Steal Me (9 page)

“No subway for you, huh?”

“Perk of the job,” he said, slowly pushing back and unfolding his long body.

Her feet were cramped and her legs were exhausted from a long day at work, but she stood as well, just so he didn’t tower above her.

Then she realized that even at her full height, she was barely eye level with his chest. He’d tower over her no matter what.

He’d also be just the right height to lean into. His arms would be big and warm and strong if they wrapped around her.

Moretti cleared his throat, and Maggie jumped, wondering if she’d leaned.

Duchess butted her nose once against Maggie’s leg, as though to say,
be over there if you need me
, before scampering across the room and making a flying leap onto the bed, then diving onto her stuffed penguin and thrashing the thing ruthlessly.

Moretti moved toward the door, getting there in about two steps with his long stride.

Then he surprised her by looking around, as though seeing her apartment for the first time. “I like your place.”

She laughed. “There’s not much to like.”

“It’s…”

“If you say cozy, I’ll punch you,” she muttered.

He threw back his head and laughed, surprising her. “I was definitely going to say cozy.”

She found herself smiling despite the reappearance of her ex-husband in her life, and the weird longing she had for this complex man who she couldn’t get a read on.

“Yeah, cozy’s a pretty classic synonym for tiny,” she said. “I know Brooklyn’s cheaper than Manhattan, but this is about all I could afford. After the divorce…” She shrugged.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Ms. Walker,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“Well, I wasn’t explaining it to
Captain Moretti
,” she said in exasperation.

He looked at her. “We keep doing that, don’t we? Crossing wires.”

She stared at his chest. “I just…I don’t get you. You switch back and forth between Ms. Walker-ing me and then you touch my hand and call me Maggie, and—”

He took a step closer. “And what?”

“You confuse me.”

“Do I?” His voice was soft. Thoughtful.

She frowned. “You seem far too pleased by that.”

“I admit, it gives me a certain measure of relief. To know that I’m not the only one who’s feeling a little off balance.”

She snorted. “Yeah, you seem
really
disoriented here, Captain.”

“You’re hardly an open book, Maggie.”

She glanced up in surprise at that. “Yes I am.”

That was one thing she was very sure of. Her entire life, people had been telling her that she wore her heart on her sleeve, that her facial expressions hid nothing, that she was transparent. She was the definition of
open book
.

“Well, you’re a book
I
don’t know how to read,” he said gruffly.

“Do you want to? Read it? Read me?”

“More than I should.”

Was it her imagination, or had he moved closer? Or had she? Somehow they seemed to be standing closer than they were before. And they were certainly standing closer than necessary.

“You weren’t at the diner on Sunday,” he said gruffly. “My family won’t leave me alone about it.”

“They’re blaming you? Why?”

His eyes roamed her face. “They got it in their head I had something to do with it.”

Maggie licked her lips. “They wouldn’t be wrong.”

He flinched. “You were avoiding me?”

“No! Well, kind of…”

She put her hands over her face. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Try me.”

Maggie dropped her hands and gnawed on her bottom lip. Decided to go for it. “I was hungover.”

His eyebrows crept up and he made a
tsk
ing noise that contradicted his increasing smile. “Why, Maggie Walker.”

“Shut up,” she said, shoving a little at his shoulder. “It’s your fault.”

He moved closer. “How’s that.”

“Your text on Saturday night. The one about you being…
you know
.”

His eyes darkened. “The one where I said I was jealous. Of the thought of you and Vincent together.”

Maggie’s stomach flipped over. She didn’t know why, but this man’s no-nonsense way of talking did funny things to her lady parts. There was no game playing with him. At least never intentionally.

“Yeah. That one,” she said.

This time when he moved closer, she knew she wasn’t imagining it. She started to take a step back, instinctively, but stopped herself. She was tired of being afraid. Tired of being skittish.

“That text freaked you out?”

“Let’s just say I rather stupidly thought that liquid courage might help me figure out an appropriately witty response.”

“You never did respond,” he murmured.

“Yeah, well, I’m not much of a drinker,” she said. “A couple glasses of wine, and I wasn’t any closer to coming up with a response. At least not an appropriate one.”

“The
inappropriate
texts are the best kind. Keeps things interesting.”

“Is that why you said what you said?” she asked, tilting her head up to look into his face. “To keep things interesting?”

“I said what I said because I meant every word.”

“Oh.”

The silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the occasional squeak from Duchess’s toy.

“Maggie.”

“Yeah?” It was more of a whisper, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yeah?”

His gaze was hot when it clashed with hers. “I’d like to hear that response now.”

