by Linda Kage
“Holy shit,” I whispered, meeting his gaze, where the skin around his eyes crinkled to provide me with a dark perceptive stare.
He knew my name.
How the fuck did he know my name?
Just when I thought I was going to get sucked into his gaze forever, he pulled back to his side of the car, casually rested his elbow against the window frame of his door, and flicked a finger toward my apartment. “You better get inside. I’m sure Miguel’s ready for a little of that treasure you stole.”
Good God. He even knew my brother’s name. What the hell was going on here? I’d never met this guy before in my entire life.
I would definitely remember him.
So, how did he know my name, Miguel’s name, and where we lived?
I should’ve asked. I mean, that was the logical next step, right? How the fuck do you know so much? But, yeah, I didn’t ask. And I honestly have no idea why.
I just gaped at him, not sure what to do.
He frowned slightly, as if my undivided attention unsettled him. Finally, he shook his head as if confused. “Why are you still here?” He glanced out the window as if the answer to his query was out there on some neon, flashing sign. But he found no solution to his quandary and returned his attention to me. “Was there something else you needed?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly, though no, I didn’t need anything else. I didn’t even really know what I was going to say until I blurted, “I need an apology from you.”
His eyebrows quirked curiously. “You need an apology? From me?” His mouth pursed with amusement. “For what?”
“You kissed me,” I told him, narrowing my eyes. “Without my permission. I don’t let guys just get away with that.”
He blinked once. Then the right side of his lips quirked up in a cocky grin. Leaning in toward me, he murmured, “How about this? Next time, you can kiss me without my permission, and we’ll call it even. Okay?”
Oh, boy. That actually sounded tempting. Except, wait. No. I should be pissed right now. Not tempted. How the hell was he tempting me when I really wanted to be mad at him for handling my body in any way before getting a green light first?
This man was dangerous, I realized. And I had no idea how to handle him.
I was so in over my head right now.
Blindly reaching behind me to fumble for the door handle, I warily kept my gaze on him as I shook my head. “There won’t be a next time.”
“Hmm.” Pressing the pad of his thumb against his lips, he watched me intently. “Now that would just be a tragedy.”
The door finally came open, and I scrambled out backward, retaining him in my sights the entire time, in case he tried anything funny. “Thanks for saving me, anyway, though.”
Free and on the sidewalk, out of his car, I heaved out a relieved breath.
“Any time,” he answered, only to hold up a finger when I started to shut the door. “Oh, and, Gabby?”
I rolled my eyes over his smarmy tone even as I met his gaze. “What?”
“Don’t forget your things,” he murmured, pulling my trash sack full of stolen goods up from the backseat and handing it out to me. “You worked your very nice ass off for them, I believe.”
I took the sack, nodding to him, and spun away to hurry inside my building. I didn’t glance back to check on him until I safely had the front door sealed shut between us. Keeping my hands on the knob, as if that would bar him from coming in after me, I turned to watched him through the window as he pulled away from the curb and drove off.
Red taillights disappeared from sight, and a shudder consumed me. I don’t think I’d ever met anyone who’d made me feel so safe and yet so endangered at the same time. A part of me trusted him implicitly while another part questioned everything. He was just so suspiciously dark. And exciting.
Being around him had instilled me with this addictive, thrilling kind of fear. Fear of him or myself, I wasn’t sure. But it had raced through my veins like a drug, and now that he was gone, I felt drained yet twitchy, hungry for the next hit.
“Damn,” I said under my breath. Then I shook my head, breaking free of whatever hold he’d had on me.
I started down the hall toward my apartment and bit my lip. Tonight had been straight-up trippy. That’s all there was to it.
After digging my key from my purse, I unlocked my door and used my shoulder to power my way inside since it liked to stick so much. Then I tossed my purse on the couch, which doubled as my bed and went straight to the kitchen to hunt up a cup for the soda and then microwave the chicken noodle soup in a ceramic bowl.
Once I had everything prepared, I used one of Miguel’s school books to double as a tray, and I piled everything on top of it before carrying it down the hall. Even before I reached his door, though, I could hear him coughing inside. He was shifting restlessly in bed as I toed my way into his room.
“Bubby,” I murmured softly, going to him and sitting on the edge of the bed next to his arm and placing the textbook tray on his nightstand. The light from the hall spilled over his sweating features as his eyelids fluttered open.
His head rolled limply my way. “Gabs?”
“Hey,” I whispered, smiling softly as I reached out to check his brow. He was still burning up. “I got you a little something to help with your fever.”
Popping off the cap of the Tylenol bottle, I sprinkled a capsule into my palm and held it out to him. “Here.”
He took the pill and placed it between his teeth, waiting to swallow until I handed him the cup. When he tipped his head back and took a drink, I nodded, smiling as my chest filled tight with emotion.
His eyes lit with surprise as he lowered the cup and licked his lips. “Sprite,” he said, probably because he’d been expecting plain water.
When he took another, longer drink, I shook my head, sniffing out my amusement only to warn, “Not too much, though.” We didn’t want his blood sugar levels to get too high.
The kid loved anything sweet. It really was too bad he’d ended up with diabetes.
