Читать книгу Want Me - Jo Leigh - Страница 10

DESPITE THE HORRIBLE DAY, as Shannon reached the entrance to Molly’s Pub, her pulse and breathing quickened. Nate was there already. He’d texted her ten minutes ago, which was a good thing, as she’d been so caught up in looking at the receivables she’d lost track of time.

He’d said not to worry, he was relaxing with a pint. She glanced at the window that announced with green lettering that this was Molly’s Shebeen before she opened the heavy wooden door.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and there was Nate, sitting three booths from the wood-burning fireplace that was fed and stoked all winter. She hung up her coat, then went toward him, her excitement mounting.

It would be fun to talk to him, was all. She wasn’t even thinking about how he’d looked in that towel this morning. Okay, she was thinking a little about that, but she wasn’t dwelling. That would be wrong. Foolish. The minute she started truly contemplating Nate as more than a friend, things got uncomfortable. He was family, and while it wasn’t technically inappropriate, it was close enough to make her squirm.

His grin, however, made her light up. “Finally. I’m starving to death.”

“Why didn’t you order something, then?” she asked as she slid into the seat across from him.

“Because I’m polite.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re only polite when you want something. Is Danny coming?”

“Nope.” Nate took a swallow from his half-empty Guinness. “It’s just you and me.”

She picked up the menu although she didn’t need to look at it. Molly’s was literally just down the street from her house, and she’d been coming here long before she’d been legal. Not that they’d let her sit with the customers. She’d been escorted to the back room, where she’d been fed and given cold milk with her dinner, and no matter how she’d explained that in Ireland even kids got to drink beer, she was denied the pleasure until she’d hit her twenty-first birthday. Or so she’d have her family believe.

“How was your day?” she asked, content to listen to Nate all evening.

“Interesting.” He pulled out the New York Times classified section where he’d circled a bunch of listings. “It’s never not going to be insanely expensive to live in this city.”

“You’re right,” she said as she noticed Ellen coming over with two beers on a tray.

“How are you, Shannon?”

“Good, thanks.”

Ellen put a perfectly chilled and poured Guinness in front of her, then gave Nate another. “You two want food?”

“God, yes,” Nate said. “Cheeseburger with blue for me.”

Shannon started to order her regular spinach salad, but said, “The same for me, please,” instead.

Nate’s brow rose first, then Ellen’s.

“I’ve had a bad day. I’m hungry. So you can both be quiet.”

Ellen left, and Nate leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What happened?”

“Don’t want to talk about it. Tell me what you’ve found in the paper.”

“Ah,” he said, frowning at the real-estate section. “Everyone told me this is the best time to buy, because everything’s going for rock-bottom prices. Rock bottom of what? I can’t find a decent two-bedroom town house with an on-site manager for less than a million and a half.”

“It’s still Manhattan,” she said. “People keep coming, and they keep paying.”

“Crazy is what it is.” He looked up at her with wide eyes, and even in the dim amber light, she could feel his interest. In the conversation, of course. “Your house has got to be worth many millions. You could sell that sucker and retire tomorrow, all of you. Move somewhere, pretty much anywhere but London or Paris, and live like kings for the rest of your life. And if you sold the plant, too?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen. The house has been with us for generations. We’re not about to let it go. Not the plant, either, dammit.”

His open mouth closed and his excited gaze turned to concern. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” he said. “I wasn’t serious.”

She drank some so she could get her equilibrium back. After she patted the foam off her upper lip, she smiled at him. “I know. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. As I said, bad day.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

Shannon blinked at him. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“You used to get cr—out of sorts when you waited too long to eat. When we were kids.”

“I admit, I did get cranky years ago, and all right, yes, I probably should have eaten more today. How did you even remember that?”

“Funny, huh, what sticks?” He tapped his temple. “Let’s just say I have a lot of blackmail material stored away up here.”

She feigned covering her mouth for a cough that didn’t do much to hide her saying, “Underoos.”

“Ouch,” he said. “Although, I seem to recall a My Little Pony phase that went on for an incredibly long time.”

“Those were adorable. And very appropriate for a child my age.”

“I wasn’t wearing Underoos to high school, you know.”

“No, I didn’t,” Ellen said, and Shannon and Nate looked over at the grinning waitress. She put their silverware down and patted Nate on the head. “It’s good to have you back for a visit,” she said, then wandered off.

“I never realized how much the sawdust dampens sound,” Nate said.

“I imagine everyone in the bar will be talking about your underwear in the next couple of days.”

“And people wonder why I stay overseas.”

Shannon reached for a napkin. She did wonder why he’d stayed away. And why he was so keen on selling Brenner & Gill. But she didn’t want serious tonight. She wanted to relax with her … friend.

NATE WANTED TO PUT HIS ARM around Shannon as they walked back to the house. It was close to midnight, stupidly cold, and he was so drawn to her it was a bad joke. Instead, he kept his hands in his pockets and tried to stop watching her long enough to prevent walking straight into a streetlight pole.

“I shouldn’t have had that last beer,” Shannon said.

“No, you probably shouldn’t have.”

She slowed her step and bumped his shoulder with hers. “You had more to drink than I did.”

“We weren’t talking about me. I should have stopped after my second Guinness. But come on. Guinness. At Molly’s Shebeen. How am I supposed to resist that, hmm?”

“You’re right,” she said. “You were perfectly justified. I, on the other hand, was reckless and foolish. I should be ashamed.”