“You want me to text you back?” she squeaked.

He shook his head. “Tell me. No liquid courage, no cell phones. What were you thinking when I told you that I was jealous?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

His hand reached for her tentatively, his fingers hot through the fabric of her top, then firmer as his palm pressed against her waist.

“Tell me.” It was a command. “Did you
like
that I was jealous? Did you want me to claim you as mine?”

The words sent a shiver down her spine. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

The silence stretched out, and she felt a pang as his fingers started to slide away. Her palm found the back of his hand, holding him still as she opened her eyes, trying to tell him with her gaze what she didn’t know how to put into words.

“I’m bad at this,” she whispered.

His jaw moved slightly, as though he was gritting his teeth.

Moretti took a half step forward, until they were toe to toe. If either of them leaned, just a little, they could be belly to belly, chest to chest…

“There’s something I need to tell you.” His voice was gruff.

Suddenly she became very aware what the heroines in her historical romance novels meant when they
waited with bated breath
. “Yeah?”

“There’s a squad car outside your apartment building. And two officers.”

Ice water. That’s what his statement was. Ice water doused all over them.

“
What?
”

“We have every reason to believe that Eddie Hansen knows where you live. He knows where you work. If he should try to contact you.”

Maggie took a step backward and gave a harsh laugh. “You’re just telling me all of this now? What…what was with all of the flirting and the looks?”

Anthony’s eyes flashed in anger. “You said you’re bad at this. I’m bad at this too. I may not be handling this attraction between us well, but at least I’m trying!”

Maggie’s eyes widened in surprise, both at the words and the blurted nature of them. Captain Moretti struck her as the type of man who was always in control, but he didn’t look in control now.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I should go.”

He backed away abruptly, turning to jerk open her front door.

“Wait!”

He paused and she went to him. Took a deep breath. “I wanted to text you that I could never date Vincent. I could never even
consider
it.”

He didn’t respond, but he did shut the door. Slammed it actually.

“And about the…attraction,” she continued before she could lose her nerve. “I don’t know what to do about it either. But I feel it. Like I’ve never felt anything before.”

He closed his eyes. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?” she asked, lifting her chin in annoyance that he’d all but begged her to tell him what she was thinking and was now scolding her for it.

He made a low growling noise. “Because now I won’t be able to stop myself from doing
this
.”

His hand pressed against her stomach, spanning the entire surface as he pushed her backward into the wall. His eyes were wild as they looked down on her, and the last thought Maggie had before his mouth slammed against hers was that Anthony Moretti completely out of control was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

His kiss was fierce. Carnal. Unapologetic. There was no soft coaxing to get her lips to open, he merely used his firm mouth to maneuver hers open and then he
took
.

The hand on her stomach held her pinned against the wall as his other hand came up to the back of her neck, keeping her mouth tilted up for his wonderful invasion.

Maggie hadn’t had much experience with kissing. A couple awkward pecks in high school, a casual boyfriend in her two years at community college. And then she’d met Eddie, and if there had been any decent kisses early on in the relationship, the memories had been overwritten by the sloppy, drunken kisses near the end.

Anthony’s kiss was possessive and giving. Like the man, the kiss was
deliberate
.

The way his tongue cleverly found all the most sensitive parts of her mouth, her lips, his teeth occasionally raking against her bottom lip, his—

He pulled back, just slightly. “Maggie.”

Her eyes opened, eyelids heavy. “Hmm?”

His smile was surprisingly tender as he looked down at her. “You’re thinking too much.”

She blinked. “What?”

His thumb rubbed over her bottom lip, his eyes watching the gesture. “You’re letting me kiss you, but
we’re
not kissing. If you don’t want this—”

Maggie went up on her toes, fusing her mouth to his to shut him up. Her teeth pulled none too gently at his top lip and she felt his rough growl of appreciation all the way down to her toes.

The tip of her tongue brushed against his, and there was a moment of stillness before everything changed.

No longer was it him kissing her, or her kissing him.

They were kissing each other.

Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers running through his short hair as both of his palms bracketed her waist.

The kiss was both endless and over too quickly.

His withdrawal was slow, his lips coming back to hers again and again, lingering until he finally pulled away.

Their eyes met, and somehow the eye contact was almost as sexy as the kiss itself. And even more important.

His hand moved up to touch a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “Here’s the part where I tell you that we definitely should not have done that…that I’ve violated at least a half dozen of my own personal ethics, to say nothing of the department’s.”

Her heart started to sink, until he continued speaking with a rueful smile.

