by Roxy Harte
The breakfast rush is in full swing, making the deli crowded and noisy. There are few tables, eight to be exact, and a bar that seats ten. Every seat is filled. I stand in the doorway, waiting for an empty seat. My heart skips a beat when I realize he is already here. I didn’t notice him at first though he sits at a corner table in plain sight. There are two seats, he occupies one, a man with his back to me fills the other. Thomas meets my gaze and his magnetism pulls me forward. God, don’t ask me to leave with you. I already promised Garrett I wouldn’t, and there’s been too many lies already. The other man stands and leaves before I get halfway across the long room. He doesn’t go out the front, choosing to exit through a back door instead, and I never see his face completely. He could be any man for as much as he stands out.
The same cannot be said about Thomas.
He is the face you notice when you walk into a room, stunningly handsome. He is wearing his hair loose today and his long dark waves cascade over his shoulders. He is wearing a knit tam, the kind I’ve seen Jamaican musicians on the wharf wear, and round sunglasses. Torn and distressed jeans, a tie-dyed t-shirt, and a well-worn leather jacket complete his look. If this is his disguise, he needs to work on it. I would not mistake him for anyone other than Lord Fyre.
I take the seat opposite him and just stare at him a moment, wordless. I have so many questions, but none of them are important. He is okay, he is fine. That is what matters.
“Thank you for coming.”
“How is your brother?”
His eyes give away the emotion he is feeling. “He is alive.”
I nod, understanding. What else is there?
Condensation drizzles off the side of his untouched glass of water. It is obvious he has been here awhile and has not ordered. For a place so busy, I am surprised the waitress isn’t haranguing him. “How much did you bribe the waitress to leave you alone?”
His lips twitch. “No bribe. I tipped her when I sat.”
“Must have been a damn good tip.”
He laughs and the sound is good to hear.
His hands are hidden under the table, out of sight, reminding me of an old western and making me wonder if he has a gun trained on the front door. I reach across the Formica, hoping he will take the hint that I need to touch him. Leaving one hand hidden, he puts the other in mine and the solid warmth of his palm is a balm to my soul.
“I need you to run an errand for me.”
“There are a dozen people in this town you could ask favors of.”
“Not. This.”
His gaze holds mine an extra long minute, his intensity a worry. Wishing I could lie to him, I say, “I would do anything for you.”
Reaching inside his coat, he retrieves a checkbook, driver’s license, and social security card. Taking the items from him, I see the name on all three reads Blaire Harrington but it is my face on the license. No. No, no, no, no, no! Do not ask me to runaway with you. Please. My hand trembles as I look the items over. In addition, he hands me a business card advertising a real estate agent. It has her photo on it.
“I need you to meet with this real estate agent and buy a property. The address is noted on the back of the card.”
As if I don’t believe him, I turn the card over. An Artist District address is written in his hand. It can’t be more than a block or two from Lewd Larry’s.
“It’s a foreclosure. The asking price is nine hundred thousand.”
I look at him stupidly.
“Pretend to negotiate. Offer seven-fifty.” He assures me, “There’s more than enough money in the account to cover the full price, but I don’t want you to appear overly eager. The most important thing is to close the deal. All the paperwork can be taken care of in-house today. As soon as you have the keys, call me using this cell.” He hands me a phone. “It’s registered to Blaire, remember that. You are Blaire. The number I want you to use to contact me is programmed as work. Do you understand?”
“Tell me you don’t have time to explain all the cloak and daggers to me, Thomas, so that I can walk out of here and not look back.” Issuing what amounts to an ultimatum, my heart is pounding so hard I think it will explode. Is this his every day workday? Always pretending to be someone else?
“Nikos is going to need a safe place to live. No one looks at eccentric creative types too closely.”
I snort. “Is that what you think? Because you stand out, even in this getup.”
He smiles patiently. “Only you see me.”
I tap the business card on the tabletop nervously. I know the address. He’s right, eccentric about covers it.
“And…the sooner I have my brother established someplace safe, the sooner we can be together.”
“Do you think your cover here has been blown?” We’ve never discussed what he does for a living, and right now no one could convince me otherwise of my suspicions. Undercover cop. Spy. Assassin. Mercenary. He is something and to deny that would be ludicrous.
“It hasn’t.”
“Do you honestly believe I won’t be followed?”
“I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way. Right now, no one is looking for Nikos in the United States. I want to make certain I have him well hidden if anyone ever does.”
I tuck all of the documents into my bag. “I can’t keep this a secret from Garrett.”
“You can. You must.”
I shake my head, not liking that he has put this responsibility on my shoulders. Garrett could have done this for him. George. The man who was just sitting here. Unless he is testing me. Why would he? I knew about Eva long before I ever admitted to him I did. I saw him with the senator I was never supposed to see him meeting. I didn’t mention it to anyone, surely to God he knows he can trust me. It suddenly dawns on me that he does, and right now he trusts me with his brother’s life.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
He squeezes my hand, but his eyes are sad. “Thank you.”
I am suddenly worried there is danger he isn’t admitting to. “Do not die, Thomas! I mean it.”
