Vows & the Vagabond Karen Wiesner Copyright 1999, Karen Wiesner ISBN: 1-58200-113-8 All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention. Prologue More asleep than awake, Lori Gordon fumbled for the shrilling phone. She heard her roommate grumble "It’s yours." and flop a pillow over her head. "‘lo?" "Hey, Princess." His voice brought Lori awake instantly. Her head, her body, the constant ache that always seemed to reside in her heart no matter how she tried to exorcise it jolted her to consciousness. Lori sat up, forcing herself to take a deep breath. Calm down; find out what he wants, then hang up! she commanded herself, already sure she wouldn’t do any of that. "It’s four o’clock in the morning," she said, and her roommate flopped again. After sliding out from the warmth of her blanket, she started toward the bathroom. "Yeah, sorry. I..." His voice brought tears to her eyes as she closed the bathroom door behind her and flipped on the soft light over the medicine cabinet. "...I just needed to hear your voice." A part of her had known he’d call. She’d warred with wanting him to and desperately hoping he wouldn’t. Blackie’s voice was enough to shatter her resolve. Everything she’d done since she turned nineteen came down to getting over her love for this man. At first she’d tried to tell herself what she felt amounted to a stupid crush. As soon as she started dating, she’d known it was more than that. Every other male she’d met since moving to New York to attend Parsons School of Design failed to make her forget Blackie. In fact, they just made her remember him, long for him and cringe at her own tenacity. "How was the wedding?" she asked. Their friends Jon Rushing and Tracey Scott had gotten married today. She knew neither of them understood why she hadn’t gone back home to Milwaukee to attend. She could have told them the truth—that she couldn’t bear to see Blackie. Because he’d be sweet and infinitely gentle, treating her in the manner his pet name for her suggested—like a Princess. She’d fall in love with him all over again, make a fool of herself for the ten thousandth time and then she’d have to start all over again. Every time she went home to visit her father, Blackie somehow seemed to know she was there because he always came. Blackie made a noncommittal noise in response to her question, something that was as familiar to her as the haunting in his dark eyes, the taste and scent of him.... "Everybody missed you, Princess," he said softly. You? Did you miss me? God, tell me yes! Tears filled her throat, and Lori found she couldn’t face herself in the mirror over the sink. With a deep breath, she closed the toilet lid, then sat down on it. "I couldn’t...I have an interview with Kira Gunn...had." She realized her half-truth, the one she’d fed both Jon and Tracey earlier this week, had become a lie. She’d told them the interview was today. Kira Gunn owned one of the foremost fashion design companies in the industry. She couldn’t blow it off. Even re-scheduling could spell missed opportunity for her. Jon and Tracey had offered to postpone their wedding—they wanted her there that much, but Lori had refused to hear of it. All their plans were made. Postponing would only force her to lie again. Blackie knew she lied. His silence spoke that eloquently. She did have an interview with Kira Gunn, not today but Monday. Lori found her head in the state Blackie always left it in—confused, crazed. Her fingers clenched in her hair. "Are you alone?" she asked, more self-torture. The silence that followed told her everything. Of course he wasn’t alone. In the six years she’d believed they were a couple, he’d had enough women to populate a continent. For some stupid reason, she’d not only believed she was the one woman for him but that he’d loved her. God, she’d been a moron. And she was still one because she allowed the thought of the woman in his bed right now to hurt her. "Why do you do this? Damn you! Why do you call me like—" Like I’m the only one who can rescue you? We both know I’m the one person you won’t allow to save you from your loneliness and pain. "What do you want me to do, Princess?" he asked wearily. They hadn’t had this conversation nearly as many times as his tone suggested, but each time it’d been on the basis of this question. Lori realized now the real question should be what did he want her to do? "I want you to stop calling me like this. I want you to stay away when I come home." Saying the words forced a razor-sharp reality at her—one he wanted spelled out. "What are you saying?" She didn’t like his tone. She didn’t understand it, and that all the more fueled the crazy state of her mind. She’d never understood him. She never would. He wouldn’t allow it. She’d always be a baby, a little kid who gave him her heart after he so cruelly tricked her into handing it over. "I don’t want to see you anymore, Blackie. Ever. For any reason." She hung up and predictably burst into tears. How could she avoid not seeing him? Her father was...well, the closest thing Blackie had to a father. His loyalty to Jerry Gordon would never waver, no matter what. But if she wanted to have a life, if she wanted to find some happiness, she had to make the only place she ever saw Blackie Scarpacchio her memories. EVEN after she hung up, Blackie continued to listen to the dial tone like she could change her mind, come back and retract all the harshness. He turned slightly to look at the framed picture of Lori on his desk. Eighteen, so damn beautiful with that long, strawberry blond hair and those crystal eyes and sweet smile. Eighteen, and she’d been completely infatuated with him. Guess you can call ‘em the good old days now. Kiss ‘em goodbye. He dropped the receiver into the cradle and picked up the picture frame. "I don’t want to see you anymore, Blackie. Ever. For any reason." She’d finally given him what he deserved and didn’t want. Wouldn’t accept. How could he? He needed her. She was the one, above anybody else, he couldn’t do without...he’d rather die. He told himself she didn’t mean it, but he’d felt it coming for awhile. Especially when she lied about why she couldn’t attend Jon and Tracey’s wedding. She hadn’t wanted to see him. For a long time, he’d noticed she didn’t look at him the way she used to. And he didn’t like Lori wary—not of him. Setting the frame back on the desk, he took a deep breath, then leaned forward with his head in his hands. Couldn’t even pride himself on being less fucked up than his friends. They’d all figured it out. They had their one-and-onlys, their kids and jobs and.... Admit it, that’s why you cut outta your best friends’ wedding so early. All of ‘em are happy, too damn happy—and, for you, misery loves nothin’ but itself. ‘Least when they had problems, you were useful. A chuckle started in his chest, and Blackie tamped it down violently. Dammit, he thought, rubbing his bare chest like he could rub out the ache behind it. Behind it—in an organ that he’d be a hell of a lot better off if all it did was keep him alive. Damn sight easier being heartless. Nobody could touch you then. Nobody could destroy you with a handful of words then. "...don’t want to see you anymore...Ever." "Next time we might not come back and then what would you do, you little shit?" He stood, moving around the bed grabbing clothes. Then he bent over the sleeping form sprawled across his bed. When Blackie touched her shoulder, she turned, peering up at him with one half-open eye. "Come on. Time to get going," he said, soft yet firm. After handing her her clothes, he walked over to the open door of his bedroom. He leaned against the frame, watching her to make sure she understood he meant now, not whenever she woke up enough to figure it out. Pushing her thick red hair back, she sat up holding her clothes against her. "You need a ride?" he asked. They’d come here together in his car straight from the wedding reception, as soon as her shift got over. Red laughed in her throat, as if surprised by his offer. Then she leveled him with a street-wise stare. "I’ve done this before, lover. I understood from the get-go this was just once." Without backing away from her stare, Blackie crossed his arms over his chest. She couldn’t claim ignorance. He’d been making that clear with all his lovers since he was fourteen. Not much to misconstrue when he laid it out so plainly—"We dance, no kissing, you leave and we never see each other again. Agreed?" He’d never bothered to wonder why 95% of them agreed. She looked away first. "It was worth it," Red told him, standing to slip into her uniform. "You’re the best I ever had. Maybe I didn’t fall in love..." She came over to him with her shoes and purse in hand. "...but it was close." This time, Blackie glanced away from her, unwilling to acknowledge anything she’d said. She touched his chin, moving her thumb up and over his lips. When she tried to kiss him, he eased her away with a scolding shake of his head. "My sad, lonely vagabond," she whispered. Blackie razed her with his eyeball-to-eyeball stare. "I’m not yours, Red." For an instant, she seemed hurt, then she shook it off. She knew the rules. She’d played this game probably as many times as he had. "She’s a lucky girl. Your princess. Lori." Had she overheard him on the phone? How did she know—? "You said her name...more than once." Red scooped her coat off the floor. When she straightened she said "Marry her, have a couple kids, if you want. Be happy. God knows it don’t happen often enough to turn it down if it ever comes." As she left his apartment, Blackie laughed to himself. Happy? Hell, more proof she didn’t know him at all, to even suggest it. He’d stopped wanting anything good after his parents exorcised him of all optimism in one fell swoop. He hadn’t allowed himself to want...but he did anyway sometimes. One time. One woman. And she was the one he could never have. Chapter 1 Two years later With a groan of stiffness, Lori eased out of her 1974 Corvette and stood, trying to get her body to cooperate with stretching. She’d driven from New York to Milwaukee, stopping only to re-fuel, eat and pee. Thank God that’s over! she thought, her mind on seeing her father, a hot shower and maybe going to bed early tonight. After locking the doors of the car that had been a present to herself once she’d started working for Kira, she pulled her luggage from the trunk. The rest of her things would follow her here soon. Even the light tote felt heavy, she was so stiff. A straight-through drive had been a necessity though. Deadlines in the fashion world—Kira Gunn’s part of it anyway—were non-negotiable. The back door into the bar Lori’s father owned stood open, but no one was in the apartment behind Rainbow Nights. At Jerry Gordon’s age, he still worked the hours he had when he opened Rainbow Nights. Not wanting to go out to the bar just yet, Lori went upstairs to put her tote in her old bedroom, then she went across the hall to the "all-purpose" room. In the past, it’d been used for storage, for an extra bedroom if they had a lot of overnight guests. Her father had had many plans for it—rec room, rented rooms to bring in a little extra money, a living room if he ever expanded the bar into a full-fledged restaurant too. In the end, he’d never done anything with it. Once she cleaned it out, it’d be at least two and a half times the size of a regular bedroom. And just enough room for her to set up an office with the multitude of equipment her spacious apartment in New York had easily accommodated. Lori opened the door to the room and got a jolt of surprise. Over twenty-five years of clutter had been swept away. The room was nearly empty and shockingly clean. The hardwood floor had even been buffed and shined. She could smell fresh wax. Had her father...? No, the guys had probably done it for him when he told them she was moving back home and planning to set this room up as her office. "The guys" were Rod Summers, Randy Briggs, Jon Rushing...and Blackie Scarpacchio—men who were honorary sons of her father. They’d been like brothers to Lori, all except Blackie. A shiver went up her spine at the thought of Blackie being here, in this room, possibly in the bar. Although she’d never said outright to her father "Make sure Blackie isn’t here when I get here", she’d made it clear to him she didn’t want to see Blackie. And she hadn’t, for over two years. All the times she came home during those years, she’d never been sure whether her father had specifically called Blackie to tell him to stay away, if Blackie was so busy with his career that he hadn’t had time or if he’d taken her "I never want to see you again" at face value. Lori moved further into the room and saw a drafting table set up in the north corner. While it was similar to the one she used, it wasn’t hers. So whose was it? And what was it doing in here? Her father hadn’t bought her one, had he? No, he wouldn’t because she strongly suspected he knew very little about the day-to-day tasks her job as a fashion designer entailed. So, while he was extremely proud of her, he wouldn’t realize she even used a drafting table. Exhaling with a whoosh, Lori decided it was time to find her father. Her decision to move back home hadn’t been easy. Her career really wasn’t an easily relocated one. The disruption involved had been immense, especially since—in terms of experience—she was still something of a novice. She’d completed her first collection, scheduled for release later in the summer. She was still getting the hang of everything. She’d just gotten comfortable with her assistant, the pattern makers, technicians, etc. This move would uproot all of that and force her to almost start over. Her boss, Kira Gunn, had advised against doing it. She’d relented because of her Milwaukee branch, Lori’s insistence that she’d lose less than a day or twos’ work, because her assistant had agreed to relocate too, and finally because Lori admitted her reasons for the necessary disruption. Her father’s failing health. There was very little Lori wouldn’t do for her father, and when he’d hinted at the declining state of his health, she’d immediately made some calls to the friends who knew her father best. Although no one could pin down what was wrong, all agreed they were worried and wished they could get down to check on him more often. Disruption aside, Lori hadn’t seen her relocation as a choice. She had to come home. The only thing that surprised her was how little her father had put up a fight at her news. Her father was the type who placed neither attention nor concern on his health. He didn’t like doctors and he didn’t like anyone fussing over him. Yet he hadn’t tried to talk her out of coming home because of his health. As she walked through the living room downstairs, she heard the door that separated the bar from the apartment close. Her father appeared at the end of the hallway. Jerry Gordon was built like an old, well-padded teddy bear. What hair he still possessed generated red tufts around his head and resided in eyebrow, nose and ear. God, she’d missed him! Lori almost started crying. He didn’t look any different to her. He didn’t look sick at all. "Daddy." Thank God, she thought once she was in his arms, feeling his strength. Apparently she’d harbored a deep-down fear that she’d get home and find him on his death bed. "Look at you. My little ragamuffin is all grown up." Lori laughed emotionally. He said that every time she came home. "I’m so glad you’re home to stay," he said on another fierce hug. If she’d considered for a moment regretting her decision because he wasn’t sick, it disappeared with the reminder of his loneliness. He’d gone from having family around him nearly all the time to being completely alone here. "So, how are you, daddy?" Lori asked when they separated. Scratching his head, he said exactly what she expected him to: "Hangin’ in there, you know. You don’t need any help with your luggage—?" Lori shook her head, lifting her waist-length hair to cool her neck. Her father still hadn’t invested in a good air conditioning system back here. She’d fix that, now that she had her own money. "I just brought a tote. Everything else is coming in the moving van in the morning." She knew what her father would say about the fact that she’d hired a professional moving company. A move around here boiled down to getting ten of your best and strongest friends together. Her employer was picking up the full tab for her move, so she’d taken advantage of it. "So, have you seen a doctor? Do they—?" Asking was silly. She knew better. As expected, he shook his head before she could finish her question. "I’m an old man, punkin. You don’t go to see a doctor for a couple aches and pains. ‘my age, a guy’s gotta expect those." "You’re not even sixty! You’re not exactly ready to be put out to pasture." She moved closer to him. "Please. Just go for a check-up. For me." For a long moment, he stared at her stubbornly. But he finally conceded with a nod. She’d have to goad him at least once more or he’d conveniently forget to do it. Or she’d have to make the appointment herself. "I went upstairs—to check out the storage room. There’s a drafting table up there—" Before she could finish—and fathom the strangely uncomfortable expression on her father’s face—the back door opened. Lori not only lost her train of thought, she lost all coordination. Why didn’t I prepare myself for this possibility? her chaotic mind wailed. How could she prepare herself? Prepare herself for a man who’d left her utterly boneless every time he looked her way when she was just a teenager. A man who, now at thirty-eight, affected her twice what he had in her troubled teen years. Ten times that! Their gazes met and locked, sweeping her out of reality on a tidal wave of emotion, like always. Why had nothing changed? She’d been gone for so long, any reaction to him should have been mild. She’d been all over the world, she’d met and dated a lot of other men. She’d somehow convinced herself Blackie was a brief part of her reckless youth...a part that had no ground in reality. Certainly not in her present or future. God, he was sexy. Dark, dangerous, that sense of the untamed just barely suppressed below the surface.... His face was more mature, more shuttered than ever before, and impossibly handsome. He had dark eyes that seemed to hold all the mysteries in the universe, a long nose that flared slightly when he was mad, frustrated. Or aroused. The features of his face seemed to be carved from stone. At one time, she’d known every line, each texture. She’d actually believed she’d known the man...the inner man who remained an enigma even to his closest friends. I loved you. God, I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you. I would have given you everything I had to give if you’d only let me in a little. What was he doing here? And why was he carrying in boxes? "Blackie’s movin’ back in too, muffin. He doesn’t got much more than that table you saw, so you’ll have plenty of room for all your stuff," her father said, and Lori barely digested it. She just stared at Blackie, thinking He didn’t know. He didn’t know I’d be here either. Why wouldn’t her father tell her something so vital? Blackie was moving in too, moving back, and they’d be sharing a workspace that had seemed more than adequate ten minutes ago. Now she couldn’t imagine how she’d breathe with him so close, so close she’d feel every little move he made. Oh God, it’s all over, Lori thought in panic. I can’t protect myself anymore. BLACKIE stood rooted to the spot, staring in disbelief at the last person he expected to see. Sure, he’d expected her to come home once in awhile and he’d see her since he was moving back in. He just hadn’t expected her this soon. "Blackie’s movin’ back in too..." From twenty feet away, Lori stared at him, first in the same shock that had him by the balls, then— She’d changed. The obvious stuff changed—she’d matured, she was even more beautiful. But she’d changed her mind about him. For most of his life, she’d hung around his legs literally and then figuratively. When she finally wised up, she’d been wary of him whenever they were in the same room. He thought that was killing. She looked at him now with no more expression than she would the mailman. She’s over you. That’s what you always wanted. Yeah, wanted, and dreaded. "You don’t mind sharin’ some space with Lori, do you, son?" Jerry asked. For a minute, Blackie glanced at the man who’d taken him in without question twenty-eight years ago. Had Jerry engineered this? Why didn’t he mention Lori was moving back to Milwaukee too? Blackie’s reasons for returning were simple. Jerry had, unbelievably, complained about his health about a month before. The more Blackie thought about it, the more it made sense for him to move back here. His life in Stevens Point...Well, he could do his job just as easily here. And this way his friends wouldn’t be dropping in on him constantly. Sometimes he thought they’d set up a schedule—JoJo, Randy and the trio of rugrats on Monday, Rod, Bethany and company on Tuesday, Jon and Tracey with their two kids on Wednesday. Come Thursday, it started all over again. He was lucky to get eighteen hours to himself to work. That was what he told Jerry anyway. And that his apartment over Hog Heaven was too cramped to work in. Jerry had been all for the idea of him moving back and converting the storage room into his workspace. Never once did the old guy mention he’d be sharing that space. Blackie glanced at Lori again. Living and working in this small apartment with her.... Ah damn, can’t think of much else that qualifies so well as heaven and hell. "No, I don’t mind," he muttered, managing to get his legs to move forward, closer to them. "Then it’s all set. That room’s pretty damn big. Could probably fit in a circus in it." All set? Lori didn’t look comfortable at all with the idea. And Blackie had the feeling it hadn’t been anywhere near as easy for her to pick up her life in New York and relocate back here as it’d been for him to move. She may not like the idea of having him here, but she was probably stuck with it now. "You okay with it, Princess?" Blackie asked, watching her cringe. Then her jaw tightened. "Sure. I can handle it." She stared at him with an almost haughty expression. Hell, she was cold. Lori was never cold. She was like a cat—sometimes soft and overly affectionate and sometimes wild. She wasn’t the type to be cold. New York change you, Princess? Or what I did to you? What I had to do? He wasn’t really sure he wanted that answer. He didn’t want to know he meant nothing to her. Without a word, he started for the stairs with his art supplies. Before he went up, he glanced back at her. Which was preferable in this situation—her coldness toward him or the tenacious determination she’d pursued him with as a teenager? The answer didn’t really matter. Either way, he had the feeling he was back to where Lori left him five years ago. Chapter 2 Well, so far it was working, Jerry thought, watching his daughter climb the stairs to shower. Neither of ‘em were happy about the prospect of living together again, but he’d expected it. Of the two of ‘em—he couldn’t say which was more stubborn. Lori with her mule-headedness, telling herself she’d just had some childhood crush on Blackie. And old ornery Blackie, who still believed he was worthless, not his SOB, reprehensible parents. Jerry’s hands still clenched and his head still fired at the memory of that small boy huddled in the Rainbow Nights’ alley next to the trash bin, crying in the rain. Crying cuz the two people who were supposed to take care of him and love him had left him off like the unwanted runt of a litter. As Jerry made his way back out to the bar, he accepted it wouldn’t be long before his daughter and the closest thing he had to a son figured out what he was up to. What was a guy to do about annoyances? At fifty-nine, Jerry had his share of aches and pains, dizziness, shortness of breath, nausea. But those were just annoying. The crushing chest pain he felt once or twice.... But he’d promised Lori he’d get a check-up despite how he felt about doctors. His mind, they were like crooked mechanics. Give ‘em a car in any condition, and they’d find at least $1000 in "necessary" repairs. His health was a part of why he concocted this whole scheme with Lori and Blackie. If he didn’t have much time left, he wanted to go out sure his only child would be loved and taken care of. Blackie was the only man who could do that. Blackie’d been taking care of Lori since she was a newborn, ever since Jerry’s wife—ex-wife now—walked out on him and the daughter she grudgingly bore him. No one else was as loyal and trustworthy as Blackie. He’d always be there for Lori. "Hey, boss. You get that shipment of cognac?" Willie Ozzer, head bartender, shouted to Jerry, who washed glasses without any concentration. "Got it this mornin’. Haven’t got a chance to unload." Jerry didn’t bother mentioning the last time he went into the stock room to unpack a couple cases of vodka, he’d thought that cramped, seemingly airless room would end up being his grave. "You mind unloadin’ it, Willie? I’ll take over here." Willie gave him a glare but went anyway. Wille’d been working at Rainbow Nights for over twenty years. Although he was a reformed con, busted on embezzling charges, Jerry thought he was basically a good guy. He’d served his time. He came in on time, did good work. Yeah, he thought the "grunts" should perform the stocking and clean-up after closing, but basically he was all right. Jerry threw the towel over his shoulder and went to serve his customers. He wondered what was happening overhead. Next couple days are gonna be tense, he told himself. Lori’d carry on with her cold shoulder, Blackie’d be even more somber than usual as he fought himself. But hopefully sooner than later they’d realize they were in love and belonged together. Then Jerry could stop worrying about the both of ‘em and settle for whatever fate had in store for him. LORI looked around her in shock. When she’d arrived here a couple hours ago, the storage room had been empty other than the drafting table—which she now knew belonged to Blackie. Practically the instant she’d stepped out of the bathroom following her shower, the moving company she’d hired—Kira had hired—arrived. Apparently Lori’s employer had moved up the date her stuff was to be delivered. She’d had it scheduled for tomorrow morning. Grimacing, Lori accepted what she already knew. Kira Gunn was efficient—and expected the same of everyone she hired. It was why she’d chosen Lori to be her prodigy in her senior year, since she’d been named student designer of the year. Within less than two hours, the movers had not only brought in all of Lori’s things but put everything in place too. Other than unpacking the dozen boxes in the far corner of the room, she’d be ready to get to work tomorrow. So much for that little family reunion time I planned with my dad, Lori thought on a sigh. Her gaze traveled to Blackie’s very small area of the room. He’d brought up five boxes while she showered. She had no doubt everything in his corner of the room—other than his car and a suitcase full of clothes—was everything in the world he owned. These boxes held his art supplies. She wished she had the nerve to go over and unzip one of his portfolios. She hadn’t seen any of Blackie’s paintings or drawings since she was a teenager. He’d phased out of the comic books that launched his career a couple years ago—according to their friends, who often told her about Blackie. Either they knew she no longer saw him or they didn’t know and enjoyed torturing her unawares. Drawn against her will, she found herself in Blackie’s space. Her heart beat a fast tempo as she kneeled beside the stack of black leather portfolios leaning against the wall. He had to be an incredible artist now. He was doing covers for some of the biggest authors in science fiction/fantasy literature. He’d also done some movie posters. And yet you’d never know he’s probably rolling in dough, she thought. While his equipment was top of the line, he still dressed in comfortable jeans and T-shirts. He still wore the black leather jacket she bought him when he turned thirty. Other than a black Corvette he babied, she’d venture to guess he still had as few personal possessions as he had before he became a professional artist. No matter how successful he became, he would never allow himself more than a hint of satisfaction in life. Just as Lori grasped the zipper on the portfolio and started to inch it down, she heard footsteps in the hall. Blackie. God, she even knew the sound of his footsteps! She shot to her feet and turned to race back to her side of the room. Instead, she collided with the drafting table. Pain exploded in her ribs, but she ignored it in her violent need to get away from here before Blackie came in. Working in this room with him would be impossible enough without having to explain what she was doing snooping through his things. She managed to reach her boxes seconds before the door of the room opened. Even with her back turned, she knew it was Blackie. She felt him, felt his gaze on her as she tried not to gasp for the air she so desperately needed. Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to take a deep, calming breath but her body was in too much agitation to allow it. How could she get any work done with him so close? she wailed inside to herself, pretending to look for something in one of the open boxes. He was like a huge magnet, pulling her in to him effortlessly. How could he still affect her like this? She wasn’t a stupid kid anymore. She was a grown woman, in charge of her emotions finally. She’d dated dozens of men—attractive, sexy men, ones who didn’t have so damn much emotional baggage. "It’s like you’re detached. Like you’re with someone else. Every time I touch you or kiss you, you’re gone." No one else had ever stated it as eloquently, but most of the men she’d dated felt the same as Jackson had. She’d tried—and failed—to get serious about someone. She’d tried harder with Jackson, not so much because of him, but because she needed to give something half a chance. Why couldn’t she get over Blackie? she chided herself angrily. Whatever Blackie did behind her back, he was much too close. Her fingers let go of a case of thread spools at the sound of his voice: "You mind if—?" The case hit the floor, burst open and spewed spools everywhere. Blackie appeared at her side in a second, and Lori felt her cheeks flare with heat. Idiot, she thought, and that was followed by God, you smell good. I can’t believe you could possibly get more sexy than you were a couple years ago. Dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched across massive shoulders, emphasizing every muscle, every hard ridge...Oh God!...he could have stopped her heart even if he’d said "You clumsy idiot" instead of "You okay?" No, she wasn’t okay, about this whole situation. But the last thing she needed was to let him know how she felt. "Fine," she said breezily, kneeling to clean up the mess. Blackie kneeled with her to help her with the spools. A part of her wished he’d go away. Another part, as usual, betrayed her commonsense. "You gonna be cool with this, Princess? I had no idea your dad—" "I know," she rushed to say. "Why would you think I can’t handle the situation?" Blackie gave a cruel chuckle that forced her to look at him. His face was only inches from hers. Ebony eyes full of mysteries, lips somehow both surly and sensuous.... "I don’t wanna see you again. Ever. For any reason." Lori recognized her own words from his mouth, verbatim. Had he...? No. If those words hurt him, it implied something she knew wasn’t true. She knew he didn’t love her the way she loved him. Used to love him. Her face burned again. "I’m fine with the arrangement," she said in a you-mean-nothing-to-me voice. She wasn’t fine. Not when he continued to stare at her. Her insides felt like she’d touched a live wire. His eyes had a soft look she’d only seen when he gazed at her. Soft and hurt. He gave her the two handfuls of spools he’d gathered, then stood and walked away. For some reason, she couldn’t leave it at that. She had to say something, anything, to escape the pain she’d witnessed in him. "I need the phone jack!" The one in the room was on his side and already in use. He seemed surprised. "I’ll rough another one in for you. Just tell me where you want it." Lori watched him as he lifted the portable bookcase stereo from the floor, where he’d set it in order to help her. "You mind if I put this here?" he finished the question he’d started to ask before her accident. There were three built-in shelves the length of a sofa in the east wall. "No. Go ahead." Her throat felt tight watching him position the stereo so she’d have room for anything she wanted to use the shelves for. He also unloaded a couple dozen CDs on the shelf next to the stereo. She remembered lazy weekends with him, just listening to music. She remembered the kisses that she’d tried so hard to seduce him with, to no avail. One kiss with Blackie had always been as much for her as the entire act with another guy. Kisses meant nothing to Blackie. Nothing except obligation. Her body tightened at the memory, despite the pain involved. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Seeing him today had thrown her completely. If she’d been prepared, she could have handled it. At least she told herself she could. Shoving the spools in the case, she closed it without putting it back in order. She had to get out of here. Without looking at Blackie, she left the room and immediately felt her energy drain. You’re relieved, she told herself because she had to. It was better than what she suspected, but wouldn’t allow herself to confirm, was the truth. That being away from Blackie weakened her. To admit that would be to admit that the last couple years had all been in vain. Downstairs, she went out to the bar. Behind the bar, her father came over to her as she sat on a stool. "Saw the movin’ truck. Everything in?" Lori nodded, curious now where Blackie had been when the movers brought everything in. Probably decided to stay out of the way because those guys moved like lightning. The bartender, Willie, came over and greeted her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Lori responded politely to his greeting and asked for a club soda. She was relieved when he didn’t attempt to stick around to shoot the breeze the way he used to. Where a grizzled old man like him got the nerve to come on to a teenager, she’d never know. She didn’t like or trust him, though he’d worked for her father without incident for as long as she could remember. "Daddy, why did you...?" she started after sipping the soda. "I mean, you know I..." Her father shook his head, already knowing what she tried to say. Why was Blackie here when her father knew she didn’t want to see him? "I know, I know, punkin, but he suggested movin’ back here and what could I say? You know how I feel about him. If he needs to be here again..." He left it at that, left Lori to wonder why Blackie would "need" to be here again. Was there something they weren’t telling her? Or was Blackie worried about her father too? If something was wrong, she couldn’t help feeling safer with Blackie around. She just didn’t know how to live with her own heart with him so near. Chapter 3 Just like old times. Blackie moved down the narrow, right-angled staircase. It was barely six o’clock, he seemed to be back to sleeping with one eye open, with his mind on one thing. As he put a hand out to open the swinging kitchen door, he rubbed at the ache in his chest, a little left of center. He stopped dead once inside the kitchen. Oh hell. Lori was bent over, looking for something in the fridge. The black velvet nightie she wore rode up to reveal long, shapely legs and a little more than a hint of what was...or wasn’t underneath. Her dad wouldn’t be up for three or four hours. Why wouldn’t she come down in her jammies, thinking nobody’d ever see her and nobody’d ever remember she didn’t wear anything under those nighties of hers? You don’t need this, he grimaced. He’d already spent the night reminding himself of a lot of shit he’d best forget. He would have turned and walked out if Lori hadn’t caught him out of the corner of her eye. She gasped, almost dropping the carton of milk. As if the back of her pajamas wasn’t sexy enough, the front was downright scandalous. He had no doubt she’d designed it herself too. Everything she made was a cross between shocking and innocently seductive. The front of the dorm shirt she wore was made of black lace with strategically placed fleur de lis of velvet at her breasts and the hem. He couldn’t see her nipples or anything else, but hell, yeah he was looking. "You still get up this early?" she said in a paralyzed-with-surprise tone. "I thought artists worked by moonlight?" Blackie moved into the kitchen, got a mug and poured himself as much coffee as it could hold. Like he anticipated, it wasn’t nearly strong enough to suit him. When he turned, she no longer faced him. "Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you," he said, telling himself to look anywhere else. Problem was, she was the only thing worth looking at in the badly-in-need-of-renovation kitchen. She stood with her back toward him, sprinkling cinnamon and pouring milk into a mug. Damn, he loved her hair. The baby-fine threads hung past her hips, the color of pale strawberries. He found himself both glad she hadn’t cut it and wishing she had. Then he wouldn’t have to ache, remembering the texture of it gathered in his hands, the feel of it against his chest, over his thighs, the way it draped around the two of them.... Blackie closed his eyes, trying to fight back. He wanted to touch her so bad, he knew the most innocent caress would sink him like an eight ball. Turning, she crossed the small kitchen to get to the coffee. He should have moved to give her space. Should have. Didn’t. When she saw he wasn’t going to budge, she gave him a confused glare before darting in and out to retrieve the coffee carafe. Her hair, her side pressed to his bare chest for an instant. Just enough to drive him straight out of his skull. No, you don’t need this, you moron. Back off before you can’t. Their eyes locked when she eased back in to replace the coffee pot on the hot plate. She looked vulnerable and armored, all at the same time. No matter what she did to steel herself against him, those haunting crystal blue eyes never lied to him. Before he could analyze his own motives, he brushed her hair back over her shoulder, caressing the silken strands for an instant as he said "It’s good to see you again, Princess." No matter what it brought out, that was the honest truth. He’d kept away the past couple years, at her request, but if she thought he’d live the rest of his life without her.... He shook his head, reveling in the soft, pained look that dominated her expression. Pain proved the Lori he knew was still inside somewhere. Then her newfound strength took over. He could see it first in the tightness of her sculptured cheekbones, the overgenerous curves of her mouth. "Nothing’s changed. We have to live here together because my father needs us both, but if you think I’m going to become that slobbering...prideless...ragdoll who would do anything—" "I never thought you were any of those things," he cut off her humiliation—cut off her spoken humiliation, at least. Her cheeks glowed redder than her hair. "Why do you have to say things like that? You can hurt me...I never meant for it to get that serious. But, hell—" She slammed her mug down. Somehow, not one drop spilled over. And he would have been there in a second, taking care of it, if it had. "You knew! You can’t tell me you didn’t know how I felt about you. But you let it happen. You let me believe..." She shook her head wildly. "And you never felt anything except obligation to my father." That much was true. He’d always felt obligated to Jerry. He always would. "You really believe that’s all it was, Princess?" he asked quietly, watching her flush right down past the top button of her shirt. "Never mattered how I feel about you, Lori." "That’s all that mattered! Even if you’d felt anything, you wouldn’t accept it or accept me. And that’s not fair." She was right. It wasn’t fair. Life had never been fair. But he accepted it. Some things a person just couldn’t fight. Wanting something you couldn’t have was one thing he accepted. Lori shook her head, backing away with her mug. "It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve accepted that I was stupid. I won’t make the same mistake again." That what I am to you now, Princess? Blackie thought, watching her walk out of the room. But he’d hurt her with almost the same words five years ago. "Last night was a mistake. If I’d been sober, it never would’ve happened. And it’ll never happen again." A half hour later, he went upstairs and put on a shirt. Might as well get her phone jack roughed in. After gathering wire cutters, drill, screwdriver and a utility knife, along with the supplies he bought last night for the purpose, he went into the co-shared office. Lori glanced at him, then seemingly dismissed him from her thoughts without a word. What do ya want? he demanded of himself angrily. You don’t want her all over you like she used to be— He chuckled to himself, rectifying his thought with "can’t want", but he couldn’t take her coldness without feeling it too much either. "Where do you want the phone jack?" he asked. She’d changed into a long, narrow skirt and a vest top. The vest hugged her breasts, pushing them up.... She’s gorgeous. Now get over it, you jerk. Lori showed him where she wanted her phone to end up, then went back to her unpacking. "I might need your help on this." "Just tell me what to do," she said without looking at him. She’d been gone a long time. He knew what she did for a living, but Jerry’s sketch of it all was pretty vague. Trips to Italy and "running back and forth" around New York told him next to nothing. She had a lot of stuff. He could guess what some of it was for—the sewing machine, mannequin, desk. But what was the drafting table for? He remembered her sketches as a teenager. She’d drawn patterns of clothes, but she never needed more than some charcoal pencils and a sketch pad back then. And why did she have two desks? One of them was empty. He glanced back at her as he took the plate off the existing jack and disconnected the phone wires. They chose the same moment to sneak a peek at each other. She looked away first. He’d always liked to watch her move. She had natural rhythm the way some people had hair. It was just there, like it or not. She didn’t walk, she flowed. She didn’t just work, she seemed to hum like she’d been turned on.... "Mind if I put on some music?" "No. Go ahead." Once in front of his stereo, he grinned with his back turned to her. Room must have been too quiet for her too. He went back to work on the jack, getting Lori’s help as he did the drilling and threading the wires through the wall cavities. While connecting the old wires with the new, he imagined a typical day sharing this room with her. When he heard a noise from her side of the room, he’d look her way. If he heard her breathe or the rustle of her gauzy skirt against a table or box, his concentration would be shot to hell. She’d been right about "painting by moonlight." Inspiration hit him a lot in the dead of the night, but in order to meet deadlines he also had to work during the day. The truth was, for the past couple years he’d booked himself out as much as he could. The more he worked, the less he had to think. He couldn’t imagine getting any work done in here with her. In fact, once the phone jack was installed and working, he thought about sitting down to paint...and knew he couldn’t. Instead, he unpacked his things too. Then, when he heard Jerry downstairs, he decided to start work later, hopefully when Lori wasn’t in the room. The bar opened at ten. Jerry was out in the bar along with Willie and a new kid, who was taking all the chairs down from the tables. Blackie shook his head. He didn’t know why Jerry let his oldest employee get away with not doing his job. Blackie had worked in the bar for almost as long as Willie and he’d never had a problem with mopping floors, unloading crates or even scrubbing toilets. Willie seemed to think he was too good to do those things. In the past, Jerry let the ex-con get away with a lot more than doing a little grunge work. Willie had banged Jerry’s old lady for a couple months after the honeymoon was over. Maybe Jerry realized the guy in the equation didn’t matter. His wife had been the one with the itch she scratched with any guy who looked her way. Megan had come on to Blackie a lot too, but he wasn’t interested in betraying a man who gave him a home and friendship like he’d never had before. He didn’t doubt old Willie took advantage of Jerry’s generosity toward all underdogs. Jerry was an underdog from way back himself. If he accepted Ozzer, there wasn’t much Blackie could do except keep his eye on the creep. Willie glared at him as he helped himself to the orange juice behind the bar. "Sleep okay?" Jerry asked him. Blackie grinned. "Just like old times." He went around the bar to sit on a stool. "So, what’s Lori up to? Other than relocating?" Asking Jerry probably wouldn’t answer much, Blackie knew. Tracey, who was a friend to both him and Lori, could probably give him everything he wanted to know. "You didn’t ask her yourself?" Blackie let out a dirty little chuckle with a headshake. While Jerry didn’t know any of the details, he had to be aware Blackie and Lori had had a "falling out" quite a few years ago. Blackie hadn’t been able to "just ask" Lori about almost any part of her life for a long time. They weren’t friends anymore. And that sobered him every time. Especially in the dead of the night when the only thing that used to carry him through was the sound of her voice, telling him it was okay, he was okay, she’d always be his. He’d made all the mistakes too, and yet she still blamed herself for either doing too much or not doing enough. Jerry shrugged. "She tells me. I can’t make heads or tails of it. I think she’s got her first show comin’ up. She’s gonna be a big star." Smiling slightly yet enough to tell Blackie how proud he was of his little girl, Jerry added "I guess she’s startin’ another set of clothes too. For fall. That’s what she’s workin’ on now." Blackie nodded. He wanted to know more, but he’d find out when he talked to Tracey. In the meantime, maybe he could talk Lori into being friends again. Friends—all they were meant to be in the first place. He’d never accepted he’d lost Lori for good. Suicide before accepting that. LORI found herself lying when she called her boss the next afternoon to check in. True that she was indebted to Kira for how she’d taken her under her wing, for how accommodating she’d been about the relocation. At times, Kira could be extremely thoughtless though. Because she was so driven to succeed and do it in little or no time, she expected the same of her employees. Kira seemed to have no life outside her company. Lori had realized something about herself about six months before—she had no life outside her job either. That was her #1 priority. And, God, was it lonely. When Kira asked if she’d gotten any sketches done, instead of admitting the truth: "I sat down to work, looked at the man who could have made me give up anything with a word, and twenty minutes later I’d sketched him", Lori had said "A few." Her boss would never know the truth because she’d make her deadline, whatever it took. She did manage to complete one design sketch after talking to Kira. It wasn’t easy. She couldn’t concentrate for more than a few minutes, even with the music relieving the tension in the room. She still heard every move Blackie made—and, God, she wanted to see what he painted! He’d set up his easel so the only way anyone could view his work was to walk around his desk and stand behind him. Even when he left the room, she couldn’t see it. He draped it with a cloth, and she didn’t have the nerve to venture over there in case he returned in a minute or two. When she was very young, Blackie had drawn, colored and written comic books for his friends, since they couldn’t afford to buy them. Even in those humble times, his artistic talent had stunned them all. Then he’d opened a motorcycle repair and retail shop, called Hog Heaven, with Jon and Rod. Lori knew he’d done it out of obligation to Morris, who’d died a couple years ago. Morris had come to see "the four gypsies"—Blackie, JoJo, Jon and Rod, as his children, all he had in the world. When he offered them money to start their own businesses, Blackie had realized the money wasn’t a loan. It was his affection, unfailing friendship and loyalty. To give it back in any way would have been rejection and betrayal of the gift and the man. And so Blackie had gone to work with his friends for that reason, not because it was what he wanted in life. Blackie was a mechanic extraordinaire, but his true talent was in his art. He’d talked to Lori about all this, but she hadn’t needed to hear from him that Morris’ death had freed him to pursue a career as an artist. He’d sold his share of Hog Heaven to Jon and Rod, and now he’d become everything he imagined for himself. He must be good, Lori thought, glancing longingly toward the draped canvas. The only way she’d see his work was if she specifically asked him or if she asked Tracey about it. All of her—their—friends had told her about Blackie’s successes over the years, but she’d made a point not to listen nor to discover his work herself. In bookstores, she avoided the science fiction/fantasy section—her favorite—because she knew she’d be opening every one of them to discover which covers he’d done. Now it was either find out which books or go crazy. Lori got up from her stool and walked determinedly toward the easel. She’d crossed three-fourths of the room when the door opened. Holding back a gasp at almost having been caught, she altered course toward the door instead of the easel. She and Blackie nearly collided. Her head felt like it was on fire, wondering what she would have said if he found her peeking under the canvas at his work-in-progress. Better that they collide physically. "What’s up?" he asked, putting his arm on hers after they did a you’re-in-my-way, you’re-in-my-way dance. Lori swallowed with difficulty, remembering her erotic dreams the night before...dreams that not only included him but cast him in the role of the leading man. "I thought I’d cook a special dinner for my father. He probably hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time." She knew her father. He lived on sandwiches, TV dinners and frozen pizzas. She just didn’t know why she told Blackie her plans. "You’re gonna make this dinner?" Blackie said, his cheekbones caving in slightly and one eyebrow raising in bedevilment. "You don’t have to join us." She couldn’t help her haughty tone. The need to take it back to old times, when he used to tease her and she loved it, was too strong. He teased now; she knew it as well as he knew her culinary skills qualified as pathetic. Despite taking cooking classes over the last few years, the edibility of her cooking came down to macaroni and cheese and the occasional pot of chili. The only time her lack of skills in the kitchen bothered her was with Blackie. She didn’t like facing she’d been silly enough to want to seduce him with the old "way to his heart is through his stomach" ploy as a teenager. "Then I don’t know whether to be disappointed or glad," he said in the same affectionate tone. When he chucked her under the chin, it was more than teasing. She stopped breathing. He wanted her to "make nice." He wanted to be friends, nothing more. That was all he’d ever wanted for them. Being Blackie’s friend had never been enough for her. She wanted him to hold her, love her, see her as the one woman who could give him everything—true love, incredible sex, a home, healing and peace. She shook her head, shoving past him. Friends. He wanted them to be friends after all they’d been through. He was lucky she spoke to him at all. As she grabbed her keys and purse from her bedroom, she couldn’t deny she felt part of the blame for the ways things had gone. She’d seduced him at his lowest point, when he was so drunk out of his mind she wasn’t surprised—hurt, but never surprised—that he hadn’t been able to tell reality for stupor that night. She’d told herself—believing it because it allowed her to go through with the seduction—he was sober. Blackie always seemed sober. Even when he was soaked, he was sober. That night he’d seemed more sober than she’d ever seen him. It wasn’t until later that she acknowledged he’d never been more drunk in his life. Deep down, she knew if he was in his "right mind" he never would have