“It’s also the part where I tell you that I wish I could do it all over again.”

Her lips tilted up. “No regrets then?”

His eyes clouded over, and he didn’t answer. “Maggie—”

She laid her fingers against his lips. “Can we just…not do that part tonight? Can I just have this moment? That kiss to think about?”

His smile was quick and sexy. “You’re not going to hit the bottle again, are you?”

She smiled back. “Nope, learned my lesson. I’m a lightweight.”

His lips pressed briefly against her forehead. “Good. I want you to remember every moment. Like I will.”

Her eyes closed in pleasure, even as she wondered what the hell they were doing.

“I should go,” he said, taking a step back. “The guys in the patrol car will no doubt be wondering what the hell I’ve been doing in here so long.”

Maggie’s smile dropped as she remembered the reality of the situation—remembered why he was here.

Eddie.
Smiley
.

“Hey,” he said, touching a fingertip to her face. “Don’t do that. Those cops outside are there for your protection.”

“They’re there to catch Eddie as much as they are to protect me,” she pointed out.

“Yeah,” he said, looking troubled as his hand found the doorknob of her front door. “The problem is, I care a hell of a lot more about the second one than I should.”

Maggie opened her mouth, wanting to say…something.

But he was already gone.

A
nthony was experiencing déjà vu. And not the pleasant kind that involved reliving a fantastic moment.

A moment, say…like kissing Maggie Walker.

No, today’s déjà vu came in the form of a frowning paternal figure, a tart-mouthed grandma, a sweet but interfering mother, plus a whole slew of noisy, outspoken siblings.

“So you never said where you were with the Smiley case,” Tony said, reaching across the table for Anthony’s bacon.

Yup. Definitely déjà vu.

“No, I didn’t, did I?” Anthony muttered, sipping his coffee.

His father chewed the bacon and frowned. “Why do you have so much more bacon on your plate today? You usually only get a couple strips.”

Anth picked up a piece of bacon and bit into it, letting the salty pork roll over his tongue. “Maybe someone noticed that my pieces always get pilfered.”

“God, it’s easy to be a man,” Elena said, propping her chin up on her hand. “All it takes is throwing a couple extra slices of pork fat on the plate, and bam! He’s in love.”

Anth glared at his sister. “I’m not in love.”

“Weird.
I
didn’t get any extra bacon,” Luc mused. “Did you, Vin?”

Vincent lifted a corner of omelet with his fork and pretended to look under it. “Nope, nothing here. Do you think…is it possible…could our Mags prefer the captain to us?”

Anth fixed his brothers with a look, refusing to be riled. “First of all,
bambino
,
you
didn’t get any bacon because you insist on ordering a side of fruit. And Vin, you didn’t get any extra bacon because—”

“—because he isn’t come-hithering our waitress,” Nonna chimed in.

Anth turned his glare to his grandmother. “I’m not come-hithering anyone.”

“You are a little bit, dear,” his mother said, patting his hand softly. “You keep looking at our Maggie.”

Our Maggie.

Why did everyone think she belonged to the group? Anth resisted the urge to correct his mother—to claim her as
his
Maggie. Because she wasn’t. Would never be.

But damned if she hadn’t felt that way when he’d had her pressed against the wall with his hands all over her…

“You’re off base,” Anthony said, pointing his fork around the table. “Every last one of you. I’ll have you know—”

“You still haven’t said anything about Smiley,” Tony broke in.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Dad, that’s enough!”

At first, Anthony thought that he might have snapped—that what he’d been thinking for the past three weeks had exploded out of his mouth instead of staying buried in his subconscious where it belonged.

But it wasn’t Anth who had spoken. It was Luc.

Anth was torn with conflicting urges. He both wanted to scold his brother and utter a heartfelt
thank-you
.

But before he could speak, Elena beat him to it.

“Luc’s right, Dad,” Elena said. “You’ve got to leave Anth alone on this. He’s handling it.”

She leaned over to kiss their father’s cheek to soften the blow, a move that was rendered pointless when Vincent too decided to join the fray.

“Seriously, Pops. I know you like to follow up on your kids, but spread the love, huh? Anth’s been getting all the attention for weeks now. Anyone else getting bored of it?”

Nonna’s hand shot up before she too reached over to grab a bite of Anth’s pile of bacon. “
I’m
bored of it. This Smiley’s a boring criminal. He’s barely a criminal. I mean, he leaves thank-you notes…”

“That’s not the point,” Tony grumbled.

“What is the point, my love?” Maria Moretti murmured softly, stirring cream into her coffee.