The look he gives me tells me how very much he loves me. “You, Garrett, and the new life you carry in your womb give me every reason I need to come home. Give me time to make certain no danger follows me.”
I am angry and upset. “I wish I could have gotten to Paris in time, maybe then, Eva would have never come here.”
“This has nothing to do with her.”
“You are changed. We are changed.”
He shakes his head in denial. “I promise, soon, everything will be as it was before.”
“How can you say that?” I demand, insisting, “Everything is different.”
“Do you love me?”
I gasp. He knows I do. Why ask? “Yes.”
“Then we will survive this. All of it.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, lingering. “I. Love. You. I’ll come home soon.”
Neither of us have to say it. We need each other. Now. Physical intimacy to seal the promise. When I am near him, I feel like an addict, or a horny adolescent. I don’t look over my shoulder when I stand and cross a small hallway to the ladies’ room, having no doubt he’ll follow. I don’t lock the door behind me. I just lean against the wall, waiting…
“Nay, call me not cruel, and fear not to take me, I am yours for my life-time, to be what you make me. To wear my white veil for a sign, or a cover, as you shall be proven my lord, or my lover.”
Alice Cary, The Bridal Veil 1820-1871
Chapter 14
Thomas
Sophia is so utterly beguiling; I don’t know how Garrett ever lets her out of his sight. The things I want to do to her would make grown men whimper, but when I whisper my interests in her ear she only blushes.
There is no time for such pleasures today, and so I push her back against the porcelain sink with its bare pipes, thinking…if only there was more time.
She surprises me, twisting her fingers into my hair and pulling my head down. She is rough and needy, making me
crazed in response. Grabbing her hair, I keep her from kissing me, holding her so that our lips barely meet.
This is no kiss, this is torture…for us both.
Her breath fans over my face as she begs, “Please.”
She is dressed for a day at the office, skirt suit and heels. I imagine she is bare under the skirt, and I’m not disappointed when I run my hand up her silk-hose covered thigh, pushing up her tight pencil skirt, to find her wearing a garter belt but no panties. Grabbing her ass, I jerk her into me, leaving no doubt that this will head exactly where we both want it to when she feels my hard length pressed between us. “Is this what you want, baby?”
She tries harder to kiss me, but I jerk her hair, maintaining the distance between our mouths.
“God, yes. Fuck me.”
I kiss her then. Hard. It feels like my lips are bruising as I crush her mouth against mine. I need the pain, need the distraction, to slow things down, but it has the opposite effect and suddenly we are on each other like animals. Teeth colliding, tongues dueling.
I spin her around, so she is facing the sink and looking in the mirror. Her hair is mussed, her lips bright pink from the ferocity of our kiss.
I push her skirt higher, before unbuttoning and unzipping my pants.
Behind us the door knob jiggles, and she meets my gaze in the mirror with panicked eyes. She calls out, “Occupied,” as I lift her ass, spread her, and thrust deep into her pussy, making her voice sound slightly higher pitched and desperate. She looks surprised that I didn’t wait, and I chuckle against her neck before biting her shoulder.
I cup her mons, pressing her clit between the v of two fingers. She is bent over the sink, holding on to the porcelain lip. She is standing on her tiptoes even though she is wearing high heels. I ride her hard, making her gasp as her pelvis slams again and again into the sink. She is moaning already, and I cover her mouth with my hand. She bites my finger, saying, “God, oh God,” around my flesh.
She lifts her ass and pushes back into me, meeting my thrust, and I know I won’t last long but then we really don’t have time for more. I don’t slow my pace, meeting her again and again. Pounding her.
I know the second her orgasm hits, her pussy clamping down hard on my cock. I flush the toilet beside us to muffle my moan as I lose the thin hold I had on my own control.
A moment later she turns on the water to the sink.
We are breathing hard and laughing.
It wasn’t our most intense encounter, but it was satisfying, and when I turn her in my arms, seeing her flushed and beaming. I know I won’t be able to stay away.
As we adjust our clothes, she takes me off guard, announcing, “I asked Garrett to marry me.”
She meets my gaze and I don’t really know what to say.
“He refused.”
I find my tongue, barely. “I’m sorry.”
She smiles and stands on tiptoe to kiss the corner of my mouth. “Don’t be. It’s not what I wanted, not really. I want the ménage, for better or worse, the three of us. I’m just afraid of what a baby means to us. I’m so desperately afraid of normalcy…it was an attempt to meet my fear head on.”
The water is still running and I reach behind her to turn it off. She hits the chrome button to the air dryer.
“I’m assuming Garrett guessed that.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know if he did or he didn’t. He accused me of wanting safe because I can’t count on you.”
I nod, hurt, feeling like a knife has been thrust into my chest. “Is that the way you see it?”
She kisses me, gently, and I let her, savoring the sweetness of her mouth. “I wouldn’t be here if I felt that way. I trust you with my life. Just don’t be long. I need you. We need you.”
I hold her close, ignoring the jiggling door handle behind us.
* * * *
I no more than return from my errands when George informs me, “Garrett called.”
I am immediately filled with guilt, knowing she might be in hot water with Garrett when she returns home to him, but my culpability takes backseat to my greater fear that he called here and the conversation may have been overheard by anyone listening, which makes me very nervous.
