by Tessa Bailey
Story flinched as though he’d slapped her.
Daniel paled, ascending the stairs to catch up with her. “Oh, baby. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Knowing her cheeks were bright red with embarrassment, she ducked her head and increased her pace, intent on getting out of the stairwell and away from Daniel as soon as possible. Before she reached the door, he caught her arm, halting her movement.
“Sunshine.” He turned Story to face him, lifting her chin and waiting for her to look him in the eye. “I loved everything about yesterday. How can you doubt that?”
She gave a tiny shake of her head. “You don’t have to explain. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” he growled. “I’m not going to let you walk away thinking I didn’t love every second I spent touching you. Kissing your pretty mouth.”
His closeness registered along with the rawness of his words. “So why do you want to forget it?”
Dammit, she shouldn’t be asking that. It made her sound desperate. Wasn’t she, though? Desperate for him? Every cell in her body jumped to life under his simple touch. Apparently her response to him yesterday hadn’t been her imagination. Still, she knew his type. She’d resolved to stay away. Yet here she stood, asking for answers. Goading him.
Prying his gaze away from her mouth, Daniel reluctantly dropped his hand and stepped back, away from her. She felt the loss like a physical blow. Struggling not to reach out and pull him back against her, she waited.
He paced the landing, shadows moving across his face, cast by the dull light. “What happened yesterday…I can’t let it happen again. You’re Jack’s daughter and it’s not right. I owe him too much to put the moves on his daughter while he’s sick in the hospital.”
Casting her eyes to the ceiling, she laughed without humor. “And I’m not old enough to make my own decisions, right? Just like everything else. How have I survived the last twenty-five years without people organizing my life for me?” She turned on a heel to leave, but once again he stopped her with a hand on the door. “Move, Daniel. This coffee is getting cold.”
Daniel took the coffee cups from her hands and set them on the steps. “I don’t give a damn about the coffee. We’re going to talk about this.”
She threw her now-free hands up. “What’s to talk about? You’ve already made the decision for me. No more hanky-panky. It doesn’t require a formal meeting.”
His face came within inches of hers. “It does if I say it does. You need to know my reasons.”
“Why is this such a big deal to you?” She said through clenched teeth. “Can’t you just go upstairs and find a nurse to take my place? Maybe even an oncologist with a bob. Easy peasy.”
“You think this is easy for me?” He sounded angry. “Knowing what I know about you?”
“What are you talking about? You don’t know anything about me.”
Her back came up against the door. Bracing his hands above her head, he leaned down and spoke harshly against her ear. “Don’t I, gorgeous? I know you like a lot of tongue when you kiss. I know you hold your breath just before you come. I know your beautiful ass fits into my hands perfectly. I can still feel it there.”
Story shivered, her legs weakening underneath her. Yearning, hot and desperate, pulsed between her legs as memories of the previous afternoon broke free to run wild in her mind. Knowing he could so easily determine and satisfy her needs with devastating efficiency only heightened her desire for him. Nurse-chaser or not, nothing could stop her from wanting him now, at this moment in the dark stairwell.
Daniel hadn’t yet finished his verbal torture. “I should have left yesterday before I found out how hot you run. But I didn’t. And now I’m fucked.” One hand dropped from the wall to grip the side of her hip, squeezing and releasing. “That exquisite body of yours needs a lot of care and attention. I didn’t even get a chance to use my tongue on you. I hate not knowing how you taste.”
Her head dropped back against the door. When his hand slipped under her dress to run up the outside of her thigh, a moan escaped her lips. Unconsciously, she thrust her breasts upward, in the direction of his mouth.
“Yes, I see them, baby. I’d taste you there, too.” Slowly, his hand slid around toward the juncture between her thighs. “You came so quickly for me yesterday, like something out of a fantasy. Were you neglected here?” He ran a knuckle along the seam of her panties. “I know how to make it better.”
