quite by mistake. It turned out to be the perfect match for her current state of mind. Jumbled, chaotic, confused.
Sighing, she leaned back against a marble pillar, the passing mob altering its course slightly to avoid her. Less than one day had gone by since Fisher broke up with her. She could hardly believe it. In that small space of time, she’d jumped on a plane to New York, shocked her father by showing up unannounced, and made out with an insanely hot hostage negotiator. Her father’s protégé, no less.
At the memory of Daniel’s mouth on hers, his hands moving possessively over her skin, Story felt her blood heat. Pressing a cool hand to her cheek to relieve the spreading pinkness, she tried to think of something, anything, else. Austin Powers. Rotten bananas. Beatlemania. Scabies.
Nothing worked.
She even tried thinking of Fisher, but it only led to one hideous realization. In three years, he’d never once scrambled her brain the way Daniel had earlier that afternoon. Not even close. She hadn’t thought of him even once while Daniel kissed her. It was almost enough to make her feel a tiny bit guilty. Almost.
All at once, Story felt foolish. She’d been about to settle for someone who’d hardly even kissed her toward the end. Of course, she held no delusions that Daniel would somehow be a better choice. She’d never met a man more suited to playing the field. But if nothing else, he’d given her some valuable perspective. In addition to one seriously mind-blowing orgasm.
Feeling fractionally better, Story pulled the cell phone from her hoodie pocket and frowned when she saw a missed call from Fisher. Why would he be calling her? He’d made it clear last night that he’d moved on. Probably something concerning the wedding and the dozen or so cancellations they had yet to make. She couldn’t deal with him right now—or ever—so she went into the settings on her phone and blocked his number. Then she scrolled through her contacts and selected a different name. Someone she actually wanted to speak with. Smiling, she held the phone to her ear.
Hayden, her college roommate, answered on the second ring. “Bitch, if you’re calling to tell me how great the weather is in San Diego, I’m hanging up.”
Story pushed away from the pillar with a laugh and walked toward the exit, dodging bodies as she went. She and Hayden had attended UC Berkeley together, sharing a dorm the first year and an apartment the remaining three. A Manhattan native, Hayden had returned to New York after school to be near her incredibly wealthy family, who held the purse strings with a tight fist. They’d wanted Hayden at home to assist in running their various charity organizations, and she’d been given no choice but to obey. It had broken Story’s heart to watch her best friend leave.
“The weather is probably perfect as usual, but I’m not there to either confirm or deny.”
“Huh. Are you already in Maui? The wedding isn’t for another two weeks.”
“Actually, it’s never. I hope your plane ticket is refundable.” Story took a deep breath as the line went silent. “Weddings are boring, anyway. I decided to come to New York and hang out with you instead. Did you know your fellow citizens have fully embraced public urination?”
After a long pause, Hayden finally spoke, her voice crisp and businesslike. “Exactly how wasted drunk will we be getting? Just ballpark it for me.”
“Obliterated.”
“Fabulous. Does tomorrow night work? Mommy dearest roped me into hosting a benefit tonight. Gag.”
“That’s perfect, actually. I need to sleep. We’ll text tomorrow about a plan.”
“Deal.” Hayden paused. “Hey, honey, I’m glad you’re here. You’re going to be just fine. And if you need an extra push, we’ll burn Fisher in effigy. Right in the middle of Times Square.”
Feeling tears threaten, Story laughed. “I missed you.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Story pushed through the doors of Grand Central leading to the equally busy sidewalk, her mood dramatically improved at having something to look forward to. Taking a minute to orient herself, she walked back toward Jack’s apartment on the East Side, stopping only to pick up groceries. Very expensive groceries. Six dollars for cereal? Apparently in addition to living space, corn flakes came at a premium, too.
With the bags loaded under one arm, she fished the keys out of her pocket and entered the building. Seeing two people enter the elevator, she called out for them to hold it. A hand shot out, preventing the metal doors from sliding shut.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
A balding man in his early forties looked back at her from behind dirty glasses. To his right, an elderly woman stood hunched over, using his arm for support. Story smiled at them both, punching the number for the fourth floor.
“Hi, I’m Story,” she said quickly, to fill the silence. “Just visiting my father for the week.” Neither of them responded and the man aimed a dark look in her direction, preventing her from saying anything else. Unnerved by his unwavering stare, she averted her gaze, praying for the elevator to hurry.
When the doors rolled open, the man and woman exited slowly behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed that the woman was having great difficulty walking, even with the younger man’s assistance. Not in the best shape, he labored underneath her weight.
After setting the groceries down outside Jack’s door, she turned and jogged back toward them. “Can I help?”
The man looked mildly startled by her offer, but nodded and shrugged. Story took the woman’s arm, helping them down the hallway.
Muttering to himself, he dug in his jeans and pulled out a set of keys to unlock the door. “Thank you. I can take it from here.”
“Okay, sure, no problem.” After a brief hesitation, she turned to leave. The woman appeared ready to collapse, but she didn’t want to force her help on them. He’d seemed reluctant accepting her help in the first place.
