by Tessa Bailey
Oh, God. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest, cursing himself for not taking her out of this place last night. What had he been thinking?
“Sera!”
He pivoted on a heel and strode out of the room, only to be brought up short at the sound of a musical laugh. Even though he’d never heard the amused notes before, he immediately knew it was Sera. Relief swamped him at the sign she was okay. The rest of him wanted to know who had managed to get a laugh out of her. Following the sound toward an open door, he banished the panic. No more. It would be a cold day in hell before he let her out of his sight again.
Panic morphed to swift, consuming jealousy. It whooshed through his system like a hot wind, obliterating rational thought. Sera sat cross-legged on the bed with a shirtless man, folding a bandage in her lap. The ends of her mouth were tilted in an absent smile, the smile he’d had to work double time to get a glimpse of last night. She hadn’t noticed him yet, but the man leveled a steady gaze at him from his position against the pillows. The only thing saving the guy’s life was the fact that Sera had all her clothes on. The life-threatening injury he sported didn’t hurt his cause either.
“Sera,” shirtless man rumbled, nodding toward Bowen.
“Huh?” Her eyes met his. “Oh.”
Oh?
“Get off the bed.”
Wisdom won out and she didn’t argue with him, coming to her feet almost immediately. But irritation at following orders replaced self-preservation. “Don’t order me around.”
“You’re mine for the week. Or did you forget?”
Angry color flooded her cheekbones. It was the wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t see reason. A foreign possessiveness had taken up residence in his chest, and until she moved away from the shirtless man, nothing could breach it.
He jerked his chin toward the patient. “You got a shirt or something, man? Not that I’m not fucking dazzled.”
Shirtless ignored him. “I’d ask Sera to introduce us, but based on your temper, I think I can guess who you are.”
“Impressive.” He crossed his arms. “Shirt.”
With a heavy sigh, Sera moved toward a chest of drawers and pulled out a shirt. It didn’t help ease his irritation she knew which drawer they were in. She walked over to the bed and handed over a red shirt, nodding once when the guy thanked her.
“Bowen, this is Connor Bannon. Mr. Hogan’s cousin.” She glanced between the two of them. “Call me crazy, but I smell a budding friendship.”
Both of them snorted.
Connor finished pulling the shirt over his head. “Wasn’t expecting you so early.” One dark eyebrow lifted. “You must have slept here or something.”
Bowen made a mental note not to underestimate Connor Bannon. “Or something.” He turned his attention back to Sera. “Get your things. I’m taking you to my place.”
“Doubtful,” Connor said.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, doubtful.” With a wince, Connor swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I know Hogan spoke to you about our arrangement.”
“Hogan can talk to me if he has a problem with her leaving.” He moved closer to Sera, letting his hand drift across her lower back. A gesture of possession he shouldn’t be making, but couldn’t seem to stop. “Or doesn’t it bother you the girl taking care of you has been sleeping in a broom closet?”
A muscle jumped in Connor’s cheek. “I don’t make the decisions.”
“Yeah? That’s all I do.” He felt Sera studying him and looked down at her, reeling a little over seeing her face in the light of day for the first time. Those gorgeous big brown eyes hit him like an uppercut, the scattering of freckles making her so fresh. So beautiful. So out of place in this world. He needed to stop staring, but not absorbing every nuance of her face seemed like the worst crime. “Hey, Ladybug.”
“Don’t ‘hey Ladybug’ me.”
He couldn’t contain his grin. Shit, he was in trouble. Still not taking his gaze off her, he spoke to Connor. “She’s coming with me. You want to check in on us, that’s up to you.”
A drawn-out pause. “Oh, count on it.”
“Great.” Bowen laced his fingers with Sera’s and led her toward the door. “Try and show up wearing clothes when you do.”
