Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook

by Robin Kaye

  “Yes, I’m Bree Collins, the manager.”

  “Francis is a friend of mine.”

  “That’s right.” Bree smiled and slid onto the stool next to Jack. “I thought you looked familiar.”

  The waiter returned, and Bree handed him thirty bucks. “Thanks, keep the change.”

  Jack finished his coffee, tossed some money on the bar, and stood. “Francis mentioned he was working at the Crow’s Nest today.”

  “He is.”

  “I was going to stop by. Would you mind if I walked over with you?”

  “Not at all. As a matter of fact, I’d love the company, thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” Jack took her elbow, which was still sore from the tug-of-war with Dickerbocker, and escorted her past Daniel, who looked like one of those cartoon characters ready to blow his stack. Bree waited for the whistle to pop out of the top of his head.

  Jack held the door for her. “That guy a friend of yours?”

  Bree stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned toward home. “We’re most definitely not friends. Unfortunately, we’re on the Red Hook Revitalization Committee together.”

  “Hmm.” Jack took her elbow and guided her around a woman pushing a stroller.

  Bree looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah, that about covers it.” She gingerly straightened her elbow and rotated it.

  Jack cursed under his breath.

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “It’s going to bruise. You’d better put some ice on that when you get back.”

  “I will. Just do me a favor—don’t mention this to Francis; he’s a little overprotective.” And the last thing she needed was Storm finding out.

  Jack didn’t look happy about it but held the door to the Crow’s Nest open. “If you insist, but watch your back with that guy.”

  “Thanks, I will. And let me know the next time you come in. Dinner and drinks are on me.”

  “That’s not necessary, but I’d be happy to take you out if you’re free some night.”

  Bree smiled but shook her head. “Sorry. I’m seeing someone right now, but thanks.”

  Jack grinned. “Always a day late and a dollar short. If that ‘right now’ bit changes, you let me know.”

  “Definitely. I’ll tell Francis you’re here.”

  She turned toward the office and ran right into Storm—again. She wondered how much of her conversation he’d heard. “Wow, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  “I came to see if I could interest you in lunch, but I see you’ve already gone out.”

  The words “with someone else” seemed to hang in a cartoon bubble above Storm’s head—but that could have been just her guilty conscience, not that she had anything to feel guilty about. Jack asked her out, and she said no. Okay, so she felt a little guilty about saying she was seeing someone right now, as opposed to just seeing someone—as if her relationship with Storm had an unwritten expiration date. She thought back to the way he spoke last night; she wasn’t sure if that had changed or not. “Um, yes. Lucky for you I have enough to share if you want. Let me just tell Francis that his friend Jack is here; then we can go back to the office and eat.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll get some plates and holler for Francis.”

  “Okay, grab some spoons too.”

  Bree went into the office and threw her briefcase on the couch. That went well, not. She hadn’t had a date for six months, and now men were popping up like freakin’ Whac-A-Moles. Weird.

  She put all her papers in a neat pile and made room to eat at her desk before opening the to-go containers.

  Storm came in, set down the plates, and grabbed the arms of her desk chair before leaning over and kissing her. Damn, she could get used to being kissed like that—the kind of kiss that went from hello to nuclear in under thirty seconds, leaving her breathing heavy and wanting more.

  Storm pulled away, rubbed his nose against hers, and groaned. “I’ve missed you.”

  He had? “It’s been less than three hours.”

  “Your point?”

  She didn’t have one, other than shock and awe. She supposed she should say she missed him too, but she hadn’t had time to think about Storm. “I’ve been too busy to do anything but work.” Man, maybe that wasn’t the thing to say either.

  He took a seat, looking resigned. “I took Nicki to the park for a drawing lesson.”

  Bree unwrapped the sandwich and flipped off the lid to the gazpacho.

  Storm leaned forward. “The kid’s got her own style. I didn’t know a ten-year-old could have a style, but she tells a story on the page without writing a word. She’s impressive.”

  Bree smiled and couldn’t help but think Storm looked like a proud papa talking about Nicki the way he did. He clearly cared for Nicki, and for the first time, when she thought of them together, she didn’t feel the need to protect herself or Nicki. Odd.

  She took a sip of gazpacho and wiped her mouth. She was happy to see Storm. She liked watching him, and listening to him, and hearing all about his day—or at least the few hours they’d been apart. “Okay, I guess I did miss you. I went to the Hope and Anchor to meet Daniel, which was a disaster. I left him in a puddle of iced tea and got my food to go.”

  Storm didn’t say anything. He just raised an eyebrow.

  “Jack was there eating lunch and offered to walk over here with me.”

  The tips of Storm’s ears turned red, and his jaw looked like it was throbbing. “Did Knickerbocker touch you?”

  “There’s a big meeting with the zoning board on Wednesday night, and we were supposed to do the presentation together. Now Daniel tells me he wants me to do the presentation, which makes no sense. Anyway, things were said. I handled it. Now I’m giving the presentation, so I think I’m through with him except for our group meetings.”

  “Did he touch you?”

  Bree ignored the deep dark gravelly texture of his voice and stuffed her half of the sandwich in her mouth to avoid answering.