“Damned insurance company,” he suddenly called after Story, forcing her to turn back. He nodded toward the woman, who didn’t seem capable of speaking for herself. “They won’t cover her hospital stay any more. I had to miss work today to bring her home. Damned crooks. Damned crooks.”
A little startled by his vehement tone, Story edged toward her apartment door. “Sorry to hear that. Let me know if I can do anything to help out.”
“Thank you,” he said finally, studying her long and hard enough to discomfort her.
Story gathered the groceries and slipped inside, feeling his eyes on her the entire time. Locking the dead bolt quickly behind her, it occurred to her that maybe New Yorkers avoid their neighbors for good reason.
…
From where he was parked across the street, Daniel watched Story disappear inside the apartment building. He’d caught sight of her approaching two blocks away, her blond hair standing out like a beacon against the gray backdrop of the city. His fingers curled into his palm. He desperately wanted to follow her into the building, finish what they’d started earlier, but he couldn’t.
Minutes later, the light flicked on in Jack’s apartment and Daniel relaxed. After being called to a convenience store holdup in Midtown that the Emergency Services Unit, himself included, had resolved in under an hour, he’d come straight back here to find Story gone. And despite the intensity of his disappointment, he knew now it was for the best. The time he’d spent waiting for her to return safely had given him ample time to think.
Being recruited at age eighteen by the department had given Daniel purpose, but becoming a hostage negotiator saved his
life. And he had Jack to thank for that. For everything. Before learning the careful control and reasoning ability it took to solve a hostage crisis, his dark past had threatened to swallow him whole. Moving between foster homes his entire youth and turning eighteen without any sense of direction, Daniel had been cast adrift like so many orphans who’d grown up without the benefit of parental guidance.
He would never fully escape the memories of his time being passed around the five boroughs between overcrowded homes. And one painful memory in particular. Learning to negotiate had given him a sense of control. Helped him cope with the pain of those years.
In the space of one afternoon, he’d jeopardized the very glue holding him together. Not to mention his relationship with the man who’d seen fit to pass on his hard-won wisdom. Despite his indebtedness toward Jack, he’d wasted no time in coming on to Story like a prisoner receiving his first conjugal visit in a decade. If Jack knew, he’d cut him off fast enough to make his head spin. Where would that leave him?
Against his will, Daniel’s mind drifted back to Story. Had it been temporary insanity or could she possibly be half as sweet as his memory reflected? Despite her initial bravado, he could tell she’d been surprised by her response to his touch, and that honesty had shaken him, inflamed him, until he’d taken it further than intended. If his cell phone hadn’t rung at that precise moment, Daniel held no doubts that he would still be upstairs exploring the staggering attraction he felt for her. Thoroughly. Repeatedly.
An image of Story’s head thrown back as he drove into her made Daniel slam the steering wheel with his fist. Getting physical with her had been one hell of a mistake. Because now that he’d been given a taste, his craving for her was nearly unbearable.
After a childhood spent being told he’d never amount to anything, he’d learned to earn approval through sex. But somewhere along the line, he’d stopped gaining any pleasure from his conquests until they all blurred together into a whirlwind of female voices and faces. Sex without connection. Cheapening him, but giving him nothing in return.
Not so with Story. With her, he’d been present. In the moment. He hadn’t been dreading the inevitable aftereffects. There hadn’t been room in his head for anything besides her.
Until last night, another man had called her his fiancé. A man whom she possibly still loved and cared for. Daniel’s jaw flexed at the reminder. Just the thought of some bastard’s hands on her hindered his ability to think clearly. A reaction unlike him on so many levels. One, his profession dictated that he keep a level head at all times, never allowing his emotions to outweigh his ability to reason. A trait that normally carried over into his personal life.
Two, he’d never given a damn before who his conquests were with before or after him. It never entered his mind once they left his apartment to catch a cab.
Daniel recalled the flicker of uncertainty he’d glimpsed on Story’s face after he made her climax. Almost as if she’d been embarrassed by her body’s needs. She lacked the confidence that a woman of her beauty typically possessed when it came to men. Apparently on top of being a bastard, her ex-fiancé had been a shitty lover, something for which he couldn’t exactly muster any outrage.
It shouldn’t matter, moron. You can’t have her.
Jack knew exactly what Daniel was. He’d been right to warn him away from Story. Who would want a masochistic man-whore anywhere near their daughter? He’d somehow managed to earn an inkling of trust from Jack from their years of working together, and in under an hour, he’d betrayed that trust. Proving his sickness, he wanted to do it again.
It totally figured that the only woman to shatter his control would be the daughter of the man who’d taught him the importance of discipline and restraint in the first place. He almost laughed at the irony of it all. Almost.
He wanted her. So goddamn bad. To show her what her body was capable of. To extinguish any trace of insecurity foisted on her by her previous relationship. Maybe her ex-fiancé had held her heart, but Daniel knew he could own her body if given the chance. He would have the pleasure of teaching her how to satisfy him in return. Not that it would take much. Simply being in the same room as Story aroused him to an agonizing degree. The thought of her, naked and eager to please, robbed him of breath.