Sera followed Bowen up the three flights of stairs leading to his apartment, wishing he hadn’t been so silent on the ride over. He’d waited in the hallway and she stuffed her things into two grocery bags and fifteen minutes later, they were in his working-class neighborhood of Bensonhurst. Soon, she would be inside the home of Bowen Driscol, known felon. If she hadn’t been in deep before, she’d just sunk to the bottom of the ocean with no oxygen tank.
He lived above an Italian restaurant called Buon Gusto. As they’d walked past to the adjacent entrance, two porters having a cigarette break greeted him as if he were a god returning to Olympus after winning a battle. They’d watched her with open curiosity until Bowen put a hand on her shoulder, his features darkening. Both cigarettes had been crushed underfoot, the restaurant door slamming as they ducked back inside in their haste. She’d wanted to question him about his behavior, but his rigid posture hadn’t exactly invited conversation.
It frustrated her she didn’t know where they stood. One minute, he was snarling at anyone who came near her, the next he seemed to be restraining himself from touching her. Last night, she’d sworn she had him pegged. A self-entitled ladies’ man who thought he had the right to “keep her” until Hogan returned. As far as she’d been concerned, Hogan and Driscol were one and the same. Then he’d left her alone last night, even warning her to lock the door behind him when he left. Perhaps his seduction style was to confuse his prey until they grew too dizzy to put up a fight?
Obviously Bowen had been tasked with keeping an eye on her until Hogan’s return, but knowing what she did about Hogan, if he was suspicious of someone, they wouldn’t live to see the next morning. Bowen had intervened on her behalf. But why? If he didn’t plan on pursuing a fling with her, what did he want her for?
The sound of Bowen’s key sliding into the lock dispelled her musings. One hand knocked against his thigh, in a gesture that seemed almost nervous. “I don’t bring girls here during the day. And at night, the lights always stay off.”
She didn’t bother hiding her confusion. “Was that meant to reassure me?”
His breath escaped in a rush. “I have no idea. Did it?”
“No.”
“Yeah, well.” He pushed open the door. “That’s probably a good thing.”
Sera hefted her plastic grocery bags higher in her arms and followed him inside. The second she crossed the threshold, she came to a dead stop.
Murals. Everywhere. On every available inch of the apartment wall, loud, swirling, chaotic colors jumped out at her. So many shades, she could never count them all, careering through the space like a kaleidoscopic dream. Slowly, she turned in a circle, trying to find a pattern in the chaos. Too many scenes, too much to look at.
Some were abstract shapes painted in dynamic shades, wedged between almost frantic depictions of city landmarks, such as the Brooklyn Bridge. Yankee Stadium. A subway train. In each vignette, half of the perfectly rendered landmark remained intact, while the other half disappeared in flames. The more scenes she took in, the more the theme became obvious. Two conflicting outcomes: the murals had split personalities. She didn’t need him to confirm he’d been the one to paint them. It was obvious.
“Is this why you keep the lights off?” She searched his face for answers.
Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity he radiated.
“Among other reasons.”
Tamping down the urge to pry more, she walked into the central living room between an open kitchen and a hallway she assumed led to the bedrooms. She dropped the plastic bags to the ground, her hand stretching out of its own accord to trace the outline of a woman’s face. With a frown, she cast a look around the room and realized the same outl
ine appeared every few feet. No features, just the shape of a head with long brown hair. Running through the strands was a streak of hot pink.
“Who—”
“Your room is behind the kitchen.” He pinched her waist. “Come on, stop gawking.”
She rubbed the tingling spot. “I’m not gawking.”
“You’re one of those drivers that slows down to watch someone get a speeding ticket, aren’t you?” His disappeared into a door she hadn’t seen before, just off the kitchen. “A rubbernecker.”
“You’re just trying to change the subject.”
He sighed as she entered the room. “Waitresses aren’t usually so astute, Ladybug.”
“Guys like you aren’t usually mural artists.”
Before she could blink, he lunged toward her, sending her back against the wall. “Guys like me?” He rested his palms above her, leaning down until his breath feathered her lips. “And what exactly do you know about me?”