“That every case matters,” Tony said. “If he wants to move up—”

“Dad.” Anth kept his voice gentle.

“Translation,” Nonna stage-whispered. “Shut it, son.”

Anthony felt a little stab of gratitude that his family so firmly had his back on this, although damned if he knew how to express it.
Thank you
wasn’t very often in his vocabulary.

“I do it because I care,” Tony Moretti muttered, looking both annoyed and properly chastened at his family’s gentle scolding.

Anth waited until his father glanced at him, and held his gaze. “I know, Dad.” Then he nudged his plate in his father’s direction and saw from his dad’s slight nod that Tony Moretti knew what it was. A peace offering in the form of bacon.

“Men,” Elena muttered. “Communicating in food.”

“So?” Vincent said. “You women communicate in shoes and chocolate—”

“And wine,” came a soft female voice from the edge of the table. “Don’t forget wine.”

Maggie
.

He knew his brothers would never let him forget it if he said it aloud. He very nearly did, though, just to hear her name on his lips. But somehow he knew this woman, not by her voice, or her look, or even her smell, but just by her presence.

He
felt
her. Felt when she was near. Felt when she was afraid. And felt when her eyes were on him.

Like now.

“You’re a wine-o, Mags?” Luc said, forcing her to shift her gaze from Anth to his brother, and causing Anth to want to relieve Luca of all his teeth.

Maggie gave a small smile. “Let’s just say that sometimes a glass of wine is just exactly the thing.”

“Or a bottle,” Ava chimed in. “Sometimes a bottle is just the thing.”

Maggie grinned down at Luc’s girlfriend. “Or a bottle,” she agreed. “Although the hangover is rarely worth it.”

She flicked a gaze at Anthony, and he gave her the smallest of winks, reassuring her that he did in fact remember that her last hangover involved him and a series of texts…

Too late, he realized that his siblings would be watching him like a hawk, and no way were the Morettis the type to let one of their own off the hook.

“Did you just wink?” Elena asked.

Anth gave her his best scowl, but his sister merely shrugged. “Glare all you want. I know what I saw.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“What Sister Dearest meant to ask,” Luc chimed in, “was not did you wink, because obviously you did, but
why
did you wink, Anth?”

“I didn’t wink.”

“You totally winked,” Ava chimed in. He transferred his glare to Luc’s girlfriend, who merely beamed and stole a piece of his never-ending supply of bacon.

“You did wink,” Maggie said, a smile lighting up her face as she looked at him.

And though Anthony knew it was insane…knew that his family would see right through him, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.

Vincent cleared his throat. “Hey, Mags…I think there was maybe some mistake, but um, Anthony seemed to get
all
the bacon in the restaurant.”

“Seriously, there are like, twenty pieces,” Elena chimed in.

Anth leaned back in his chair and watched as Maggie’s pretty features formed the picture of confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Nonna pointed a long spindly finger at Anthony’s plate. “Sure you do. You made sure he got half of a hog all because you two had
relations
.”

Maggie gave one of those slow, secret smiles that only women seemed familiar with and leaned down so her lips were close to his grandmother’s ear. “Mrs. Moretti, with all due respect…if I were to have
relations
with a man, he’d have all the reward he needs. You get me?”

Maggie stood up slowly, grinning a little when Nonna let out a delighted whoop and smacked her palm against Maggie’s backside as Ava and Elena gave Maggie high fives. Even his mother looked strangely approving.

Anthony, meanwhile, was torn between grinning with the rest of his family and wanting to drag Maggie out the back door of the diner, press her up against the brick wall, and show her that when it came to
relations
, he was no slouch either.

Unfortunately, there was a time to woo a woman and a time to mind your manners. Sitting across the table from one’s parents in a brightly lit diner after an extra long church service fell into the latter category.

Instead he settled for watching her as she joked with Elena, appreciating the way the youthful ponytail contrasted with the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.

“You’re staring,” Vincent said under his breath.

Anthony immediately jerked his gaze away from her, locking it instead on the ivory porcelain of his coffee mug.

For years, he’d been ensuring not only that women didn’t get the wrong idea about his intentions, but also that his family and friends didn’t get the wrong impression either.

He’d told himself never again.

Not after Vannah had killed herself, citing him as the cause. He’d never forgive himself for being so wrapped up in his job that he didn’t see how attached Vannah had become.

He’d been ignorant, and that was unforgivable.

He wouldn’t be ignorant around Maggie.

He didn’t want to let her imagine something that couldn’t be.

His eyes fell on his father, watched as the often too-serious Tony Moretti smiled warmly at Maggie, let her rest a hand on his shoulder as she chatted with Anth’s mother.