When my throat went closed with regret, I ignored the sensation and reached for the bowl. “And there’s chicken noodle soup too.”
“Really?” Sitting up for that, he came to life a bit more as I handed it over.
“Careful. It’s hot.”
“Mmm,” he mumbled, sighing in delight as he took his first sip. “But so good. Got any crackers?”
My lips twitched. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
I gave them to him next and watched as he ate everything. He savored each bite, closing his eyes and humming through the swallows, and I decided that the shit I’d done tonight had been worth it. Right or wrong, it didn’t matter. Miguel was what mattered. And he was smiling as he handed his empty bowl back to me before settling back into bed to tuck his hands under his cheek and close his eyes.
Even knowing the risks this time around, I think I would’ve done everything the same a second time. Even try on that dress.
I’d looked damn good in that dress.
Gathering the empty bowl and cup as my brother almost instantly fell back to sleep, I stood and left him to his rest. Then I retreated to the kitchen to clean the dishes. I didn’t hear the whimpering down the hall until I turned the faucet off. When it morphed into a low moan of distress, I sighed and started toward it.
Bypassing Miguel’s door, I crept uneasily toward the second bedroom and set my hand on the doorknob a full five seconds before twisting it open and peeking inside.
Papá was also sleeping fretfully, shifting on his mattress and making sounds like a wounded animal.
I wanted to go to him, wake him from his nightmares, and ask if he was okay. But he always snapped at me when I did that, telling me it was just phantom pains before ordering me to leave him alone again.
It’d been a year since he’d lost the lower half of his left leg in a logging accident, and he seemed to have only gotten worse since then, the physical pain probably being the least of hi
s problems.
Aside from a missing limb, he’d also been laid off from his job, because one-legged lumberjacks weren’t exactly a thing. Then we’d gotten so far behind on rent because there’d been problems with insurance—we still hadn’t seen any help from them—and the bills had piled up so high that we’d gotten evicted from our last home. And now that all three of us were relying solely on my paycheck from Trudy’s, Papá seemed to lose his will to live altogether.
I had no idea how to help him. Shutting the door, I retreated to my sofa bed in the living room and slumped down with a heavy sigh. Papá had never had as much trouble supporting the family as I did. He’d made it look so easy and effortless. But I felt like I struggled every day, through every bill.
I worked my fingers to the bone, trying to keep up. And the more I tried, the further we seemed to slip behind. What the hell was I doing wrong?
Then again, we hadn’t had Miguel’s or Papá’s medical bills when he’d been the breadwinner and he’d probably made three times what I did, so maybe that was it.
Kicking off my shoes, I curled up on the couch, intending to only rest a minute because I needed to get up and finish going through the bills. I had two utilities left to pay but no money to afford either. I needed to figure out how long we could go before they turned off our water or electricity. I got paid next Friday. Surely six days wouldn’t cause them to flip the switch quite yet.
But as soon as I closed my eyes, I was sucked into a vision of a brown-eyed devil in a devastatingly attractive tux and a smug, sarcastic smile. It was exactly the distraction I needed to help my stress levels, so I continued to focus on the memory of him.
He lifted a hand as if to stroke my face, only to tap me on the nose and make me blink my eyes in confusion. Frowning, I focused on him only to find my little brother grinning down at me instead.
“Let’s go to the park.”
I blinked a few more times, realizing it was already Sunday morning, I had slept like the dead all night long, and I actually had the day off work.
Crap.
“Miguel,” I mumbled on a groan. “Oh my God, you have the flu. We are not going to the—”
“But I feel so much better,” he argued, bordering on a whine. “Please. I just want to sit on the bench and watch the pigeons.”
When I opened my mouth to argue, he added, “I think some fresh air will be good for me. And look.” He held up my phone, flashing me the weather app. “See how warm it is out today. I’ll be fine.”
He’d thought of every argument. With a whimper, I stretched my arms over my head before holding out a hand toward him. “Let me feel your head.”
Leaning forward eagerly, he let me test his temperature with my palm. When I found him feeling so much cooler than he had in days with no clammy or pasty pale skin, I blew out a relieved breath. Thank God. The things I’d stolen last night had actually helped. A lot.
Everything I’d done really had been worth it.
With a promising grin, he nodded. “So? Park?”
The poor kid hated to be cooped up. My sympathies spiked, so I relented on a sigh. “Okay, fine. Just give me a minute to wake up.”
The brat gave me, like, five seconds before he began pushing on my arm again. “Can we stop by the bakery for some scones on the way?”
I groaned. “We don’t have money for scones, Miguel.”
“But you got all that stuff last night for me.”
I glanced at him, not about to reveal how I’d obtained all the goodies from last night, and instead I said, “Which is why we don’t have any money for scones today.”
He wrinkled his nose in protest but stopped verbally begging. “So are you ready to leave yet?”
With a sigh, I sat upright. “Sure. Let’s go.”
I pushed my feet into my shoes and stood up. Miguel was already halfway to the door. “No running,” I warned, trying to smooth my hair down as I hurried after him. “You never stay in sight when you run, and besides, you’re sick.”
