Taste Me (14 page)

“Yeah, you look a little shaky to me, but you’re nowhere near ready to journey beyond The Pale.” She nodded firmly, confident of her diagnosis. “What happened to your head, dear heart?”

His throat slammed shut at the endearment. “I…” Stephen swallowed heavily. How was he supposed to answer this majestic woman’s question? “I threw myself against a table”? “I killed a woman while we were having sex, and I’m afraid I’ll do it again”? Instead of answering, he simply dropped his head, rubbing his aching sternum with his knuckles.

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

“No. It’s not,” he replied before he could stop himself.

She extended her wasted hand. He took it, clasped it in both of his. Somehow, he knew he could tell her anything, and she wouldn’t be shocked.

He was actually opening his mouth to do so when a curvy blond nurse wearing bright purple scrubs poked her head in the room. “There you are, Stephen,” she chirped as she came into the room. “I see you’ve met Madame Bouchet. She’s one of our star patients.”

Madame Bouchet eyed her balefully. “That statement makes absolutely no sense. I’m dying, girl, and we all know it.” To Stephen, she added, “Don’t get old. People talk to you like you don’t have a brain in your head.”

“Sorry, Madame,” the nurse said cheerfully as she straightened the riotously colored quilt. “Stephen’s been on his feet a long time today, and he really needs to get back to bed.”

Stephen looked down at their still-joined hands. He didn’t want to let go. When he finally released her, the oddest sense of loss fluttered through him.

“You come back and see me anytime, boy, you hear?” Madame Bouchet said softly.

Stephen nodded, smiled, then allowed the nurse to steady him as they left Madame’s room. Together they walked the short distance down the hall to his own.

“You’re really shaky,” Peggy said as they entered his room. “I’m not sure you should be pushing yourself so hard this soon after…”

The attack? After the assault
? Funny how even here in the hospital, people were reluctant to state out loud what had happened to him—or what they thought had happened to him. Did other crime victims feel so invisible?

Peggy was a spring bouquet of scents. Her scrubs smelled like those fabric softener sheets people used in the dryer, and he caught a whiff of apple shampoo and baby powder as she helped him climb onto the freshly made bed. She murmured a soft apology as she peeled back the gauze dressing covering his wound. He’d done a bang-up job of gouging the corner of a fricking table into his skull—too good a job, really. Though the pain was getting better by the day, most days his head throbbed like a bitch.

Even though the nurse busied herself tearing strips of adhesive tape off a roll, she couldn’t disguise the bump of lust she felt. Regardless, he had to give this one top points for professionalism. She didn’t brush her breasts against him, touch him inappropriately, or even let her expression change, which was more than he could say for the nurse he’d caught threading her fingers through his hair as he’d awakened one night.

“I see the guards are giving you a little more space,” Peggy said as she smoothed the tape onto the fresh gauze. “If you’d been here any other time, you’d have the VIP suite upstairs, but someone’s already using it.” The nurse shook her head slowly and bit her lower lip as she took his pulse. “First Andi Woolf is attacked and nearly killed. Then, the attack on you and Annika Fontaine. I don’t feel safe walking outside my own house right now, much less going to a club.”

Was Andi Woolf upstairs?
The beast clattered to its haunches.

Peggy tut-tutted. “Okay, first you were cold, and now you’re flushed again. Your pulse is fast. No more walks today. Into bed with you.” The nurse was all business as she bundled him under his covers and looked at her practical, white-banded watch. “You’re overdue for pain meds. Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

Please. Hurry.

Overhead, Andi Woolf’s room burned in his imagination, like a glow stick at a rave.

Sasha stubbed her toe on Jack’s boat-sized shoe, nearly dropping the flower arrangement she carried from the foyer to the apartment. Though the cordovan loafers sat in a perfectly reasonable place—on the rug beside the door, right beside her own Doc Marten boots—she kicked them anyway.

Stalking to Scarlett’s bedroom door, Sasha took several deep breaths to get her temper under control. Scarlett had to give her some help here, because she’d had it

Time for some tough love.