gone through with it. And yet she never regretted that night. How could she? It was the most perfect, pure love she’d ever received. She’d given him everything she had. Every wish she’d ever made came true that night. God no, she couldn’t regret it. Her stomach growled continually before she even got back from shopping. She’d missed lunch—purposely. She hadn’t wanted to be in the cramped kitchen with Blackie again, like yesterday morning. Especially dressed the way they had been then. Blackie in just jeans...She’d gasped mostly because of the impact of seeing his glorious body again, not so much because he’d startled her. And the way he’d looked at her—like he was trying to see beneath her nightie. Like he remembered details, just like she did about him. Opening the cookbooks, she started preparing dinner, shoving everything else from her mind in order to concentrate. Almost an hour later, Blackie came in the room. "What did your daddy say to you? To make you move back here?" Blackie asked out of the blue. Apparently he realized there was very little else that could have gotten her to come back. "He mentioned he wasn’t feeling good lately." She set her spoon on the rest. "Did he say anything to you about his health?" Blackie nodded. "Yeah. Same thing he said to you." "I talked to everybody and they said they thought he might be...declining. I got him to agree to a check-up." "Good." Lori glanced at him again as he peeled an orange from the bowl in the center of the small table. She looked away immediately, but the sharp scent of the exposed fruit made her flush from head to toe. Dark, glittering eyes locked with hers, lips close enough to kiss, whispering hoarsely "You taste like an orange. Sweet and sticky. I didn’t know fantasies could be this real." Lori couldn’t help herself. When she told herself she had to get a bowl for the salad,—a bowl from the cupboard right behind him—she did it because she wanted to be near him. She’d spent her life inventing ways to be near him. Her stomach growled as she stood on tiptoe next to him to retrieve the oh-so-necessary bowl. "Want a slice?" he asked. She didn’t stop to think. She leaned forward and he fed her a slice from his sweet, sticky fingers. His thumb caught a drop of juice on her lips. Their eyes locked. Lori could hear her heart thudding and wondered if he did too. Surely his memory had the same reel playing that hers did. "Every time I look at you, baby...molten lava. A sea of it." Blackie looked away from her suddenly. His curse brought her out of her trance. Smoke billowed out the sides of the oven door. They both moved at once. "Did you mean to broil this?" Blackie said as she scraped the dried out and subsequently scorched risotto at the bottom of the pan on the top of the stove. Glancing up from the blackened chicken breasts he’d pulled out, she saw that the oven was set on broil. She hadn’t thought to look at the temperature when she put the meat inside. It was always something. When Blackie teased "We can grab something from across the street and Jerry’ll never know the difference", Lori realized with a start that she was going to cry. Foolish, childish, yes, and completely beyond her control this time. She ran out of the room and up to her bedroom. I want him, she admitted because she couldn’t deny it even to herself. I want him and I can’t help it. Nothing’s changed. I spent almost five years trying to get over him, and nothing’s changed! Not her hunger to be with him in every way a woman could be with a man. Not the hunger to know everything there was to know about him. The worst part came down to not knowing how—even if—she could fight this insatiable hunger. Chapter 4 The phone rang at Seasons Fitness Center, and Tracey Scott picked it up without pausing her pen. She reeled off her greeting spiel. "It’s Lori. Jon told me you were still at work." "What time is it?" Tracey asked, already glancing up toward the office clock. "Going on six." "I’m surprised Jon hadn’t called yet. I had no idea it was this late!" "Oh. So this is a bad time?" Tracey closed her folder and set down her pen. "No. I’ve been meaning to call you..." She shook her head. "Life is so busy." "I’m not surprised. How are the kids? I didn’t talk to Jon long enough to find out." The mention of her pride-and-joy made Tracey smile. "Anthony is a wild man. Typical two-year-old. Emma is the sweetest little girl in the world. You haven’t met her, you know." Tracey kept her scolding light. She could understand how Lori would have a hard time getting home with her busy career and living in New York. Emma wasn’t even six months old yet. And it was almost time to feed her too, Tracey realized, feeling her milk come in just thinking about her daughter. "I know. That’ll be easier now that I’ve moved back to Milwaukee." "What? When?" "Day before yesterday." Tracey frowned in confusion. Then the phone buzzed. "I’ve got a call on the other line. Can you hold on?" Jon, she thought affectionately as she switched to the incoming call. "I had no idea it was so late. I swear! I’m on my way." "Oh yeah? I’d like that, but I think Jon wants you to come home to him." "Blackie?" Tracey said sheepishly, on a grin. "Lori’s on the other line. Can you—?" "What? You mean now?" "Yeah. Hold on." Tracey switched back to the first line, cutting Blackie off in whatever he started to say. "Lori?" "I’m here." "I have another call. Blackie’s waiting on the other line. Maybe we can get together—" "Blackie? Blackie’s your other call?" "Yeah." Lori paused, then asked "Where is he?" Tracey shook her head. "Hold on." She pushed the button. "Blackie?" "Yeah?" "Where are you?" "Rainbow Nights. Apartment. Downstairs. Why?" He sounded as confused as Tracey felt. He’d just moved back to Milwaukee, with Jerry. And apparently with Lori. What in the world was going on? "Hold on," Tracey said again, pushing a button. "Lori? He’s downstairs." "Well, what does he want?" Tracey sighed, said "Hold on" again and switched back to Blackie. "Are you still there?" "I’m here. Where is she?" Tracey connected to Lori without uttering "Hold on" and asked Lori where she was. "Upstairs in the hall." Switch. "Blackie, she’s upstairs in the hall." "Oh. What’s she doing now?" This was getting ridiculous! And Tracey was getting exhausted and confused. "Do you want to know what she’s wearing too?" Blackie laughed. "I already know. I mean what’s she doing career-wise?" Tracey shook her head. "Blackie, this is really weird. The two of you are only about two-hundred feet apart. Why don’t you just ask her?" "Did you tell her I’m on the other line?" She made a split-second decision. Something was going on here. She’d realized things had changed between Lori and Blackie, but it seemed major now. She didn’t want to betray either of them, even in a small way. Not even really sure why she did it, Tracey did the unthinkable—she lied. "No." After hesitating for half a minute, Blackie said "So she’s really doing good, huh? She’s got her first show?" "Uh-huh. Pretty soon too. It’s a big deal. She’ll have world-wide exposure with Kira Gunn’s connections. She must be a nervous wreck because this could make or break her. But you know Lori—she always lands on her feet and comes out a winner." "Yeah," Blackie barely whispered. "Jon wants me to come home, does he? Emma’s next feeding isn’t for a good hour—" "She’s sleeping. She’s okay." Tracey breathed a sigh of relief and the tightness in her breasts seemed to ease a little too at the news. "Did you get moved in okay?" "No problem. I’ll let you go. Thanks, babe." "See you soon. We’re coming down this weekend and we’ll probably stop by. Jon’s father is getting married." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah. He finally decided to make his housekeeper his wife, as it should be." After she hung up with Blackie, she switched back to Lori. "Are you still there?" "Uh-huh. You didn’t tell Blackie I was on the other line, did you?" Tracey rolled her eyes. Lori and Blackie really didn’t seem to realize how alike they were. They were made for each other. Both stubborn as mules. "No, I didn’t tell him," Tracey lied again, and felt guilty for it too. "Good." Lori paused for a few seconds. "He’s doing really well, career-wise, isn’t he?" Tracey couldn’t help chuckling. Now that was stubborn! Both under the same roof, dying of curiosity about each other, and completely unwilling to ask. After reeling off a list of big name science fiction/fantasy writers Blackie had designed book covers for, Tracey repeated to Lori that she’d see her that weekend. Line two buzzed again. "I have to go, Lori. I can’t wait to see you." And she couldn’t wait to tell Jon about the fiasco she’d just gone through with Lori and Blackie. Pure insanity. Got to be love. BLACKIE started up the stairs just as Lori came down. Her sheepish expression told him what he’d already suspected. Tracey lied to keep the peace between them—Lori knew he’d called Tracey and he knew she’d done the same. He couldn’t say for sure she’d been on a similar mission of gathering information though. He couldn’t say anything right then, so he let her walk past him and into the kitchen. They were both being crazy. Blackie had the feeling Lori wouldn’t stop the craziness. She needed to avoid him for some reason. She needed to believe she didn’t want him, need him or even care about him. What could he do to fight her guards? Not much. But he’d do it anyway. She meant too much to him. The second he opened the kitchen door, she said "You didn’t have to clean up the mess." Her tone wasn’t scolding, unfriendly or even friendly. She sounded embarrassed. That was when he noticed the blotchy skin under her eyes. Lori wasn’t someone who cried pretty, but she broke his heart when she did. "It was my fault. I distracted you. You were doing good before I came in." Lori actually laughed. "Chicken broiled for almost an hour isn’t "doing good. I can’t cook to save my life. I don’t know why I keep trying." "Cuz that’s what you do, Princess. You never give up." As she gazed at him, her eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. She hadn’t given up on him until he blew her out of the water with a lethal rejection. He gave her no choice but to back off. "Your dad wants to take us out to dinner. He’s..." Blackie grinned, hoping she wouldn’t put up a fight—for Jerry’s sake. "...Actually, he’s waiting out in the bar for us." Lori nodded after a second. "Well, I’ll go get my purse and meet you both out in the back parking lot." Following her out to the living room, he watched her climb the stairs before going out to get Jerry. "Have to take my car. It’s a piece of junk but no way I’d fit in a Corvette," Jerry said, glancing from the black and white Corvettes parked on either side of his ancient station wagon. Lori’s car somehow did look as feminine as she was. Definitely all the right curves. Blackie had no doubt they wouldn’t be going far. Jerry had probably had the same tank of gas for the last ten years. The restaurant would be two blocks from here or less. "Since when do you like the ‘74 Corvette coup?" Blackie asked when she came out. "You always said they were missile-shaped sardine cans." Lori glanced up at him, her beautiful eyes more defensive than embarrassed now. "I like the Mako body style, and I like the way it handles." Nice save, Princess, but this model was built for speed, built to take dangerous curves. It’s rough riding, not intended for comfort. That’s the way I like it— For about five crucial years in her teenager years, Lori had been a model citizen. She’d even adopted a couple conservative opinions. Maybe those couple were for show. Maybe deep down she hadn’t really changed. Lori Gordon—despite her shyness and reserve and her seeming lack of confidence—had been born a hellion. Her middle name should have been "Trouble" instead of the demure "Elisabeth." For most of her life, she’d given her old man nothing but ulcers, sending Blackie on one rescue mission after another. Yeah, she likes it rough. She always did. But, dammit, don’t you go there again. You almost drowned with her in the deep end last time. Blackie already knew living with Lori now wouldn’t be any easier than it’d been when she was a teenager in a woman’s incredibly lush body, when she’d tormented him like a relentless succubus, both intentionally and unintentionally. Lori got in the front seat next to her father, and Blackie followed her. She glared at him, but knew he didn’t like sitting in the backseat of any car. The station wagon had plenty of room anyway. Even when she scooted closer to her father their sides pressed together. During the short drive and at the restaurant, Jerry rattled on, sometimes forcing them to talk to each other. Lori resisted giving more than superficial answers and tried not to look at him. She did anyway, more often than not. She’d moved back to Milwaukee, Blackie thought at the end of the meal. Moved back, and as far as he knew the only phone call she’d made to New York was to her employer. A part of him accepted she’d meet some guy in New York and get married. Maybe he’d even hoped she would. Any slim, foolish notions he’d ever had for them would go away then. When he found himself wondering how many men she’d dated, how many lovers she’d had, he got up and went to the restroom to mentally kick himself in the ass. Didn’t make sense. How could he accept that she was a grown woman but he’d never allow himself to see her that way? The fifteen-year age difference between them might as well have been a hundred. You always were a jackass. You can’t have her and you don’t want anybody else to have her either. His thoughts became reality, he found upon returning to the dining room. He recognized the classy sleaze sitting in his chair immediately. RJ Flannery. The guy who’d led Lori down the path of reckless youth. When Lori saw Blackie’s approach, a change came over her, one Blackie didn’t like at all. In the brief minutes he’d watched them before reaching the table, Lori had seemed uncomfortable. Now she became warm and friendly toward Flannery. The way she’d easily left the guy behind eleven years ago had convinced Blackie he meant nothing to her. Flannery had just been a partner in crime. So what was she doing cozying up to him again? Flannery gave Blackie a "Oh you" glare before turning back to Lori. "So what do you think? 8:30? I’ll pick you up." Biting her lip, Lori started to turn her head in Blackie’s direction then stopped abruptly. For an instant Blackie thought she might refuse the invitation. After all, she was older and wiser, wasn’t she? She wouldn’t make a mistake like this more than once. Blackie glanced at Jerry as Lori said "Sure. Why not? It might be fun." Her father shook his head, not bothering to disguise his disapproval. He’d never made any bones about hating Flannery. He tried to stop Lori in the past, but Jerry had never been any good at discipline. Blackie had been the only one who could keep her in line—temporarily, at least. "He gave ya nothin’ but trouble, punkin. Why would you wanna get involved in that again?" Jerry said wearily in the car. Jerry saw Lori as the innocent in everything. Blackie leaned that way himself at times, yet he knew better. Tracey had said it right earlier—Lori always landed on her feet. She’d never done anything she didn’t want to do. She had her own purpose, her own plan. She’d done everything because—for some reason Blackie could never understand—she wanted to. She did the same thing now. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t question her on it though. "What the hell are you doing, Princess?" he said almost an hour later. He’d parked himself in the living room to wait for her to come down for her "date." Damn, she was gorgeous. Her body was encased in purple velvet. The dress didn’t mold her ripe curves so much as they draped over them—subtle but 100 proof. The glimpse of shapely ankle, shadowed cleavage...aw hell, made him jealous of that pathetic, rich kid Flannery. She’d dressed like this for that creep. "Excuse me?" She used that haughty tone he was really beginning to hate. "What’d you have with that jerk? Drug and booze habit by the time you were thirteen, cops on your tail at every turn...You wanna re-live that or something? Cuz you know he hasn’t changed." Lori’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him. She didn’t like him questioning her this way, or raking up her past sins. "You forgot about the mind-blowing sex." She was trying to get a rise out of him. It worked too. Blackie gave as good as he got. Too good. "You moved back home to put your daddy in an early grave, Princess, is that it?" All the color drained from her face at his ruthless—and uncalled for—remark. She recovered before he did. "I’m not a teenager anymore, Blackie. You no longer have any obligation to my father to take care of me. I don’t need your vows. I never needed them. Whether you’ll ever accept it or not, I’m a grown woman. I’ll see who I want to see. I’ll do what I want to do. And I’ll sleep with whoever I want. Just stay out of my life." Whatever her reasons, she’d see Flannery, she’d as good as admitted she planned to sleep with him, and there wasn’t a damn thing Blackie could do about it. He didn’t like it one bit either. Chapter 5 God, she was thirteen again—same scene, same people. The only thing that’d changed was her own viewpoint. RJ and his rich, restless friends bored her, made her plain uncomfortable. Standing here in the smoke-filled room with alternative rock music blaring and a drink she really didn’t want in her hand, Lori had to wonder how she’d ever enjoyed this. You were under the influence. Doing what you probably did from birth. Have you changed at all? RJ came up in back of her, startling her, hugging her possessively and kissing her neck with a level of familiarity she wasn’t at all comfortable with. He seemed to think they were taking up where they left off eleven years ago. Blackie had been right about that. RJ hadn’t changed at all. He was still wild for no good reason, still working on his degree and still drank like a fish. He probably still did drugs like they were candy, but she hadn’t seen him pop, shoot or smoke anything tonight. After growing up in a rich family who gave love in a strictly monetary way, RJ had never learned the value of work and purpose, let alone commitment. College was something he did just to say he was doing something. Lori and her friend JoJo had called him a "lifer" (somebody who went to college not to get a degree but to avoid reality and honest work.) The majority of RJ’s time was spent partying, buying expensive "toys" that bored him almost immediately and punishing the family who’d sentenced him to a life of easy come, easy go. As a teenager, Lori had been too single-minded to spare him her sympathy. She’d given him anything he wanted, anything except her love—which he surely wouldn’t have wanted anyway. Now a part of her sympathized with him. In a lot of ways, he’d been a good boyfriend. He was almost too affectionate, child-like really, and overly generous. He’d fluctuated between extreme jealousy, cruelty and selfishness and acceptance that he could never have her completely...because of Blackie. This is not a good idea, Lori thought as RJ walked away from her again to greet arriving guests. Using RJ,—and that was what she was doing—she told herself sternly, would prick her conscience now in a way it never had before. Leading him on was even worse because she knew RJ didn’t love her. He was either in this for the sex when she had no intention of giving him that or for some unknown reason. Sex was what he’d always wanted from her. The other girlfriends he’d had were a lot more...well, inhibited than Lori had been. A memory or two stole through Lori’s mind, both humiliating and making her desperately hope they were part of some drug-induced hallucination instead of reality. God, she had to end this. This wasn’t the way to get Blackie out of her system. She couldn’t imagine now what senselessness led her to believe it could be. Setting down her glass, she scanned the room for RJ, but he’d disappeared again. She didn’t need to prove anything to Blackie. The only thing she needed to do was concentrate on her work. Lori sat on the couch to wait for RJ’s return so she could tell him this was a mistake and she was going home. Who was she kidding anyway? she wondered, glancing around miserably. Certainly not herself. Her life seemed to be about getting Blackie Scarpacchio’s attention, one way or another. She couldn’t remember a time she didn’t love him. As a little girl, he was the one she ran to when she was sad or frightened. He was the one who could make her laugh, the one she wanted near her when she played, the one who held her when she had a bad dream. From a very early age, she’d been telling everyone that Blackie was the man she would marry. He’d withdrawn from her life when she was around nine or ten, moving to Stevens Point with his friends and opening the motorcycle shop. That was when it started. She’d gone from a happy, well-adjusted—albeit needy—child to a brat. While he talked to her whenever she called him (frequently), the only way to get him to come back was to cause trouble. She met RJ at the age of twelve. At last she had the perfect weapon to get Blackie’s attention. Embarrassing now, but in retrospect Lori imagined that Blackie had had a stressful life back then. He’d divided his time between Stevens Point, where his work and friends were, and Milwaukee, where he’d had responsibilities and obligations. His work must have suffered considerably, not to mention any semblance of a social life. At least 75% of his time was spent in Milwaukee "rescuing" her. She’d been so in love with him by then, a single glimpse could send her reeling. He was always there for her too. Only (she’d realized when she was nineteen) he hadn’t been there for her out of love. It’d been about vows. Obligations to her father. By the time Lori caught a glimpse of RJ, she could barely hold up against the torturous memories. She’d self-destructed too many times because of her feelings for a man who could never love her. So why would she still want to be near Blackie so bad? She did. No rhyme or reason to explain it. She just did. "Can we talk?" Lori said, approaching RJ and immediately having to ward off his affection. With an arm around her, his hand much too close to her breast, RJ led her into the kitchen. As soon as she opened her mouth to say "This was a mistake", he was on her—mouth, hands, a barracuda searching for sustenance. Lori struggled, but his grip tightened to bruising. "Stop it!" she shouted breathlessly upon managing to rip her mouth from his. "I need to talk to you! This isn’t working." He stood back. He looked like an animal ready to attack. His hazel-colored eyes were feral, his blond hair stood on end, his lips curled. "I’m sorry. I thought..." Lori started pathetically. "I think I should just go home." Her heart beat irregularly, waiting for him to respond. She remembered this, belatedly. She’d been afraid of him a lot while they were together. He had the mood swings of a psychotic. She never knew what might set him off or how he might react to anything. He was too unpredictable to ever trust her instincts. Instead of igniting, he calmed down and moved toward the door with a roll of his shoulder. "Come on. I’ll take you home." Lori started to say "I can call a cab" but decided it was just best to go along this time. She couldn’t really tell if he was on something either, so she had to be safe. Rather than attempting conversation, RJ put in a CD and blasted it. Lori glanced at him surreptitiously. She wondered what his reaction had been when she dumped him eleven years ago with a phone call and the statement "I don’t want to see you anymore. Blackie is my boyfriend now." He’d never contacted her and he certainly hadn’t brought it up tonight. They’d said less than twenty words to each other since he picked her up right on time. Why had she never questioned Blackie’s motives back then? When he told her he wanted to be her boyfriend, so get rid of Flannery for good, she’d done it without question. Her life’s wish came true. What else mattered? She’d loved Blackie just as recklessly as she had before too. Only he’d fueled her desire with actual kisses. He never allowed those kisses to progress where she wanted them to lead. But, God, she’d tried every trick in the book to seduce him. Cornered him alone in rooms, touching him, touching herself. Sneaked into his bedroom at night, shedding her nightie and getting into bed with him. Stepped into the shower stall with him. She touched him, kissed him, went down on him whenever his guard lowered even an inch. He’d started locking his bedroom and the bathroom door all the time, tried to avoid being alone with her in a room. Yet, all the while, he’d promised her someday they’d be together. When she turned nineteen, he would make her every dream come true. Nineteen came, and—when the guys invited her and her father to the Florida Keys with them—she knew it was time to get Blackie to make good on that promise. As she’d known, her father wasn’t interested in going. She’d gone with Blackie, Jon and Morris. Blackie’s mood that week hadn’t escaped her notice for even an hour. While he was usually somber, now he was cagey, unreadable and completely impervious to her attention. He’d spent the entire trip dead drunk and refusing to leave the beach house they rented. Nearly every day, Lori would grudgingly put on a bikini and go somewhere with Jon and his newfound love Tracey. It was better than staring at the locked door of Blackie’s bedroom. Tonight’s the night, she decided the day before they went home. Instead of going to dinner with the others’, she came back to the beach house. Blackie’s door was open. The house was quiet. A shaft of light shone over his broad, muscular shoulders from a crack in the closed curtains. He lay sprawled face-down on the bed. The bottle of whiskey he opened just before they left sat on the nightstand, barely touched. Lori moved into the room. He’d showered recently. His hair was slightly wet. Just looking at him against the sheets, the outline of his nude body stopped her breath in her chest. She wanted to touch him. She wanted his hands on her, everywhere she’d been denied. With shaking fingers, she untied her bikini strings, then eased off the bottoms. Please don’t reject me. Not tonight, she thought desperately just before getting into bed next to him. She barely touched his