“Well, hell. If you’re going to waste shame on something like having an extra beer, you should give up right now.”

Her laughter warmed him like a hot toddy. “What, you want me to rob a bank? Steal a car? Have an illicit affair?”

“Those are all legitimately shame-worthy, yes. Although I never said that shame had to come along with a prison sentence. You still need to have good judgment. So that leaves illicit affairs.”

“I don’t have anyone to be illicit with.”

“No?”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him close. There wasn’t enough beer in Molly’s to slow down his heart.

“You almost walked into that pole,” she said as she released him.

“Damn, I thought—”

“What?” she asked, and he shook his head. “You thought what?”

“Nope.”

She studied him for a second. “Coward.”

“Yep.”

She laughed. “I could get it out of you if I wanted.”

“Hey, go for it. I welcome the challenge.” Suppressing a smile, he kept walking. She hated a dare, and he doubted that had changed.

“You have some nerve bringing up good judgment,” she muttered. “I’d like to know where you got your measuring stick.”

He had a totally juvenile remark at the tip of his tongue, which only proved how deeply irresponsible he’d been about the beer. Though the pole—that had nothing to do with drinking and everything to do with the illicit-affair remark. “Experience has taught me not to sweat the small stuff.”

This time Shannon stopped completely. “You must be drunk if you’re throwing that old clunker at me. How do you know what the small stuff is? One extra drink could be devastating.”

“But you’re not driving or operating heavy machinery. You’re walking a block to your home, and you’re safely accompanied by a man who knows how to kick the crap out of anyone who might try anything untoward. Therefore, you having a third beer isn’t a big deal.”

“What do you mean you know how to kick the crap out of anyone?”

“I have skills.”

He couldn’t see her smile in the shadow between streetlights, but he would swear on his life he could feel it.

“Would those be mad skills?” she asked in the most smart-ass, taunting voice he could imagine.

“They would,” he said, realizing that with every word he was digging himself a deeper hole.

“Of the martial-arts variety?”

“And if I said yes?”

She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “You still have every single comic you ever bought, don’t you?” Poke. “You store them in airtight containers and don’t let other humans touch them.” Poke. “You don’t have to rent your costume for Halloween. Ever.”

He grabbed her poking hand and walked her toward a streetlight until he was sure they could see each other well. “I do have a hell of a comic collection, which is worth a great deal, by the way. I do store some of them in a temperature- and humidity-controlled storage facility because of their value. I do not have costumes in my wardrobe, however. But I’ve been known to go to comic conventions and I keep up with the industry. I like comics. I like graphic novels. And someday, if you agree not be bitchy about it, I would like to show you why.”

There was a moment of silence. Not just from Shannon, but from the street, from the city. A fleeting lull in the traffic, the subway vibrations, the chatter of pedestrians. He heard her inhale, sharp and startled, as if the last thing in the world she’d expected was his little speech.

He was surprised himself, so that seemed fair. He’d had no preparation, though, for how she was looking at him. As if he was someone unexpected. Someone interesting in a way he shouldn’t be.

Good. That’s what he’d wanted. And if he hadn’t had the extra beer, he’d lean over right this second and kiss her until she cried uncle. But he was tipsy enough to know that he was treading on thin ice, illustrated perfectly by his use of the word tipsy.

Both of them having inappropriate thoughts didn’t mean the thoughts were no longer inappropriate. He had one place he considered home in this world, and to risk that, he’d have to be sober as a judge and twice as sure.

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice a breathless whisper in the quiet. “A lot.”

“Yeah?”

Her nod was slow but it still made that gorgeous hair of hers move forward on her shoulder. He raised his hand, but the last vestiges of good sense stopped him from carrying out the gesture. He was going to be at the Fitzgeralds’ for several weeks. There would be time to figure things out. Time to see where the lines were drawn.

The last thing on earth he wanted was to be ashamed about anything to do with Shannon. So tonight, he’d walk her home and he’d sleep it off.

Tomorrow he might curse himself for letting this chance go by, but better safe than sorry when there was so much at stake.

Dammit, he was going to wake up to his second hangover in two days. The sooner he got back to his real life the better off he’d be. He looked again at Shannon as they reached the steps of the brownstone. Then again, as long as he had to be here, he might as well enjoy the visit.

SHANNON HADN’T SEEN NATE at breakfast, and she was almost late because she’d dawdled, hoping. Then she’d castigated herself the whole way to the plant. Last night hadn’t been a date. She wasn’t sure precisely what it had been, but not a date.

Despite the extra beer, she’d stayed up far too late. Her brain wouldn’t stop. Thoughts of his voice, his scent, how he looked in a suit were only the beginning. She imagined vividly his friendly touch on the small of her back sliding past her waist until his palm slowly brushed over the curve of her behind.

A smile, then as his gaze hit her lips, the heat of his breath, the brush of a tentative kiss.

An innocent look turned smoldering, unmistakable want.

By the time she’d entered her office, she knew her first order of business wasn’t going to be a call to the deputy commissioner in charge of Union Square Park. That and everything else on her list would wait while she turned her total attention to creating Nate’s trading card. Maybe then she could stop obsessing.

He was going to be staying at the house for several weeks at least, and wouldn’t it be nice and smart to hook him up with one of her friends from the lunch exchange? He’d be otherwise occupied while she pulled a new card or two for herself. The next lunch exchange meeting was coming up soon, and she had six new trading cards to prepare including Nate’s.