Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook (20 page)

Storm cleared his throat and backed away. “I’ll start dinner. It should be ready in about forty-five minutes.”

“Okay.” Pete leaned back on the pillows and knew
that tomorrow he’d have to have a heart-to-heart with Bree. He hoped what he had to say wouldn’t break her heart all over again.

 * * *

Storm stood in front of the bathroom sink with a towel wrapped around his waist and smiled. He hadn’t spent so much time in the head since he started out as an ordinary seaman. His first two days on board were spent cleaning every head on the ship. It didn’t take long to decide he needed to move up the ranks quickly, which was what he did.

He’d just finished spreading shaving cream over his face when Nicki walked in and took a seat on the john. “Don’t you knock?” He checked the towel around his waist, making sure it was secure.

“Not usually, no.”

“You should.” Storm wiped the shaving cream off his sideburn with his finger and slid the razor from his sideburn down before rinsing it off.

“Why? Pop lets me watch him shave all the time. He makes funny faces.”

“I’m not Pop.” He was also not wearing pants, which was a definite concern, but he thought it best not to mention that.

“You don’t make funny faces?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never shaved with an audience.”

“Keep going. I’ll tell you if you do.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Pop said you’re taking Bree out on a date.”

He rinsed his razor and tapped it against the side of the sink. “Uh-huh.”

“How come?”

“Because I want to, and she said yes.”

“Do you want to marry her?”

He pulled his upper lip down under his teeth to shave above it but stopped. “Why do girls automatically jump from dating to marriage?”

“Because that’s what happens, right? You wouldn’t marry someone you didn’t date, would you?”

“No.” He tried to shave above his lip again. He got two swipes of the razor completed.

“Are you gonna marry Bree?”

Shaving with an audience while having a conversation was proving more difficult than he’d anticipated. “I’ve dated a lot of women, and I never married any of them.”

“But you could.”

“I guess it’s within the realm of possibility.” Yeah, it was right up there with winning the New York Lottery on his first try.

“I’m guessing that’s a solid maybe.”

“It’s a not so solid maybe, so I wouldn’t bet on it. Bree doesn’t like me much.”

“Then why’s she going on a date with you?”

“I dared her.”

“Oh, that’s not good.” Nicki’s pigtails swung around her somewhat-dirty face. “Bree doesn’t like it when people corner her.”

Great, that was exactly what Pop said. It didn’t bode well for his date. Maybe the whole dare thing wasn’t such a good idea. “She’s young; she’ll get over it.” He hoped so, and decided to go for the other sideburn rather than the tricky chin and neck.

“Only if you don’t mess everything up. Did you buy her flowers?”

“No.”

“Girls like flowers, and not that kind you get at the corner market either. What’s-his-face bought Bree some, and she wasn’t impressed.”

“Who bought Bree flowers?”

“That guy Daniel from the community board. I don’t like him. He has mean eyes.”

Storm rinsed his razor and tapped it on the sink with more force than necessary. He thought it best not to say anything about that asshole, especially when shaving. Shaving while angry was never a good thing.

“He sure likes Bree, though.”

Storm took a slice off his chin. “Shit.”

Nicki’s eyes went wide. “You really need to work on the not-cursing thing, Storm. Bree is real strict about that.”

“How do you know Knickerbocker likes Bree?”

Nicki rolled her eyes. “Because he’s always calling her and asking her out and stopping by. I’m not a baby. I know stuff, and I know he doesn’t like kids. He’s just like all my mom’s boyfriends. They were always telling me to get lost.”

Storm stopped shaving and did his best not to lose his temper. How many times had his parents told him the same thing? They’d also told him to take a long walk off a short pier, and to play on the dotted yellow line in traffic. He knew exactly how it felt. “Daniel told you to get lost?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

Nicki shrugged. “Whenever I’m around Bree when he stops by.” She took a deep breath. “Storm, you’re making a face, but not a funny one.”

“No one tells you to get lost. I might tell you to go to your room or something, but if anyone tells you to get lost, you come to me and I’ll take care of it. Okay?”

Nicki nodded.

“Did you tell Bree what he said?”

“No.”

“You should have. Bree wouldn’t put up with someone talking to you that way. She loves you. Sounds to me like the only one who needs to get lost is Daniel.”