shoulder when he moved like lightning, grabbed her wrist, flipping her over and pinning her beneath his magnificent body. Lori’s lungs burned with the need for air, but she was so excited the slightest movement would have set her off. He seems sober. Maybe he was just asleep, not comatose from all the booze. Maybe he’ll tell me he loves instead of "You know." Blackie stared down at her, his eyes shining, black diamonds, his face shadowed like carved stone. "I’m dreaming," he muttered. "So am I. And in dreams, you can do anything you want, right?" Her words sounded as breathless as she felt. Opening her legs, Lori locked them around his hips. His breath hissed out of him, and she moaned at the feel of his growing erection against her mound. Instead of breaking the spell with words, she simply looked at him, waiting for him to stop or go. His nostrils flared and, for the first time, she saw in his expression just how much she affected him. Every kiss they’d shared had been his—he controlled it. He kept her in line and seemed to have no trouble keeping himself behind the same rigid line. Now she saw arousal in his eyes, pulling his jaw tight. Slowly, Lori raised her fingers and traced his full yet harsh lips. When he didn’t move,—in fact, seemed to wait for her next move—she lifted her head and kissed him. Lightly, she kissed both corners and finally dead center. Then she stopped to look at him. "I think you can do better than that, baby," he said between his teeth. She could. She did. She kissed him with everything she’d shored up for him in the years she’d waited impatiently to belong to him. He didn’t take control the way she wanted him to. They both owned the control. It made her just as heady. Lori felt the fight in him though. He held himself above her on rigid arms, his muscles straining against the need to rage forth and claim what he had to know belonged to him wholly. When she ran her hand down the inside of his arm, over the prominent vein she’d always found incredibly sexy, he let out a growl that set her on the peak of ecstasy. He devoured her from head to toe, pushing beyond a mere kiss to include every part of her he’d denied them the pleasure of sharing. Holding her arms over her head, he sucked at her nipples ferociously, licked all around and beneath them. She writhed beneath him, crying out just as ferociously. Her orgasm saturated her emotions, holding her and urging her to seek more...more everything. God, she loved him! She wanted to stay with him forever, whatever way he’d have her. Let me heal you, let me love you. God, let me know you! The relentless tears had already begun by the time he covered her with his hot mouth. She was ready for death—this was worth anything—when he came back over her. His dark, glittering eyes locked with hers. His lips were close enough to kiss. "You taste like an orange," he whispered hoarsely. "Sweet and sticky. I didn’t know fantasies could be this real." Putting her arms around his head, she pulled him forward until she could kiss him. He entered her at the same moment. For a minute, their mouths clung to each other, then hers fell away. The intensity of having him inside her was too overwhelming. She closed her eyes to the love, savoring it before it could run wild again. "Every time I look at you, baby..." Lori looked up at him. "...molten lava. A sea of it." "Oh, Blackie, I feel like that too. Forever. It’s always been you." Hardly able to talk her emotions were so raw, but she’d said enough to unleash her sweet and savage animal again. He made love to her compulsively all night, fulfilling dreams, creating new ones. He’d been both fierce and achingly gentle with her. She’d never felt anything more perfect, more pure than what they shared that night. And none of it was real, Lori reminded herself, wiping at a tear silly enough to fall. She didn’t look at RJ when he punched in a new CD. The pain of remembering the night her life finally reached its purpose, only to have it ripped away with the words—her own words—"I love you" still had the power to shatter her. Blackie had woken to those words and stared at her in utter horror and disbelief. As he’d jumped out of bed, cursing a blue streak, she sat up too. That was when she’d seen the second bottle on the floor. An empty bottle of whiskey—probably the one he’d opened before she left with Jon and Tracey the day before. He’d finished it and started another. He had been drunk the night before, something unconsciously she’d known yet refused to acknowledge. He’d believed he was dreaming and if you’re dreaming why not do everything you want, right? "I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ve waited all my life to be yours," she’d said in the face of his horror. "And you promised when I was nineteen we could be together." With his jeans on but not zipped, he’d closed his eyes tightly at her words. She’d suddenly realized what his expression meant—disgust. Self-disgust. When he looked at her again, he’d shaken his head. "You thought I meant that, Princess? Hell, I never wanted—Why do you think I fucked everything in my path all these years?" He’d cheated on her. Lori hadn’t been able to hide her sense of betrayal. And yet a part of her had known this too. Blackie was a man every woman wanted. Dark, mysterious and so wrapped up in haunting loneliness, they’d take anything, even knowing it wouldn’t last. It didn’t hurt that he was so good looking, seeing him and not being able to have him could destroy a woman. "I vowed I’d take care of you. I didn’t wanna—" He’d shook his head, his expression saturated with self-revulsion. "I promised your daddy no one would ever hurt you. That I’d tame the hellion. This was never supposed to happen. And it never will again." With those words, the man she’d spent her life loving and pursuing, the man who’d taken care of her decimated her. She’d never felt more worthless, used and unloved. Especially when he’d disappeared from her life for months after they returned home. When he did finally come back, he asked one question about that night: "Were you on birth control?" After her assurance she wasn’t pregnant, he’d tried to act like nothing happened. He’d been sweet, gentle and caring. He’d thrown her so completely, she hadn’t known how to respond outside of withdrawing inside of herself. Thank God she’d had college! Thank God she’d gotten away from him, because together they’d shattered everything. Her faith, her openness to love, her trust in anyone. After all that, how could she still want him? She didn’t know, but she was sure she needed her head examined. RJ leaned over her once they arrived at the bar and opened her door. Lori had no idea what to make of his mood. Had he accepted seeing each other again was a mistake? Right now, she couldn’t say she really cared. She just wanted to go home and shut down to the point that nothing could touch her. BLACKIE didn’t even move his head when Lori came in after midnight. If she wanted to, she could easily come to the (correct) conclusion that they were waiting up for her. Jerry had conked out in the chair a couple hours ago. Blackie normally went to bed late. Sleep had never been a priority for him. He could function on less than two hours a night. But he didn’t fool Lori and he didn’t try. As soon as she rounded the couch, he could see she knew they were waiting down here to make sure she got in. She didn’t speak as she glanced from him to her log-cutting old man. Dropping her purse on the coffee table, she crossed in front of Blackie to her father. She dropped a kiss on his forehead and whispered something Blackie just barely heard. "I gave you hell most of my life, didn’t I, Daddy?" She realized it just now? Blackie found it hard to believe she hadn’t been aware of all the headaches, heartaches, ulcers and tears she’d caused her father. And how Blackie had tried to step in each time so Jerry wouldn’t find out. He always knew somehow anyway. A father/mother’s intuition, he guessed. "BladeRunner," Lori said, sitting on the opposite side of the couch from him and slipping off her heels. Her gaze locked on the TV screen. "Director’s cut?" "‘Course." "I haven’t watched this movie in years," she said nostalgically. They’d watched it together a lot when she was a teenager. Anything in the science fiction/fantasy realm they’d devoured. But this had been their favorite. "D’you ever read the book it’s based on?" Lori glanced at him. "You gave it to me for my nineteenth birthday. It’s nothing like the movie, of course, but I loved it...Byron." The first time they’d watched the movie together, she’d asked him what his real name was. The only people who knew it at that point were his closest friends, who’d given him the nickname he’d come to prefer and use instead. He told Lori, and she’d said "Byron? Your real name is Byron? Like Lord Byron, the poet?" No surprise he hated that name and the many unfocused nightmares that came with it. But Lori had shaken her head before crawling in his lap. "No. Blackie. I like that much better. Blackie, my haunted, lonely vagabond." He still remembered the sweet taste of her kiss...and the need to let her inside the way he’d never allowed anyone else. He had belonged to her. Then and always. Easing her dress up past her knees, she laid down on the couch. Force of habit had him pulling her not-so-tiny, but oh-so-sexy feet onto his lap. Her initial shock reminded him they weren’t even friends; what was he doing? But instead of jerking away, she relaxed in his hands. He didn’t. Hell, she was beautiful. Soft, warm, her body and hair draped over the couch in a pose he could too easily imagine himself immortalizing her in. "Want me to dial you a 382 mood?" he asked, keeping his tone light. She glanced at him, then proved she’d not only read Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?—she’d read it enough to know where his words came from. She laughed. "I’d rather have a 481." He’d read the book a couple times himself, at least enough to remember what a 382 was. He wasn’t sure what the 481 was and he couldn’t get himself to ask her once she turned away to watch the piano scene she’d insisted years ago was her favorite. He couldn’t help wondering how her date went. She was in a pretty melancholy mood. He and Lori had a single night together. Drunk as he’d been, every detail haunted him. But he couldn’t really say he knew how she looked after sex. Her dress was crumpled more than when she left, her hair was mussed, her lipstick gone, and, yeah, she smelled like a man’s cologne. "I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ve waited all my life to be yours." Had she said something like that to Flannery in a joyful/desperate/soft/sure voice that could turn any man inside out? Make him wish life wasn’t so damn cruel and unfair? Flannery had had her countless times in the past. If ownership was based on quantity, the guy won hands’ down. Quality.... The thought of anybody else touching Lori, tasting her unique combination of innocent wildness...His teeth clenched even as he berated himself for feeling it. He’d known the very first time he kissed her, when she was barely thirteen, that feeling any of the stuff he felt for her was wrong. Dead wrong. She should have been like a little sister to him. He was fifteen when she was born. He took care of her all her life as much as Jerry had. He could have even been something of a father to her. It’d never been like that. Lori and Jerry were the closest he had to family; his friends came in at a close second. But he had no family. Lori wasn’t his sister or his kid. Given their relationship and the age difference between them, what kind of sick, fucking pervert would lust after her? At thirteen, she’d turned from a pudgy, sweet-faced tomboy into a woman. She had the body of a twenty-five-year-old woman at that age. She’d been as ripe and curvaceous as her mother. And Blackie had noticed it. He fought it constantly too. His one slip...hell, could have been forgotten, rectified even, if not for Jerry’s plea. The man who’d become a father to him had manipulated him, using how he saved Blackie to get what he needed. "You feel anything for me, son? For my daughter?" Jerry had asked him. What could Blackie say? There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Lori and Jerry. "You care about us at all, you’ll do this. Do it for me. You know the only person that can tame my daughter is you." Blackie had shook his head, already sensing what Jerry was about to ask him. "Be her boyfriend. Do what a boyfriend would do. Make it real. Take her out. Kiss her. Make her believe you." Jerry had stepped closer, forcing Blackie to look away. "You know she wants that. It’s the only way to stop this craziness." How could a person agree with an answer and still not want anything to do with the solution? Blackie had wanted nothing to do with Jerry’s solution to tame his wild daughter. He’d already gotten too close to the fire once before. Any more contact—real or imagined—might break him. "Vow it. I’ll never ask anything else of you." So Blackie had vowed he’d tame Lori Gordon. "Don’t make love to her. Make it real, just not that. Not ‘til she’s legal, if even then," Jerry had added. Blackie had known Jerry believed Lori was a virgin; he wasn’t about to disillusion him on that score. He’d fulfilled his vow to Jerry too, never forgetting how it hurt to realize Jerry didn’t care about him; he’d taken him in out of moral obligation. The vow made Blackie realize that was all it could be. He owed, he paid. He never meant to make love to Lori. Wanting her had ate at him like pure acid during those years he gave her everything she wanted except the one thing he’d promised himself he’d never give. Want—he’d told himself—was not have. Who wouldn’t want her? She was strong, smart, independent and purely feminine. She could love a man completely without losing her strength. She was the only person who ever made him feel worthy, healed. Only when he was alone did he accept none of it was right. He’d never be worthy of her. And he had no damn right to even wish he could have her. He unconsciously ran his hand up the smooth curve of her bare leg. That was when he realized she was asleep. Unlike her father, she didn’t make any noise. After shutting off the TV and VCR, Blackie went upstairs, turning out the lights as he went. In his bedroom, he found his beat-up copy of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? He scanned a couple pages until he found the definition of a 481. "Awareness of the manifold possibilities open to me in the future; new hope that—" What did Lori hope for? Or had she lost her hope and wanted it back? When he thought of the open, trusting teenager she’d been, he knew she had changed. She’d lost her trusting nature. And it was his fault. He couldn’t decide which he hated himself more for—loving her or stealing her faith in love. Chapter 6 Well, he’d done it. Wasn’t his fault it hadn’t gone the way his daughter would want. Jerry hung up the phone. He’d made an appointment for a check-up. When the nurse asked what was wrong, he’d said "Aches and pains. I’m fifty-nine years old. Guess I gotta expect some of that." He’d gotten an appointment for a routine check-up end of next month. Apparently the only way to get an appointment soon was to claim emergency. Damn fool system, he thought guzzling the strong coffee he preferred. His back ached from sleeping in the armchair; other than that he didn’t have any "emergency" symptoms. He just didn’t feel good most of the time. He remembered the anxiety attack he’d had in the stock room. Well, who the hell wouldn’t have one in that cramped, suffocating, ill-lit room? The kitchen door swung open, and Blackie walked in. They both grunted in greeting. Jerry moved to the opposite side of the kitchen so Blackie could get his coffee. "When’d my daughter get in?" Jerry asked. "After midnight." Blackie kept his gaze fixed on the floor, not offering more than that until he prodded "Well, what do ya think? She gonna—" "I’m not her keeper. Or her boyfriend. She does what she wants to do. It’s none of my business. Not even yours anymore, Jerry. She’s a grown woman." It wasn’t an attitude Jerry expected from Blackie. Blackie’d always involved himself in Lori’s life shamelessly. Jerry was the one who’d felt uncomfortable prying. His daughter was so damn headstrong,—just like his ex-wife—but at least he’d had a partner in crime, trying to keep her out of trouble, in the past. Now suddenly Blackie was backing off. If he no longer feels a responsibility to take care of my daughter, how the hell will they ever get it together? Lori stepped into the room. Now and always, her gaze first went to Blackie. This time she looked away, a flush in her cheeks. Even Blackie looked uncomfortable. What the hell was going on? Had something happened between them? Just watching the two of them told him nothing, just like it hadn’t five years ago, when they’d gotten back from the Florida Keys and Lori hadn’t wanted to even hear Blackie’s name again. Lori kissed his cheek and asked him how he’d slept before going to get her much-doctored coffee. "Sludge," she pronounced predictably once she lifted the carafe from the hot plate. She headed straight to the sink with it. Blackie intercepted her, getting another mugful before she made a new, weaker brew. The two of them stared at each other during the seemingly endless seconds it took to fill the cup. Then Blackie headed out of the room without a word. Something was happening between them. Before Jerry could even come up with something to say to his daughter, Willie poked his head into the kitchen. "You said to let you know when that delivery came in, Boss." Jerry nodded, setting down his mug. Time to give the delivery man a piece of his mind after he found a case of broken bottles in the previous delivery. "Ran into Scarpacchio in your living room," Willie said as they walked out to the bar. "What’s he livin’ here again for?" Willie sounded like he was joking. "Yeah. My daughter’s home for good too." Jerry glanced at his employee and caught a dark expression that continued even as Willie said "Good for you." "Not for me" seemed to hang in the air, but Jerry told himself he imagined it. Willie was a good guy, good worker. He had no interest in Jerry’s family, so he couldn’t care less who lived in the back apartment. After cursing out the deliveryman (with the talons of a newborn kitten), Jerry went back to the apartment and upstairs to shower. Lori and Blackie’s office door was closed. That loud, moody music Blackie liked played behind the door. Did I do any good bringing them together again? he wondered. Or did I make it worse than things had been between them before? Jerry couldn’t say. After all, what did he know about love between a man and a woman? The only woman he’d ever loved had walked out on him, convincing him what he’d forgotten—he never knew anything about love. THE first time Lori opened the door Saturday morning, she found Tracey and Jon, each with a kid in their arms, dressed to the nines. The two adults looked extremely tired...and ecstatically happy. "I swear she looks exactly like the both of you," Lori was saying a few minutes later, the baby in her arms, when Blackie entered the living room. She felt her spine straighten instinctively and tried to get herself not to look at him. Any lack of inhibition she’d had before dissolved. She wasn’t any better with children than cooking. She loved her "nieces and nephews" and strived to be the best aunt she could be. At the same time, she realized the gene or biological make-up that made a person fervently want their own offspring was missing in her. Guess you’re just like your mother, a soft, cruel voice said inside her head. Funny, she would have thought Blackie shared that deficiency, but he was so good with Anthony and Emma. They loved him. But how was that a surprise? She’d loved him when she was a little girl. Everything he did made her love him more. So what’s new? Lori thought, turning to Tracey and murmuring something about her job. What was new was she had to fight what she felt for Blackie. He hadn’t changed. He’d never see her as a grown woman, one separate from his loyalty to her father. So why couldn’t she stop this gnawing ache for him? They’d learned to work in the same room together, but she never lost track of his presence. She got her work done—good work—and she always left her office for the day feeling drained of all energy. The doorbell rang a second time, and Lori got up to answer it. She couldn’t control her expression of disappointment at the visitor. She hadn’t thought of RJ once since he dropped her off Thursday night. How was she supposed to get rid of him, especially in front of Blackie? When she saw the dark look on Blackie’s face as she and RJ moved into the room, she decided to go along with her ruse a little longer. While Blackie was her "boyfriend", there’d been a few instances where a guy came on to her. Each time, Blackie had reacted in extreme jealousy. He’d chased off her suitors in a quiet, ferocious way that—God, what didn’t with him?—turned her inside out. Of course now she knew that’d all been part of the act. Yet the way he glared at them now resembled his jealousy back then. There was no reason for him to play games now, so maybe she misunderstood his reaction. Anyway, she couldn’t control her need to see that possible jealousy. As soon as Tracey and Jon left for his dad’s wedding, she’d tell RJ she didn’t want to see him again. During the next hour, RJ didn’t make a bit of sense to her. He acted like she’d accepted an engagement ring the night before. Lori did nothing to encourage him yet he was all over her, a kitten giving affection to get it. Was he psychotic or something? She couldn’t tell. Unable to take it anymore, she escaped into the kitchen on the pretense of getting a soda. Alone, she leaned against the wall next to the swinging door. Maybe you’re the one who’s psychotic, she thought just as the door swung in. Blackie walked...stalked...into the room. Lori caught her breath, straightening immediately. He both shocked and terrified her with her own needs when he put his arms on the wall next to her head, leaning so close she could smelling his intoxicating cologne, feel his breath fanning her lips.... "I want some answers." The flush that stole over her left her dizzy and hot, so aroused the possibility of spontaneous combustion became very likely. "I don’t know what you mean," she barely whispered. God, she wanted him in a way she’d never wanted anything or anyone. It was painful to feel so much, so much she’d never have. "Tell me how the hell it is you can’t stand to have his hands on you or his mouth near yours if you want him so damn bad." His teeth clenched around each word he uttered, drawing especially the last three out, and she blushed. Her breathing was so shallow, she couldn’t piece two words together if she tried. "You want him? He means something to you? You expect me to believe you slept with him recently when you can’t even stand to have him near you? You cringe when he kisses you." What Lori couldn’t understand at this moment was how mad he was. She’d avoided glancing at him in the living room. How long had this fury of his been building up? "What do you care?" she asked without a trace of annoyance. For a long, heated moment, his ebony eyes bored into hers, as if he wanted to punish her. Then he slammed his fist against the wall before turning his back and walking away. Lori barely had time to sag against the flood of emotions that seemed to drain right out of her onto the floor. He turned back and grabbed her, yanking her against him so hard her body reacted the way it would to a surprise punch...or something infinitely more erotic. He pulled her up until their lips held a mere breath away. Oh God, oh God, he was going to kiss her and kiss her hard. The thought made her feel both weak and revved. Yes. Please. Just as suddenly, he let her go, stalking out of the room and shaking his head in self-disgust. Lori let out a choked gasp. As she sank to the floor, she realized she was trembling violently. Chapter 7 Damn him, Lori thought later that afternoon, glaring across the office at Blackie openly. Even if he’d felt her gaze, he didn’t look her way. He’d withdrawn into himself the way he had in the Keys. There’d be no getting though to him until he was good and ready to come out. She was too mad anyway. What right did he have to say or do any of what he had in the kitchen? None. A little voice inside of her head whispered mockingly what she didn’t want to admit: You’re mad because he didn’t kiss you. God, no fool like an old fool. Her phone rang, and she did everything short of scream in alarm. Putting her hand on her heart as if it could calm the rapid beat, she took a couple deep breaths before picking up. "Hello? Ah, Lori Gordon." "Hi, Lor. It’s Helen, oh-thou-buried-in-boxes." Her assistant and friend hadn’t been able to tie her life up in New York as easily as Lori had. Since Lori didn’t need her just yet, it worked out anyway. As soon as she finished her sketches, sent them to Kira for approval, then to the pattern maker, she could start the real work of designing the fall line. "How’s it going on that end?" Lori asked, staring down at her drawing pad. "Well, the good news is we’ll be there in a couple days." Helen had a husband and a small child. Since he was a stay-at-home dad, he didn’t mind relocating. "And the bad news?" "Kira. You know how she is. She’s waiting for this whole move to fail and then she can ship us back here, saying "I told you so." And I, for one, don’t want to move back to New York." Lori’s assistant had never liked The Big Apple much. She’d stayed after graduation because of her job and, later, her husband. While intellectually Helen realized that Milwaukee’s crime rate rivaled New York’s, she harbored a lot of false assumptions that because Milwaukee was in Wisconsin it automatically stood for rural America. Lori couldn’t talk her out of her conceptions. She’d lived in Milwaukee all her life until going to college and a part of her viewed Milwaukee as a small town since she knew all the ins-and-outs. But if Helen expected to find houses spaced a half mile apart, families of ducks crossing the road without coming to harm and Farmer and Mrs. Brown around the corner, unafraid to leave their door unlocked at night, she’d be in for a rude awakening. "Sure you wanna do this?" Lori asked again. "Absolutely. We can’t wait to get out of here. How are you doing on the sketches?" "About another week. I may even beat Kira’s breakneck deadline this time." She’d been working a lot in the evening, in the middle of the night since sleep frustrated her too much lately. Lori glanced at Blackie and found him less withdrawn. If she didn’t know better, she might suspect him of eavesdropping. She made plans to get together with her assistant as soon as she arrived, then hung up. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her charcoal pencil again. Someone rapped on the office door. Out of the corner of her eye, Lori saw Blackie glance up. Her father stepped in, looking around at the room that’d once been so full of junk it could have been a fire hazard. "That Flannery punk is downstairs, ragamuffin," he told her grudgingly. Lori frowned. After she’d come out of the kitchen this morning, RJ had disappeared without a word. Not even a goodbye. Now he was back? Shaking her head, she stood. She had to talk to him, tell him she didn’t want to see him. She couldn’t resist saying "Don’t wait up for me" as she left. She directed it at her father, but she said it to irk Blackie. He glared at her when she turned uncontrollably at the door to look at him. Once she got her purse, she found RJ out waiting in his car. She planned to tell him as soon as she got in the car, but he took off without a word once she got in. He started talking immediately too, telling her his latest run-in with his parents. Lori took a deep breath. Talking to him when he was this upset...forget it. Why had he come to her? She’d certainly never given him sympathy before, and now that she did feel some she couldn’t risk telling him because he might read something into it that wasn’t there. "Is he still your boyfriend?" RJ surprised her as they went inside his house. He went to the stereo to put on some music. The question wasn’t something that came off the top of his head. RJ was very calculating, even down to his dialogue. When he spoke, he’d spent time formulating exactly what he’d say and how he’d say it. His words were so precise, he used to drive her crazy sometimes. "Blackie? No. He just happens to be living with my father again," Lori said as she absently ran her hand over a solid statute of a nude Rubenesque woman. RJ strode up to her. "Living with you." Lori bit the side of her lip lightly. Pursuing this topic could only prove useless. She was in no mood for games, but she could tell he was definitely in the mood to play one. Smiling thinly, RJ caressed his neatly trimmed goatee. "Then why do you suppose he’s telling me my business?" "What do you mean?" Lori asked, feeling a lump rise in her throat. Coming here had been a bad idea, she realized belatedly. She had to be stupid not to come to that conclusion from the start. "I mean he told me if I hurt you, he’d kill me." The danger she could very well be in right now faded at this news. So that was why RJ left this morning. She should have been furious with Blackie. Instead, she just wanted to scream. He didn’t make any sense. Neither did RJ, but she had no desire to untangle and sort out his mysteries. Not the way she did with Blackie. "I never hurt you, did I?" RJ asked in a tone that seemed mocking. Lori remembered more than one run-in with RJ’s temper, his unpredictability. He’d been rough with her a lot, especially sexually. Embarrassing and illogical in retrospect, she hadn’t minded that roughness most of the time. It balanced her state of mind then. She hadn’t had enough self-respect to understand the domination left her powerless in every way. Maybe she’d been sick enough to like Blackie’s reactions to the bruises she had. They’d certainly gotten his attention. "I think I should go," Lori said slowly. She didn’t like how she felt. She didn’t like the look in RJ’s eyes. He shook his head, smiling that cruel, mocking smile again. "Stick around for awhile. Things might get interesting." AH Dammit, where the hell is she? Blackie sat on the couch, but was up again a few minutes later. Why hadn’t he stopped her from going before? When he’d come out of the kitchen this morning, his head had been an inferno. Telling himself not to led to threatening Flannery. Like he should have known, the guy smiled at him, said calmly "I never lose" and left on that note. No kidding Blackie’d never spared a thought how Flannery reacted to being dumped by Lori years ago. Dumped for him. Someone was going to pay, and dammit, Blackie was terrified it might be Lori. Take your own advice: You’re not her keeper or her boyfriend. She does what she wants to do. It’s none of your damn business. She’s a grown woman. But Blackie would never let her grow up fully in his mind. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Nothing could ever change the fact that Lori Gordon was off-limits to him. So why couldn’t he accept that? Why did he watch her like some lovesick puppy all day? Want her so damn bad, nights were pure insanity? And how could he feel both violently jealous and protective toward her now? She’s yours an irrational thought told him. She’s yours, and you protect what belongs to you at all cost. You take care of her. He grabbed up the phone, but didn’t know who he planned to call. She could be anywhere. Besides, if she wasn’t in trouble, she’d cut him off at the knees for interfering in her life. The only options he had were to wait it out and hope she returned soon or to wait for her to call and ask for his help. Just like old times. Blackie punched at the wall. The drywall and the wallpaper over it were so old, his fist went right through. He thought about patching it then and there to get his mind off Lori, but—hell—he didn’t want his mind off her. After walking over to the windows facing the back parking lot, he lit a cigarette, a habit he’d all but given up. With his friends’ kids over all the time when he lived in Stevens Point, he’d cut down to a couple a night. Just like old times, he thought again, staring at the lot, waiting for Lori to either show up unexpectedly or to call cuz she was in trouble again. And you still wanna beat Flannery’s brains out. He never had; couldn’t say why not now. He didn’t have to know Flannery well to understand the guy. Rich, spoiled, totally paranoid. He expected the world handed to him on a silver platter. If he didn’t get what he wanted, life was suddenly unfair. When a guy like Flannery hurt, he set out to destroy in retribution. Lori had always been his victim. She also volunteered for it—at least she had as a kid. Nobody did stupid things like she did out of a sense of peer pressure. She’d always been too reckless and independent for that. Bailing her out of jail, racing to her rescue when she ended up in Minnesota with no idea how she got there or why, the time she dropped acid and Flannery left her alone during it.... Yeah, that time was one of the most vivid for Blackie. He’d taken her to a hotel after she called him with some insane message about glass walls shattering. He hadn’t wanted Jerry to see what a mess she got herself into this time. She’d been at the tail-end of the hallucinations by the time he got there. She’d been covered with cuts and couldn’t remember how she got them even when she came out of it. With their clothes on, he’d stood with her under an ice cold shower that sobered her faster than anything else would. Because he had to, he’d undressed her and put her to bed. That was the first time he’d allowed his feelings for this thirteen-year-old girl who 1) should have been like a sister to him but wasn’t, and 2) should have looked like a gawky kid instead of a drop-dead sexy woman but didn’t, to surface. He’d wanted to crawl into bed with her and warm her up, again, faster than anything else would. And he’d hated himself with a vengeance. He was twenty-eight years old, lusting after a kid he’d loved from the minute the nurse put her in his arms. He’d gone out and got a bottle of cheap whiskey. Self-revulsion kept him drinking through the night until he passed out on the second bed. He woke with a pounding headache to find Lori coming out of the bathroom in just a towel that didn’t begin to cover her lush curves. "What’re you trying to do to your daddy, Princess? You trying to put him in an early grave?" he’d muttered, taking his anger at himself out on her. Her shame filled her expression as she whispered "Of course not." The only thing Blackie approved of in her behavior was that she never flaunted her rebellion in Jerry’s face. She treated her father like he was fragile and had to be protected from her seemingly uncontrollable recklessness. "Well, like it or not, Princess, that’s what you’re doing, always looking for trouble the way you do." She’d tucked her wet hair behind her ears, her jaw tight. "What do you want me to do?" Her stupid question irked him. He’d shot out of bed despite his swimming head and got right up in her face. "I want you to stay out of trouble. One of these days I’m not gonna be around to bail you out. What are you gonna do then?" She’d looked up at him, raw hurt making her look like a puppy dog. "If I’m such a burden to you..." Her pain, the way she looked like a little girl and a woman, his anger and needs he didn’t want anything to do with converged and erupted. He’d grabbed her, his kiss a punishment the first second before he was completely lost in her taste and his own conflicting feelings for her. Whether she’d loosened the towel or it’d gone on its own, he’d never know, but he shoved her away when he heard it hit the floor with a gentle thump. And then that damn vow...Jerry had asked for it right after Blackie got Lori back home the next day. He never had a chance to steel the sick lust into the darkest, most remote part of himself, where it belonged. Other than the few kisses he allowed her, kisses that turned him off to kissing any other woman, he’d fought his lust, hers, until that night in the Keys. He’d been more drunk that night than ever before. He’d wanted to be her boyfriend, deep down in the darkest, most remote part of himself. He’d wanted her. He still did. He just couldn’t and it didn’t matter that she was a grown woman now. The phone rang, startling him yet not delaying his reflexes even a little. Before the first ring had completed, he was across the room, snatching it up. Every instinct inside him said it was Lori. All she said was "I need—", and he demanded "Where are you?" He drove with his teeth clenched the entire time. If Flannery hurt her, he’d kill him. This time nothing could stop him. After jamming the car into park and twisting the keys from the ignition, he jumped out of his car at the all-night Laundromat she’d fled to. She sat in a hard plastic chair and lifted her head from her hands when he stormed in. The left side of her face was swollen and bruised. His anger tore through him like a demon, but he couldn’t let Lori see it. He took her in his arms when she came to him. Holding her harder than he should, he whispered hoarsely "Did he rape you?" She shook her head. "But he tried." He didn’t need her confirmation. Once she backed up, he could see the truth in her eyes. "I think I killed him or hurt him bad. I hit him over the head with a statue that weighed about fifty pounds. He was bleeding..." You better be dead, Flannery, cuz if you’re not I’m gonna kill you and it won’t be nearly as painless. Blackie put his hands on her face gently. "I’ll take care of it." "I didn’t encourage him! I swear. I just saw him to make you jealous." Her eyes shone bright with unshed tears. Looking at her, he couldn’t fight the need to wrap her up and just hold on to her. Oh baby, it worked. Worked like a charm. "I know that, Princess. Why do you think I was so pissed off? I knew you didn’t give a shit about him. You wanted to hurt me." Lori swallowed hard. "Did I hurt you?" she asked in a soft, vulnerable voice. Hurt? She could destroy him in a whispered word. Not bothering to give himself a chance to realize what a bad idea it was, he kissed her mouth. After so many years, he should have been rough with need. But it was just too damn good. Too right to do anything except savor. She wrapped her arms around him, giving as good as she got. His Lori. His Princess. She was still his. He could taste it on her sweet, generous mouth. He heard it in her low sigh when his tongue touched hers. On a downward spiral and the only way off is to let go... He couldn’t. They moved apart mutually and looked at each other. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes doe soft. "Take me home, Blackie," she said. Just like old times. Chapter 8 "You okay?" Blackie asked on the landing between the upstairs and downstairs in the back apartment of Rainbow Nights. Taking a deep breath, Lori nodded, holding the ice back away from the swollen side of her face. Blackie led it back there immediately. "I’m fine," she insisted. She seemed uncomfortable with him again—when she’d just trusted him to take care of her. He didn’t want to lose that trust so soon. Leaning a little closer, he touched his fingers to the side of her face lightly. "Take a shower, get some sleep." After looking at him—through him—for a long minute, she asked "Where will you be?" "You need me, I’ll be here," he told her, but he had the feeling she suspected the truth. No way would he leave it at this. Flannery hurt her, just like he’d warned him not to. Payback time. "He won’t hurt me again." Blackie’s ghost of a grin obviously didn’t ease her discomfort, especially when he said "You got that straight, Princess. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything." She was worried about Flannery, Blackie thought. The guy almost raped her and she worried about him. After a hesitant nod, she went the rest of the way upstairs. Blackie watched her disappear around the corner, and then waited until he heard a door open and close. Back when Lori hung around with Flannery, Blackie had found her at the guy’s house often. He’d lived with his parents then. The Laundromat he’d picked Lori up at couldn’t have been more than a couple blocks from where Flannery now must live. And Blackie had the feeling he’d know it when he saw it. Flannery liked to flaunt his wealth. He drove around the neighborhood for a good fifteen minutes before he found what he was looking for. A Porsche and a Lamborghini in the driveway and two stiffs polishing them compulsively. They had music blaring as they worked. After confirming it was Flannery’s house by looking at the mailbox, Blackie drove around the block again, parked on a different street and came around the house from the back. A guy like Flannery would have a security system, but it wasn’t on. Blackie picked the lock and went in without announcement. The living room was empty, the stereo on but not loud. Blackie spun the dial to turn it up. He didn’t want to be interrupted, if Flannery was here and alive. As he went to lock the front door, he saw Lori’s handiwork. Blood on the floor, not as much as he’d expect from a statue this size. He picked up the largest piece of it. It was heavy. She’d probably gotten in a glancing blow and ran out. And if she’d done more damage than that, well, she wouldn’t pay for it. He’d make sure of that. Over the blaring stereo, he heard a voice upstairs and followed it to a bedroom. Flannery must have heard the footsteps because he came out of the bathroom, holding a bloody towel, cursing "I’ve got a son-of-a-bitch of a headache. Do you have to blast that—?" The wound at his hairline looked worse than it probably was. Then he saw Blackie in the doorway. For an instant, Blackie thought he saw expectation in Flannery’s eyes. He’d expected Blackie to show up here. Maybe he’d even invited it with that "I always win" attitude after Blackie threatened him last time. "You didn’t expect me so soon?" Blackie asked in a mocking tone. Flannery actually laughed. "No. I expected you to at least spend the night making love to the girlfriend you stole from me." Flannery’s voice implied Blackie didn’t have the balls to do it. "You can’t lose and you can’t steal what was never yours," Blackie said softly. "I warned you not to hurt her. You like to live on the edge, don’t you?" As Blackie moved forward menacingly, Flannery made a dash toward the window—no doubt to call the friends he’d expected to be flanked with when facing Blackie. Lori said no and he kept going. If she hadn’t bashed him in the head, he’d probably have succeeded in raping her. It wasn’t hard for Blackie to remember all of Flannery’s crimes against Lori. The bruises, the cruelty, leaving her to fend for herself while she hallucinated. She could have stepped off the balcony and broke her neck that time instead of the unexplained, minor cuts she got. Blackie reached out and grabbed Flannery’s arm. The guy fought so hard, Blackie heard a snap followed by a howl of pain. Blackie grabbed him by the front of his shirt and drove forward, out of the room onto the balcony. He kept going until the guy was bent so far over the railing, the only thing that kept him from plummeting to his death was Blackie’s strength. "You like the edge? How’s this? You like living on the edge so much, this is gonna be fun for you." "You’re crazy, man!" Flannery squealed, his eyes bulging out of his head. He glanced down at the sidewalk, then back to Blackie quickly. "I’m afraid of heights. Let me up." "I don’t like anybody hurting Lori Gordon. You don’t have to know why. You just have to decide if you wanna live or die." "She likes it rough!" Flannery said, and he seemed to be moving in and out of consciousness. "Are you telling me that you don’t know that? She used to fight me all the time and she loved it. How was I supposed to know the fight was real this time?" Blackie let go of him with one hand. Flannery screamed, flailing his arms, trying to catch hold of anything to keep him from falling. "You never come near her again, you loser," Blackie snarled. At that moment, he felt like he held Flannery’s fate in his hands. Literally. Figuratively. He could just as easily let go as he could save him. He didn’t like anything Flannery said. Even if it was true, he didn’t like it. Flannery started to scream for his friends, realized they’d never hear him and turned back to Blackie. "Let me up or let me go, dammit. I never wanted her anyway. I certainly don’t want her now." Blackie realized it was as close to a promise to stay away from Lori as he’d get. With both arms, he raised Flannery up, back over the railing and dropped him on the balcony. Flannery promptly threw up. "Don’t make me come back here. Cuz you won’t survive a second time." Blackie walked out the front door, right up to Flannery’s stooges. "Your friend needs an ambulance," he said unemotionally. It must have taken awhile to sink in. He was halfway to his car before he heard shouts. Either tonight or tomorrow, the cops would be at his door. He could handle that. He’d done what he had to do. Scared Flannery into staying out of Lori’s life for good. When he got back to Rainbow Nights, he went upstairs. Just as he put his hand on Lori’s doorknob, Jerry glanced out his bedroom door. "What’s goin’ on?" Blackie shook his head, backing off from Lori’s door slightly. "Nothing. I took care of it. Don’t worry." Jerry nodded. "Well, better make sure she’s okay." Frowning, Blackie watched Jerry duck back into his room and wondered. Almost sounded like the old man was encouraging him to enter his daughter’s room. He did want to make sure she was okay. She was asleep. In the moonlight spilling over her bed, he saw that the swelling in her cheek had gone down considerably. "Blackie?" she said sleepily. Kneeling down beside her, he brushed the hair from her forehead. "I’m here, Princess." LORI woke late the next day and half-expected Blackie to be with her. Not in her bed, but in the room, watching over her. Had she imagined his presence last night? Even if she had, she’d slept better last night than she had since she moved back. Nothing’s changed, she scolded herself. Your cheek is sore, you know you’ll feel like an idiot about this whole thing when you let yourself think about it...and Blackie...Blackie is still Blackie. The protective, dark warrior who wouldn’t return your feelings if you were the last two people on earth. She didn’t doubt that Blackie would avoid her after this. He’d kissed her, oh God, so tenderly she could almost feel it again when she closed her eyes and touched her fingertips to her mouth. Slipping out of bed, she saw herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. She saw someone she’d tried to lock away for years. A woman in love—aching, alive, a little afraid, a little desperate, a believer in miracles. A lifetime of loving one man—Blackie—wouldn’t be denied any longer. Ever again. She had to see him. After she stepped out into the hall, she glanced at his door. Open. Which meant he wasn’t in his bedroom. He always locked that once inside. Their office door stood open too. He wasn’t working. The thought sneaked into her mind, and she ran with it this time. Closing the door behind her, she headed straight for Blackie’s section of the office. Without considering the invasion of his privacy, she immediately lifted the drop cloth from his current project. Shock rose in her throat but was blocked by her gasp. Her entire body reacted to the erotic painting, a painting that impossibly straddled the line between bold and subtle. Her cheeks flushed when the memory "Every time I look at you, baby...molten lava. A sea of it" surfaced in her mind. This painting brought those words to life again. The man and woman were immersed in a sea of molten lava from the waist down. The passion in their eyes as they kissed, as they held each others’ gaze intensely...so real they could have been alive. Lori started to touch the people because they looked like flesh and blood, then realized the paint could still be wet. When she was a teenager, Blackie had drawn his comic books to amuse her and his friends. He’d had a character to honor each of them. Lori had been the scantily-clad, red-head named Princess—the ultimate good in the medieval/fantasy world Blackie created. He’d been the villain, Gypsy—the ultimate evil. He wore black armor and covered his face with a black mask. Obscuring his face that way had always called attention to the haunted eyes. Blackie had been pretending to be her boyfriend at that time, so he’d given Lori what she wanted by allowing Princess and Gypsy to have moments of illicit passion and pure love. Princess and Gypsy had been doomed to spend eternity apart because she was good and he was evil, and the twain could only meet for stolen junctures in time. The series had been a bestseller from the time it came out, and though Lori never allowed herself to buy them, her roommate in college had been a huge fan. She’d talked about it even when Lori insisted she didn’t care. Princess and Gypsy had kept their following rooting for them to get together permanently, but they never did—no matter how close they got. At the end of the series (her roommate had tearfully told her), Gypsy had died saving Princess. This painting was of Princess and Gypsy—who’d scaled down to just a mask around the eyes rather than the whole head. Why was Blackie still painting these characters if he’d called it quits with the series? Re-covering the painting, she took a deep breath. Total invasion of privacy anyone? She couldn’t stop herself. She opened the first portfolio leaning against the wall. Painting after painting—the same characters, sometimes alone, sometimes together, all evoking a sensual, dark mood. Some of them were so erotic, Lori’s body tightened with pleasure and she stopped breathing as she stared at it. After looking at a couple dozen paintings, she started to notice something. In Princess’ early days, she’d always dressed the same, wore her hair up at the top of her head in a long, flowing ponytail. There’d been something innocent about her, something desperate in her gaze when she looked at Gypsy. These newer paintings were different. Her hair was always down, a lot of the times the only thing shielding her nakedness was her hair. She’d lost that fawning. In these paintings, Gypsy fawned. Princess was the one in control. Lori had once known a writer who could go into a tirade if anyone assumed he was the main character in his books and the other characters were people in his real life. This is the same thing. Blackie’s paintings aren’t a true indication of his feelings. His feelings for you. Princess and Gypsy are characters in a comic book. You can’t tell if he loves you by looking at them. Yet as she zipped the portfolio and made sure everything was back in place, she couldn’t help feeling a small hope blossoming inside her. She had no idea how to face him after snooping through his work so shamelessly. What she wanted to do—throw herself in his arms and tell him she loved him—wasn’t an option. She’d had enough rejection from him to keep her from doing anything that hasty ever again. On a deep breath, she went downstairs. The doorbell rang as she crossed the living room, heading for the kitchen. Wrapping her satin robe around her and cinching the belt, she detoured to answer the door. The last thing she expected to see were two police officers. Oh God, she’d known he’d do something. He wouldn’t just leave it alone. Had she killed RJ and Blackie went to make sure it looked like he’d done it? She’d never forget the jarring impact of hitting someone in the head with an extremely heavy object. "Mornin’, ma’am. Does a...Blackie...Scar...pajo...live here?" Could she lie to a cop? She’d done it often as a kid, but this was different. Technically, Blackie’s real name was Byron. So she wouldn’t actually be lying if she said no.... "Scarpacchio," a voice said. Lori turned to see Blackie in the kitchen doorway, holding a mug. "Mr. Scarpacchio, we need you to come down to the station with us for questioning." He was dressed, Lori noticed. Socks, shoes. Blackie had been waiting for them. No, he couldn’t...She wouldn’t let him.... As he came toward them, he grabbed his jacket. Lori instinctively took the mug he held out to her. When she started to speak, he silenced her with a quick kiss that effectively made her thoughts scatter. Tears flooded her eyes. "Don’t worry," he whispered, holding her gaze with full confidence. Wordlessly, she watched him leave with the police. It wasn’t until the black-and-white drove away and she heard her father on the stairs that she looked down at the mug. He’d made coffee for her, with milk and cinnamon. She burst into