Kicking off my shoes in the foyer and then placing them in a small cabinet for storage, I join George in the living room where he is seated with his feet propped on an ottoman and doing a crossword puzzle.
Seeming to read my thoughts, he assures me, “Don’t worry. He didn’t say anything that would lead anyone to believe that you or your brother are here. He actually inquired as to whether or not I might be willing to shorten my vacation, and I assumed it was his way of inquiring about the status of your brother.”
Sitting in a chair opposite him, I ask, “What did you tell him?”
“That he needs to be prepared for me to be absent another few weeks.” George sets the crossword puzzle down and readjusts, putting his feet on the floor and leaning forward. “While you were away I took the liberty of having your brother’s first counseling session.”
By his tone I can imagine how badly that went.
“He refuses to admit he has a drug problem. He insists that his drug usage was a choice.” Dismissively, he adds, “We’ll get there, it will take some time, but I’ve cracked tougher shells. To be honest, I’m more worried about you.”
I meet his gaze and he covers one of my hands with his. Oh, hell.
“You’re avoiding Garrett and Kitten. I believe there is more going on than your fear that trouble may have followed your brother to town. Want to talk about it?”
My hand jerks under the weight of his hand and his fingers close tighter, holding mine. I warn him, “Don’t try to analyze me.”
“That isn’t my intent. I thought you might need a friend to talk to. You’ve been through a lot.” Thankfully, he releases my hand and sits back in his chair.
Since when did George start seeing us as friends?
“Your wife and children have been out of contact for almost a year?”
Don’t do this, George.
“You sought out an old flame that could have destroyed the ménage…has it?”
“No! Eva is past.”
His lips twitch. “Is she? Or was your brother’s arrival merely a convenient interruption?”
I let out a long slow breath, repeating, “She is in the past.”
“I assume you know that Kitten is pregnant?”
I nod, unacceptable emotion filling my chest.
“How do you feel about that?”
Stop. I stand abruptly, having taken all the interrogation I intend to.
“Your children are all but lost to you, and now you have the opportunity to start over with a new baby.”
Only supreme self-control keeps me from hitting him. “The baby she carries is not a replacement. My children are not replaceable!” I leave the room, cursing. I don’t need this. No one asked George to analyze me.
“Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boist’rous; and it pricks like thorn.”
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
Chapter 15
Kitten
The loft Thomas sent me to is in one of the few timber buildings left in San Francisco. An old factory converted into live-in, work-in units for artists. Not that I have ever understood how a struggling artist could afford almost a million dollars.
The real estate agent smiles too widely as she shows me the amenities. She is short, chubby, a little too perky, and afraid of getting her hands dirty as evidenced by the look of disgust when she has to turn a corroded door handle to show the bathroom.
“Twenty-four hundred square feet. And the light here is amazing. You didn’t say, do you paint?”
My palms and pits start sweating. Don’t ask me any questions, lady. “I’m not much into small-talk. Will you accept a check today for seven hundred and fifty?”
She looks aghast. “Well, no. The bank is quite firm on the price.”
“
You’re certain?”
She licks her lips, making me feel like she is lying. By taking less, her commission gets cut. I prop the checkbook on a countertop and write out eight hundred thousand dollars, hoping that she will not notice that my hand is shaking. I hand it to her. “Will this buy me the keys today?”
She doesn’t even blink. She hands me the keys. “I’ll draw up the papers. Will you be available to sign the deed in the morning?”
“I will.” God, please let me be available to sign the damn papers in the morning.
She leaves me and I look at the property Thomas just purchased. The walls and floors are painted black. The bathroom is a health hazard, and the kitchen is smaller than what I had in my dorm room at college. Remembering his brother stretched out on my table, tattoo covered and bullet-riddled, I decide the place is perfect.
I call Thomas from the provided cellphone. “It’s all yours. She wants me to sign the deed in the morning. Tell me how I’m supposed to escape Garrett’s notice a second morning in a row?”
“I’ll take care of Garrett.”
I’ll take care of Garrett. “Before or after he kills me?”
“Sophia, you worry too much.”
Disgusted I ask, “What do you want me to do with the keys?”
“Toss them in a dumpster. I won’t need them.”
I blink, suddenly remembering my obstetrician appointment. “Oh, shit! What time is it?”
He doesn’t answer fast enough, and I hang up on him in an attempt to read the time on the phone’s screen. Shit! I’m late. Or will be by the time I cross town. No question about it. The cellphone immediately starts ringing and knowing it’s him, I don’t answer. I went two full weeks without a single word from him and there is nothing he can say to me now that I need to hear. The phone immediately starts ringing again, but I still don’t answer. Let him worry about me for a change.
* * * *
My day couldn’t be easy. Dr. Moran’s office is downtown and midday traffic is a nightmare, the parking situation worse. By the time I reach the twelfth floor office, I’m frazzled. I peek around the corner between foyer and waiting room before entering. I’d hoped to arrive before Garrett but seeing him sitting across the room, I decide I will never have any luck at all as far as that man is concerned.