  “I take that as a yes. Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head, thanked God her shirt covered her elbows, and swallowed. “Are you going to eat or question me?” She pushed the rest of the sandwich toward him and let out a relieved breath when he finally took a bite.

  “I don’t know what the heck this is, but it’s good.”

  “Blue cheese, watercress, and fig jam on Italian bread. It’s my favorite.”

  “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t tell me before I tasted it.”

  “Not the adventurous type?”

  The smile he sent her made her want to fan her face.

  “I was talking about food.”

  “Uh-huh, sure. I’m plenty adventurous when it comes to just about everything. I’ll prove it tonight—”

  Bree’s hormones rose up and did the hula.

  “At dinner.” Storm stuffed the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and looked as if he were holding back a laugh, then licked his fingers.

  She planted herself right on his lap so they were nose to nose, and did a bit of her own teasing. A knock on the door had her scrambling to her feet. By the time she turned, the beer distributor stood in the open doorway.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Bree tried to pretend she hadn’t been caught making out in her office and grabbed her clipboard, holding it against her chest.

  “No, it’s fine. We were just about finished. With lunch…”

  Storm stood, wrapped his arm around her, and gave her another kiss. Damn him. “See you at home at six. Don’t be late for dinner.”

  “Right.” She turned to face her distributor. “Gary, this is Storm Decker, Pete’s son. He was just leaving. Come on in. I’ve got the order all ready.”

  The two guys shook hands, and Storm shot her a grin before leaving her to deal with work.

  * * *

  Bree opened the door to her apartment, dropped her bag, and found Rocki and Patrice sitting on her couch. “How did you two get in here?”<
br />
  Rocki twirled Bree’s spare key around on her pointer finger.

  “I left that at Pete’s in case I got locked out. It’s not there for your convenience.”

  Neither Rocki nor Patrice looked the least bit ashamed of ganging up on her.

  Resigned, Bree went into the kitchen and grabbed a wineglass, the bottle of wine from the fridge, and pulled the cork out with her teeth. She filled the glass, wishing she had grabbed a red wineglass—they were larger. She’d learned that with certain parts of the male anatomy and wineglasses, size definitely mattered.

  When Bree turned to face the music, she found Patrice leaning against the wall.

  “Are you going to offer us any?” Patrice sashayed to the counter and held the bottle up to the light. “Damn girl, is there any left?”

  Bree pointed to the wine rack. “Plenty—take your pick.” She went to her favorite chair, pulled her legs up under her, and stared at the door as Patrice and Rocki argued about which bottle to open. For the first time all day, Bree let her mind spin like the carousel at Coney Island. She was able to block everything out at work, and figured the only reason she’d been able to sleep last night was because Storm had literally put her in a postorgasmic coma. She secretly hoped he would do the same tonight, or she’d be toast.

  Bree had never slept so well, which was surprising because it was the first time she’d ever slept in the same bed with anyone, ever. She’d never even had girlfriends sleep over. Her mother had always teetered like a four-year-old gymnast on the balance beam of mental health, so having friends spend the night was not something Bree had ever encouraged. Keeping friends as far away from her mom as possible had been the goal, and at that, Bree excelled. If not for Rocki, Patrice, and Francis, she’d have no friends at all. Listening to the two of them argue, Bree wondered if she wanted the friends she had. Okay, so she loved them, but damn, they had terrible timing.

  While Rocki and Patrice fought over red or white wine, Bree did her best to get a grip. She’d believed her life had been on track, but after last night, after Storm had taken her blinders off, she saw it for what it was—stalled. It had been stalled for a long time. Way too long.

  Shit, she was twenty-eight years old, she’d been out of her mother’s house for nine long years. After nine years she still had only a few friends, no love life—nothing but a job. If it hadn’t been for Pete giving her a home, a job, and a career she loved, where would she be?

  A picture of her in her mother’s house fighting the same demons her mother had surrendered to a long time ago became crystal clear. It wasn’t a pretty picture, and if she was being honest, neither was Bree’s reality.

  Storm had been right when he accused her of being afraid to live, of being more like her mother than she’d ever imagined.

  There was nothing like having a mirror held up to her face and not liking what she found there. How had she gotten to this point without noticing?

  Bree looked around her cozy apartment. It was comfortable, secure, boring—just like her life. There was absolutely nothing wrong with it, but there was nothing right with it either.

  It was time for a change, and it had to do with her, not Storm. No matter what happened between them, Bree was going to change her life, starting today.

  She was going to go for what she wanted and not let anyone stand in her way. In the end, if Storm left again, something she fully expected him to do, she’d be fine—once she figured out how to move on. And move on she would, because after last night, she couldn’t imagine ever being happy living her life the way she had before.

  Storm challenged her, showed her what she could have, and made her want more—with or without him.

  Rocki sat on the couch and leaned toward Bree, invading her personal space without a hint of trepidation. “I gave you a brief reprieve so you could work, but that’s over. Now spill. Patrice and I have been dying to find out what Storm is like in bed.”

  Patrice set her wine down. “I’m more interested in what happened outside of bed.”