A door slammed on the floor beneath them, the noise echoing through the stairwell. Two women in the middle of a heated argument hurled insults at each other from below. In an attempt to catch her breath and calm the craving for more of Daniel’s expert touch, Story pushed his hand away and straightened from the door he’d backed her against. It didn’t help when she met his eyes and witnessed the stark arousal there, mixed with conflict.
Heart pounding in her ears, she sidestepped him to pick up the coffee cups. She kept her voice low so as not to alert the women fighting on the floor beneath. “What the hell was that, Daniel? Mixed signals much?” She hated the shakiness in her question.
Pinching his eyes shut, he made a low sound of frustration. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, dammit. My control disappears around you. It doesn’t help when you provoke me, either.”
She scoffed in disbelief. “Oh, this is my fault?” The argument paused beneath them. A door opened and closed once more, leaving them in silence.
“It’s nobody’s fault.” He sighed in defeat. “But it can’t happen—”
“Again. I get it.” She refused to give name to the gamut of emotions burning in her chest. “Can I leave the stairwell now, please?”
Jaw tight, Daniel stepped aside to let her pass.
“Oh, and just so you know, I am going out tonight. It will be after dark. And if you have a problem with that, you can kiss my perfectly palm-sized ass.”
Chapter Seven
“It’s your round, Danny boy.”
“Huh?”
Brent, Daniel’s best friend and fellow Emergency Services Unit member, leaned across the shiny bar table littered with empty pint glasses. “I said”—he made a walking motion with his fingers—“it’s your turn to get up and buy a round of drinks. Where is your head at tonight?”
Next to him, Matt’s grunt of agreement was barely audible among the loud music and buzz of conversation circulating through Quincy’s, their regular hangout. They both looked at him expectantly.
Daniel pasted a smile on his face, addressing Brent. “Sorry, I just can’t stop thinking about your sister lately. Think she’d date me?”
Brent smirked, shooing him from the table. “That’s very funny, you prick. You just bought the next round, too.”
Daniel shrugged and walked toward the bar, glad for a reprieve from his two friends. They were entirely too perceptive to be around in his current state of mind.
Brent and Matt had gone through the police academy roughly around the same time as him, but the three hadn’t met until being recruited into the Emergency Services Unit of the NYPD. ESU was called in frequently when a situation became too dangerous for regular-duty officers to handle on their own. Its operations included everything from high-rise building rescue to hazmat decontamination. Or in his case, hostage crises.
When New Yorkers need help, they call the police. When those police units need help, they call Emergency Services. But tonight was their night off.
Daniel sidled up to the bar and waved halfheartedly at the pretty redheaded bartender to signal for three more beers. When she slid the drinks in front of him with a flourish, she sent Daniel a smile clearly meant as an invitation. Unable to muster an ounce of interest, he returned her smile politely. Brent and Matt watched him through narrowed eyes when he sat back down.
He tipped his drink to his lips and pretended not to notice. With an air of nonchalance, he feigned interest in the baseball game taking place on the flat-screen located above the bar. But with his thoughts consumed by Story,
he saw none of it. Where had she gone tonight? What was she doing? Shit, on a Friday night in Manhattan, a beautiful girl like her wouldn’t make it ten feet without getting hit on. Men would try to take her home or at least score her number. Was she wearing the same flimsy dress she’d had on this morning at the hospital, or had she changed into something else? Jesus, he’d gotten her all wound up in that stairwell this morning without satisfying her, and even now she could be flirting with some lucky fucker who would benefit from his touch.
It made him want to repeatedly bang his head against the table. At least in his unconscious state, he wouldn’t have to think about her with someone else. He temporarily appeased himself by slamming his already-empty glass down on the table.
“All right, Danny. Out with it.” Brent slapped his own glass down. “You’ve barely spoken since we got here, which makes it difficult to have a decent conversation since Troy never leaves his troublemaking girlfriend alone for more than two seconds, and Matt here barely talks even on his best day. And”—he shivered in mock disgust—“do you realize you’ve been watching a Yankees game for the better part of an hour?”