tears. Chapter 9 "Come on. I’ll get some coffee, and you tell me what’s goin’ on," her father said, putting an arm around her. As he led her into the kitchen, she noticed the wall next to the swinging door had been patched recently. The rest of the wall looked even more dingy. Blackie. He was the only one who’d ever kept this apartment from falling down around their ears. Another sob rose in her throat when she sat at the table. God, there was nothing she could do to help him. Calling to confess to murder if they didn’t even suspect Blackie of it or to, in any way, bring up RJ would only make things worse for Blackie. Maybe RJ wasn’t dead, just hurt. Would Blackie even call her if he needed bail? She wouldn’t stand by and allow him to "take the credit" for this, that was for sure. She’d done nothing except defend herself. Any crimes she’d committed hadn’t been done against RJ. "Now tell me what happened," her father said sitting across from her at the ‘seats-2-3/4-comfortably’ table. Glancing up from the scarred wood (she’d carved her and Blackie’s names into it when she was fourteen), she shook her head. "I never wanted to see RJ again. I did it to make Blackie jealous. Some people never change, do they?" "I don’t suspect Flannery has," her father said rather than calling her an idiot. He would never blame her for anything. His unfailing belief in her innocence and his inability to discipline her might have led her to assume he didn’t care. She knew he did. She’d always known. Not once had she ever doubted it. Her father had the heart of an easily wounded teddy bear. He’d relied on Blackie to discipline her when she was younger. Blackie’s discipline had never been that of a parent. He simply created in her an insatiable need to please him. That need kept her in line sometimes and constantly warred with her need for his attention. "RJ tried to rape me last night—" Her father’s hands tightened on his mug. She was surprised the ancient, multi-chipped cup didn’t shatter under the pressure. "I hit him over the head with a statue and ran. I don’t know how much damage I did. He was unconscious and bleeding the last time I saw him." "And you called Blackie?" Lori nodded, picking up her coffee. Blackie had watched her make her own coffee hundreds of times. He knew exactly how she liked it. "I don’t know what Blackie did to him, but I know he went after him." Her father did everything short of laugh and rub his hands together in glee. "He did the right thing, what I would have done if I was thirty years younger." "The police just took him in for questioning. What if they arrest him? Did he do the right thing then? How could I stand back and let him—?" Her father shook his head. "It won’t come to that." As always, he failed to reassure her. The only person who could was Blackie. "You still love him, don’t you, muffin?" She was too worried to be less than honest. After sipping her coffee, she said "Sometimes that’s not enough, Daddy. He’ll never let that be enough." Blackie’s demons were too strong. He’d never get over being dropped off like an unwanted kitten...or garbage, which was where her father had found him. "He loves you. I believe that, sweetie." "I thought he did too." Lori stood up, moving over to the one window in the room. "At least I told myself he did, deep down. Whenever I told him I loved him and asked him if he loved me, he said "You know"." Swallowing with difficulty, she glanced at her father. "We made love. When we were in the Florida Keys. Do you remember? I’d just turned nineteen about a month or two before." A strange expression Lori couldn’t pin down claimed her father’s face. She expected him to be shocked, maybe a little angry. Her cheeks burned. She’d never shared anything intimate with her father. She did everything could to protect him from those parts of her life that might hurt him. "I seduced him. He was so drunk...So sober. It doesn’t make sense. But..." She shook her head at the contradiction that even now seemed to fit what she remembered of that night. "I was so in love with him, I think I could have convinced myself it was right for any reason at all. Anything to get him to be with me." She shrugged, closing her eyes as she faced the window and the bright morning sunshine. "He said it was a mistake the next morning. That he was so drunk, he thought he was dreaming." Forcing herself to look at her father again, despite the thick tension in the room, she said "I know about the vow. I know he pretended to be my boyfriend because you asked him to, to keep me out of trouble. It worked like a charm, didn’t it?" She’d gotten over her anger at her father first. For a long time, she’d blamed Blackie. He’d been the one to dupe her into making her believe he really wanted her. It still stung too, but she suspected even if she’d known the truth she would have gone on with the charade until he ended it. Instead of defending his own case, her father defended Blackie. "Don’t be hard on him for that, punkin. I forced him into it. I did everything short of say he owed us for taking him in. He didn’t want anything to do with it." Did it make it hurt any less to know Blackie had been coerced at gunpoint? She couldn’t say. In the end, it came down to the fact that he’d never loved her. He did what he had out of loyalty to her father. God, he was a hell of an actor sometimes, wasn’t he? She watched her father get up and refill his mug. When it was only half full, he set down the carafe and turned to her. "I make no judgments about what the two of you did back then. But I know that boy. He doesn’t have a deceptive bone in his body. If he loved you, he did it out of love—no matter what he said or even what he feels. If it’s wrong..." The dull flush in his face told Lori her father wasn’t comfortable with the idea of anyone making love to her. Then or now. The fact that it’d been Blackie added to the intensity of his emotions because he loved Blackie like a son. And yet he seemed to approve despite his physical reaction. "You two belong together. I’m convinced of that. He’d never hurt you. He’ll take care of you. Nobody else will do for my daughter. Nobody else is good enough." Lori moved over to him when she saw a sheen of tears in his eyes. She didn’t want anyone to take care of her. She wanted someone to love her. Blackie. She wanted his love all the way. Every way. Never ashamed of how he felt. Lori hugged her father. "You love him too, muffin. Don’t you?" On a deep breath, Lori said softly "Yes." He nodded. "Good. Cuz he deserves that. He deserves you." A few minutes later, Lori went upstairs to get dressed. It occurred to her then that her father had been strangely passionate about wanting her and Blackie together. Had he brought them both home for that reason, not because of his health? That would make a lot more sense. Her father never complained about physical discomfort to one person, let alone practically everyone he knew. At least she could rest on that count. She just had to make sure her boss didn’t find out the truth. Crazy as her home life was again, she didn’t want to leave here. Not yet. When she went downstairs again, she found her father had gone out to the bar. She wasn’t surprised. Emotional scenes always sent him into hiding for a little while. Her nervousness for Blackie’s predicament came back. She started cleaning compulsively as she waited for something to happen. No amount of elbow grease could change how badly this place was in need of renovation. She had the inclination and money now to put into it. If she lived here for the rest of her life, she wanted the place to be nice. A couple hours later, she thought she heard a car pull up and turned off the vacuum. Blackie came in. He seemed to expect her to throw herself into his arms; she didn’t surprise him. "God, I was so worried! Are you okay?" "You were worried about me?" He seemed surprised by this news. "Of course, about you! I don’t care about anybody else." His eyes were dark, intense, tender as he stared down at her. "What happened?" she asked, relieved and wanting to purr each time his hands passed over her hair soothingly. He shrugged slightly. "They made me wait over an hour, then finally put me in a line-up. I guess Flannery changed his mind. He didn’t ID me. They let me go." Lori could hardly believe it. RJ knew Blackie when he saw him. Blackie must have scared him to death if he’d decided not to press charges. Maybe it made her weak, but the thought of a man fighting for her honor had always turned her to mush. Especially when that man was Blackie Scarpacchio. Lori snaked her arms around his shoulders, pulling herself up until their lips were inches apart. He held her gaze. She saw his doubts, yet he didn’t try to stop her when she kissed him. His hands closed at the back of her head. This is so right, she thought almost defensively, closing her eyes against the force of her own needs. "This is not a good idea, Princess," he whispered. He sounded as breathless as she felt as he put her away from him a few seconds later. "This is right," she insisted with more conviction than he seemed to have against it. He stared at her for a long time, making her wish for the millionth time that she could read his mind. That wish only increased when he took a step closer and reached for her. He didn’t take her mouth tenderly this time. He kissed her hard. Deep. So fast, her head spun during the ruthlessly sweet pressure of his lips against hers, the plunge of his tongue past the seam and inside. All she could do was hold on and pray for a miracle. He let her go, just as fast, just as hard. His vow to her father had expired. Lori was determined to find out the truth about these kisses. No man had ever kissed her the way he did. He’d made her believe in his love with these kisses. If he hadn’t given her love, had it only been loyalty? What could his excuse be now? HE heard the door open, but didn’t turn from the window. He’d known she’d come to him tonight. Instead of locking the door against the temptation she always brought with her in spades, he’d left it open tonight. A part of his mind saw a difference between Lori the teenager and Lori the woman. A difference that couldn’t make any difference. Any way she came to him, he couldn’t take her. Before she even touched him, he felt her so strongly his body went rigid trying to keep himself in line. He couldn’t turn and grab her and make her his again. He couldn’t hold her or kiss her. He couldn’t tell her all the things he’d never revealed to anybody. And he couldn’t lay in her arms and allow her to heal him. Her breasts, her smooth skin, rough lace and her arms collided gently with his body. He felt each part of her separately, then as a whole. Closing his eyes, he fought himself so he could fight her. Her hands stroked down his arms, weakening any resolve he’d thrown together. Then she pressed her face to his back and her soft lips burned through him. "I can’t do this, Princess." He felt her freeze against him. "Why? Your vow to my father has expired. I’m an adult. We’re free to do what we want." As he shook his head, he shook her off. "It’s got nothing to do with your father. It’s always been impossible. Always will be." Like an over-curious kid, she repeated "Why?" He turned to her when he was far enough to be unable to reach for her. "The same reason it’s always been. I held you...I was the first person to hold you when you were born." Her own mother had waved the newborn away when the nurse brought the squalling little girl to her. She waved toward Blackie, who’d been there because Jerry’d had a cold and hadn’t been allowed in the room. "I helped your daddy raise you. I changed your diapers. Why do you even ask why? I can’t give you what you want. I can’t feel like that for you." He couldn’t, but he did. When she was thirteen, he’d stopped remembering he held her, raised her. He forgot while she became a woman right before his eyes. Looking at her now wearing a black lace teddy and sheer robe, her hair falling loose and full around her, he couldn’t remember any of those parental tasks he’d performed either. All he could remember was his fantasy, his one and only anchor in this world. You can’t have her, dammit! Don’t make up ways to make it right. "You tell me, Princess—what kind of sick pervert wants somebody who by all rights should be a sister...or a daughter to him?" He could have hit her; she reacted the same way to his words as she would have to a slap. "Making love to me was...is perverted?" "You could be my little sister, dammit." She pursed her lips. "We’re not related, no matter what you feel. What does the age difference matter now, if it mattered at all then?" He already knew it hadn’t mattered to her. She’d crossed her arms over her chest protectively, but he didn’t want her to feel safe—even in her own logic. He wanted her to see just how illogical and wrong the whole thing was. Moving into her space, he said "Would it be okay if you lusted after Rod and Bethany’s oldest son?" He shocked her. She was doing the math and seeing that—although the difference was greater with Andrew—his argument had merit. A twenty-eight-year-old man lusting after a thirteen-year-old girl was grounds for a hell of a lot more than concern, any way a person looked at it. "Is it perverted for a thirty-five-year-old woman to lust after a teenage boy?" She shook her head. "No. Then it’s all wink wink nudge nudge. That’s great. But it’s some horrible perversion if an older man cares about a younger woman." Blackie didn’t like the merit of her logic because he had to wonder who’d told her. His first time had been with a thirty-five-year stripper who used to come into the bar every Friday night. He’d been fourteen. She must have known it too, but because he could have passed for eighteen easily, she didn’t have a problem with it. He certainly hadn’t had a problem with it. And, yeah, hell yeah, he got the whole wink wink nudge nudge thing from Jerry and Morris. He’d been a hero after that. There were differences. Sexist differences. He couldn’t change the way it was. He couldn’t fight it. It just was. Lori stepped closer. "I’m a grown woman. Can’t you see that?" Could he see that? Could he look at her without seeing a beautiful woman—so beautiful and giving, he hated himself for not taking her generosity as much as he’d hate himself if he did? "No one would think it was wrong for us to be together." He didn’t want to hurt her or make her leave here feeling unwanted, rejected. He knew how that felt too intimately to ever allow her to feel it again, like she had in the Keys. Then he’d been too horrified to make sure she knew there was nothing wrong with her; it was all on him. Reaching over, he pressed his palm flat into the cleft between her breasts. So close, so damn far away... Lori sucked in her breath as, with his other hand, he pulled her right against him. Right against the arousal she’d invoked this morning, the one he fought like a demon all day. With splayed fingers, he caressed her skin without touching the places that most begged for his attention. "You’re so damn beautiful, Princess, there’s not a man alive worthy of you. Not one who wouldn’t kill to have you even once." Her lips opened and a strangled breath escaped. Lifting his hand from her waist, he cupped her face, holding her for a kiss he couldn’t deny himself. Her body shuddered against his. He almost lost track of himself, he wanted her so bad. "I’m not the man you need, Princess," he muttered hoarsely, angrily, forcing himself to hold her gaze. "Accept it." If it killed him, he had to do the same thing. Chapter 10 Jerry stopped in front of the closed office door. Barely six o’clock in the morning, and already Lori and Blackie’d closed themselves behind that door. The past week, since his daughter confessed she still wasn’t over Blackie, the two of them had been going to work earlier and coming out later. Sometimes they didn’t even break for meals. Maybe they were on deadlines. And maybe they wanted an excuse to be near each other since Blackie put them at an impasse. Jerry had heard his daughter leave her room and enter Blackie’s bedroom that same night of her confession. Blackie’s room was right next to Jerry’s. He’d heard a lot of what went on. He’d heard his daughter return to her own bedroom less than ten minutes after she’d left it. Despite the quiet in the room those last few minutes before she left, he doubted they’d had time for...that. A part of Jerry was relieved—the same part of him that had figuratively clutched his chest in horror when Lori told him what happened between her and Blackie in the Keys. Jerry was a father. If his baby girl remained a virgin the rest of her life (at least the rest of his), he’d have been secretly relieved. Rationally, he didn’t want that. Two people in love should be together in every way. He even supposed deep down he’d known something happened between them back then. They left for that Keys vacation closer than a couple of dust bunnies, came back enemies or nearly so. Lori had up and decided to go to college then. She’d already been accepted at Parsons. She’d never expected to get in when she applied, and once she had she decided she didn’t want to be that far away from Blackie. Suddenly she’d wanted to be as far from him as she could get. Still, Jerry thought, heading downstairs for a quick cup off coffee then out to the bar, when your kids cross a line that intimate.... Sure, he’d been shocked out of his socks. Blackie had become his kid. Maybe not by blood, but in every other way. All his life, Jerry’d imagined himself with a passel of kids. JoJo and Rod, Jon, Randy and Bethany had become his kids, but Blackie had been the most special to him until Lori came along. Three and a half years after Blackie came to him, he’d met Megan, a woman so far out of his league God only knew what brought them together. He’d completely lost his head. She’d been right about that—those whirlwind first couple months with her he had been a different man. He’d chased, he’d wooed, he’d been all over her like an octopus on prey. Then he’d won her, and he hadn’t seen any need to continue being Mr. Romantic. That’d never been his style anyway. He’d prepared to settle down, have a couple kids and live a quiet, peaceful life. Megan changed too, once the honeymoon was over. Hell, no woman could complain like she could. Living in the apartment was an embarrassment to her. They should move to North Lake or River Hills. Her career hadn’t taken off yet—not for lack of trying—and, while Rainbow Nights was one of the hottest clubs in Milwaukee at that time, he didn’t make enough to live in a ritzy house. He liked living and working in the same place. She’d at least wanted to fix the place up, but who had the money for that? She’d wanted him to be more ambitious. Why be "one of the hottest" when he could be the hottest? His sex drive too...Once a day hadn’t been enough for her anymore. He could have quite happily lived on once a month, but he figured the more they did it the faster she’d get pregnant. Then he’d be safe for at least nine months. He liked having a wife, someone to share his life with, someone to lay next to at night, someone to grow old with. Megan never shared those plans and simple dreams. And, yeah, he knew she didn’t want kids. She made that clear from day one. He’d wanted kids, figured once she got pregnant she would too, and he finally got what he wanted. Megan had been so damn angry. Jerry cajoled in every way, but she’d wanted an abortion. As his last straw, he offered her the one thing that could convince her. He’d give her a divorce, $10,000 (all he’d had in savings) and she’d given him their child once she was born. Megan had complained every second of the nine months, but she’d kept her end of the bargain by taking care of herself. She’d kept the last part all too well. She had no problem forking Lori over with one hand and taking the money with the other. Blackie had already been as close to a son as anyone could be by then. Jerry had loved him in the years since he found him. For a long time after that, Jerry convinced himself he was waiting for Blackie’s parents to come back and claim him—that was why he didn’t report Blackie to child services. No way he would have given him back anyway, if they had shown up. He’d never understood what his parents found so intolerable about the boy. Blackie was quiet, sullen a lot of times, but he was also kind and sweet. Without being asked, he worked side by side with Jerry. If Blackie thought staying with him came down to earning his keep, he’d more than done that. Jerry liked having him around a lot better than Megan. Blackie never complained. Never asked for more than Jerry could give. No, Blackie wasn’t affectionate, not like Lori had been as a child, but he’d been loyal to a fault. He’d loved Lori from day one. She made Blackie smile, she brought out parts of him Jerry had never glimpsed in him during the five years he’d been with him then. Lori made him live instead of just survive. Maybe that was what scared Blackie so much about allowing himself to love her. His parents hadn’t just abandoned him in an alley. They made him abandon all hope. Once a person’s done that, Jerry had concluded long ago, getting themselves to trust in that hope again became terrifying enough to walk away instead of taking the very thing they wanted more than anything. "YOU know, my husband thinks you have a mainline into his fantasies. And this one’s going to send him through the roof." Lori glanced up at her assistant. Helen held a design Lori called "Cinderella’s Wedding Night." "I love the pearls with this lace pattern." Helen was reproducing the lace pattern for the bodice with a paintbrush, then she’d scan it into the computer and work up a full pattern from there at the Milwaukee branch office. Since Kira had enthusiastically approved all of Lori’s designs, they could move on to the next step. Fighting the urge to look at Blackie working on his side of the room, Lori murmured "It’s my favorite too." Something Lori had forgotten or simply never considered before—her assistant was an extremely talkative person. They’d always been able to work while talking and listening to music. Lori couldn’t help wondering now if they were bothering Blackie with their chatter. He’d been coming in to work late every day for the past week. Helen had been here; they’d listened to Shania Twain, Celine Dion, Sheryl Crow—definitely easy-listening music where Blackie was concerned. He hadn’t commented on any of it, but she could tell he had trouble concentrating during the day. He also avoided her like the plague. In a way, she’d been relieved. Even if he’d done it gently, he still rejected her advances. Her level of comprehension had increased based on his argument about lusting after one of their friends’ kids. Lori had never looked at it that way before. Not once had she’d seen anything wrong with something happening between her and Blackie when she was a teenager. The age difference simply never mattered to her. Maybe she was older and wiser because now she did understand why he’d felt the age difference so profoundly back then. She could also understand how he felt when they were in the Keys. He’d been thirty-four, she’d been nineteen. Although technically she was "legal", other peoples’ perceptions of their relationship wasn’t something he could easily blow off. It didn’t matter now. She was a grown woman by any and all standards—except his. That was why she believed he deliberately or subconsciously made the age difference a bigger factor than it was. It had to be more than perceptions. What he couldn’t say in so many words was that he felt unworthy. Worthless. His parents had dumped him off like a bag of trash. He’d moved on with his life, made something of himself, but on the most basic level he’d never gotten over that. Lori knew how that felt too. For most of her life, she’d felt worthless. She’d forced her father to tell her where her mother was. He’d done everything to assure her that she wasn’t to blame for what he and Megan had done, but his reassurance never convinced her. She’d had to find that within herself, and she had. She’d struggled with feeling worthless because of Blackie too. The morning after he made love to her in the Keys, he left her without a shred of dignity, let alone hope. It was one thing to know it was unintentional, another to accept it. A week ago, in his bedroom, he’d made her feel like she was too good for him. He’d left her with the hope that deep down he did want her. Somehow it didn’t change the outcome. Blackie had to deal with his sense of worthlessness on his own. It wasn’t something anyone could do for him. Instead of facing that it could mean one long, lonely life for her, she’d buried herself in her work since it was all she knew to do. "Do you want to have a look?" Helen said, and Lori moved behind the drafting table with her. "This is beautiful," Lori said after studying Helen’s painting closely to make sure it’d been reproduced exactly. Helen stood. "Great, then I’ll get it in the computer as soon as it’s dry. By the way, Kira’s going to call me later today. She did some fancy footwork to speed the process in getting that silk for the honeymoon design. I’ll call you as soon as I know when it’ll be here." "She’s a miracle worker." Helen tucked her shoulder-length, black hair behind her ears. "Or a slave driver, depending on your viewpoint." Feeling Blackie’s gaze, Lori turned to look at him. He looked away immediately. When Helen left a few minutes later, Lori went back to her mannequin and pinning. Blackie met her gaze again once the door closed and the sound of heels faded in the hallway. He didn’t look away immediately this time. "She likes to talk, doesn’t she?" "She has a two-year-old baby. She says the only time she gets to have an adult conversation is at work. Conversation is said to be the difference between civilized and savage, you know." Blackie snorted and turned away. With a smile, Lori got back to work, concentrating on that and the lively music instead of on him. "What the hell is this music anyway?" he interrupted again a few minutes later. "Shania Twain." His shocked expression almost made Lori laugh out loud. She was well-aware of his musical preferences. "Country? You’re forcing me to listen to country? Hell, you used to have good taste in music. Is this what New York’s done to you?" "She’s not country. Not what I would consider country anyway. And besides, your taste in music isn’t a preference. It’s a mood. I