The Stanislaski Series Collection, Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  He pulled her through the door, into the elevator, and jabbed his finger on the button.

  “I don’t know what you’re so mad about,” she muttered, wincing a little as she swallowed. “You lost a couple of hours, sure, but do you know what I paid for this suit? And I’ve only worn it twice.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously as he dragged her down the hall to her apartment. “A PD’s salary isn’t exactly princely.” She rubbed ice-cold hands together as he unlocked her door. “I had to eat yogurt for a month to afford it, even on sale. And I don’t even like yogurt.”

  The first tear spilled out. She dashed it away as she walked inside. “Even if I could get it cleaned, I wouldn’t be able to wear it after—” She broke off and made an enormous effort to pull herself back. She was babbling about a suit, for God’s sake. Maybe she was losing her mind.

  “Okay.” She let out what she thought was a slow, careful breath. It hitched a sit came out. “You got me home. I appreciate it. Now go away.”

  He merely tossed her briefcase aside, then tugged the coat from her shoulders. “Sit down, Rachel.”

  “I don’t want to sit down.” Another tear. It was too late to stop it. “What I want is to be alone.” When her voice broke, she pressed her hands to her face. “Oh, God, leave me alone.”

  He picked her up, moving to the couch to hold her in his lap. Stroking her back through the tremors, feeling her tears hot and damp on his neck. He forced his hands to be gentle, even as the rage and fear worked inside him. As she curled up against him, he closed his eyes and murmured the useless words that always seemed to comfort.

  She cried hard, he realized. But she didn’t cry long. She trembled violently, but the trembling was soon controlled. She didn’t try to push away. If she had, he wouldn’t have allowed it. Perhaps he was comforting her. But holding her, knowing she was safe, and with him, brought him tremendous comfort.

  “Damn it.” When the worst was over, she let her head lie weakly on his shoulder. “I told you to go away.”

  “We had a deal, remember? You’re spending the day with me.” His hands tightened once, convulsively, before he managed to gentle them again. “You scared me, big-time.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And if I go away, I’m going to have to go back down there, find a way to get to that son of a bitch, and break him in half.”

  It was odd how a threat delivered so matter-of-factly could seem twice as deadly as a shout. “Then I guess you’d better hang around until the impulse fades. I’m really all right,” she told him, but she left her head cuddled against his shoulder. “This was just reaction.”

  There was still an ice floe of fury in his gut. That was his reaction, and he’d deal with it later. “It may be his blood, Rachel, but they’re your bruises.”

  Frowning, she touched fingers gingerly to her cheek. “How bad does it look?”

  Despite himself, he chuckled. “Lord, I didn’t know you were that vain.”

  She bristled, pulling back far enough to scowl at him. “It has nothing to do with vanity. I have a meeting in the morning, and I don’t need all the questions.”

  He cupped her chin, tilted her head to the side. “Take it from someone who’s had his share of bruises, sugar. You’re going to get the questions. Now forget about tomorrow.” He touched his lips, very gently, to the bruise, and made her heart stutter. “Have you got any tea bags? Any honey?”

  “Probably. Why?”

  “Since you won’t go to the hospital, you’ll have to put up with Muldoon first aid.” He shifted her from his lap and propped her against the pillows. Their vivid colors only made her appear paler. “Stay.”

  Since the bout of weeping had tired her, she didn’t argue. When Zack came out of the kitchen five minutes later, tea steaming in the cup in his hands, she was out like a light.

  * * *

  She awakened groggy, her throat on fire. The room was dim and utterly quiet, disorienting her. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she saw that the curtains had been drawn. The bright afghan her mother had crocheted years before had been tucked around her.

  Groaning only a little, she tossed it aside and stood up. Steady, she thought with some satisfaction. You couldn’t keep a Stanislaski down.

  But this one needed about a gallon of water to ease the flames in her throat. Rubbing her eyes, she padded into the kitchen, then let out a shriek that seared her abused throat when she spotted Zack bending over the stove.

