Brazen (9 page)

Nineteen

Vanessa

Vanessa went into the terminal and used the restroom while Nick phoned Elena. She could have also placed an advance call to Rhys to tell him what was up, maybe even massage the facts to be sure he’d let her stay. Nick hadn’t foreseen that because he wasn’t underhanded by nature. She’d given her word. He expected her to stick to it. So she’d honor that trust.

When she got back, Nick was done with his call. Elena had agreed to let Vanessa help him, if that’s what Rhys wanted. In the meantime, she was driving to Detroit with Clay, ready to jump in the moment Nick needed them.

Elena’s decision didn’t surprise Vanessa. If Malcolm did go after Vanessa? Well, let’s be perfectly objective here. That was better than risking Nick or any of her Pack. And in coming after Vanessa, he’d get close enough for Nick to act. A cold, hard assessment. And the same one Vanessa would make if an outsider volunteered to assist a member of her team. 

Vanessa called Rhys next. There was another reason why she hadn’t bothered to sneak a call to him earlier. Because she didn’t need to. Rhys could be as hard as Elena, but he was a good leader. While she accepted the blame for Tina’s death, he wouldn’t let her take it. She’d argued to let Nick in sooner, and he’d refused. 

She even admitted Stokes got the jump on her, since she’d have to put that in her report. He said the same thing that Nick had—Stokes was a trained killer, and she handled it fine. If she was comfortable staying, then she could stay. Like Elena, though, he wasn’t sitting back to wait for an update call. Jayne and Rhys were both coming out. Like Elena and Clayton, they’d hang back and wait for a distress call.

When Rhys said he’d wait for a distress call, he meant it—part of her kit was a short-range “SOS button” with a GPS. Now that someone would be in range soon, she was expected to wear it.

•••

It was not easy to find alcohol at five in the morning. Apparently, state liquor laws meant that even the corner stores stopped selling it at 2 a.m. Or they did for most people. Nick sussed out a store with a thirty-something woman behind the counter, asked Vanessa to stay in the car, went in and came out with alcohol. 

It wouldn’t have to be a hard sell. Even after a night of narrow escapes and filthy buildings, all it had taken was five minutes in a restroom for Nick to look like he’d stepped off a magazine cover. Vanessa was sure with only a modicum of charm—and perhaps a generous tip—he’d been able to convince the clerk to break the rules for him.

Before he’d gone into the store, Nick had asked what she drank and she’d joked about missing her nightly gimlet. In all seriousness, she said a fifth of gin and a bottle of 7-Up would be fine. At the hotel, she discovered he’d grabbed good gin and a packet of Rose’s Lime mix. While it was perfectly possible that he knew how to make the old-fashioned cocktail, Vanessa suspected he’d looked it up on his cell phone. A guy considerate enough to do that for someone he didn’t particularly seem to care for? Well, they didn’t make many men like that in Vanessa’s world, which only made the “didn’t particularly seem to care for her” part all that much harsher.

When they’d gotten on that plane together, she’d known he’d rather be with just about anyone else. His opinion seemed to have improved since then, but she suspected she’d have had to work very hard for it to get worse. Since Nick had a reputation for being nice to just about everyone…well, that didn’t exactly mean he’d want her number when all this was over, not even as a professional contact. Meanwhile, the more time she spent with Nick, the more time she
wanted
to spend with him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was very nice to look at. Put him in a dark room, and she’d still be happy. Of course, if she was in a dark room with Nick, she’d probably be
very
happy…

Oh, hell.

She knocked back the rest of her gimlet and let Nick mix her a second. It didn’t help that there was a king-size bed beside their table. The hotel had apparently been out of double beds. When she said “apparently,” she wasn’t implying that Nick had lied. As nice as that might have been for her ego, Nick would never pull that. She’d been the one asking when the desk clerk had said there were only king rooms left, all the while giving Vanessa a look that said, “This better be your brother, sugar, or you’re out of your mind for
wanting
two beds.” The room had a pullout sofa, though, and Nick had gallantly offered to take it, though she planned to flip him for it when the time came.

At least they weren’t drinking in awkward silence. Nick was being his charming self, making conversation. He seemed in no rush to get to sleep, and she needed the drink as much as she’d joked she did. She was working on her third now, as he asked about her move from field work to team leader.