used to be in that black mood too, but...Well, who wants to be depressed and angry all the time? This music makes you happy and hopeful. Makes you wanna dance." She shot a challenging glare in his direction. "What’s wrong with that, Mr. Gloom and Doom?" Chapter 11 What was wrong with the music was he couldn’t take his eyes off Lori. She was so cute and...dammit, so sexy as she worked. Wearing one of those long, narrow, gauzy skirts she liked and a white cropped top with long sleeves, Lori danced around the mannequin. The mannequin only had on a pair of panties and a bra. And he couldn’t help picturing Lori in those pure-feminine scraps. Was it possible to want a woman more after she’d ruled your entire life then backed out? Blackie was finding it possible. The past week had been like one long drunk. Drunk on her. Drunk on knowing she still thought she wanted him. She’d shattered him when she told him she never wanted to see him again. She came to him a week ago, same argument as always, and nothing had changed for him. Finding out she had feelings for him again couldn’t make a difference. He wouldn’t let it. But, dammit, she was so sweet, so soft and beautiful. He wanted her like not having her left him as empty as a black hole. Watching her lean forward to tuck a pin in here and there, he found himself, insanely, regretting his decision to become an artist in the open instead of in secret. If Morris hadn’t died, Blackie’s feeling of responsibility to Hog Heaven wouldn’t have ended. Morris had given the three of them—Jon, Rod and Blackie—the money to open the shop. Money that was more about affection than the monetary value. Saying "I don’t want this" would have hurt Morris. So Blackie’d done his art in secret because Morris meant something to him. After the old man died, that feeling of responsibility lifted once the grief eased. Blackie got an agent, his first choice, and that’d decided things for him. If none of that had happened, he wouldn’t be in this room now, wanting the one woman he couldn’t take at any cost. The one woman he didn’t trust himself with. Why are you here? You’re not getting any work done anyway. Her assistant’s constant chattering had just been a front. The reason it annoyed him was because it made him even more aware of Lori. When she spoke, in that soft voice she used—like she didn’t want to disturb him—his concentration shattered. She wouldn’t dance like that to his music, he thought, watching her with his body tightened to the breaking point. Shoving back his chair, he moved around his drafting table toward the stereo. "Hey! What do you think you’re doing?" As if expecting this move from him, she raced over to the stereo, darting in front of it to bodily defend her musical choice. "We’ve been listening to the black death since we both moved in. I think I’m entitled to a day or two of my selections." She was right, dammit. "Fine. Just tell me your days and I’ll work the alternatives." He started to walk away, but she threw herself out and caught hold of his arms. The last thing he needed was to have her touch him. For the past week, the memory of her touch had kept him miserable. Aching. He looked down into her teasing/scolding expression. "You big baby," she said in a sassy voice. Man, she was irresistible. Everything inside him said Grab her. Do it or die, you SOB. "What did you call me?" Unsuccessfully forcing down a smile, she teased "Boo hoo." "I don’t think anybody’s ever said that to me before." His tone was harsh; inside he felt like he was losing it, fast. Something’d changed in her. Suddenly, she seemed to sense this wasn’t about music. The tension claimed her face and threaded through the soft tone of her voice when she said "I’m a rebel." He snorted a laugh. "I know it." His arm snaked out on its own, surrounded her waist and pulled her close to him. "What’s this song?" he asked, touching his forehead to hers. "Whatever you do!..." She swallowed hard. "...Don’t!" She sucked in her breath just as his mouth swooped down and claimed hers. Her body swayed against him in time with the music. His imagination had run wild the second he saw her this morning. Now reality stepped in and painted every detail. He sucked in his breath when he felt her fingers slip beneath his shirt, gliding lovingly over living flesh. No other excuse: His brain shut off, his body took over, the way it’d been trying to since she came home to stay. He undid the three tiny buttons on her top, backing up to watch himself spread it open. The lacy cups of the bra she wore strained against the delicate straps holding them up. Oh damn. Oh hell. Oh yeah. Her nails grazed his nipples, and he groaned through his teeth. He didn’t need to wonder if she was anywhere near as aroused as he was. The color in her cheeks blazed. Every glorious curve he exposed reacted violently to his touch. Trailing his fingers over the top of her breasts, he danced against the edge of the bra, closer and closer to the centers. "Oh Blackie," she whispered, shuddering when he completely shut off logic to undo the hook between her breasts. Teeth clenched, he grazed over her rosy, hard nipples with his fingers. "Damn you’re beautiful, Princess." Her breasts were so full, she completely filled his hands. Everything about her was familiar, but he noted and memorized the slightest difference. When their lips met again, she raised his shirt, moving so bare chest met bare chest. Ah babe, I never stopped wanting you like this. Why does it gotta feel so damn right with you? Why do I gotta feel anything past temporary pleasure with you? But he knew the answer to that right down to his bones. Because she was Lori, his Princess, the one woman who touched his black heart. Her arms wound around his neck as their mouths opened, merged. Someone moaned. He heard it and felt the vibration. Then her lips moved down, teeth and tongue working sinuously against his chin, his neck, his chest. Red alert, but he didn’t pay attention to it. Right now, all that mattered were her sharp teeth, her soothing lips and tongue against his nipples. Only when her fingertips delved beneath the waistband of his jeans, mere inches from an erection that thrived at the mere thought of her, did he push her away. Even then, he couldn’t stop. Her face and chest were flushed with red-hot passion. Wouldn’t take much...for either of them. He didn’t fight her when she backed up against the wall, urging him toward her with handfuls of his shirt clenched in her fists. His mouth gave her nipples the same perfect torture she’d given his. He sucked at her, bit her, soothed her while she writhed between him and the wall. Her gasps drowned out the music. He could smell her need. He wanted to taste it again like an animal running on instinct. Something made him look up at her face. Tears ran down her cheeks. His body jolted in surprise, especially when she closed her eyes as her climax caught her firmly in its grip. She reached for him blindly and he went to her because he had no choice. See her cry and not hold her...he couldn’t do that. "I love you. Don’t stop," she whispered. Ah hell, the lump in his throat grew to the point that he couldn’t even swallow past it. He held her so tight, he was afraid he’d break her whether he let her go or not. "Don’t cry!" he said between his teeth. She already knew they had to stop. He never should have let it go this far. Easier to tell himself at least she got something of out it, but he didn’t kid himself that she wished it hadn’t happened rather than having it happen to her alone. He redid her bra and her top almost too carefully, trying not to look her in the eye. It was too late, but he needed to treat her gently. He couldn’t face her tears. The anger he felt at himself was too great. The phone rang—hers—at the same moment he pressed a kiss to her mouth and muttered "I’m sorry, Princess." He felt like a coward leaving her, but it was better than taking something or everything from her and hating himself later. WHEN Lori turned the page of the comic book, the passenger next to her also turned the page of his book. He sniffed at Lori’s glance. She almost laughed. Obviously he found her reading choice far beneath his. He read a huge tome, a so-called classic Lori had plowed through in college and didn’t envy anyone reading for "pleasure." Maybe a woman dressed as sophisticated as she was didn’t look the type to enjoy comic books. She didn’t really care what the snob next to her thought. She’d come from an interview with Kira’s world-wide, best-selling fashion magazine and a photo shoot for the press kit being put together for her summer collection coming out in a few weeks. She hadn’t had time to change before catching her flight back to Milwaukee. In the three days she’d been in New York, she spent every free minute reading through almost two years worth of Blackie’s Princess & the Gypsy series. Getting them hadn’t been easy. They were huge collectors’ items now, so she’d paid at least ten times what she would have if she’d bought them after they originally debuted. It’d been worth every penny too. Blackie was so much more than an artist. Although he’d always claimed he didn’t like writing the stories to go with the comics, his writing captivated her as much as his drawings astonished her with their realistic, sensual beauty. She’d laughed, cried, got mad, got so aroused she wasn’t sure how she’d face him in about fifteen minutes—when the plane touched down. Supposedly her father would be picking her up. But she knew as soon as he told Blackie the time of her arrival, Blackie would volunteer to pick her up from the airport. In fact, she was counting on it. With tears in her eyes, Lori read the last word. She could hear that long ago writer friend scolding her, but she couldn’t help believing she was Princess and Blackie was Gypsy in this comic book series. Princess and Gypsy were in love, but they could never have each other. Gypsy had doomed them to that with his apparently heroic sacrifice. The writer had doomed them to a life without each other by killing Gypsy off, killing off all hope of love ever coming out the victor. It’d backfired in the comic book world, of course. Blackie’s fans still clamored for the resurrection of Gypsy. And Lori still found herself feeling a hope that—in her rational mind—was probably doomed to disappointment. Did Blackie love her? Yes, she wanted to believe he did. Everything he did lately added another layer of hope to that belief. Their interrupted lovemaking five days ago had at first devastated her. Then she realized why he’d been in such a foul mood over the music and Helen’s chattering. He’d wanted her, bad enough to actually take something she was sure he hadn’t had any control over. The two days after that (just before her trip to New York), he’d stopped avoiding her. He’d been sweet, careful and he’d taken every opportunity to touch her—albeit platonically. She’d convinced herself she needed to be tenacious and hold out until he believed in the strength of their love. It was a long shot if she’d ever seen one, but she hadn’t changed at all from that little girl. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to spend the rest of her life with her hero, the one and only Blackie Scarpacchio. Much as Lori had always despised women who pined desperately after an unobtainable male, she didn’t see her situation in that light. Blackie loved her too. He was just afraid to trust love to do right by him. She couldn’t heal him,—only he could do that—but she could give him every reason to trust it’d be worth any risk. The plane touched down, and Lori’s chest tightened at the thought of seeing Blackie. As she followed the rest of the passengers into the terminal, she looked for a man in black. She saw him almost immediately. For the first time ever, he looked nervous and—before his guards came up—glad to see her. Her chest felt so tight from lack of oxygen, she was afraid she’d pass out before they reached each other. She had no doubt in the world he’d catch her too, if she did. "Hi," she said breathlessly, while he took her carry-on. "Anything else?" She nodded, and they moved toward the luggage carousel. "Your daddy—" Lori glanced up at him. "I know. He’s not a fan of travel in any sense. Even to pick someone up from the airport." Convenient excuse. As soon as she retrieved her suitcase from the conveyor belt, Blackie took it from her and she let him. She didn’t mind when he put a loose arm across her back either. Maybe his protective gesture was instinct. All her life, he’d put his arm around her or taken her hand when they were out in public and could possibly get separated. "So how’d it go?" he asked in the car in such a casual way she knew the query was anything but. "Good. Everything’s set now before my first show." She heard the nervousness in her own voice. Blackie glanced at her once they were on the road. "You know your old man probably won’t make it." Lori nodded. God, he smelled good. What smelled better than leather, polished car interior and a pure male like Blackie? Nothing. Too bad she wasn’t a little girl anymore. Then she could bury her face in his chest and surround herself with him again. "I know. It’s okay. JoJo and Randy will be there. I think Jon and Tracey are coming with their kids. I’ll have to ask them toni—" She caught herself, but not before he turned to her again. Quickly, she covered with "I know Daddy doesn’t like to travel, especially that far. I don’t know how he got himself to attend my graduation." "I didn’t go," he said simply, staring straight ahead. From every angle, he was breathtaking. In profile, the strength of his face was even more defined. His flared nostrils, the carved lines of his cheekbones and the stubborn jut of his chin all made her want to explore. To touch him there and kiss each chiseled line.... "I thought maybe I’d go along," he shocked her with a minute later. "I’ve got a meeting with my agent around the same time anyway." A flush of pleasure rolled through her. He hadn’t come to her graduation, something that apparently had bothered him. She’d missed him then too, despite the fact that she told him she never wanted to see him again. It didn’t matter that Blackie might really be meeting with his agent. She knew fashion shows were not his cup of tea. If he came, he’d be doing it for one reason—for her. "I’d like that," she said, forcing herself to use caution in her enthusiasm. "Let me know your flight schedule. Maybe we can go together." Her blush had nothing to do with embarrassment. The possibilities aroused her more than she should have allowed. She knew him too well. "Do you want to stay in the same hotel?" she asked carefully, if not haltingly. "JoJo and R—" "Yeah. I’ll get a room." Lori was so hot, she was tempted to ask him to crank the air conditioner. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the trip to the bar. The heat in the car seemed to increase anyway as she looked at him surreptitiously. His legs, encased in worn black denim, were so solidly muscled, his stomach so hard and flat, the bulge between...Oh God. Mental combustion? Lori thought on a difficult swallow. She sat steeped in the memory of how he’d touched her in their office. How effortlessly he’d set her off. The back parking lot was filled with cars. She’d ...forgotten to make up an excuse so they’d go in through the bar instead. Blackie groaned. "Aw, say it ain’t so." The surprise birthday party for him hadn’t been Lori’s idea. In fact, she’d been against it from the get-go. She’d, of course, been vetoed. No one else understood that the last thing Blackie needed was a reminder of his age. The age difference between them. "I’m sorry. They’re your friends and they thought you deserved a party for your birthday." "Even though they knew I’d hate it?" "Even though," Lori confirmed, trying not to smile. He nodded, accepting it because there wasn’t much he could do about it now. "We could have dinner somewhere, then spend the night in a hotel," she offered, scolding herself mentally for suggesting it. Instead of jumping out and getting as far from her as he could, he leaned closer, touched his index finger to her chin. "That’s one wish this birthday boy can’t get." She wouldn’t allow him to live in a make-believe world. "Birthday or no birthday, you can get me anytime, anywhere. And you know it." Without speaking, he stared at her. Then he shook his head. "How did you know I’d be the one picking you up today? Your daddy didn’t ask me to do it. I volunteered." "I know. I knew you would volunteer. Your loyalty to my father extends that far always." He wouldn’t allow her to indulge in make-believe either. His honesty shocked her when he said in a low voice "I wanted to see you, Princess. Somebody better kick me in the head too." Lori moved quickly, swooping in to kiss him as long as he would allow. He didn’t seem to want to let her go, but he finally did. "How’s that, Birthday Boy?" "Need more than a kick in the head," he muttered, looking at her mouth like he wanted to snatch it back and ravage it. He didn’t, but Lori smiled anyway. Maybe next time he’d let his heart take over. She already knew it’d never be easy with this man. For every uncontrolled step he took toward her, he’d go deeper into hiding once he came to his senses. Come what may, though, she wouldn’t stand back helplessly, like her comic counterpart Princess, and allow love to be doomed for all eternity. She’d wouldn’t give Blackie up without a fight. Chapter 12 Fussing over how the models wore her lingerie only made Lori more nervous. Watching her boss crack her whip while her assistant Vincent Carson carried out her every order only made Lori feel out of control. She finally withdrew from the "organized chaos", moving into the backstage shadows. When she peeked out of the curtain, the first thing she saw were the huge cloth banners set up everywhere in the stadium-size room. Lori Gordon for Kira Gunn Fashions, they read in bold purple. On a computerized banner, the words "summer lingerie collection" scrolled by with the date, and web site address, Beyond the banners was the single largest group of people Lori had ever seen in her life. She almost fainted, threw up, ran for her life—not necessarily in that order. "You look like you’re going to start pulling your hair out and lolling your tongue," Helen said, suddenly at her side. "Did you—? My God, the entire population of New York must be out there! What—? I can’t—!" She swallowed hard, and Helen put an arm around her. "It’s okay. I can’t imagine the pressure you’re under here—it’s my first show too, but this collection is beyond amazing. Just focus on that and try not to look...out." Helen said she was getting a bottle of water for herself; did she want anything? Lori watched her walk away, then glanced out the curtain again. JoJo and Randy and Jon and Tracey were here and had visited her backstage already. Jon and Tracey had brought their own babysitter with them to New York, who was back at the hotel with the kids. Blackie wasn’t here yet. He’d left for his meeting with his agent about the same time she came here. His name was on the backstage roster; he’d agreed to come back as soon as he arrived— "Hey." Lori spun around at the sound of his voice. Her startled gasp caught in her throat like a knot in a spool of thread, and she threw herself into his arms. Only the greatest of force kept the tears from doing more than filling her eyes. "I didn’t think you’d come. I can’t do this. I’m no good. I can’t deal..." He pulled back only enough to look her straight in the eyes. "Hey, you can do it, babe. You always land on your feet." Not always, despite his conviction. She landed on her head with him, every time. "I’m so glad you’re here." She wrapped her arms around him again, taking his strength. Just having him near allowed her a little relief. She could breathe again, at least. His big, capable hands stroked her hair, from the top of her head right down to the small of her back. Some of her tension melted...until something steel hit the floor in the model area. Then all her nervousness rushed back. She heard Kira calming the situation easily. Lori saw the future with that crash. Saw her line being met with boos by the million people out there, saw herself losing her job, starting all over again in some other field that could never satisfy her... "You know, I saw a guy collapse on the street." Lori glanced up at Blackie in shock. "Yeah. He had a heart attack, just walking down the sidewalk." "When? You saw—?" "Yeah, some other guy, this really big guy got on top of him and started thumping him on the chest. I guess he was trying to give him CPR or something. The guy he’s whaling on wakes up all of a sudden, sees this hulk sitting on him, just whaling on him, and he starts screaming "Take my wallet! I have money!"" Wide-eyed, Lori stared at Blackie, unsure why this horror story made her want to laugh herself silly. She suddenly realized—when she saw the corner of his mouth quirk—that this wasn’t how Blackie would tell a real-life story. He’d never use the high-pitched tone of voice he’d used for the victim. He wouldn’t...if he was serious. After playing back the scenario he’d painted, in light of the fact that it’d never really happened, she burst out laughing wildly. Blackie had told the ridiculous joke to loosen her up. Blackie Scarpacchio had done something silly for her. Clutching her stomach, Lori shook her head at him. "I can’t believe you did that!" His grin came through both sheepish and glad that he’d helped. "My agent’s got a really stupid sense of humor." Still giggling a little, she hugged him. "Well, thank you. For making me laugh. For coming. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come." Without looking her in the eyes, he brushed her hair back, caressing her cheek tenderly. "Wouldn’t’ve missed it for the world, Princess." The past few weeks had been so hectic with last minute details before the show. She’d forced herself to put everything except her work aside. It’d helped somewhat to be out of the office frequently. No matter what she did, her awareness of Blackie in the same room never waned. He hadn’t kissed her or even touched her once in the time. God, she needed him. She needed him now. "First group of ladies, please form a line—" Kira’s voice cut in just before loud music started. Blackie started to pull away. "I better get going." "A kiss for good luck." It had nothing to do with needing luck. She needed him. He knew it too. She saw it in his dark, cautious eyes as he stared, first, in her eyes, then at her mouth. His cheekbones seemed to cave in. He looked hungry. Predatory. Her heartbeat picked up as she waited for him to decide the fate of a single kiss that meant more to her than she should let it. "You drive me outta my mind, Princess," he muttered seconds before he leaned forward and kissed her. She couldn’t deny the promise in the kiss. Need that made her think about later. Back at the hotel. In her room. In his room. It didn’t matter where. He would be there, and she would finally be with him again. She heard someone approach from the back but couldn’t get herself to look away from him. If he changed his mind in the next glance, she didn’t want to see it. But he pulled away and his gaze moved past her in surprise, recognition, then suspicion. "Megan," he said in a flinty voice. Lori turned to their guest then. Megan? The only Megan she knew...she’d never even met. The woman standing beside them was familiar in more ways than one. Lori had never officially met her. She’d seen her a couple times at Kira Gunn Fashions, New York Headquarters. Lori also saw herself in the woman. The crystal blue eyes, the voluptuous figure. Her hair was blond, but the resemblance was unmistakable. "Hello, Blackie. Lori." Lori ceased to think. She said "You’re my mother" instinctively. Megan nodded, laughing sarcastically. "Biologically anyway." Why hadn’t her father told her? In college, Lori remembered his pause when she told him she’d be working with Kira Gunn. Had Kira somehow known they were related? Blackie put an arm around her. Lori wasn’t exactly sure she needed protection. She wasn’t sure of anything. "You do realize the lingerie has been my line for the last five years, don’t you? Up until Kira heard I had a daughter attending Parsons." How had her mother known she attended Parsons? As far as Lori knew, her father hadn’t kept contact with his ex-wife at all. Could she dare believe Megan had followed her life without ever attempting to become a part of it? Until now. "Kira has a taste for new blood, especially when it’s mixed with the old. Don’t ever expect to find a job outside of her—" "Hey," Blackie said in a low, warning voice. Megan did sound like she was issuing a threat rather than an alert. Glancing at him, Megan returned his gaze without fear. "You wanna say good luck, say it and move on," he advised. Her mother held his stare a minute longer, then she glanced at Lori again. "Good luck. And guard your back, darling." Lori watched Megan walk away and found herself near tears. Not because of anything Megan had said; Lori had realized long ago if she ever met her mother in person it wouldn’t be a happy reunion. Any woman who callously sold and walked out on her newborn wouldn’t regret it. Lori felt shell-shocked. She’d finally met the woman who’d carried her for nine months and then gave her up without a care. Lori didn’t have a clue what she should feel outside the shock. "You okay?" Blackie said in her ear. It didn’t matter if she was or wasn’t. The show had started. Nodding, she took his "Good luck" with a squeeze of his hand, then let him go. Helen brought her a bottle of water just as the curtain rose and the first model started down the catwalk. "I’m married, I’m a romantic, but every time I see you with that guy, I picture you both naked and sweating in each other’s arms. Does that make me a pervert?" Lori blushed because her assistant seemed to know exactly how she felt in Blackie’s arms, and Helen added "You just look so right for each other." Taking a deep breath, Lori smiled shakily. Keep picturing yourself and Blackie naked and sweating together, she told herself, and you just might get through this. "ARE you screwing Jerry’s daughter?" Megan asked as soon as Blackie caught up with her and matched her steps. He didn’t miss the fact that she’d called Lori, ‘Jerry’s daughter’, as if she’d had no part in that conception. "You be careful." She actually smiled up at his I-mean-business warning. "You never would have been disloyal