Had to Be You: Bad Boys of Red Hook Page 17

  “What’s the difference?” He slid out and rolled off her onto his side, pulling her to face him.

  She missed the connection. She missed Slater’s weight grounding her. She missed the way he held her beneath him, blanketing her with his warmth and caring. That alone scared the crap out of her. “The way I see it, the difference between sex and making love is sex is the act without the emotion.”

  He didn’t move, but she felt him pull away.

  “Slater.” She slid closer and tossed her leg over his, trying to cross the invisible divide that suddenly separated them. “Try to understand. Since Jackson’s accident I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster. I can’t trust my feelings right now—I just can’t.”

  Slater watched her and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He just stared, blank faced.

  “Look, it’s nothing personal. How can I be sure what’s going on between us isn’t just a reaction to a crisis or if it’s something more? The last thing I want to do is grab on to you for the wrong reasons. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. So right now, sex is all I can handle. Sex is all I can commit to.”

  He rested his head on his hand and looked at her. “Nothing personal? So this was just sex with no emotion?”

  “Right.” She felt a lot of things but she didn’t think she could trust those feelings. That was the whole point.

  “Do you really think you can pull that off?”

  “I’m going to try. You should too. It’ll be safer that way.”

  Slater brushed away the bangs over her eyes, as if he needed to see into her very soul, and part of her wondered if he could. “Every roller-coaster ride comes to an end, sweetheart. When it does, we’ll both have to deal with the fallout.”

  “I know.” And for some reason, she didn’t think it was going to be an easy thing to do. “We can’t afford to read more into this affair, sexcapade, or whatever it is than what it actually is—temporary. Slater, you said yourself that you’re leaving for Bahrain in a month. I need to make sure my brother is healed and then I’ll go home.” And try to salvage the life she’d built for herself in Red Hook.

  He gently slid her leg off his hip. “We need to get to the hospital. You can call this making love, sex, or whatever you like.” A smile teased his lips but didn’t reach his eyes. Slater pulled on his jeans. “I’m going to get breakfast going. Since Grace left dinner for us last night, I think the least I could do is fix breakfast for everyone.”

  “I can come down and help.”

  He held out his hand to stop her and looked as if he couldn’t get out of the bedroom fast enough. “No, I’ll take care of it. You get yourself ready to go.”

  “Slater, we need to talk about this—”

  “Hey, we talked. I heard every word you said. Are you trying to get out of eating again?”

  “No, I’m just wondering what lit a fire under your ass, that’s all.”

  “No fire, I’m just hungry.” He shrugged on his oxford and walked out, leaving her feeling oddly bereft.

  Something was going on with him, and she didn’t think it was the making love versus sex thing; maybe it was whatever freaked him out so badly at the hospital and the nightmare. Whatever it was, she got the impression that although he might want to get away from her, she shouldn’t give him the opportunity. She got up, pulled on his T-shirt, and slipped down the back stairs.

  • • •

  Slater had had a lot of sex before, but sex had never been like what he’d just experienced with Rocki—not even with Dominique. Not even close. He’d never felt more in tune with anyone, more connected, more everything.

  Shit, he rubbed his chest and felt the scar Rocki had kissed. It was as if she’d opened something within him and he was flying at light-speed, being bombarded from all sides with emotion, feelings, needs, and fears so intense, it scared the hell out of him—but not enough to stop.

  He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Maybe this was just the aftereffect of outrageously great sex.

  He headed down the steps. Maybe Rocki was right about the difference between making love and sex. But then, could anyone really control his or her emotions? He could compartmentalize—that he was good at. He should be thanking his lucky stars that Rocki wasn’t the demanding, clingy type.