Maggie had always been comfortable with his family, and he’d never thought much about it, but things had gotten even more familiar as of late. The knot in his stomach tightened as he watched his father put his hand over Maggie’s and pat it in a downright fatherly manner.

He should put a stop to this. Now.

But then she glanced over at him, and the guileless happiness in her eyes loosened the knot.

No doubt about it: he was in serious trouble.

“Anything else I can get you guys?” Maggie asked. “More coffee. Bacon?”

“I’d love a cup of tea, darling,” Maria said. “If you have it.”

Maggie laughed. “Mrs. Moretti, the day we stop having tea is the day you should find another diner.”

“Never,” Elena said, popping the last bite of her pancake in her mouth. “This place is our second home.”

“But you should really consider selling booze, dear,” Nonna said. “I could go for a nip right about now.”

“It’s eleven in the morning,” Anthony’s mother said mildly.

Nonna nodded emphatically and pointed at her daughter-in-law. “Exactly. Bourbon time.”

Maria opened her mouth, but Maggie spotted the argument a mile away and broke in. “Mrs. Moretti—”

“Nonna.”

“Nonna. I promise to let you know if the manager ever decides to pursue a liquor license, but in the meantime, how about a piece of pie, on me?”

“We will absolutely have pie,” Anthony broke in, “but not on you. I’m buying.”

“
I’m
buying,” Tony broke in. “Bring us a piece of every flavor you’ve got, Mags.”

She smiled. “Tea and pie, coming right up.”

“And bourbon!” Nonna called after her.

Maggie didn’t turn around to this last part, and Nonna grumbled under her breath before reaching under her shirt and pulling a silver flask out of—No. Anthony didn’t even want to ponder where the hell she’d stashed the thing.

“Not to worry,” his grandmother said proudly. “I came prepared.”

“Wonderful, I know I’ll rest easy knowing my mother-in-law keeps a flask in her bra,” Maria said. “Son, hand me a piece of that bacon.”

“Oh, this from Miss ‘I’ll just have a nice bite of oatmeal and some fruit’?” Nonna asked.

Maria pointed her piece of bacon at her mother-in-law. “Keep it up and I’ll be stealing your flask.”

That
shut Nonna up.

Anthony enjoyed about two seconds of glorious, non-meddling silence from his family and then…

“Okay, so back to Smiley—” Tony said.

He was met with a chorus of groans, and his wife shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth.

Anth hid a smile as his dad sent him a victorious wink. The wily old bastard had been after the slice of bacon the whole time.

Then Vincent had to go and ruin his burst of happiness with a rare moment of brotherly bonding.

“Maggie’s not like her, you know.”

Vin’s voice was low enough not to be overheard by anyone other than Anthony, but Anth stiffened all the same. He took a sip of coffee and tried to block out his brother and the memories that came with his brother’s words.

“Vannah was an emotional wreck,” Vincent said, after glancing around and ensuring that the rest of the family was involved in a semi-good-natured argument about some new TV series about firefighters.

“Maggie’s different. Fragile, maybe, but she has strength. Vannah was a selfish—”

“Don’t,” Anthony interrupted.

“I’ll say whatever I damned well please,” Vincent shot back. “I know we’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but Vannah was a selfish bitch who refused to be happy and wanted desperately to take you down with her.”

“She’s dead, Vin,” Anth said flatly. “She killed herself because I didn’t pay enough attention to her. Because she begged me over and over again to see her, and I chose the damn job every time.”

“Bullshit,” Luc said.

Anth glanced around and saw that the family had taken notice of his and Vincent’s discussion, and from the looks of things, they were all gearing up to take Vincent’s side.

“Vannah begged you to pay attention to her, but it wasn’t her
right
to do that. She didn’t own you. And it wasn’t your fault that she based her entire self-worth on whether or not her boyfriend texted her back within a certain amount of time.”

“And she wasn’t even your girlfriend when she died,” Elena added gently. “You guys had been broken up for months.”

Anthony’s jaw clenched.

Two
months. He’d officially ended things with Vannah two months before she’d swallowed a bottle full of sleeping pills.

Those two months were crucial, but not in the way his family seemed to think.

The way Anthony saw it, that time when they’d stopped seeing each other—his choice—were two months more that he might have helped her. Two months where he might have had the chance to see the warning signs. Two months he could have been there for her.

Technically
, Vannah had been an ex-girlfriend when she died.

But that technicality meant bull-fucking-
shit
when you were named in the suicide note.

As the cause.