  “What the hell are you doing? I thought you were gone.”

  “Nope.” He stirred the contents of the pot on the stove before turning to study her. Her color was back, and the glazed look had faded from her eyes. It would take a great deal longer for the bruises to disappear. “I had Rio send over some soup. Do you think you can eat now?”

  “I guess.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. She was starving, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to manage getting anything down her throbbing throat. “What time is it?”

  “About three.”

  She’d slept nearly two hours, she realized, and found the idea of her dozing on the couch while Zack puttered in the kitchen both embarrassing and touching. “You didn’t have to hang around.”

  “You know, your throat would feel better sooner if you didn’t talk so much. Go in and sit down.”

  Since the scent of the soup was making her mouth water, she obliged him. After tugging the curtains open, she sat at the little gateleg table by the window. With some disgust, she shrugged out of her stained jacket and tossed it aside. As soon as she’d indulged herself with some of Rio’s soup, she would shower and change.

  Obviously Zack had found his way around her kitchen, Rachel mused as he came in carrying bowls and mugs on a tray.

  “Thanks.” She saw his gaze light briefly on the jacket, heat, then flatten.

  “I pawed through some of your records while you were out.” It pleased him that he could speak casually when he wanted to break something. Someone. “Mind if I put one on?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  Watching the steam, she stirred her soup while he put an old B.B. King album on her stereo. “And they said we had nothing in common.”

  Relieved that he wasn’t going to bring the incident up, she smiled. “I stole it from Mikhail. He has very eclectic taste in music.” Once Zack was seated across from her, she spooned up soup and swallowed gingerly. Sighed. It soothed her fevered throat the way a mother soothes a fretful child. “Wonderful. What’s in it?”

  “I never ask. Rio never tells.”

  With a murmur of acknowledgment, she continued to eat. “I’ll have to figure out how to bribe him. My mother would love the recipe for this.” She switched to tea. After the first sip, her eyes opened wide.

  “You didn’t have honey,” Zack said mildly. “But you had brandy.”

  She took another, more cautious sip. “It ought to dull the nerve endings.”

  “That’s the idea.” Reaching across the table, he took her hand. “Feel any better?”

  “Lots. I really am sorry you had your Sunday wrecked.”

  “Don’t make me tell you to shut up again.”

  She only smiled. “I’m starting to think you’re not such a bad guy, Muldoon.”

  “Maybe I should have brought you soup before.”

  “The soup helped.” She spooned up some more. “But not making me feel like an idiot when I was crying all over you did the trick.”

  “You had pretty good cause. Being tough’s not always the answer.”

  “It usually works.” She sipped more of the brandy-laced tea. “I didn’t want to let go in front of Alex. He worries enough.” Her lips curved. “You know how it is to have a younger sibling who refuses to see things the way you do.”

  “You mean so you’d like to rap their head against the wall? Yeah, I know.”

  “Well, whether Alex likes to believe it or not, I can handle my own life. Nick will, too, when the time comes.”

 
“He’s not like that creep today,” Zack said softly. “He never could be.”

  “Of course not.” Concerned, she pushed her bowl aside. This time she took his hand. “You mustn’t even think like that. Listen to me. For two years I’ve seen them come in and go out. Some are twisted beyond redemption, like Lomez. Others are desperate and confused, either battered by the streets or part of the streets. Working with them, it gets to the point that if you don’t burn out or just scab over, you learn to recognize the nuances. Nick’s been hurt, and his self-esteem is next to zero. He turned to a gang because he needed to be part of something, anything. Now he has you. No matter how much he might try to shake you loose, he wants you. He needs you.”

  “Maybe. If he ever starts to trust me, he might be able to turn a corner.” He hadn’t realized how much it was weighing on him. “He won’t talk to me about my father, about what it was like when I was gone.”

  “He will, when he’s ready.”