  So, okay, the whole “nothing personal” thing made his ass twitch, but it wasn’t as if people didn’t say that all the time. Maybe the conversation with Rocki reminded him a little too much of his last conversation with Dominique—but she’d lied to him, used him. Dominique had made it clear she thought he was great for a roll in the hay but wasn’t good enough for anything more. Rocki didn’t. That wasn’t what Rocki had said. But no matter how many times he told himself this was different, there was that little voice in his head wondering if that hadn’t been exactly what Rocki had meant.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket and he answered, almost thankful for the interruption. “Hello?”

  “Any news to report, son?”

  “Hi, Pop. How are you and Nicki doing?”

  “We’re fine. Storm has the restaurant covered, and Bree’s found my stash of stogies so I’m left looking for a new hiding place. Nicki’s working on all of us to buy her a bike for Christmas. It’s all good—except for the stogies. How’s Jackson?”

  “No news yet. Yesterday the doctors were weaning him off the meds they had him on to keep him in a coma, but he didn’t come out of it as quickly as they had expected. Rocki was worrying herself sick last night so I brought her back to the house to try to get her to eat.” And screw her senseless, but Pop didn’t need to know that.

  “I’m glad you’re taking good care of her.” If Pop only knew exactly how he was taking care of her, Pop might not be so thrilled. “She needs you there.”

  Slater laughed. “Come on, Pop, cut the bullshit. I had an interesting discussion with Teddy yesterday morning, and I know for a fact that the two of you know each other well. You knew all along that Grace and Teddy were here and could take care of Rocki. She doesn’t need me for squat.”

  “Slater—”

  “I’m not complaining, but I would like to know what the hell you’re up to.” He didn’t like the feeling that his dad was playing him. And he didn’t want Pop to think he wasn’t on to his schemes. He might not know what Pop’s grand plan was, but he knew enough to know Pop had one. The old man was definitely up to something.

  “I just thought that Grace and Teddy would have their hands full looking after Jackson. He and Rocki are like their own kids. With you taking care of Rocki and staying at the house with her, it gives Grace and Teddy leave to stay at their own place and not feel as if they have to move back into the main house for the duration. Old folks like us aren’t good at sleeping in strange beds. Besides, I thought you could use the time to wrap your head around the changes in your own life and get some perspective on a few things.”

  “What do you mean? Grace and Teddy don’t live here?”

  “Damn, son, are you blind?”

  Apparently he was.

  “Grace and Teddy have a house on the property and take care of the place.”

  “They’re caretakers?” He stepped into the kitchen and noticed that Grace and Teddy had returned the coats he and Rocki had forgotten at the hospital last night, and left a note saying they’d be at their home if he or Rocki needed them, along with a phone number—for his benefit he was sure.

  “How the hell was I supposed to know? Rocki and I went to bed before Grace and Teddy that first night. I just assumed they lived here. They were cooking breakfast by the time I came down yesterday morning.” All the hair on his neck stood on end. He turned and caught Rocki standing in the back hallway. He looked her straight in the eye. “Whose house is this anyway?”

  Pop had no way of knowing Slater hadn’t asked him the question. The old man clear
ed his throat. “It’s Rocki and Jackson’s home. I thought you knew that.”

  Fuck, this place was Rocki and Jackson’s? They owned a freakin’ estate? If she owned an estate, what the hell was she doing living in a second-floor walk-up in Chinatown?

  Slater sat hard on the chair and scrubbed his hand over his face. God, the scent of Rocki was all over him. He looked up and watched a very guilty-looking Rocki approach him. “Look, Pop. I have to take off.”

  “Okay, son, you take good care of my girl and keep us informed about Jackson’s condition.”

  “Will do. I’ll call you just as soon as we hear anything. Bye, Pop.” He ended the call and tossed his phone on the table, let the wave of anger roll over him, and blew out a breath. “I thought you were getting dressed.”

  Rocki stood there looking too damn good in his shirt. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. “I can explain.”

  “No need, I get it.” He rose, grabbed a few pieces of newspaper, crumpled them, and tossed them in the fireplace. “I’m a chauffeur with benefits. It’s not a hard concept to grasp. It’s cold in here. Go get dressed while I build a fire.”