“Sure thing, Gabby. I got it.” When he waited at the open door for me to reach him, I started to believe he might actually follow my instructions this time around.
But as soon as we exited the main entrance of the building and were outside, the little stinker went streaking down the street ahead of me.
“Miguel,” I shouted, kicking into a jog to catch up. “You’re supposed to be sick, dammit! Slow down!”
He didn’t slow down. And even though I cursed him every second of the way, I also sent up a little prayer of thanks, grateful for everything I’d stolen last night that had helped him feel so much better today. I was even thankful for the brown-eyed devil who’d assisted me in my B & E.
Chapter 9
Gabby
Monday started like any typical Monday.
Sucky.
I found a dried coffee spill on my work uniform I hadn’t noticed before putting it on, my name tag was missing, and I burned my morning toast while working on my skirt’s stain.
Damn stains.
Then there was Miguel, who begged to stay home from school, claiming he was still sick, even though he’d acted perfectly healthy the entire day before and he didn’t have a fever anymore.
So I was forced to put up with his arguing and begging and general butt-headedness after I told him he was going to class.
Becoming the big, bad sister, I had to get him to eat his breakfast, check his sugar levels, clean his insulin pump, put on fresh school clothes—and underwear—brush his teeth, find his book bag. And his shoes. It was a wonder I didn’t have to argue with him to take every freaking breath he inhaled.
Fourth graders could be so irritatingly helpless when they didn’t want to do something. Then again, so could adult men.
Because, during all that, I had to contend with Papá, reminding him to take his pain pills and to call the insurance company today and look for some new kind of work, even though I knew he would do none of that. He was just going to sit in front of the television and feel sorry for himself. He refused to apply for disability, too proud to seek help from the government, and he was too embarrassed to admit how much pain he was in, meaning he’d ignore his pills too.
So he was just going to continue to let everything rest on my shoulders.
Not sure how to deal with him, I shifted my focus to my brother and demanded to see his homework folder to make sure he was caught up before I dragged him from the apartment and walked him to class.
After I watched him disappear inside the school, I hurried on ahead to Trudy’s, only to learn Mary Louellen had quit, bless her heart. And since she’d been scheduled to work today, I had to both waitress and bus tables through my entire shift. So seeing Diego stride inside with a cocky grin and a massive bundle of ink red roses at the end of my shift was just the cherry on top of my already shitty day.
Scowling, I pointed sternly. “No. Get those fucking things away from me. I have told you, over and over again, I don’t want your roses. There’s no chance in hell I’ll ever go out with you. You’re starting to piss me off with this, Diego.”
The joke totally would’ve been on me if he’d shaken his head and answered, “But these aren’t for you, chica.” I would’ve felt like a complete fool and probably raced from the café like the idiot I was. And still, I totally would’ve preferred that twist to the story.
Except, no. The roses were for me after all, just as the last two dozen before them had been, and he still wanted a date.
“But, darling.” He swept toward me and spread his arms wide, smiling even bigger as if he enjoyed my resistance. “There’s no possible way for you to know if we’d suit each other or not unless you go out with me.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I stood rigidly by the counter where I’d just taken an order from a couple of teens.
“Don’t you dare tell me what I can or cannot discern for myself, you asshole. I have eyes and ears and a reasoning brain to think with. I can use my own powers of observati
on to make up my own goddamn mind, thank you very much. And I will never have any use for thieves, liars, braggarts, or players. Now get away from me before I call you in for harassment, buddy.”
As the wide-eyed teens bobbed their attention from me to Diego and back to me again, avidly watching our show, Diego slowed to a stop in front of me, his smile slipping. “Why do you call me such things, mi reina? I am wounded.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh please. I called you that because you are that. I know very well you don’t work in the filming industry. Like you told me. Or live at Preston Estates. Like you told me. You actually work there. I saw you with my own eyes, waiting tables.”
His grin dropped completely. When he opened his mouth, probably to fill me with more lies, I held up a hand. “And guess what else? I know you had to steal money from someone else’s wallet to pay for those roses.”
Eyes flaring with surprise, he glanced at the bouquet in his arms.
“The fact of the matter is, Diego, if I wanted to date a liar and a thief, I’d pick a better one than you.”
Uninvited, a vision of the man from last night flashed through my head. His dry, biting wit, his sardonic glances, that sexy, unapologetic quirk in his full, soft lips.
Damn. Why was I thinking about him?
So not cool.
In front of me, Diego eased forward warily as if approaching a rabid animal, and he tentatively placed the roses on the countertop next to me. “You’re not having a good day.” He sent me an uneasy smile. “I see this now.” Straightening away from me as he left the flowers behind, he held up a finger and nodded. “I will come back tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t.”
He winked and turned away.
Rolling my eyes, I sighed and dropped my hands to my sides as I glanced at the flowers. It completely eluded me as to what prompted this man to return time after time again to woo me. There were at least three billion other women in the world, half of them prettier and two point eight billion of them nicer. What the hell made him want me so much?
Curiosity and a little flattered part inside me prompted me to reach for the card tucked in a nest of baby’s breath. I plucked it free before turning it around to read the back:
