Romeo, Romeo Read online

  “Vin, you are as bad as Nana. Next, you'll be saying I should get married and bring you bambinos to rock to sleep.”

  “It'd be nice to have a baby around. I love kids, you know that.”

  “You're scaring me, Vin. Do yourself a favor and get rid of the bottle. Go to a meeting.” Nick backed out of the office, afraid Vin would throw something at him.

  “Ha, ha, very funny. You are so fucked, my friend.”

  “Whatever. Put the bill on my tab. I'm out of here.”

  Vinny's off-key rendition of the wedding march followed Nick down the hall toward the kitchen.

  On his way out, Nick stopped by the wine cellar and grabbed a nice bottle he was sure Vin would curse him out about later. Served Vinny right for giving him shit about Rosalie.

  Nick drove back to the apartment, discounting everything Vinny had said. Hadn't Nick sworn off marriage? He'd told Vin a million times that he was putting an end to the Romeo line. Hell, he'd even made Vin and Mona the beneficiaries of his estate, and their kids after them. He had no intention of repeating Romeo history.

  Sure, Nick liked Rosalie more than all the others put together. That was true, but only because she was different. They were a pair, neither of them wanting to turn into their parents. Not that Nick remembered his father, but he'd heard enough about the bastard to know he'd become a carbon copy… only he warned the girls not to fall for him, and he took off before he married them. Oh, yeah, and he used birth control.

  When Nick got to the apartment, he struggled with the four freakin' locks on the damn door while juggling the bags containing dinner. He heard the phone ringing. Thinking it might be Rosalie, he pushed the door open and hurried in.

  The machine picked up “Hey, little sis, I thought you'd be home by now. How ya doing, kiddo? Ma said something about a boyfriend? He better be treating you right, but Lord knows, he can't be any worse than that jackass Joey. Ma hates the new guy, which is a good sign. I'll be down the middle of next week for spring break. Can I use your car again? I have to go to Jersey to see the Delgatos. You remember Tom, right? Anyway, if I don't hear from you, I'll call when I get in. Love you, Ro. 'Bye.”

  Nick dropped the bags on the table. Christ, Rich was coming home. It felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. He sank into a chair, trying to breathe and control his urge to pound something. He wasn't ready. Goddamnit!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rosalie got off the train at the same stop where Nick had dropped her off that morning, and Nick was nowhere to be found. Great. She'd called him like he'd told her to. Maybe he hadn't gotten the message. It wouldn't be the first time. Thinking she'd never survive a long walk in heels that were already killing her, she caught a cab home.

  When the cab pulled up to the brownstone, the apartment was dark. Dave nudged the curtains open. His reflective leash hung from his collar. Rosalie's heart stopped. Something was wrong. She threw a twenty at the cabbie and ran up the steps, cursing the time it took to get through the security door. The door to the apartment stood open. Nick never left the door open. She took a deep breath and barreled inside.

  “Nick?”

  The place was completely dark. He sat at the table, wearing his jacket, his head in his hands. His elbows rested on his knees. Dave circled his chair and whined.

  “God, Nick. What's the matter? What happened?”

  He looked up, startled. “Lee. I thought you were going to call.”

  “I did. Are you okay? Why are you sitting here in the dark? Did something happen?”

  Nick stood, his movements jerky and arthritic. He moved like an old man did after sitting for too long.

  He waved his hand toward the bags on the table. “I got dinner. What time is it?”

  “Nick, what's wrong with you?” “Nothing.”

  His eyes changed. They went blank. She'd never seen him look at her like that. She stepped back, feeling as if she'd been slapped.

  “Fine.” She threw her briefcase down and cursed silently. So he'd reinstated the “don't ask, don't tell” policy. As if her day hadn't been bad enough, she had to come home to this.

  Rosalie went into the bedroom, shut the door, and sat on the bed trying hard not to cry. She was mad, that's all. He'd told her to call him. She had, and he'd left her standing on a street corner in the dark. Then he'd dismissed her when she wanted to know what the hell was wrong with him. She had every right to be pissed. God, she hoped this didn't have something to do with Premier.

  Rosalie took a deep breath that sounded suspiciously like one taken between sobs. She'd be damned if she'd let him hurt her. Well, no more.

  She changed out of her suit and threw it on the treadmill just to piss him off. Dressed in her ugliest nightshirt and ratty sweats, she checked her face in the mirror and practiced her I-could-give-a-shit look before leaving the bedroom.

  The table was set, the plates filled, and the wine poured. Nick shrugged. “I thought you'd be hungry.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  He held the chair for her, and she sat, wondering what the hell was going on, but unable to ask.

  “There's cannoli for dessert.” “Oh.”

  Rosalie ate but didn't taste anything. Conversation was nonexistent. After they did the dishes in silence, she did work she didn't need to do while Nick watched TV in the bedroom. Dave went from room to room, looking as confused as she felt.

  Nick took Dave for a walk at about eleven. When they returned, he stood beside Rosalie.

  She looked up and met his shuttered eyes. “What?”

  “Are you coming to bed?”

  “No.” She shuffled through her paperwork. “I've got work to finish before tomorrow.”

  He watched her for a minute, as if he wanted to say something, but turned away and walked quietly into the bedroom. After a few minutes, she saw the light go off. The silence was deafening.

  Nick peered over the edge of a freshly dug grave. He pulled the collar of his overcoat together and wondered what he'd done with his cashmere scarf. The wind cut through all the layers he wore and chilled him bone deep. Rosalie stood more than an arm's length away, staring at him as he looked down into the depths of the empty grave. Her sadness smacked into him like a cold wave. A tear ran down her cheek, and he reached for her. He was-n't sure if it was to comfort her or himself. His hand found nothing but air, as her image began to fade.

  Nick awoke with a start. Breathless. His heart raced, and he jerked. Rosalie, whose sleeping body lay draped over his, grumbled something. She took a deep breath and snuggled closer, using his shoulder as a pillow. Her soft, steady breathing warmed his neck. He pulled her closer and held on, telling himself it had just been a bad dream. He was still able to reach out and touch her. He could make love to her. She was still his. For now, at least.

  He ran his hand down her bare back and remembered how she'd looked that morning—sexy, confused, and indignant. No one could do indignant better than Rosalie. Sometimes, he ticked her off, just because it was such a turn-on. There wasn't a time Rosalie hadn't made every nerve in his body stand at attention. He wanted her. Even when she looked like death. Even when she was dressed in her rattiest, form-camouflaging rags. Even when she wore ugly clothes like those she'd worn earlier.

  He rolled them over and stroked her smooth skin while she slept. Even asleep, she was the most sensual woman he'd ever known. He took her already-tight nipple into his mouth and slid between her legs. Her hips moved beneath him, rubbing against his arousal. Rosalie sucked in a breath and pulled his head closer to her breast.

  “Nick” she sighed. He couldn't tell if she was awake yet. He didn't care. Nick needed her—right now. She'd wake up eventually, and he was going to make sure she'd awaken with a smile on her face.

  “Oh, God, yes.” Rosalie was almost afraid to open her eyes and discover it was an extremely vivid dream. A delicious, head-swimming, pulse-racing, breath-catching dream. She wrapped her legs around the sex god, who in her dream looked exactly like Nick, and fel
t him shudder.

  Stubble scraped against her breast, and a chill came over her when the cool air whisked over her damp nipple.

  “Open your eyes, Lee. Look at me.”

  Darn it. She wanted to keep on dreaming. She didn't want to take the chance that she'd see a blank stare. She was already exposed, raw.

  She wiggled, increasing the pleasure, but not enough. Satisfaction was out of reach.

  A soft kiss from familiar, insistent lips slid over her mouth. She heard a groan, then nothing but cool air washed over her body.

  “Come on, sweetheart, I need you to look at me.”

  She really hated it when he called her sweetheart in that deep, sleepy, “do me, baby” voice of his.

  “Please, Lee.”

  The bed dipped beside her, and she rolled toward him. She opened her eyes, and her Nick stared back at her. He sat stroking her bare body. His gaze branded her and pulled her into a swirling vortex, surrounded by pulsating body heat. She held onto him as he stretched out over her. His body touched hers as she arched her back and flipped them over. A look of surprise, then pleasure came over his face.

  She straddled his hips. “I want to make love to you this time.”

  Rosalie held his gaze as she slowly slid her body onto his, her breasts rubbing against the coarse hair of his chest. He hissed before he lifted his hips to drive himself deeper into her. They clung to each other. She felt possession and possessed. When they moved, their gazes locked, their bodies entwined, and they jumped off the edge of a cliff. Fear, sorrow, and a hailstorm of feeling pelted her. She saw desperation and need in his eyes. She'd never seen Nick vulnerable before. The man making love to her was stripped bare.

  Rosalie held him, made love to him. Took what he offered and gave all she had. She opened herself up and invited him into her heart, her soul. Why, she didn't know. Maybe because he'd asked. Maybe because he'd met her halfway. His kisses breathed life into her. Their bodies moved as one, and they came apart together, clinging to each other and holding off the dark cloud that loomed over them.

  Later, Rosalie awoke alone to the alarm clock. When she reached for Nick, she felt only cold sheets. He was long gone. She wondered if it had all been a dream. The way he'd looked. The way she felt. The way they'd made love. A shiver of apprehension ran through her. She reached over to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. A pile of his boxers lay neatly folded next to her thongs. Relief rushed through her. For a moment, she'd thought maybe last night had been his way of saying good-bye. She laughed at herself. She was being ridiculous. He'd had a bad day and was a little quiet. It wasn't the end of the world.

  She stretched and called for Dave. When Dave didn't jump up on the bed, she smiled. He'd taken Dave to work with him. She bet he'd even buckled the big guy in.

  Nick hadn't fallen back to sleep after he and Rosalie had made love. He'd spent the rest of the night holding her and memorizing the way she felt against him. The enormity of what had happened still had the power of a fist in the gut. Their lovemaking had always been incredible, athletic, and rang bells he'd never heard before. Last night had felt like the beginning of the end. It was as if she'd known it, too. It was more tender, more touching, more intense. Hell, it was so powerful, the memory alone brought tears to his eyes. He'd never felt anything so deeply, and he knew he'd never feel that with anyone else. Only Rosalie.

  “Nick?” Rosalie called his name and saw that he was somewhere else. Again. “Nick?” She reached across the pizza box and gave him a shake. His eyes focused as he came back from wherever he'd been—probably the same place he was since his strange behavior had begun Monday night. She knew that something was up with him, something he wasn't sharing. She'd asked once, but it had come across loud and clear that the subject was off-limits. She just hoped he wasn't feeling guilty about screwing her, her career, and Premier Motorcars over.

  “Yeah. Um… what did you say?”

  “I asked if you wanted a beer.” He looked more sad, preoccupied, and restless than guilty. His gaze shot to the pizza between them as, if he'd never seen it before.

  “Yeah, a beer would be good.”

  Rosalie got an IPA for him—one of those disgustingly dark beers she could stand a spoon in—and a Hefeweizen for herself. She sat down, put the beer on the coffee table in front of him, and gnawed on her crust while she watched him peel the label off his beer bottle.

  He'd hardly touched the pizza. This distance between them was driving her nuts. He'd been acting as if he wanted to be somewhere else. Maybe it wasn't guilt at all. Maybe he was moving on. Hell, from the looks of it, he'd already moved on—in spirit, if not in body.

  Rosalie tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs refused to work. Could she be coming down with pneumonia again? It felt as if a lead weight had landed on her chest, making it almost impossible to breathe.

  The pizza in her stomach suddenly felt as if it might make an unscheduled appearance. She tossed her napkin on her plate. “Are you done here?”

  Nick made no response.

  “Okay, fine.” She got up and collected the pizza box and plates, and put everything away in the kitchen. He didn't seem to notice.

  “I'm going to take Dave out.” Rosalie threw her coat over her shoulders, grabbed Dave's leash, and stepped into her shoes, not stopping to put Dave's leash on until they were outside. She took a deep breath and then another, trying to calm her racing pulse. She'd had it. Nothing she'd done reached Nick—hell, one time, she'd even sat on him, and all he'd done was hold her and stare off into space. He didn't laugh anymore. He didn't play. It was as if he'd had a personality transplant. He still held her at night, and they still made love, but that was different, too. It was serious, sad.

  Rosalie took Dave for a long walk. She walked until Dave tugged her back in the direction of home. He was done, and unless she wanted to carry him, she was, too.

  When they returned home, she tossed her coat on the couch. Nick watched her. He didn't get up and hang her coat, and he didn't tease her. He just watched. She cleared her throat and shifted from foot to foot under his scrutiny. “I've got a long day tomorrow. I'm going to bed.”

  “I'll turn in, too,” he said and rose from the couch.

  Nick followed her into the bedroom. She undressed while he brushed his teeth, and he was in bed by the time she was done in the bathroom. Rosalie climbed into bed and fought the urge to cuddle up to him, fought the urge to smack him, fought the urge to cry.

  Nick was miserable, and worse yet, he knew he was making Rosalie miserable. At dinner, he'd been unable to eat, trying to decide what to do. He wasn't ready to leave. She was lying beside him in bed, and for the first time since they'd been together, she wasn't on top of him. He missed the way her hair caught in his five o'clock shadow. He missed the way she felt against him. Hell, he even missed that little noise she made when he moved and jostled her.

  It seemed to take hours, but she'd finally fallen asleep. He heard it in her steady breathing. She rolled on top of him, and he was able to relax for the first time all day.

  When he'd met Rosalie, his relationship with her brother was an inconvenience. Not telling her about it was simpler than digging up the whole mess. Nick was almost sure she wouldn't hear about the hints he'd dropped about Premier Motors. There was nothing in writing. So, okay, he felt guilty about it, why, he wasn't sure. It wasn't as if he knew Rosalie was the rumored interim CFO. But, his luck being what it was, he'd be better off confessing all right now, before Rich came home. For reasons Nick didn't want to examine too closely, he wasn't ready to cut

  Rosalie loose. So, he'd take his chances and tell her everything. Even if she tossed his ass out, it would be better than this incessant waiting.

  Nick just wasn't sure how to go about telling her. He'd never seen the point in explaining his actions to a woman before. It had always been easier to leave. Vinny had been married to Mona since Nick was a kid. Knowing Vinny, he'd become such an expert at doing the explanation mambo, he could b
e an instructor on Dancing with the Stars. It was going to be as embarrassing as hell, but Nick would have to ask for advice. He hoped Vin didn't make the experience too humiliating.

  At least now he had a plan. He'd come home tomorrow and begin the weekend doing the ol' explanation mambo, which would lead to Rosalie getting fighting mad, him apologizing, and if he were lucky, the two of them having make-up sex. If he wasn't, at least he'd put an end to this torment.

  Nick ran his hand over Rosalie's hair and let the ends curl around his fingers while his other hand skimmed over the thigh she'd thrown over his and headed for her ass. He fell asleep in that position—with one hand in her hair, the other on her ass, and a smile on his face.

  Nick got up early and stopped at Vinny's on the way to work. He parked down the street and walked Dave a few houses up the road. Before they made it to the top of Vinny's stoop, Nick saw the error of his ways. This was not a good time. Every light in the house was on, and Mona was already yelling at the kids. Nick turned around and would have made a clean escape, if Dave hadn't lifted his leg on the fire hydrant in front of the house. Before he could pull Dave away, Vinny stepped onto the porch to pick up the morning paper and gave Nick the once-over. “Who died?”

  Nick opened his mouth and closed it. He shook his head and turned to walk away. A big beefy hand reached out and grabbed his collar.

  “Oh, no, not so fast. You don't show up on my doorstep at six a.m. and walk away without a word. I smell woman trouble. Come on, let's go to the restaurant.”

  Nick sat at the bar with one hand wrapped around a coffee cup and the other holding up his head while Dave lay behind the bar and snored.