Nicki was paying an awful lot of attention to her swinging feet, and she wasn’t saying anything. The kid wasn’t normally quiet. Storm took a towel from the rack and wiped off his face. “Nicki, when Bree and I didn’t know where you were, it scared the hell out of us.”

“Really?” She looked up at him and squinted as if doing her best to see if he was lying.

“Yeah, really. From now on, no taking off without telling one of us where you’re going. I never want you to get lost, and neither does Pop or Bree. Got it?”

“I got it.”

“Good. So, do I make funny faces when I shave?”

“Not as funny as Pop, but that’s okay. I still like watching you shave.”

Storm tugged on one of Nicki’s pigtails. “I’m going to get dressed. Rocki should be here in a little while. Maybe you should pick out a movie to watch and make some popcorn.”

“What’cha gonna wear?”

“Clothes.”

Nicki rolled her eyes. “Duh. What kind of clothes?”

“Nice ones?”

“Okay. Go get dressed and then come out to open the popcorn bag. Bree won’t let me do it by myself.”

 * * *

“You’re wearing that on a date?”

Bree scowled at Rocki, who had charged into her
apartment as if she owned the place. Rocki always looked ready to take on the town—she’d never seen Rocki in comfortable clothes. Bree, however, was a different story. She looked at her comfy jeans and clean T-shirt she’d tossed on after her shower. “It’s not a date, date. It’s a let’s-figure-out-how-to-deal-with-each-other-without-wanting-to-kill-each-other date.”

Rocki shook her head. “He’s wearing dress slacks, a tie, and a jacket.”

“You’re kidding.” Bree pressed her stomach to settle the bat-sized butterflies that had taken up residence there.

“Nope. Now I’ll ask you again—you’re wearing that on a date?”

“No?”

Rocki walked past Bree into her bedroom. “Let’s see what our options are.” She opened the closet door and started rummaging through it. “Girl, we really need to take you shopping.” She pulled out an emerald green silk dress. It was sleeveless, with a very demure V-neck, and a tie at the waist—blousy and comfortable. “It’s a little shapeless, and it certainly won’t highlight your assets.”

Bree pulled the dress from Rocki’s clutches. “I don’t want to highlight my assets. This isn’t that kind of date.”

“Not for lack of trying on his part. Besides, from what I hear, he’s well acquainted with your assets. He’ll spend most of the night staring at you and trying to catch glimpses of them. That dress might work out well after all. Do you have a bra to wear with it?”

“Yes.” Bree rolled her eyes and tried to remember if she’d bothered to shave her legs. She had, thank God. She changed while Rocki went through her shoe collection, picking out two pairs. Bree tossed the stilettos back
into her closet and slipped on the ballet flats—the ones that said comfortable as opposed to take-me-now.

“Now, what about your hair?”

“What about it?”

Rocki put her hand on her bony hip and tilted her head. “The ponytail isn’t working for me.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing it’s not your ponytail. It’s working for me just fine.”

“No, it’s not. Come on.” She grabbed Bree’s wrist, dragged her into the bathroom, and plugged in the curling iron. “Sit.”

Bree knew better than to say anything when Rocki wore her give-me-a-hard-time-and-I’ll-bust-your-chops look. “Fine.”

Five minutes later, Rocki dropped the curling iron in the sink. “Now stand up, put your head down, and then flip it back up.”

Bree followed her directions.

“Perfect.” Rocki plucked at Bree’s curls for a minute until satisfied. “Now hold your breath.”

Before Bree could ask why, Rocki sprayed every strand with hair spray. After the air cleared, Bree blinked a few times and checked the mirror to see the results. Bree’s hairstyle said exactly what her shoes didn’t.

The knock on the door told her it was too late to rectify the situation. Besides, if she put it back in a ponytail, Rocki would kill her. “You did this on purpose.”

Rocki shot her a cocky smile. “You bet your sweet ass I did. I just hope you’re not wearing granny panties. You’re not, are you?”

“No.” Unfortunately. And it was way too late to change into a pair, especially since she didn’t own any. Bree might not dress like the rock star Rocki did, but she
had a real appreciation for nice lingerie. Not that Storm would have the opportunity to find out what color thong she wore. No, that ship had definitely sailed.