Sera realized her massive error. His playful side had allowed her to get comfortable, but she needed to remember whom she was dealing with. She’d already gotten a glimpse of his notorious temper. “I don’t know anything,” she whispered, letting real fear show. “I was just surprised.”
“Surprised,” he repeated slowly. “While you’re here, you need to be more careful what you say and who you say it to. Comments like that can get you hurt. And then I’ll have to hurt that somebody back. It’ll be very ugly, Sera. Do you understand?”
She nodded, then gasped when he ground his hips against hers. The steel of his arousal pressed against the softness of her belly. He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes, an expression that struck her as pained. Move, she silently commanded him. Touch me. When he didn’t grant her the friction she wanted, she lifted her hands and dug them into his thick, haphazard mane of burnished gold hair. With a snarl, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the wall above her. The loss of control sent exhilaration snapping along her skin. She shouldn’t like it. As a cop, the ability to defend herself should be paramount, but something about being put on display made her feel exceedingly hot. Tempting.
His gaze raked down her body, lingering on the rise and fall of her breasts. The thin material of her T-shirt hid nothing, telling him without words that she was turned on. For him. By him.
“Stop begging me for it.” His voice shook. “I’m hanging on by a goddamn thread here.”
She didn’t understand his plea. He obviously wanted her, and her willingness couldn’t be clearer. Why was he holding back? “Can I ask you a question?”
“If I say no…” Appearing to give in a little, he ran his tongue along her lower lip and groaned, “Would it stop you?”
“Probably not.”
“Maybe I’ll kiss you to shut you up. You’d love that. Wouldn’t you?”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Going on instinct, she gave a long, slow roll of her hips. “Do it.”
He gave a sharp curse. “Ask the question,” he rasped at her ear.
“Why did you bring me here, if not for this?” She tilted her head, hoping he would take the hint and kiss her there. When he didn’t disappoint, she moaned in her throat. His damp lips were smooth where the rest of him was hard, rough. They traced the skin beneath her ear with unerring accuracy, homing in on the sensitive spot she hadn’t even been aware of. “You locked me in my room last night…and n-now I’m in a separate bedroom. It seems counterproductive.” His teeth closed around her ear and she whimpered. “Did Hogan tell you not to touch me or something? Becaus—”
“What?” His head whipped up, the hands holding hers against the wall flexing hard. “Listen to me, if I wanted to fuck you, I’d end anyone or anything who got in my way. Nothing would stop me. Not a locked door. Not some lowlife. Nothing.”
“If?” she repeated, embarrassment cooling her desire. “You don’t want to?”
His laughter was harsh. “Want to? Want to?” One of his hands loosened its grip to drop down and grasp the bulge in his pants. “I didn’t even know it was possible to ache this bad. It hurts to breathe, baby.”
The heat came rushing back in full force. “Then I don’t understand.”
“I can’t. We can’t.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “See, I’m wondering if keeping my hands off you will buy my way out of hell. God knows I’ll have experienced the worst hell has to offer already. You think he’ll make me go through it twice?”
The suffering in his voice lacerated her. There was so much more going on here than sexual frustration, although there was definitely a healthy dose of that. He seemed to think there would be consequences for getting physical with her. But that didn’t make any sense. Since when does a man who rules streets with fear care about consequences for anything? This man took what he wanted and damn the outcome. Right?
Without thinking, she took the hand he’d dropped and brushed a stray piece of hair off his forehead. His body went liquid, melting against her for long moments while she held her breath. “Aren’t there other ways to buy yourself out of hell?”
“Not for me.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than someone pounded on the door.
Chapter Six
Safe. Keep her safe.
Bowen jerked away from Sera, his body going on full alert. No one just walked up and pounded on his apartment door without advance warning. No one, except for one man. A man who absolutely could not be allowed anywhere near Sera. His jaw clenched against the urge to bury her in the closet underneath a pile of clothes. It might give him peace of mind, but it would make her suspicious. He couldn’t afford that, nor did he want it. For some reason, her being comfortable around him mattered. A lot.