“I’m a half-assed field agent,” she said. When he started to make the obligatory protest, she raised her hand against it. “That’s not humility. I’m better suited to supervising. As you may have been able to tell, I’m not a twenty-five-year-old kickass martial-arts fighter. Never was, even
at
twenty-five. Getting through basic training was a bitch. Marksmanship? No problem. Academic? Technical? Easy-peasy. Running, jumping, climbing? Hell, no. I just don’t have the body for it.”

His gaze dropped, and she’d like to think he was checking out aforementioned body, just as she’d really like to think that the spark in his eyes was an appreciative assessment. When he said, “Nothing wrong with that,” there was a flicker of hope that he was complimenting her, but he followed the comment with, “Not everyone’s cut out for everything,” and she took another gulp of her drink.

Stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Oh, but Nick Sorrentino was so crush-able. In every way.

Another long drink, this one draining her glass. He went to take it, then stopped, looking her in the eyes, head tilted, as if assessing her sobriety.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m a big drinker.”

His lips quirked in a smile. “And a lousy liar. I’m good at reading the signs, and it’s time to cut you off.”

“Spent some time tending bars, have you?” Even as she said it, she wanted to cuff herself. Nick Sorrentino had most certainly never been a bartender, not unless he’d played one on a friend’s yacht. 

Before she could retract it, he laughed and shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I’m just…” He shrugged. “Careful. If a woman’s had too much…” Another shrug. “I’m careful.”

In other words, he’d learned to read the signs so he wouldn’t take advantage of a woman who’d overindulged.

Damn
, she thought, looking at him.
Why hasn’t someone snatched you up by now?

Again, it was a stupid question. If a man like this was snatchable, some woman would have done it twenty years ago. He wasn’t interested in that. Why would he be? For a guy like Nick Sorrentino, there was no upside to a committed relationship. It wasn’t like he’d get more sex if he had a steady girlfriend.

And maybe, for five minutes, you could stop thinking about Nick and sex? 

She reached for the gin bottle.

“I’m not going to stop you,” he said. “But if you really aren’t accustomed to that much, you’ll pay for it tomorrow.”

She took the lime mix instead, pouring herself a glass.

“We should be getting to bed.” Her cheeks heated. “I mean, getting to sleep.”

“I know what you meant.” He cleared his throat, the easy humor falling from his eyes. “I also know you might not be comfortable sharing a room, given what you think of me.”

“What?” She looked up, startled. “No, I—I have absolutely no qualms about sleeping with you.”
Oh God, did she just say that?
“I mean, sleeping in the same room as you.”

His head tilted again, another searching look, cooling fast now. 

When he spoke, his tone was clipped, uncharacteristically formal. “If I make you nervous, I can assure you I did not suggest a single room because I plan to seduce you.”

“I know that. And you didn’t suggest it—we agreed on it. For safety.” She forced a laugh. “It’s not like you need to trick a woman into a hotel room to get laid.”
Stop talking. Stop talking now
. “That didn’t come out right. I just mean—”

“You made it clear this afternoon what you meant, Vanessa, and if we can avoid resuming that conversation, I’d appreciate it.”

“I was flirting.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. No, not slipped. Blurted. She’d seen that she was losing any ground she’d gained and the only solution—after three gimlets—seemed to be this. Honesty.

How did she expect him to react? Blink in surprise. Laugh maybe. Relax certainly. Instead, he pulled back, gaze shuttering. He thought she was mocking him.

“I was flirting,” she said. “I…Jayne and Tina…well, they talked, and I… You sounded like a nice guy.”

“Nice?”

Her cheeks heated. “Among other things. I know how terrible this sounds, but I didn’t know you, and it’s been a while…”

“Been a while?” he repeated.

Now her cheeks seared.
Shut up. Just shut up.
But she couldn’t. Not while he was looking at her. She had to get traction. Somehow.

“Sex,” she blurted. “It’s been a while. I’ve never had a one-night stand, and you seemed… I wanted…”

“Some of what I appeared to be freely offering?”

“Oh God, even plastered I know how bad this sounds. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Was she imagining things or did he seem to be relaxing? A hint of a smile in his eyes? Nope, she was imagining it. She had to be.

She plowed forward. “I didn’t know you. Yes, that’s a lousy excuse. If you were a woman and I was a guy thinking that, it’d be wrong and insulting, so it still is, and I apologize. I’m just trying to explain why…I didn’t mean to offend you this afternoon.”

