Читать книгу Nyc Angels: Flirting With Danger - Tina Beckett - Страница 9

CHLOE PERCHED ON the edge of an overstuffed leather couch and took another sip of her whiskey—her second glass—wincing as it hit the sore spot on her lip.

Sitting on the matching ottoman across from her, Brad’s eyes glittered with the same dangerous undertones they’d held fifteen minutes ago in the hallway when he’d gently touched the corner of her mouth and asked, “Where is the bastard?”

It had taken her a moment to realize he thought Travis had hit her.

He had. Just not with his fists.

There was no way she could explain the bitter humiliation that clogged her throat, that made her want to crawl away and hide from the world. Not to a man like Brad, who’d gone through girlfriends in droves back in high school. Girls who had been drawn to the same rough-edged smile she’d once been, only hers had been a childish infatuation that had eventually faded away, like a temporary tattoo.

Until the night of her wedding. When a single touch had brought it all roaring back. She’d been mortified at her reaction. Terrified that he’d see the truth in her eyes. Travis had rescued her just in time.

Rescued. That was one way to put it. Especially since her Prince Charming had turned out to be the villain of the story.

She continued to sip her drink, welcoming the fiery warmth that bloomed in her stomach.

“Let me take your coat, at least.” Brad’s low voice broke through her inner turmoil.

“No!” Her hand went to the tie, fiddling with it. “I—I’m still cold.”

What was she going to do? If she stayed the night, he was going to figure out she didn’t have much on under the coat. She could crash on Brad’s couch, huddled under a blanket—but the image of herself in the hotel bedroom doing much the same thing caused something between a laugh and a cry to exit her throat.

“Okay.” He sat straight up, elbows coming off his knees. “Ready to tell me what happened?”

Her glance flickered to Brad’s onyx-tiled fireplace. “I already explained. My hotel was overbooked. There were … people staying in the room.”

And she could only imagine what those “people” were now doing.

Unless Travis had already passed out, as he tended to do on the nights he’d had too much to drink. Her wedding night had been a disaster. As had the nights that had followed. When her girlfriends had giggled about how many times in a row they’d done you-know-what on their honeymoons, she’d laughed right along with them, all the while wondering if there really was something wrong with her.

Travis’s frustration had grown as her response to him had become more and more mechanical—as she’d forced herself to participate. As a result, he’d started working longer hours. To save for their future, he’d said. She’d had no idea her parents had been one of his biggest clients until she’d found some paperwork on his desk—along with some hefty fees they’d paid Travis for managing their investment accounts.

Despite the warning signs, she’d never suspected anything was off until she came home sick from her night shift at the hospital to hear terrible shrieking noises coming from the bedroom. She’d raced back to find him naked—flat on his back—another woman straddling his hips. He’d pleaded for forgiveness, promised it was a mistake, said it would never happen again.

Stay? Or leave?

She’d decided to fight for her marriage. For eight long months. Tonight had been the pièce de résistance in her campaign to rekindle the spark he’d once felt toward her. She’d seduce him.

Only Travis hadn’t needed seducing.

He just needed someone other than her.

Her eyes closed, and she took a longer pull on her drink. So much for her two weeks’ worth of vacation.

“Hey.” The murmured word dragged her back to the surface, even though she just wanted to keep sinking into the mire, never to resurface. “Do you want me to call Jason?”

Her lids parted, and she struggled to focus on the handsome face across from her. “Please don’t. He’ll just worry.”

“He should worry.” He nodded toward her feet. “Where are your shoes, Chloe?”

She gnawed the inside of her cheek. Why hadn’t she come up with a plausible explanation for that?

Because there wasn’t one. Other than the truth, which she wasn’t ready to voice.

Why had she ever thought she could “vamp” anyone? Especially her husband, whose rough-and-tumble approach to lovemaking did nothing but leave her feeling sore and inadequate. She was pretty sure the woman in her bed hadn’t been crying out in pain, so the problem wasn’t with her husband, evidently.

Frigid. The word echoed in her head, the mean nastiness of it making the hair rise on the nape of her neck.

She lifted the glass and found it empty. Held it out.

“I don’t think …” Brad began.

Only to stop when she whispered, “Please.”

Getting up, he went over to the bar, retrieved a cut-glass decanter of amber liquid and poured some in her glass, the lug-lug from the bottle strangely satisfying.

She noticed he didn’t refill his own tumbler, just took up his post again and watched her. Her shoulder hitched in an awkward shrug. “If you were in the middle of doing something, don’t let me stop you.”

She giggled as she said the last word, and her eyes widened. “Sorry. It’s been a while.” And she’d never been much of a drinker. It was amazing how it dulled the pain, though.

Something she could get used to.

He ignored her comment and said, “Shoes?”

Oh, that’s right. He wanted to know what she’d done with her stupid shoes.

“I left them behind, along with all my other little shackles.” That rock in her ring hadn’t been so little. But then again, her daddy’s investment money had probably paid for it, too. Something about that thought made her laugh again.

Brad’s hand covered hers, his fingers as warm as fire. Just like the alcohol sloshing around inside her. But when she tried to lift the glass to her lips, it wouldn’t move. Because Brad was physically holding her arm in place.