Sensing how closely she watched him, he ran a casual hand through his hair. “I need to discuss some business. Make yourself comfortable.”
She nodded carefully and sat down at the edge of the bed. Oh, God, what would it be like if he nudged her onto her back, settled himself between her thighs and worked them both into a sweat? His need for her hadn’t calmed in the least. In fact, it only raged higher now that a threat was nearby. He couldn’t allow anything to touch her. Not even himself.
She looked so out of place in this bedroom, fire and destruction raging on the walls behind her. When he’d painted that particular mural, he never imagined a cop sitting in the room with him. He would have laughed out loud at the very idea. Yet there she sat, looking like a lamb on her way to slaughter. Instead of flames outlining her head, she looked more suited to wearing a halo. When she looked up at the ceiling, he followed her line of vision and nearly laughed out loud. He’d painted the scales of justice one night after a particularly bad run-in with a gang that had been dealing drugs in Bensonhurst, the one thing he would never abide. Now the undercover cop would be sleeping beneath them. If that wasn’t irony, he didn’t know what was.
To her credit, she showed no reaction except for an arched eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you get the door?”
Christ, he’d been so wrapped up in her, he’d completely forgotten about the man waiting outside. “Right,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be right back.”
“Bowen?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking back over his shoulder.
“They’re kind of great.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “The murals.”
Something heavy inside him shifted so dramatically, it surprised him she didn’t react to it. Very few people had ever seen what he did in his spare time. Judged the tool he used to occupy his mind in order to think about anything other than what he did for a living. He’d never thought to show it to anyone, let alone have the work appreciated. Even more, she seemed to mean what she said.
If he stood here looking at her a second longer, he wasn’t sure what the odd mixture of pride and gratefulness would make him do, so he took a deep breath to compose himself and walked into the living room, looking at the murals with fresh eyes. Wondering what Sera saw when she looked at them. What they made her
think about him. Pushing those thoughts to the side, he opened the door.
His father’s oldest business partner, Wayne Gibbs, stood in the hallway, the day’s racing form sticking out of his front pocket.
“Wayne.”
“You mind letting me in? I’m catching a cold out here.”
When he made a move to pass him, Bowen blocked his path. “Let’s talk downstairs.”
“You can’t invite your godfather inside?” He clucked his tongue. “I know Lenny taught you more respect than that.”
His tone was teasing, but Bowen heard the underlying steel. Jesus, these old-school guys didn’t take disrespect lightly. Neglect to invite them in for coffee and you signed your own death warrant. Furthermore, Wayne never failed to bring up his father every time they met. Bowen knew he was suspicious about the events leading to his business partner’s arrest, but since he didn’t have concrete evidence of Bowen’s role, he settled on needling him every chance he got.
He didn’t want to invite Wayne inside, but not doing so would be suspicious. The last thing he needed was added scrutiny while he had Sera under his protection. He’d just have to hope Sera knew enough to stay out of sight in the back bedroom.
With a tight smile, he stepped back. “Coffee?”
“Nah, I’m good. I only got a minute before I have to split.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, doing his best to ignore Wayne’s usual amusement over the paint-covered walls. “What’s up?”
“That crew from Central Brooklyn we took care of a few weeks ago is back.” The older man picked up a paintbrush and let it drop. “One of our guys said they were selling again down on Kings Highway. Either they’ve got balls of steel or they can’t read a map. We told them to keep it in their territory, but they ain’t listening.”
Bowen inwardly cringed, knowing Sera could hear everything from the back room. It wouldn’t matter to her he had immunity with the police as long as he cooperated. But immunity didn’t mean he hadn’t committed crimes. It only meant he wouldn’t pay for them. As soon as she was clear of this personal crusade, he and the NYPD would be back to playing cops and robbers, just like before.