Scarlett had disappeared into the cocoon of her room as soon as they’d gotten home from Ireland, leaving her to deal with Lukas and Jack, who’d all but moved in with them. Five days of cardboard boxes, hardware, wires, and duct tape. Of duffel bags no doubt filled with jocks and stinky socks. Of big bodies and big-ass shoes that took up way too much room.

Testosterone bloomed like a roadkilled skunk.

Jack’s voice murmured from behind Annika’s closed bedroom door, and a moment of dissonance reached out and grabbed her by the throat. It wasn’t Jack’s fault that Lukas had arrived first and taken the guest room, leaving Jack to choose either Annika’s room or the couch. But each day he stayed, more of Annika disappeared.

Annika, Jack’s finally in your bed. What do you think?

Sasha shook off the thought. Jack had pulled daytime bodyguard duty, grumbling that he had hours of con-calls to attend today. It was a perfect time to make a break for it—and come hell or high water, Scarlett was coming with her.

Setting the freesia down on the hallway table, Sasha opened Scarlett’s bedroom door and closed it behind her. The bed was empty, littered with pages of newspaper, and Scarlett’s sad voice wafted from the bathroom. The breakfast tray she’d delivered earlier still sat on the bedside table. The cold cereal hadn’t been touched, but the lid was off the thermal coffee carafe.

If Scarlett was drinking coffee again, things were looking up.

Sasha wasn’t going to make this easy anymore. After today, if Scarlett wanted coffee, she’d have to get it herself.

The newspaper was open to that intrusive, gorgeous picture snapped at Annika’s funeral and zapped around the world in seconds. The paparazzo who’d taken it had hit the jackpot, capturing Claudette Fontaine, blowing a good-bye kiss to the daughter she’d just returned to the sea, secretive titan of industry Elliott Sebastiani holding her other hand, standing stoic at her side—and Scarlett, her mouth open in a cry as she’d thrown herself into Lukas’s arms. Sasha ran her finger over her brother’s tight jaw line. He cradled Scarlett gently, but his expression was as hard as the very cliffs they stood upon. If it was possible to kill with a look, the helicopter buzzing the site would have crashed into the water.

When Scarlett looked at the picture, what did she see?

With a sigh, Sasha went into the bathroom, where she found Scarlett reclined in a tub of bubbles, eyes closed, iPod perched on the tub’s ledge, her ever-present headphones clamped to her head.

So much for my dramatic entrance. She can’t hear a damn thing.

Sasha snapped the connection between Sigmund and the headphones. Scarlett’s eyes flew open. She lurched up, creating a mini-tsunami in the tub.

Sasha held Sigmund over the water with outstretched arms.

Tipping the headphones off, Scarlett half-stood. “What are you doing?”

Sasha danced away from the bathtub, shoving Sigmund in her back pocket. “The question is, what are you doing? Nothing,” she continued before Scarlett could respond. “Nothing. Enough is enough. I need some help here.”

As Scarlett sat back down in the tub, submerging herself in jasmine bubbles, Sasha inhaled a wisp of remorse.
Gotcha.
She ruthlessly pressed her advantage. “The phone is ringing off the hook. We’re swimming in sympathy cards. The foyer is so overrun with flowers that you can barely climb out of the elevator. Your band’s server crashed yesterday after Stephen posted a message thanking people for their concern. Why, yes! Stephen
did
get out of the hospital yesterday.” Her voice steadily rose. “The whole damn building is swarming with extra security, and two very large bodyguards are eating us out of house and home, because they are living… with… us!” Sasha snatched a violet bath sheet off the closed toilet seat and extended it to Scarlett, who lay wide-eyed in the tub. “You’ve been perfectly comfortable allowing me to manage your life for the last week, but I quit. You’re going to get out of this tub. You’re getting dressed, brushing your teeth—”

“I’ve been brushing my teeth,” Scarlett interrupted with a mutter.

“—brushing your hair,” Sasha continued through gritted teeth. “You are leaving this bedroom. Then, if we can manage a jailbreak—”

“What?”

“Our bodyguards don’t want us to leave the building until Annika’s killer is behind bars.”

Scarlett’s eyes filled.

Damn.
“Oh, baby, I miss her. I miss her so damn much. But…” Sasha swallowed as the tears stung. “I need my roommate back.”