Holy shit. Had he? Like Brent and Matt, Daniel was a die-hard Mets fan, through and through. Watching the Yankees when they weren’t playing the Mets was tantamount to treason.
“It’s nothing.”
Matt elbowed Brent in the ribs, jerking his chin toward something behind Daniel, but he didn’t turn to see what it could be. Brent, however, leaned to the left, peered around Daniel and gave a low whistle.
“Nice call, Matt.” They high-fived. “Danny, our mute colleague here just pointed out the cure for what ails you. There are two incredibly attractive females sitting less than forty yards away with your name on them. Go for it.” He nodded solemnly. “I’ll be right here if you require my assistance, soldier.”
When Daniel made no move to stand up or even bother turning around for a glimpse of the girls in question, both Matt and Brent leaned forward slowly, twin looks of comical disbelief on their faces.
“Oh, dear, sweet Jesus. It’s a girl. Danny’s all fucked up over a girl.” Brent turned and called to the bar. “We need some shots over here STAT!” He turned back to Daniel. “Who is she?”
He kept his expression bland. “Who?”
“Don’t give me that shit. Do I know her?”
“No.”
Looking impressed with himself, Matt finally spoke up. “He’s never struck out before. She must be unavailable.”
“Excellent point, but do you mind quieting down, buddy?” Brent jerked a thumb toward Matt. “You can’t get a word in edgewise with this guy.” They laughed when Matt rolled his eyes. “Did you use the panty move on her?”
Daniel groaned. “I can’t believe I ever told you about that.”
“You did. You used the move and still struck out.”
“You better not be using that fucking move,” Daniel warned him.
“I don’t need your sorry moves, asshole.” Brent looked affronted. “I mean, maybe Matt here could use a few pointers, but not me.”
Matt flipped him the bird. “She married?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Dating someone?”
“Nope. At least, she wasn’t as of this morning.”
Matt flashed a rare smile and Daniel knew he’d said too much. “Weren’t you at the hospital this morning visiting Jack?”
Brent brightened. “Ah, a nurse. Does she have any friends? Do they want to meet me?”
“She’s not a nurse.” Matt took a long drink of his beer. “I went to see Jack this morning, too. Where I had the pleasure of meeting his lovely daughter.”
Daniel’s spine went rigid. “So help me God, Matt, if you go anywhere near her, I will strangle the life out of you with my bare hands.”
Matt winked at him, then went back to his usual brooding silence.
“Hot damn!” Brent hooted, slapping the table. “He’s got it bad. And for the boss’s daughter, no less. I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”
Daniel shoved a hand through his hair. “Nothing is going to play out. She’s Jack’s daughter. He’d crucify me.”
Brent stood to get them a refill. “All right, you’re excused from buying this round.” Slamming the empty glasses onto the packed bar, he yelled over the noise. “All right. We got a pussy-whipped man over at table five! Keep the drinks coming!”
…
“So then I said, ‘Bring me a bottle of your finest champagne!’ And then I flipped my flowing paisley shawl over my shoulder and swept from the restaurant in a sea of applause.”
“Bullshit,” Hayden decided from across the table.
Story snorted a laugh into her third—eighth?—martini. “I might be embellishing a teensy bit. For instance, paisley is terrible on me. But alas, the story is mostly true.”
“Dumped without ever seeing the dessert menu,” Hayden pouted, wiping away a fake tear.
Story tipped her glass toward her friend. “Hey, I got my cake in the end. There’s something to be said for small victories when they’re made out of chocolate.”
Her friend giggled, clearly tipsy in her own right. A complete contrast to Story’s fair looks, Hayden’s shoulder-length brown hair had been styled to perfection, her makeup tasteful and understated. She never looked anything less than put-together, even after a night of drinking. At Hayden’s suggestion, they’d started out the night dancing at a nightclub on Bowery. A few dozen unwelcome and poorly delivered pickup lines later, they decided to cut their losses and go to Quincy’s, a casual pub Jack had suggested that morning.