  “Slater—”

  “Rocki,” He didn’t turn to look at her. He just picked up a couple of logs and tossed them on the grate. “Do us both a favor and just let it be.”

  “No, dammit. Let me explain.”

  “Explain what exactly? A: Why you’ve lied to me ever since the day we met? Or B: Why you’ve spent three years lying to everyone in Red Hook—everyone you claim to care about? Or C: That I’m a good lay, and fun, but I’m not pedigreed enough for a woman like you. But then there’s always D: All of the above.”

  “I didn’t lie and I don’t know what you’re talking about with the whole pedigree thing.”

  “Not lying and telling the truth are two different things, sweetheart. Now, go get dressed.”

  “I’m not finished.”

  He lit a match and tossed it on the paper, watching it go up in flames, the fire licking the dry wood. “You may not be, but I am.” He wished he could go upstairs, grab his stuff, and get the fuck out of Versailles, but he was stuck there. He grasped the mantel with both hands and stared into the flames. He didn’t trust himself to look at her.

  “Slater.” She slid in behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her head against his back. “I never lied to you. I just . . . look, money changes everything.”

  “So Cyndi Lauper said. Are you going to start singing again?”

  “No, just listen to me. As soon as people find out about the money, things get weird.”

  “So you pretend you’re what? Normal?”

  “I am normal.”

  He let out a laugh. It was one thing to slum it for a while, but she’d never know what it felt like to wonder where your next meal was coming from. But maybe that wasn’t normal either. Hell, he was so far from normal himself, who was he to judge?

  “As soon as I graduated from college I was free to be whoever I wanted to be. I didn’t have to answer to my uncles anymore. I’ve been making it on my own ever since. I work for my money, I live on what I make, and I’m happy for the first time in my life. Don’t you see? If everyone knew about my trust fund, they’d treat me differently. I should know. I’ve dealt with this all my life.”

  He turned and stepped away. She was too close and if he didn’t get some space, he’d do something stupid. Because when it came to Rocki, he was a stupid shit. He didn’t need her and he didn’t need to be played. Again.

  “I never lied. I just didn’t tell anyone my net worth. It’s no one’s business but my own.”

  Looking at her was a bad mistake—Rocki’s blue eyes drilled a hole in him and damned if he didn’t feel himself faltering.

  “I never fit in with the girls at the French boarding school my uncles stashed me in. I mean, do I look like someone who would fit in with the debutantes?”

  He wanted to groan when she did that whole blinking-back-tears thing. He had to cross his arms to keep from reaching for her.

  “No matter how hard I tried, I didn’t fit in with anyone. I’d just lost my parents, my brother was in another country, Grace and Teddy were here, and I was alone. I was alone for nine years. I was alone until I moved to New York, started my band, and got the gig working for Pete and Bree. That’s when everything changed. For the first time in my life I had friends who liked me simply because I’m me. I don’t want to lose that.”

  A tear slid down her face and he stopped himself from brushing it away. He was about to fold like an old accordion. “Poor little rich girl.”

  “Fuck you, Slater.” He expected her to cry and run away; he hadn’t expected her to go ballistic. And that was what she looked as if she was about to do. He couldn’t decide if the fire shooting out of Rocki’s eyes was the real thing or a reflection. He was so busy staring, he was completely unprepared when she hauled off and slugged him. Hard.

  She knocked the wind out of him. The pain radiating through his gut took his mind off the pain hitting him from all other directions. He had to give the girl credit; she threw a hell of a punch. He didn’t fight his urge to smile, knowing it would piss her off more. A pissed-off Rocki he could handle, a crying Rocki did weird things to his insides. “Been there, done that—several times, and look at this”—he grabbed her and pulled her close—“you even got the T-shirt.”

  She raised her hand to slug him again.