Scarlett’s lips wobbled as she stood and got out of the tub, taking the towel from Sasha. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the might, thinking I hear her stumbling in late, just like she used to.”

“That’s Jack. He and Lukas haven’t gotten a lot of sleep since we got back from Ireland.”

Sasha wrapped her arms around Scarlett, ignoring the water dripping on her feet. “You need to call your mother.”

Scarlett drew in a quick breath. “Mom.”

“Dad’s been taking good care of her—and she understands you need some decompression time—but she’s worried.” Sasha stepped back, grasping Scarlett’s hand and tugging her back into the bedroom.

Scarlett sighed. “I’ve been a selfish bitch.”

“No, honey, you haven’t been. But Annika would want you to live your life, not stay in this limbo. So don’t even think about sitting down. Let’s find you some clothes.” Sasha delved into Scarlett’s lingerie drawer, throwing pink bikini underwear at Scarlett’s torso. A bra and a pair of white sweat socks quickly followed. “Come on, get dressed. Lukas is gone, and Jack just dialed into another meeting. We might be able to make a break for it.”

***

Lukas had moved in? Where was he sleeping? Scarlett’s face heated. His scent had permeated her sleep and saturated her dreams, but she thought it was just her imagination.

Sasha handed her a pair of faded boyfriend jeans, a soft white T-shirt, and a gray hoodie embroidered with pale pink and green skulls. “When you open the bedroom door, get ready for a new world order.”

The newspaper on the bed caught her eye. Despite the quicksand state of their relationship, at the moment the picture had been taken, some primal instinct had arisen. She’d thrown herself in Lukas’s arms, certain she’d find shelter there. And he’d delivered.

Certain events were indelibly burned into her memory: that horrible, tear-soaked Council meeting. The endless flight to Ireland. Annika’s funeral. Lukas pushing a snack and a cup of coffee into her hand as she’d zoned out on the couch in the den at Fontaine House, after all the guests left and only family remained. Lukas helping her navigate the rough, starlit path leading to the Fontaine family’s primitive henge the night that massive sheets of magnetic energy had lit up the sky. The aurora borealis itself had been beautiful, but the sight of the Sebastianis lifting their heads to the heavens, to something bigger than all of them, had given her inexplicable comfort.

It hadn’t taken long for her to pick Lukas’s pheromones out of the mix—and then comfort had been the last thing on her mind.

She joined Sasha in the bathroom, picked up her brush, and tried to do something with her hair. Sasha was bent over the bathtub, pulling the drain. Sigmund bulged in her back pocket. “Hey, Sash.”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for the kick in the ass.”

“Any time.”

Despite the joking tone, Scarlett knew Sasha spoke nothing less than the truth. “Can I have Sigmund back now?”

“No. I’m holding him hostage. We have an important mission to perform. Ready?”

She put the hairbrush down on the vanity. “As I’ll ever be.”

Sasha slowly opened Scarlett’s bedroom door, quickly ducking her head out and back again. At Sasha’s “come on” gesture, they tiptoed out of Scarlett’s room and past Annika’s, where Jack’s voice murmured behind the closed door.

“He’s going to be so pissed,” Sasha whispered.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

They reached the front door without alerting Jack. Sasha grabbed an oversized pair of black sunglasses from the credenza and popped them on Scarlett’s face. “Disguise complete.”

“Wait!” Scarlett hissed. “I don’t have my purse.”

“Never mind your purse. I’m buying.” Snagging her by the arm of her sweatshirt, Sasha pulled her into the foyer and quietly shut the door behind them.

Scarlett goggled at the condition of the foyer while Sasha pushed the elevator call button. It looked like a flower shop, and smelled like a rainforest. Envelopes overflowed the mail pan atop the table, and more cards were piled in a series of USPS boxes beneath the table and along the wall.

She hesitated. The last thing she should be doing today was—

“They’ll be here later. Today, tomorrow, and for weeks to come.”

Scarlett sighed. Sasha was right—again.

The elevator door whooshed open, and they stepped inside. “Where are we going?”

“What would Annika do?” Sasha replied, pressing the button that would bring them to the parking garage.