  “The old man wasn’t so bad, Rachel. He’d never have made father of the year, but—hell.” He let out a breath in disgust. “He was a hard-nosed, hard-drinking Irish son of a bitch who should never have given up the sea. He ran our lives like we were green crewmen on a sinking ship. All shouts and bluster and the back of his hand. We never agreed on a damn thing.”

  “Families often don’t.”

  “He never got over my mother. He was in the South Pacific when she died.”

  Which meant Zack would have been alone. A child, alone. Her fingers tightened on his.

  “He came back, mad as hell. He was going to make a man out of me. Then Nadine and Nick came along, and I was old enough to go my own way. You could say I abandoned ship. So he tried to make a man—his kind of man—out of Nick.”

  “You’re beating yourself up again over something you can’t change. And couldn’t have changed.”

  “I guess I keep remembering how it was that first year I came back. The old man was so fragile. He couldn’t remember things, kept wandering out and getting lost. Damn it, I knew Nick was running wild, but I didn’t have my legs under me. Having to put the old man in a home, watching him die there, trying to keep the bar going. Nick got lost in the shuffle.”

  “You found him again.”

  He started to speak again, then sat back with a sigh. “Hell of a time to be dumping this on you.”

  “It’s all right. I want to help.”

  “You’ve already helped. Do you want more soup?”

  Subject closed, Rachel realized. She could press, or she could give him room. One favor deserved another, she decided, and smiled. “No, thanks. It really did the job.”

  He wanted to say more, a whole lot more. He wanted to hold her again, and feel her head resting on his shoulder. He wanted to sit and watch her sleep on the couch again. And if he did any one of those things, he wouldn’t make it to the door.

  “I’ll clear it up and get out of your hair. I imagine you’d like some time alone.”

  She frowned after him as he walked into the kitchen. She had wanted time alone, hadn’t she? So why was she trying to think of ways to stall him, keep him from walking out the door.

  “Hey, look.” She pushed away from the table to wander in after him. He was already pouring the remaining soup in a container. “It’s still early. We might be able to salvage some of the day.”

  “You need rest.”

  “I had rest.” Feeling awkward, she ran water over the bowls he’d stacked in the sink. “We could probably make at least one museum, or catch a matinee. I don’t want to think you spent your whole day off mopping up after me.”

  “Will you quit worrying about my day off?” Zack slapped the container on a shelf in the refrigerator. “I’m the boss, remember? I can take another.”

  “Fine.” She slammed the water off. “See you around.”

  “Man, you’ve got a short fuse.” Amused, he put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed. “Don’t get yourself worked up, sugar. All in all, I had a very eventful day.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling those rough fingers through the silk of her blouse. “Any time, Muldoon.”

  He could smell her hair, and he had to fight the urge to bury his face in it. It wouldn’t be possible to stop there. “You going to be all right alone? I could call the cop to come stay with you.”

  “No. I’m fine.” Gripping the edge of the counter, she stared hard at the wall. “Thanks for the first aid.”

  “My pleasure.” Damn it, he was stalling when he should be out the door. Away from her. “Maybe we can have an early dinner one night this week.”

  She pressed her lips together. The way his hands were rubbing up and down her arms made her want to whimper. “Sure. I’ll check my schedule.”

  He turned her around. He couldn’t be sure if she moved into his arms or if he’d pulled her there, but he was holding her. Her lips were parting for his. “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay.” Her eyes fluttered closed as the kiss deepened.

  “Soon.” He felt the breath backing up in his lungs as she molded against him.

  “Um-hmm…” As his tongue danced over hers, she gave a quick sigh that caught in the middle.

  He tore his mouth away to nibble along her jaw. “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “I know.” Her arms curled around his neck as he lifted her. “It’s just chemistry.”

  “Right.” Struggling to remember her bruises, he rained soft kisses over her face.

  “Nothing serious.” She shuddered, nipping at his neck. “I can’t afford to get involved. I have plans.”

  “Nothing serious,” he agreed, blood pounding in his head, in his loins. He jerked open a door and found himself facing a closet. “Where’s the damn bedroom?”