“Hey.” She tried to tug free of his grip.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

“Oh, no. Not nearly enough.” Her head felt like some kind of weird flower that when deprived of drink began to wilt … wilt … wilt … until someone watered it again. She snapped it back upright when her forehead touched Brad’s muscular arm and tried to burrow into it, a strange lethargy taking hold of her.

Gentle fingers prised hers loose from the glass and set the drink on the wooden floor beside the ottoman. Just as she started to wilt again she felt arms at her back, beneath her knees, and she levitated just like she’d seen in those horror movies when a demon possessed someone’s body. But when she tried to hold her arms out to float higher, she found them trapped against her sides.

And while this demon growled in a low, deep voice just like the ones in the films, the tone didn’t sound angry. Instead, the soft words circled the air above her face. She pulled them into her lungs, knowing somehow this being was powerful enough to keep all the other demons at bay. Including Travis. Her breath exited again on a sigh, along with the will to do anything but snuggle close and slip away into oblivion.

Brad pushed open the door to his bedroom, thankful he and Katrina had not spent time on the king-sized mattress like he’d planned. Instead, he set Chloe on top of the brown silk coverlet, not quite sure what to do with her. The guest bedroom hadn’t been used in ages and he didn’t think the bed even had a sheet on under the tan striped spread.

He gazed down at her, something inside him softening as memories from their childhood washed over him. The three of them bobbing in the pool in Jason’s parents’ backyard, tossing a young Chloe high into the air and hearing her happy scream as she hit the water and sank—then spluttered back to the surface ready for more.

How embarrassed he’d been when his friend’s folks had to come to the police station to pick him up when, at eighteen years of age and fed up with life, he’d careened around a dangerous curve on his motorcycle, intent on putting an end to his pain, only to have the damn bike slide out from under him on the unpaved road before he’d hit full speed. When he’d opened his eyes—still very much alive—all he’d been able to think of was that his parents had been right about him: he screwed up everything.

Chloe’s parents had dragged him home with them that night. He could still see the wide-eyed stare Chloe had given him when he’d walked through the front door, road rash burning up one of his cheeks and the side of his right arm. The way she’d covered her mouth with both hands in horror.

That look had convinced him that checking out really would hurt someone—even if his parents had sniffed in disgust and simply sent his chopper off to the nearest repair shop without a word. They’d tended to show their displeasure in an entirely different way—a locked door was a powerful weapon.

Yes, he and Chloe Jenkins had been through a lot together.

But never in his wildest dreams had he pictured her in his bed. Well, maybe he had. But he’d damned himself from here to eternity for wanting to peel off her wedding dress and have her innocence all to himself.

Shaking off the thought, he started to pull one corner of the bedspread around her, but her coat was still wet. He really didn’t want her to sleep in it—especially as she’d begun shaking the second she’d entered the apartment, despite the fact that late spring in New York tended toward warm and humid. Her continued shivering was the only reason he’d handed her the glass of whiskey in the first place.

He couldn’t do anything about her damp hair—the loose strands a charming melding of blond and red—but he could slip her coat off and at least let her sleep in dry clothes.

His fingers went to the knot at her waist, and he frowned at how tightly she’d cinched the thing. If he’d had any doubts about leaving her in it, that quashed them. He worked at the tie until one loop loosened then slid free. Taking a deep breath, he parted the edges of the coat. The air whistled right back out of his lungs at the sight that met his tired eyes.

Holy hell.

A black negligee—opaque lace on top with a floaty skirt made of some kind of see-through fabric—was all she had on … well, other than the tiniest pair of panties known to mankind. Panties that were clearly visible. Clearly sheer.

He swallowed hard, torn between the desire to devour her with his eyes and wrap the coat tightly back around her. His body was having a tough time knowing which of his mixed signals to obey, although he might as well finish what he’d started and take the coat the rest of the way off, so she could at least sleep in comfort.

Unlike him, who’d probably have this image seared onto the backs of his eyelids for the rest of his life.

He slid the coat off her, turning her body to the side as he pulled it out from under her. What in God’s name had Chloe been thinking, walking around downtown New York like this?

She was the cautious one. The one who’d balked at riding on the back of his motorcycle, even after he’d tamed some of his wilder urges.

And yet here she was. In his apartment, like a sexy flasher from one of those secretary fantasies. She sure as hell hadn’t come here to seduce him with the get-up.

Then who?

He remembered the smeared mascara. The haunted look in her eyes.

It suddenly became clear in a rush. Jason’s random comments about his brother-in-law took on new meaning. How he’d said Chloe never complained but Jason was convinced something was wrong with their marriage and had been for a long time. Travis always seemed to be off somewhere or other on business, leaving Chloe at home alone.

Brad pulled the covers over her, hiding her from his own prying eyes—something that he was now thoroughly ashamed of.

He could almost bet Travis was in a hotel room somewhere in New York. And that Chloe’s shoes were there as well. He could easily guess why she’d come to town and what she must have found once she’d arrived. His fingers tightened around the coat in his hands until his knuckles ached as he stared down at her long lashes, the dark circles under her eyes … the slight swelling on her lip.

Damn that man. He’d hurt Chloe.

If it was the last thing Brad did, he was going to make Travis Maroni pay for his sins.