Their eyes met. They both knew perfectly well what Annika would do. “Shoe therapy,” they replied together, giggling as the elevator descended and they made their getaway.

***

From her seat on the cracked leather couch in front of Crackhouse Coffee’s picture window, Scarlett watched Sasha slither behind the counter and pour their coffee herself, bypassing a long line composed almost entirely of chattering women and their children. Scarlett didn’t recognize any of the workers behind the counter, but she’d spent enough time here at the coffee shop that the rhythms of the business came back quickly. With all the mothers and toddlers here, there must be an afternoon family event at the Target Center—“Count with Elmo” or “Ariel Skates In Endless Circles” or some such thing. Most of the kids sported chocolate milk moustaches.

She winced as a toddler’s squeal assaulted her eardrums. What had possessed them to come here, after the absolute disaster their trip to the Mall of America had turned into? Lukas had picked them up from the mall’s security office himself. The tightly controlled lecture he’d delivered as he’d driven them home had made her feel like a child in the principal’s office.

As the espresso machine hissed, Sasha wended her way back toward the couch, slowing to return people’s greetings but not quite stopping. She studiously ignored her brother, who glared at them from his own table near the door.

“Here.” Sasha handed over one of the two steaming mugs before joining Scarlett on the couch. They both took a fortifying sip of Crackhouse Blend. “Okay, okay. In retrospect, I can see how my idea might have been the teensiest bit shortsighted.”

“Yeah.”

At a beat-up table across the room, a very annoyed Lukas jabbed at the keys on his mini-comp. Scarlett had to admit that he had a right to be pissed. Their shopping trip had turned into a debacle. A stringer from the local newspaper had picked them up almost as soon as their car had left the parking ramp, and he’d followed them to the mall. After a pleasant hour shoe shopping—Sasha had scored a fabulous pair of riding boots on sale at Nordstrom, but they hadn’t had the same pair in Scarlett’s size—they’d been minding their own business when the guy had hollered “Scarlett!” so he could get a better shot.

A crowd swarmed, and the jig was up.

“That bank of gumball machines would never have tipped over if the autograph seekers hadn’t gotten so pushy-shovey,” Scarlett said as she sipped her coffee. The cleaning staff at MOA would be cleaning the damn things up for days.

Sasha nodded. “It’s all that idiot reporter’s fault.”

But her voice was laced with the slightest bit of guilt. As Lukas had so succinctly informed them when he’d showed up at the mall security office, luckily no one had fallen, slipped, or had otherwise gotten injured. Despite his chilly, controlled tone, Lukas’s words had been blistering. “Selfish.” “Shortsighted.” “Ill-advised.” Apparently their “childish antics” had pulled Lukas away from a meeting with Gideon, and Jack had interrupted his own meeting once he realized they’d left the apartment.

“Well, despite how it all ended, thank you for busting me out. You were right; a change of scenery was just what I needed.”

The scent of a freshly filled diaper wafted from the nearest table.

Scarlett and Sasha both dissolved in giggles. Lukas shot them a disgusted look, and then focused on his mini-comp again like it contained the secret of who killed Kennedy.

“When did the leaves change color?” Scarlett asked as she pulled a fleece blanket off the back of the couch and covered her legs with it. The trees embedded in the Nicollet Avenue promenade blazed yellow, orange, and fiery red. Despite the bright sunlight, the air was crisp as an apple. Minnesotans could no longer deny that fall had arrived, and winter would inevitably follow.

They sat quietly, sipping on their coffee. “There’s Jack,” Sasha complained. “I can barely turn around without crashing into that man.” She shot a dirty look at the guys’ table, where Jack had just taken a seat next to Lukas. “What are we going to do about this? We can’t get away from them. Even Flynn is in on this. He practically patted me on the head this morning when he told me that he’d check in the deliveries.”

“That cad.”

“You know what I mean. They don’t want us to leave? I feel like sending Jack to Target to buy a year’s supply of tampons, just on principle.”

Scarlett burst out laughing. “Let’s hold that idea in reserve.” Her gaze met Lukas’s, held for a moment, then he broke contact, focusing on his conversation with Jack.

“So, what’s going on between you and my brother?”