  He’d had enough. He caught it before she connected with his face and brought it behind her back, which only served to plaster her to his chest. Bad, bad mistake. “Apparently fucking is all I’m good for. That and chauffeur duty. But hey, if that’s what you’re after, what the hell, I’m game.”

  “You son of a—”

  The second his mouth came down on hers, he was sucked into a tornado of emotions so strong and powerful, it nearly brought him to his knees.

  Bad, bad, bad mistake.

  CHAPTER 13

  Slater might have been kissing Rocki, but the kiss was unlike any kiss she’d ever received—it was hard, brutal, raging, and raw.

  She tasted anger, pain, confusion—all of which she’d caused.

  She’d known deep in her bones that once Slater realized who she was, what she was, everything would change. It always did.

  She hadn’t expected it would be this ugly.

  She hadn’t expected to feel so much pain; she’d wanted to hurt him back.

  She hadn’t expected the fear when he pulled away.

  She’d known he’d be angry, but she hadn’t expected him to take a sledgehammer to the walls she’d erected and decimate them.

  She couldn’t think; she couldn’t breathe. All she could do was hold on to Slater for fear of being sucked into the maelstrom of emotion swirling around them, through him and into her.

  She tried to process what had just happened.

  She’d hit Slater.

  She’d never hit anyone—okay, she might have popped Jackson once or twice, but she’d never hit anyone with the intention to hurt him. Until today.

  How could she do that?

  And how could he laugh at her and then kiss her as if kissing her was necessary for life?

  Weirder yet was, how could she kiss him back?

  She heard a door open, and a cold breeze brushed her legs. Then she heard the stomping of boots. Oh, God. Grace and Teddy were here.

  “Racquel?” Grace called out from the mudroom.

  Rocki pulled Slater’s T-shirt over her bare ass, dragged in a breath, and ran for the back stairs.

  Slater cleared his throat. “No, it’s just me. Rocki’s still upstairs.”

  She flew to her room and stood there not knowing what the hell to do. She should get in the shower. She should get dressed and get back to the hospital. But all she wanted to do was curl up
in a ball and cry. She wanted to erase the last hour of her life. She wanted to be back in Slater’s arms, making love, and staring into his eyes.

  There was a knock on the door, and as if her thoughts had called to him, Slater stuck his head in.

  She took a step toward him but the look on his face made her freeze midstep.

  He stared through her—his eyes hard, cold, and empty. “Jackson’s out of his coma. We need to get to the hospital. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

  She hugged herself to keep from reaching out to him, to keep from shaking, to keep from falling apart.

  “Did you hear me?”

  She couldn’t speak. She brushed away tears that fell unbidden and nodded.

  He shut the door quietly, politely, and so resoundingly that the echo of emptiness slammed through her brain like a cymbal. Slater had never been quiet and polite; he’d been hard, demanding, aggressive, honest, and real.

  She took a deep breath—she couldn’t think of Slater now. Jackson needed her. She trudged to the bathroom and showered, letting the water wash her tears down the drain, and wished she was as good as Slater at shutting people out.

  • • •

  Slater was dressed and ready to go long before Rocki came down. He drank a cup of coffee that Grace had prepared, and tried to figure out how soon he could get the hell out of there. He needed to get home and sort out his life. He needed to look over that contract from Bahrain.

  Still, in order to do the right thing and get past his father’s questions, he had to find out Jackson’s long-term prognosis. As soon as he heard Rocki’s brother was on the mend, he’d be out of there so fast, he’d leave skid marks. It was nothing personal, but he didn’t have time to be Rocki’s bed buddy when he had a life of his own to piece back together.

  Slater leaned against the counter, too antsy to sit, and watched Grace and Teddy work in tandem in the kitchen as if it had been choreographed.

  Grace refilled his coffee. “I’m making Racquel a breakfast sandwich to eat on the way to the hospital. Are you sure I can’t fix something for you?”