The alcohol hummed in her blood, loosening muscles she hadn’t even realized were tense. Her easy buzz combined with the steady drone of voices and music in the bar relaxed her, made her problems seem a little less serious, and she felt grateful for it.
“At least you spent three years getting laid. I couldn’t get lei’d in Hawaii.”
Story’s eyes widened. “How long?”
“Let’s just say I buy batteries in bulk. Actually, I’m thinking the next time Mother holds a charity auction, I might just hop on stage and start taking bids for a night with me. I think I could pull in at least a grand. Not to mention shocking my mother in the process. It’s a win-win.”
“Oh, honey. I’d bid on you.”
Hayden patted her hand. “I know you would, sweetie.”
“Anyway, sex is overrated.” Story sipped her drink, determined brown eyes flashing through her mind. She frowned. “At least, I’d been operating under that assumption until recently.”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve been single for seventy-two hours and you already got some action? I’m going to need another drink.” She signaled the waitress.
“Not technically. It’s complicated. He works with Jack.”
“And?”
Story shrugged, attempting casual. “We kissed and I don’t know…I might have orgasmed on his leg or something. It happens, right?”
Hayden spit her drink across the table. “You’re asking me?”
Story picked up a bar napkin and dried herself off. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Fine.” She blew out a breath, ruffling her bangs. “His name is Daniel. I met him at the hospital where he’d previously been trying to charm the scrubs off a nurse. Then he turned all his”—she searched for the right word—“dirty-birdy magic on me.”
“And you somehow wound up having an orgasm on his leg?”
Story buried her face in her hands. “Oh God, when you say it like that, it sounds horrible.”
Hayden waved her hand. “Never mind that now. Do you like this guy?”
“No. Yes. But I’m probably only attracted to him because he’s the exact opposite of Fisher, right?”
“Oh, hold that thought.” Hayden looked over Story’s shoulder toward the bar area. “There is a table full of beautiful men you would not believe. I’d love to orgasm on one of thei
r legs.”
“Oh my God, stop talking about it!” She drained her martini. “No more men for me. Not interested. I’m officially taking a break.”
Hayden held up her hands in surrender. “Fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just go to the grave with my hymen intact.” She leaned over and gave their order to a passing waitress. “Anyway, you were telling me how different Daniel and Fisher are…”
“I was?” Story thought for a moment. “I was. So if they were competing in the Westminster dog show, Fisher would be this perfectly groomed greyhound. Graceful and interesting to look at, but nothing to grab on to. Daniel, on the other hand, is like a big German shepherd humping everybody’s leg backstage.”
“I thought you were the leg humper.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
Hayden pursed her lips. “You realize you just missed the perfect opportunity to use the phrase ‘getting some tail’ while in the midst of a dog reference? I’m being forced to deduct points.”
“You’ve always been a one-upper.” Story’s glare was ruined by her twitching lips. “I stand by my original canine comparison.”
Drinks materialized in front of them. “Well, you know what they say about men and dogs. They’re basically interchangeable.” Hayden smiled warmly at the waitress. “I dated a miniature pinscher once. True story.”
Story stared forlornly into her drink. “It’s so weird. I’m not half as upset as I should be over Fisher handing me my walking papers. I’m kind of…” Playing with her straw, she searched for the right word. “Relieved that he went ahead and did the dirty work for us. Almost like I’d been hoping he would. Honestly, we felt more like roommates toward the end.”
Disgust clouded her friend’s pretty features. “Look at us, two single girls in our prime, crying into our drinks on a Friday night. It’s damned pathetic.” Her look turned calculating, an expression Story recognized well from their time in college. “You know what we need to do? Something crazy.”
Story hiccupped. “Karaoke?”
“No, jackass. Something else.”
“Okay. Can we still do karaoke?” Behind Hayden, she watched two bar employees hooking up side-by-side microphones and a projection screen. Already, drunk patrons were writing down their song choices.