  Rocki rolled her eyes. “She’s just saying that because she doesn’t want Francis to know that he’s not the only man on the planet she dreams about getting hot and sweaty with.”

  Patrice slapped Rocki without ever taking her eyes off Bree. “Where were you all night?”

  Bree shook her head, determined to just get through this. “North Cove Marina. Storm borrowed a boat he’d designed.” She took a gulp of wine. “I asked if he was stealing it.”

  Rocki rolled her eyes. “Have I taught you nothing?”

  “Rocki, you would have thought the same thing. This was a ten-million-dollar yacht. It’s like something you see in the movies.”

  Patrice’s eyes were wide. “No, shit! So that’s what he’s been doing all these years?”

  Bree shrugged. “I guess. I knew he finished college and went to the Westlawn Institute of Marine Technology, but really what does that mean? I didn’t have a clue. He could have been designing tugboats for all I knew.”

  Rocki was obviously handling the interrogation. “You accused him of stealing a yacht? Great way to start a date, Bree. I’m surprised he didn’t push you overboard.”

  Bree took a sip of wine and shrugged. “I apologized after I figured it out. I didn’t know why he brought me there. He said he borrowed the boat from a friend to show me who he was now. How was I supposed to know he designed it? The yacht was beyond incredible.”

  Patrice let out a bark of laughter. “Isn’t that just like a man? He might as well have killed a big woolly mammoth and dragged it over to your cave. Times may change, but male behavior stays the same. It’s sweet if you think about it. Storm’s proving to you he can be a good provider.”

  Bree choked on her wine, and she wondered if Patrice spent too much time in the psych ward at the hospital. “Do you know Storm Decker at all?”

  Patrice sat forward and hammered her. “Do you? God, Bree, this is Psych 101.”

  Bree laughed. “I thought it had more to do with the length of the boat as it relates to the length of his…”

  Rocki perked up. “And?”

  “Both were equally impressive, not that I have much to compare either to, but the boat was an eighty footer.”

  “Damn.” Rocki smiled and hit Patrice again. “Didn’t I tell you I had a good feeling about this?”

  Bree shook her head. “Storm was wonderful, and fun, and he definitely knew what he was doing, which was nice, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stay, so nothing has really changed.”

  Rocki sat back and studied her. “You’ve changed. I didn’t see it earlier, and maybe you didn’t either, but you’ve changed. You’ve had a taste of a top-shelf man. Face it—you want more.”

  “Fine, you’re right, but I’m not dumb enough to think it’s going to be Storm. I’m not going to pretend just because we cleared up our past and we’re sexually compatible that he’s going to move halfway around the world to be with me.”

  Patrice took a sip of her wine. “Bree, this is Storm’s home. His family is here. You’re here. What is waiting for him in Auckland?”

  Other than probably a dozen girlfriends? “His company, his life, his future. The Godzone is his world, and Red Hook is mine. He hates Red Hook. You know, that’s okay. I’ll take what I can get, and then when he leaves, I’ll pick up the pieces and move on. He’s not the only one who wants more. I want everything too. I’m just not delusional enough to believe I can have it with Storm.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Storm looked over the plans of his Class 40 design before e-mailing it to the boat builder. Deadlines sucked, and this one was written in stone. If he didn’t get the design in on time, he’d lose the slot at the boat builder as well as his reputation, the final payment from his client, and his company’s future. Nothing like a little pressure to stress a guy out. He’d worked his whole life for this opportunity, and he was on a precipice—one false move, one fuckup, one missed deadline, and he’d crash and burn. He checked t
he design weight for the thousandth time—everything added up perfectly.

  “What are you doing?” Nicki asked from the other side of the desk where she sketched what looked like the rocks by the pier where they’d had their first art lesson. D.O.G. slept beneath her feet. His paws twitched, and he let out muffled barks in mid–puppy dream.

  Storm took a deep breath. “I’m checking my work.” He turned the computer toward her. “I’m designing a racing yacht and there are very specific rules, so I need to figure out how much the finished boat will weigh. If the bulb weight is off, it would affect the whole design.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, think about it. If the boat weighs too much, then it will sit lower in the water, changing the mast height, which is measured from the waterline. There are rules about maximum mast height, and no one wants to buy an eight-million-dollar racing boat that won’t be allowed to race. The change in weight also changes the stability and causes a domino effect. Plus, maximizing the bulb weight is the art behind building a faster yacht.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  Storm looked over the design, splitting the screen. “Most things in life are complicated if you look at the bigger picture.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you look at things from the surface, all you see is what’s on top of the water, but if you look beneath the surface, you see a whole lot more, and everything below changes everything above it.”

  “In boats maybe.”

  “No, not just in boats; it’s that way with people too. I understand you a lot better knowing where you come from than if I ran into you on a street corner. If I ran into you somewhere, I wouldn’t see how similar we are.”

  “You think we’re similar? How?”

  Storm sat back and looked at her. “We both had parents who gave us up; we were both lucky enough to end up in a better place. Sometimes I look at you and see myself when I was a kid. We have a lot in common that you wouldn’t realize until you take a closer look.”

  Nicki slid off her chair and moved closer, studying his face in that way she had. “You think we’re lucky?”