“Good.” Rocki grabbed Bree’s arm and dragged her to the door. Before Bree could say anything, Rocki had opened the door, scooted past Storm, and slipped into Pete’s apartment, leaving Bree staring at Storm and wondering why he had to look so damn good.

Storm tried not to stare at Breezy. He was sure she did her best
not
to look too hot but had failed. Her dress might not be tight and the neckline left a whole lot more to the imagination than he liked, but he was well acquainted with what was underneath all that drapey silk. He knew it so well, he could pull up a detailed image from memory any second of the day—and he had, continuously. The woman could wear a Santa suit with a beard and padding and give him a hard-on. “You look incredible.”

“Thanks, I think.”

That was awkward. Storm covered the smile that threatened with a mask of seriousness. Poor little Breezy wasn’t used to failing—even when it came to hiding her looks. The consternation that covered her face and wrinkled her nose was almost comical.

“You clean up pretty good yourself,” she said as she looked at her shoes.

He was almost relieved to see she wore flats—almost. He would have preferred seeing her in heels even if he’d have to ask her to change them. “The car is downstairs. Are you ready to go?”

“We’re not taking mine?” She grabbed her handbag and followed him out, locking the door behind her.

“No.” The front of Bree’s dress may have left a lot to the imagination, but the back didn’t. It was formfitting, showing off her straight back, toned arms, tiny waist, the curve of her ass, and highlighted her long, long, long legs. He took her elbow and headed for the stairs.

“Where are we going?”

He followed her down and held the door open. “To dinner.”

Her eyes widened when she saw the Lincoln Town Car and driver. He wasn’t sure if she was impressed or horrified.

“I gathered that. Where are we going to dinner?”

Storm nodded at the driver and helped Bree into the car. She scooted across the leather seat, holding the short skirt of her dress down and giving him a nice outline of her very fine stern. “It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

He slid in beside her and hoped to hell she liked this one. As they headed toward the Battery Tunnel, he snuck a glance trying to determine Bree’s mood and wiped sweaty palms on his pants. He hadn’t been this nervous since he launched his first boat.

“We’re going into the city?”

“It sure looks that way.”

With traffic, it was still only a twenty-minute drive—twenty long minutes. He’d never been this tongue-tied on a date. But then this was more than just a date; this was the only way to show Breezy who he was now. Part of him said it didn’t matter what she thought, but then there was the part of him that knew instinctively it might change the course of both their lives. He wasn’t quite
sure how, but he learned a long time ago never to ignore his gut instinct. Every time he did, he either got arrested or hurt—sometimes both.

Storm tried to relax into the leather seat and snuck glances at Bree—little miss prim and proper with her hands in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankles. “You look as if you’re headed to the firing squad. I’d offer you a final cigarette if I smoked.”

“You’re imagining things.”

No, he wasn’t, but he could. He was damn good at imagining things with Breezy. She seemed more intent on counting the tiles in the tunnel than in conversing with him. Since he wasn’t sure there was a safe topic to discuss with a nervous-looking Breezy, he didn’t bother trying to make small talk. The last thing he wanted was to stuff his size-thirteen foot in his mouth again.

When the car stopped at the end of North End Avenue, Bree frowned in confusion. “The only restaurants around the Winter Garden Atrium are lunch places, and they’re all closed by now. It’s Sunday, Storm, and this is the financial center.”

“I’ve got it covered.” He got out of the car and took a deep breath. He felt a thousand times better just being out of Red Hook. His gaze swept the area and focused on the masts in the distance. Here by the North Cove Marina he was on home turf. Home turf was any space, anywhere in the world, close to the water with an upscale marina and racing or cruising yachts. They may have been only twenty minutes from Red Hook, but the North Cove Marina was a whole world away, and he couldn’t wait to see how Breezy looked in it.

The driver tipped his cap. “You have my number to call for pickup, sir.”

Storm shook his hand. “I do. Thank you.”

Bree stood beside him, clutching her purse so tightly, her knuckles turned white. She watched the car pull away, then swallowed hard, looking resigned, as if waiting for the final shot to ring out.

“You sure you don’t want that cigarette? I could buy you a pack.”