“You were flirting.” Definitely a hint of a smile in his eyes now.

“I…I thought if I talked about you and them, you’d know I was okay with it, that I wasn’t a prude or anything. I was trying to open the door.”

“I see.” He watched her for at least ten seconds, then burst out laughing. When he recovered, he said, “Not a lot of experience with flirting, I take it?”

“None.”

“You may want to work on your technique.”

She sputtered a laugh. “You think?”

They both laughed. Then Vanessa sobered. “I
am
sorry. I think you’re a great guy, and that was a lousy thing to do. I was wrong to presume… Well, to presume anything. The point is that I’m not the least bit concerned that you brought me here to seduce me. You wouldn’t do that, and not just because you don’t need to. You’ll be a gentleman because that’s what you are.”

He shrugged, pulling back as if uncomfortable with the compliment. “It’s basic respect.”

“I know. I’m just saying that I appreciate it.” She forced a smile. “And that I know I have nothing to worry about, even without that ‘basic respect.’”

A smile played on his lips. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Since we’re being honest, I’ll admit that I possibly was playing to type this afternoon, checking you out when we met. Which doesn’t mean we’d have ended up in bed. I’d like to think there’s a little more to my decision-making than, ‘Damn, she’s hot,’ but there
was
that, and I’ll admit it, even if it makes me seem like exactly what you expected.”

“You aren’t what I expected.” She met his gaze. “At all.”

He pulled back again, not displeased with the implied flattery, but not comfortable with it either. He smiled and shook his head. “I think three gimlets is past your limit.”

“It is.” She paused. “Wait, did you say I was hot?”

He laughed. “
Definitely
past your limit. Let’s get you to bed. Alone.”

“Damn.”

He leaned forward and she thought he was going to say something. But he kissed her. The shock of that almost made her pull back. Luckily, she recovered fast enough to return it. When she tried to put her hands around his neck, though, he caught and held them, and kept kissing her, a gentle kiss that promised more but delivered nothing. Not a teasing kiss. Not a quick buss either. Something else. Something sweet and careful, like a first kiss after a high school date, a kiss that said simply, “I like you.” It also said, quite clearly, “This is all you’re getting,” but added a subtle “…for now.”

“Time for bed,” he said when he pulled back. “For sleep.”

“I know. You take it. I’ve got the sofa.”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m taking—”

She cut him off with a wave, walked over and pulled out the sofa bed. He hurried to help.

“This is mine,” he said.

“Mine.” She flounced down onto it and laid back. “And I’m not moving. So unless you want to share…”

His gaze travelled over her, and she swore that gaze was like gasoline, her demon fire igniting and searing a path down her body. She reached up and undid the first button on her shirt. Then the second. He watched, his breath coming faster. When she undid her front bra clasp, he yanked his gaze up to her eyes.

“You’re drunk,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter.”

A wistful smile shattered the lust in his dark eyes. “Yes, it does.” He walked beside the sofa, leaned over and kissed her again, that sweet promise of a kiss. “I appreciate the offer,” he said when he pulled back. “I would
love
to accept, but…”

She lifted up and kissed him, that same kiss, nothing but promise.

“Thank you,” she said, then fastened her shirt and watched him retreat to his side of the room.

Twenty

Nick

When Nick woke to sunlight streaming into the room, he bolted up, certain he’d forgotten to set his alarm for driving Noah to school. Then he saw the half-closed curtains…which were not his curtains. The night rushed back and he sat there, propped up, taking a moment to process it. Then his gaze swung to the sofa bed where Vanessa was…

The sofa bed was empty.

Now he did jump up, legs swinging out, feet hitting the floor. Had she left? Woken up sober, remembered the gimlets and the conversation and the kisses, and slipped out in embarrassment? He paused. No, Vanessa wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t run off when Malcolm was on the prowl.

A noise sounded across the room. He noticed light under the bathroom door, exhaled and lay back down.

He shouldn’t have kissed her. She’d been drunk and from the way she’d been blushing furiously when she admitted she’d hoped to seduce him, he had a feeling she was going to regret that kiss. 

But he couldn’t help himself. She’d been so flustered, so anxious to apologize, even if it meant embarrassing herself with her confession. 

Last night, he’d seen many sides of Vanessa. The cool leader and the tough agent, certainly, but also the pain and grief and blame over Tina, and the blame and self-recrimination over Stokes. In spite of that, she’d been determined to see this through. 