In the name of self-preservation, Daniel put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb into the flow of traffic. If he sat outside the building any longer, he would be pounding on her door and demanding she let him in. In more ways than one.
She’d go back to California in a week or so once Jack recovered, and everything would return to normal. Daniel could go back to meaningless sex with near-strangers and over time Story’s image would fade from his mind.
Even he didn’t believe his own bullshit.
Chapter Six
Story woke early the next morning from ten straight hours of dreamless sleep. After showering and throwing on a light summer dress, she walked out the door. With a quick stop at the corner deli to grab coffee and muffins for herself and Jack, she began the twelve-block walk to the hospital. Neighborhood residents raised their hands to hail the cabs flying down Second Avenue without even looking up from their cell phones or newspapers. Even at the early hour, July humidity already permeated the air. Today, however, a slight breeze rolled off the East River, drying her shower-dampened hair for her.
She strolled along the sidewalk to a soundtrack of beeping horns and passing buses, wondering if she would be staying in town long enough to get used to the constant noise.
Not if her mother had anything to say about it. Lynette had sent her three e-mails since last night, worried over her fragile mental state and oh-so-casually hinting at the usefulness of therapy. She wanted Story to come home where she could baby her and subject her to a round of holistic spa treatments. But for once, neither of those things sounded appealing. No, she needed to stand on her own two feet this time. Reflect on her mistakes without the comfort of being told that what happened with Fisher wasn’t her fault.
Because frankly, it had partly been her fault. Not the cheating or the breakup obviously, but staying in the relationship as long as she had. Being on Fisher’s arm for countless hospital functions and fund-raising events had lodged the correct responses to every question in her brain until her originality had faded along with any genuine feeling she had for him. She’d made excuses for their missing connection, telling herself that once he established his career, they would spend more time together.
She hadn’t wanted to fail.
Had she actually thought marriage would fix what was broken? Story suspected that a tiny part of her, one she didn’t want to identify, simply hadn’t wanted to end up alone like her mother. As much as she loved and respected Lynette, she relied too much on Story to cure her loneliness. Her lack of companionship. What Story didn’t take into account? Simply being in a relationship didn’t necessarily equate to happiness.
Suspecting Lynette was currently operating under the strain of guilt since she’d adored Fisher and had encouraged Story to accept his proposal, she’d e-mailed back to reassure her mother that she would be fine, not to worry, and she loved her. Hopefully it would hold her for an hour or two while she visited with Jack.
Pushing through the revolving glass door of the hospital, ice-cold air-conditioning rushed over her bare arms and she immediately regretted not bringing a sweater. Families and medical personnel buzzed through the lobby. Skirting her way through the fray, she saw the crowd of people waiting at the elevator bank and sighed. By the time she got upstairs, Jack’s coffee would be freezing. Deciding the exercise couldn’t hurt, she bypassed the elevator bank in favor of the stairs.
She’d almost reached the eighth floor when a door leading into the stairwell opened and closed above her, followed by descending footsteps heading in her direction. Swallowing nervously, she considered exiting the stairwell. Besides her and the unknown stranger, no one else was making use of the quiet stairway. With a glance to her left, she be
gan walking in the direction of the seventh-floor exit when the stranger came into view.
“Story?”
“Daniel.” Relief swamped her, followed quickly by heightened awareness. Dressed in a navy-blue suit and crisp, white shirt, he looked heart-stoppingly handsome this morning, she noticed with a flash of annoyance. Some men looked uncomfortable in a suit, but Daniel wore it like a second skin. An image of weeping nurses tossing their panties at him as he walked the halls swam through her mind.
He glanced behind Story, then locked hard eyes back on her. “You shouldn’t be walking in here by yourself.”
“And good morning to you, too.” She shrugged, hands full with paper coffee cups. “There was a line at the elevator bank.”
“Next time, wait. It’s not safe.” He ran an impatient hand through his hair. “And while we’re on the subject, I hope you’re not planning any nights out by yourself. New York is a far cry from San Diego.”
Her positive attitude plummeted. Upon arriving in New York, she’d decided to stop letting other people make her decisions, and taking orders didn’t fit into her agenda. “If I do decide to go out by myself at night, what are you going to do about it? Put an APB out on me?” She did her best imitation of a man. “Yeah, officers, be on the lookout for a fully grown adult female out past eight o’clock. She’s gone rogue.”
His lips twitched. “Is that supposed to be an imitation of me? It needs work.”
Raising a delicate eyebrow, Story sipped her coffee.
Daniel sighed. “Look, I just talked to Jack. He doesn’t want you out late at night…unless I’m with you. You’re in a strange city and he wants you safe. So do I.”
Climbing the stairs to bypass him, she let her irritation show. “Oh, really? Who’s going to keep me safe from you? I think he’d change his mind if he knew you’d ordered me to lift my skirt within an hour of meeting me.”
He sucked in a breath as she passed. “Jesus, please don’t bring up yesterday. I’m trying my best to forget.”