  “What?” She focused, realized he’d carried her out of the kitchen. “This is it. The couch…” She nipped his ear. “It pulls out. I can…”

  “Never mind,” he managed, and settled for the rug.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  He ripped her blouse. It wasn’t only passion that made him grab and tear. He couldn’t bear to see her wear it another moment, to see that vivid blue stained with spots of blood.

  Yet the sound of it, of the silk rending beneath his fingers, and her gasp of shocked excitement, spread fire through his gut.

  “The first time I saw you…” His breath was already short and fast when he tossed the mangled blouse aside. “From the first minute, I wanted this. Wanted you.”

  “I know.” She reached for him, amazed at how deep and ripe a need could be. “Me, too. It’s crazy,” she said against his mouth. “Insane.” Her skin trembled as he tugged the straps of her chemise from her shoulders to replace them with impatient lips. “Incredible.”

  Glorying in it, she arched against him when he took her breasts in those greedy, rough-palmed hands. Then his mouth—oh, his mouth, hot and seeking—closed over her to tug and suckle. Hurry, was all she could think, hurry, hurry, and her nails scraped heedlessly up his sides as she dragged his sweater over his head.

  Flesh to flesh was what she wanted. Skin already hot, already damp. The feel of his lips against her thundering heart had her locking her fists in his hair, pressing him closer. She fretted for more. Even as the storm built to a crisis point inside her, she met, she ached, and she demanded.

  Her fingers dug into his broad shoulders when he slid down, setting off hundreds of tiny eruptions by streaking hungry, open-mouthed kisses down her torso. Then back, quickly back, to drown her in desire with his lips on hers.

  He couldn’t stop himself from taking. No matter that he had once imagined making slow, tortuously slow, love to her on some huge, soft bed. The desperation of what was overpowered any fantasy of what might have been.

  She possessed him. Obsessed him. No mystical siren could have stolen his mind and soul more completely.

  A button popped from her skirt as he fought to drag it down her hips. He though
t he might go mad if he didn’t rip aside all obstacles, if he didn’t see her. All of her.

  Half-crazed, he peeled off her stockings, and the delicate lace that had secured them. Somewhere through the roaring in his brain he heard her throaty cry when his fingers brushed against her thigh. Fighting to hold back, he knelt between her legs, filling himself with the sight of her, slim and golden and naked, her hair tousled around her face, her eyes dark and heavy.

  She reared up, too desperate to wait even another moment. Her mouth closed avidly over his, and her fingerstore at the snap of his jeans.

  “Let me,” she said in a husky whisper.

  “No.” He slipped a hand behind her back to support her, and brought the other down to cover the source of heat. “Let me.”

  The volcano he’d imagined erupted at the first touch. Her body shuddered, quaked. And he watched, impossibly aroused, as her head fell back. Not surrender. Even in his own delirium, he understood that she was not surrendering. It was abandonment, the pure, unleashed quest for pleasure. He gave her more, and gave to himself, stroking that velvet fire, letting his tongue slide over hers in a delicious, matching rhythm.

  How could she have known that desire could be dark and deadly? Or that she, always so sure, always so cautious, would throw reason to the winds for more of the dangerous delights? No, not just more. All of them, she thought dizzily. All of him. She would have all. Locking her legs around his hips, she took him into her.

  She heard his gasp—the first one ended with a groan. She saw his eyes, cobalt now, and fixed on hers as he shifted to fill her. A sword to the hilt. Then he moved, and she with him. Lost in the whirlwind, she heard nothing but the screaming of her own heart.

  * * *

  “The bigger they are,” Rachel murmured some time later.

  “Hmm?”

  Smiling to herself, she lifted one of Zack’s hands, let it go and watched it drop limply to the rug. “The harder they fall.” She rolled over and propped her elbows on his chest so that she could study him. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was sleeping—or unconscious. His breathing had slowed—somewhat—but his eyes were still closed. It had been some time since he’d moved a single muscle.