He hadn’t fought very hard when Elena and Rhys decided she could stay. He still wished she’d gotten on that plane—for her own safety—but he wasn’t exactly gritting his teeth and counting down the hours until they could go their separate ways.

Yet they would go their separate ways. Eventually. And there’d been a moment, lying in bed last night after kissing her, that he’d tried to figure out how to see her again. He supposed the answer was easy—just
say
, “Hey, I’d like to see you again.” But he had no idea where she lived, and if she wasn’t a short drive from New York, then “getting together” involved serious effort, which would imply that, well, he was serious. That wasn’t a message he’d ever send. Not on so short an acquaintance.

The bathroom door opened. Vanessa walked out, dressed in her button-down shirt and, from what he could tell, nothing else. If he’d pictured how she might look the morning after sex—and yes, let’s be honest, he had—this was it, her long hair mussed, falling over the half-buttoned shirt, her full breasts pushing against the fabric as she walked, her long legs bare, shirt riding up enough to give him teasing glimpses of full hips and…

And he was staring. Also…He tugged at the sheet to hide his rising interest.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling his gaze away.

She smiled. “If I objected to being watched, I’d have put my pants back on.”

So he watched, since that implied permission and perhaps even invitation. She walked to the side of his bed and stood there, smiling as his gaze traveled down her.

“I’m sober,” she said.

“So I see.”

She put one knee on the bed, her shirt riding enough to show her panties, very simple white cotton trimmed with lace, but small enough that he couldn’t help thinking how they must look from the rear, if she bent over, that lush ass—

The sheet didn’t really help now. He could shift, trying to hide it better, but Vanessa had her hands on the bed now, moving slowly onto it, watching him for any sign that she should retreat, and he decided hiding his interest really wasn’t in his best, well, interests.

“Is this okay?” she asked, one foot still on the floor.

He glanced down, directing her gaze. When she saw the obvious tent in the sheets, she grinned, her eyes sparkling with delight and, yes, surprise, as if she somehow figured she could walk over half naked and he’d be yawning, really wishing she’d just let him sleep. If that’s what she expected, she’d clearly been hanging out with men in rather desperate need of a little blue pill.

He moved over, letting her onto the bed. While she was still climbing in, he undid the remaining buttons on her blouse. It fell open. He reached in and cupped her breasts. She let out a soft hiss as his thumbs rubbed across her already-erect nipples. She shrugged off the shirt and damn, she was gorgeous, hair tumbling down over breasts he could barely get his hands around, full and soft. If it was possible to get any harder, he did, his cock pushing urgently against his briefs now, as he gripped her breasts and pulled her down into a kiss. She kissed him back—hell, how she kissed him back, nothing like last night, hard and rough and hungry, leaving no doubt where this was leading, but… As much as he hated to ask the question, he knew he had to.

“I know you’re sober,” he said. “But are you sure? If you’ve never had a one-night—”

“I shouldn’t start now,” she said. “I know. You’re right.”

Shit. He shouldn’t have asked. Damn it, he shouldn’t have— 

But he had to, didn’t he? He exhaled and started easing back. So did she. Instead of crawling off him though, she only lifted up on all fours, then leaned down to kiss him again, her hard nipples brushing his chest.

“I can’t have sex with you and walk away,” she said as she tugged the sheet down. “Maybe I could have, before we met, but then I got to know you and… One night—or morning—wouldn’t be enough.”

“I—”

“And I know you don’t do more than that,” she said, lowering her mouth to his chest, tongue flicking his nipples, teeth nibbling them before she raised her head. “Or a sequence of nights, equally casual.”

“I—”

“I’m not asking you to say this is different. It’d be a lie, and you don’t play that game.” She hooked the sides of his briefs, pulling them over his hips, his cock jumping free. “You’re a decent guy. Your terms are clear. Casual sex or no sex. Which means, as much as I’m going to regret it, no sex.”

“I—”

“That’s not an ultimatum,” she said, looking up at him. “I wouldn’t crawl naked into your bed and tease you into agreeing to something you don’t want. I’m crawling naked into your bed to say
thanks but no thanks
, in the most appreciative way I can think of.”

She shifted down, curls and breasts tickling his chest, then his thighs as she moved down over his cock, her lips parting as she lowered them to it.

“You don’t have to—”

She grinned, cutting him short. “Oh, believe me. I want to,” she said and went down on him.