to Jerry for me. What makes her so special?" "You’d know that if you stuck around after the cord was cut." She stopped walking and turned to him. He followed suit. People milled around them without pause. Megan had aged well, but then he’d always known she would. She was too vain to allow anything else. Although Blackie wouldn’t have said it before today, the resemblance between Lori and Megan was nothing short of amazing. Other than the hair color and length, it was no surprise Lori instantly recognized the woman as her mother. The big difference between the two of them for him was that Megan didn’t affect him, not the way Lori did. Jerry’s ex-wife never had, no matter how relentlessly she tried. "Do you love her?" Blackie stared at her without altering his expression. It didn’t really matter if he did or not. "You couldn’t have waited 'til after the show to pull your crap? She’s nervous enough." "Good. Then maybe she’ll screw up," Megan said cruelly. "Kira hates it when things don’t go off without a hitch—even for the newbies." Blackie stared at her in disbelief. "You haven’t changed at all." "I’ve worked for this company for over twenty-five years. I’ve done everything—all the grunge work to get where I am...was." Her eyes were ice cold with selfish rage. "Do you really think I’d stand by while someone else gets what I deserve handed to them on a silver platter? What belongs to me?" "That someone else is your daughter, whether you accept it or not." Hell, he sure hadn’t changed in his feelings for her. What a bitch. She’d screwed over her ignorant, trusting husband just because she was bored and he was a little too quick to settle into married monotony. She’d just as easily screw over the child who’d meant nothing to her when she was in her womb and certainly hadn’t meant anything to her after she was out. "What the hell do you want, you selfish bitch? You gave her up for ten pieces of silver. You don’t feel an ounce of guilt or regret. How heartless can a person be? You really take the cake." Even in the face of justified accusations, Megan didn’t flinch. She crossed her arms over her chest, raising one arched brow. "You really are in love with her, aren’t you?" His anger peaked at the way she wouldn’t allow her sins to convict her. He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her up into his face. "You stay away from her. Lori doesn’t need a mother and she doesn’t need your bullshit. You’re her enemy in my eyes. You hurt her, I hurt you. We on the same page here?" Megan only looked slightly ruffled once he let her go. "God, what are you? Her protector? Her mother? Her lover? She really doesn’t need me. Sounds like you’ve got all the bases covered." Glaring at her retreating back, Blackie acknowledged why she pissed him off so much. She was right about him. He’d been a mother, a protector and a lover to Lori. Dammit, he didn’t fool anyone. Not even himself. He went out and took the seat reserved for him next to JoJo. "Hey, how’s she doing?" JoJo asked, leaning close so he could hear her over the music. "Still nervous?" "Like someone put a rattlesnake down her back." JoJo nodded. "Well, she doesn’t need to be. This stuff is great. I think the audience is captivated." Blackie took a gander around himself. A lot people nodded at the strutting models dressed in Lori’s sexy creations. Some whispered excitedly. She was a success. Her old lady wouldn’t like that at all. Flannery hadn’t dared to come around since the aborted line-up, but Blackie had been on guard just the same. Now he had another thing to worry about. Megan was a selfish bitch, but she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t try to hurt Lori in any overt, physical way. She could do something to hurt her career though. How was he supposed to protect Lori from that? Blackie tried to concentrate on the show, but every model coming down the stage was Lori to him. Lori seducing him, waiting in her hotel room for him, making him want her so damn bad because she was so soft and sweet and giving. When JoJo leaned toward her husband, Blackie looked at the two of them. Of all his friends, JoJo was the least likely to fall. Rod had wanted to do the whole picket fence, forever thing. It was just a matter of time until he found the one—Bethany. Jon was completely screwed up, but it’d been love at first sight with Tracey. Blackie had never expected JoJo to crack, especially not for a non-aggressive, good guy like Randy Briggs. Yeah, JoJo was happy. She was beyond reach of her past demons now. Jon and Rod were happy too. In-your-face happy. Rest of their lives happy. Hell, it wasn’t even something he could imagine. What right did he have to be happy? To be satisfied? The rest of his life, he’d be...hungry. For more. For what he couldn’t have. For what he wanted but couldn’t allow himself. And the sooner he accepted that, the better. First step in that acceptance: Staying out of Lori’s room tonight. Chapter 13 The celebration following Lori’s first show was more stressful than the show itself. Waiting for the audience response to her line had been nerve-wracking, taking to the runway herself following the show to receive massive applause even more so. The individual lauding that came at the party sent her reeling from too many conflicting emotions. If Blackie hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t begged him to stay with her, she was sure she would have collapsed from overload. She’d never been more relieved to have a day over in her life when she and her closest friends arrived back at the hotel. Everyone hugged and congratulated her before dispersing to their separate rooms. Everyone except Blackie. Knowing better, she didn’t formally invite him in. He would have said no in a heartbeat. With one shoulder leaning against the doorframe, he cradled her chin in the other hand. "I’m proud of you, Princess." Lori almost burst into tears then and there. She’d gotten enough praise tonight to fill a scrapbook. That meant something to her. From Blackie, it meant everything. "Get some sleep. You could probably use it after this day." She didn’t want to sleep. Not unless Blackie lay next to her. "Eventually." She shook her head. "I’m too wired." His eyes held hers, a little too unequivocal. "Maybe JoJo or Tracey can help you come down." Her jaw set. "Maybe you can." His conviction waved slightly. She could see it in the way he swallowed. God, even that turned her on. Everything he does, everything he is. "No, babe." His teeth clenched. "No." Lori didn’t believe him. Even as he walked down the hall to the elevator, she didn’t believe he meant that no. Right now, though, there was nothing she could do other than accept it. She went inside a suite made for a queen (all expenses paid by her employer, of course.) Tossing her purse and wrap on a chair, she moved inside and switched on the stereo. Would he come later? Would it change anything if he did? Worse case scenario, making love tonight could cause things to worsen between them. Yet she knew she’d do it anyway if he came against his better judgment. Lori sank into a chair, closing her eyes with her head back. God, what a day. Kira had as good as told her the lingerie collection was hers indefinitely. Winter, spring, summer and fall. The industry professionals, the critics, the public had extolled Kira Gunn’s Lori Gordon Collection. Was Kira as fickle as her mother claimed? Or was Megan simply vindictive? What should she even feel about that whole scene? Megan disappeared after their confrontation. A part of Lori could believe it’d never really happened. Maybe it hadn’t. She’d been so stressed out, waiting for the vultures to descend on her, that her mind conjured up her worst nightmare—the mother who’d abandoned her, the mother who—by some bizarre coincidence—was a mover in the fashion industry, a mother she’d unknowingly beat out of a job. The worst thing of all was that Lori couldn’t even hate her. As she raised her head, she saw a silver bucket with champagne inside it and a massive vase of roses on the table. Not just any roses. Yellow roses. Her favorite. The kind only one person had ever given her. She got up and crossed the room to the table. The champagne was from Kira, of course. She’d been expecting that. But the card with the flowers said they were from her father. I’m so proud of you, Princess. Love, Dad. Unable to help herself, she smiled, pulling one rose out of the vase. Her father had commissioned the flowers, Blackie had picked them out and written the card. A tap on the door made her straighten in disbelief. Conjuring again? she wondered, yet her feet already propelled her to the door. More easily, she could believe her visitor might be her mother. But it was Blackie. Oh God, he actually came back. "Did you at least spring for a hot tub suite? That might take the edge off." She stared at him, wanting to say You came back to suggest that? No matter what he said, he’d come on a pretense. He knew it, she knew it, but she didn’t dare call him on that point. He shrugged. "Actually, I was going to have a glass of champagne Kira sent...now that it doesn’t matter if it goes to my head." At the celebration, she’d been handed champagne left and right. Not wanting to become any more dizzy than she already was, she hadn’t allowed herself more than a sip or two then. "Have some with me." She left the door open and went back inside. When she heard the door close, she shut her eyes tightly and prayed. Either he’d left or he’d taken the step she’d give everything for. The expensive bottle of champagne stood chilling in the ice bucket. Still holding the rose, Lori turned to find him stepping down into the sunken living room with her. God, she loved watching him move. He was like a jaguar—dressed all in black, lean and oh yes predatory. This prey anticipated the attack. "Can you—?" She lifted the bottle out, and he took it from her without averting his gaze from her face. "Be careful." "What?" she asked, going to the bar to get two champagne flutes. "Megan. She’s not a nice person." Lori watched him open the champagne without spilling a drop. After years of working in the bar, he’d become a pro at opening effervescent and carbonated bottles to the customers’ specifications. "I’d convinced myself that whole thing was a mirage caused by stress. You saw her too?" She watched him fill one of the glasses, then he offered it to her. He didn’t pour himself a glass. Knowing his line of thinking was easy. If he had a little alcohol, his control weakened. Around her anyway. She’d never seen him lose control in any other situation when he’d been drinking. "Stay away from her." "What do you mean?" "I mean, if you expect her to turn into June Cleaver, think again." Something about his protectiveness put her off this time. "I’m well aware that she’s no June Cleaver; she never was. I mean—God, she walked out of my life days after I was born. The experience obviously didn’t affect her one bit. She broke Dad’s heart; he’s never even dated since then, that I know of. But—" She took a deep breath, holding the delicate glass in one hand and brushing the unopened blossom over her mouth with the other. "It’s like...she’s already proved she’s got an evil side. I know her crimes. Most people also have a good side and...She can’t hurt me anymore." "Don’t be too sure about that." Lori bit her lip as she looked at him. He stared at her the way he had when she was a teenager and not to be trusted. She wasn’t a teenager anymore and he had no right to treat her like he had any say at all in her life and her decisions. "I don’t want you to interfere in this. I don’t want you to get all protective and ride to my rescue because you think I need it and I don’t." For a minute, he stood just staring at her. Then he lifted the bottle he’d set on the table and put it back in the bucket. "I’m sorry," he said without looking at her. "You’re sorry?" "Yeah. Sorry cuz I can’t shut it off with you, Princess. Whether you like it or not, I’m protective of you. I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you, and it’s all she’s ever known how to do." He shook his head. "Why the hell do you even want anything to do with her? She’s not looking to reconcile with her daughter. You saw her. She sees you as her rival." "Did you talk to her?" He raised his eyebrow slightly, and the movement said it all. He’d not only talked to her mother, but he’d warned her off too. "Why? What does she matter to you?" he asked in a you’re-insane-for-even-considering-this tone. Lori set down her glass without drinking any. "I don’t know. That’s the whole thing. I don’t know if she’ll ever matter to me, but maybe she will. Maybe we’ll become close friends. Maybe not. I don’t know. But it’s worth the risk to find out." He noticeably stopped breathing when she not only entered his personal space but invaded it. Pervaded it. "Some risks are worth taking. And I never give up if I believe it’ll be worth it." She curled one arm around his neck, her hand still clutching the rose, and caressed his jaw with her other hand. Something like torture filled his eyes. As she touched her fingertips to his mouth, she found it hard to breathe herself. She wanted him to the point of torture. This time, she wouldn’t make the decision for him. She wouldn’t make assumptions. If he stayed with her tonight, she wouldn’t let herself believe he was in "his right mind", enough to take what he wanted and not regret it. He had to be as sure as she was. Stroking his bottom lip, she brought her mouth a hairsbreadth away from him. His arms actually came up around her back. Lori wasn’t even sure he knew he’d done it. All concentration was on the promise of a kiss. She brought the rose forward, between their lips, and kissed it. I love you, I want you, and I can’t lose you, she thought. And that was why she moved away without kissing him, handed him the rose, and went to shower. She went on another prayer. HE couldn’t get himself to leave. Even after he tossed the flower on the bed and took the first couple steps toward the door, he knew he wouldn’t go. Before coming here, he thought for sure he had a foolproof way of keeping himself in check—calling her daddy would remind him where his loyalty lie. It hadn’t. And he wasn’t stupid enough to avoid Lori by going to their friends. Tracey and Jon would be fussing over the kids and JoJo and Randy...Well, what else would they be doing after finally getting a minute away from their brood? Hell, what was he doing here? Delivering the message Jerry insisted he deliver ASAP. Yeah right. He hadn’t even done that much. Blackie sunk onto the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. It didn’t help to think she was naked in there, under a steaming spray, that she wouldn’t even startle if he stepped in with her. That she’d love him in word and deed, and, dammit, he didn’t want to but he needed that—bad. He turned back to pick up the rose she’d kissed. What did he want from her now? All the stuff he shouldn’t...and a promise that no matter what he did she’d never leave him. And you know you’ve got no right to ask her for what you don’t deserve. She came out wrapped and tied in the navy blue hotel robe. Maybe she wasn’t surprised to see him still in her room. The only thing he saw in her eyes was relief and love. He held the flower out to her, and she took it immediately. Against his own will, he captured her wrist, tugging her down to him. When she kneeled in front of him, he saw the flush in her cheeks and the uneven rise and fall of her chest. He opened her robe, reaching inside and around her waist to draw her even closer between his open thighs. Didn’t make sense, but he wanted. Wanted her to want him the fierce way she always had. Right now, he wanted that and wouldn’t fight it. "It’s been so damn long, I don’t think I’ll be any good. You touch me—" "How long?" she asked shakily. He shook his head. If he told her he hadn’t taken a woman since the night she told him she never wanted to see him again, she’d read into it. Read the truth. "You don’t wanna know, Princess. I just...didn’t wanna be any lonelier, and that’s all it ever did." And made him want Lori twice as much. He ran his hand down her cheek, her neck, between her breasts. "They were all you. And they weren’t. Could never be." They all had red hair and petite yet voluptuous bodies. He’d gone through them like cigarettes. But he could never fool himself unless he closed his eyes. Leaning close, he brushed his mouth against hers, capturing her soft sigh. "I never kissed any of ‘em. Only you." She bit her lip suddenly. Her sob broke through anyway, surprising him. "Damn you. Why won’t you—? Why can’t we be together? Why do you hurt so much?" Rising on her knees, she cradled his face in her hands. "Tell me what they did to you. At least let me understand!" He kissed her, lips and tongue and teeth. Her shock melted after a minute, then she crawled up him. Together they scooted back to the center of the bed. Hell, he couldn’t get enough of her. Her taste or the feel of her hands on him, her skin, her breasts, her satiny bottom. "Did they hit you? Did they make you feel worthless?" He stopped dead, and she looked down at him. When he rolled to the side, she let him go. Unconscious, semi-conscious beliefs made form. Somehow the fact that she’d done it made it worse. "Don’t hide from me. Do you think I don’t know? You’re wrong!" she said angrily He shook his head without glancing back at her. "It’s not about right and wrong. It just is and some things you can’t change." When Lori didn’t speak, he turned back. She’d pulled her robe together and held it loosely, tears flooding into her eyes. "Tell me," she whispered. "Did they hit you?" His snort of laughter came out both sarcastic and in child-like vulnerability. It was closer than he thought, even after all these years of running, hiding, supposedly putting it behind him. "Yeah, they hit...with anything handy. Fist, broom, hammer. But I could take that. I stopped feeling sorry for myself when I realized life didn’t respect anybody. We all get good and bad. Some get more than their fair share of either." He turned even more toward her. "People ask questions. Questions you know don’t have answers. I gave up asking them. Some people just can’t accept that there are no answers. Why was it so damn windy yesterday? How the hell did Clinton get elected, let alone re-elected?" Lori’s smile came, barely a ghost. "Why did I get the parents I did? Why couldn’t they lo—" Shaking his head fiercely, he glanced away to see the rose perched precariously at the end of the bed. Lori followed his gaze and reached for it before it could fall. "Yeah. They hit me, but that didn’t hurt after awhile. Then it was just...knowing they didn’t give a damn. I was their worthless little shit." He glanced at her. "I fell out of a tree when I was eight. That night, I woke myself up screaming cuz I was in so much pain. No doctor..." He shrugged. "They never came to see if I was okay when I was screaming. But they were there that time." A part of him wanted to shake her off when she put her arms around his shoulders from the back. The other part wanted to turn and bury his face in her soft breasts and let her hold him until he was Okay again. "They left me alone...for days sometimes. That was the worst part. And they’d say "Maybe we won’t come back next time." They always said that cuz they knew that’s what terrified me most. That they’d leave me alone forever and nobody would even care." Lori tried to turn him into her arms, but he wouldn’t let her. "Somebody does. I do. My father does. We love you." Knowing that never made it any easier, but accepting it...maybe he never had. "It’s not about right and wrong and...logic. You can’t understand." She suddenly burst out with a hard laugh. "I can’t understand? I can’t understand how it feels to have someone who’s supposed to love you walk out of your life without a single regret? My mother sold me to my father for $10,000. She never held me or...She carried me for nine months and couldn’t even look at me after because she just didn’t care...or something." He’d never looked at Lori’s situation in the same light as what he went through. He didn’t like it either. Lori wasn’t worthless; Megan had been wrong. Stupid. She’d been a monster. So why would Lori even think to give her the time of day? Blackie turned and took her in his arms. "I understand," she whispered hoarsely. "I’m not worthless. You’re not worthless. We belong together." It wasn’t that simple, but right now it didn’t matter. He pulled her close and kissed her a little blindly, a lot desperately. "Don’t ever say you never wanna see me again, Princess. Don’t do that, okay?" Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him again, murmuring "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know—" She’d said that and he’d felt the fear of being abandoned stronger than he ever had when his parents uttered it. "I need you. I don’t care if I spend my life alone—alone, like without wife, kids...I just can’t spend my life without you. Don’t ask me to explain more than that. I just need you and that’s all." Her eyes locked with his and held. "I’ll never leave you, Blackie. Never. No matter what you say or do. I love you too much. I never stopped." He didn’t care if it was impossible. All he wanted in this world was this. Her. And, right or wrong, the want was all he’d allow himself, too. Chapter 14 As if the situation could get any worse, her father chickened out and sent Willie to pick her up at the airport. "What happened to my dad?" Lori asked him without emotion. She’d just talked to her father a couple hours ago and he’d assured her he’d be here to pick her up when her flight got in. Willie shrugged. "Yer ol’ man told me to fetch ya. That’s all I know." He turned away, but Lori heard him mutter "And on my day off too." She threw her luggage in the bed of his Toyota pickup truck. As she forced herself to get into the cab, she cursed Blackie for putting her in this situation. He’d been long gone when she woke this morning. Out of her bed, out of her room, out of the hotel. Jon told her later that Blackie had claimed a last-minute meeting with his agent, so he’d taken a subsequent flight out. The night before, after revealing the most vulnerable part of himself to her, he’d brought her to another shattering orgasm, making her believe it would lead to mutual lovemaking, then he soothed her into satiated sleep with gentle kisses. After the long, draining day she’d had, her fatigue was understandable, but it didn’t leave her any less embarrassed upon waking in the morning. Embarrassed and still aroused at the slightest shade of memory. Angry as she’d been when she realized Blackie fled the scene once more, she still spent most of the day in a state of semi arousal. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his mouth on her breasts, her belly, lower...feel how hard he’d been when he came back up and kissed her lips. God, all she wanted was him. She wanted to strangle him and love him straight out of his scars—the ones his pitiful excuses for parents, not to mention human beings, so callously gave him. Blackie loved her too—she knew that now. What he felt wasn’t something he’d allow himself to give in to though. "You stickin’ around, girlie?" Willie asked her. He sat all hunched over the steering wheel like Quasi Modo. Not only do I have to ride with him, I have to have a conversation with him now? "What do you mean?" Lori asked. "I talkin’ Greek?" He glanced back at her. "You stayin’ with yer ol’ man for good? You settin’ up shop there or what?" What did it matter to him? "Yes. I’m planning to stay indefinitely," Lori said, feeling like a horrible snob. She couldn’t help it. All her life, he’d disgusted her. He was so grizzled—missing teeth, unkempt appearance and altogether poor hygiene. Even in his younger days, she couldn’t imagine he’d been much to look at. The way he looked disgusted her as much as the memory of how he put his revolting mouth on her and touched her with his gnarled hands when she was a teenager. The only satisfaction she’d gotten was the impact and his howl of pain when she’d punched him as hard as she could and gave him a black eye he couldn’t see out of for weeks. Part of her suspected Blackie knew who gave Willie that shiner, but she’d never told him and he couldn’t beat the guy senseless without solid proof. She certainly didn’t care to protect him; she just didn’t want to turn the situation into a nightmare. Willie grimaced, shaking his head. "What about Scarpacchio? He plantin’ hisself there too?" "Yeah. What business is it of yours?" He shot her a warning evil eye. "Don’t take that high and mighty, hissy-prissy tone with me. Just makin’ convo-sation. That a crime now or somethin’?" Lori shook her head in annoyance. If he didn’t drive like Mr. Magoo, they’d have been back at the bar by now. "Couldn’t hack New York? That it? What’s loverboy’s ‘scuse?" She’d reached her limit of friendly conversation with this guy. "I don’t like your conversation. Could we refrain from talking the rest of this ride?" Why didn’t her father just say he couldn’t make it? She’d much rather have taken a cab. With her gaze firmly fixed out the passenger window, she held her breath, hoping he’d agree. A few minutes passed, and she started to feel some relief. "Ol’ Willie don’t mean nothin’ by all that. You know that. Your ol’ man asked me to pick you up and I said shorely. Not doin’ anything anyways. And I haven’t seen ya for a long time. You grew up nice—" The instant his hand touched her knee—something she’d anticipated, Lori grabbed it and bent his fingers backward. She ignored the horns blaring around them. "You touch me again, Willie, and I’ll give you a shiner you won’t be able to explain to Blackie this time either—but I will." She let go, and he swerved back into his lane with a string of curses. The bar was only a block away. Lori reached for the door handle the second he parked in the back lot. In that same second, he was on her like a dog in heat. "Yer ma used to put up a fight at first too—prissy little missy. But Ol’ Willie tamed that filly ‘fore long. I can tame you too." He had her pinned to the door so hard she couldn’t move to save her life, struggle as she did. "You’ll’ve had yer fill of pretty boys once you’ve been with Willie Shakespeare." His dirty laugh infuriated her, and Lori groped for the door handle again. She yanked it up and down until finally the passenger door opened. With nothing to hold her, she hit the dirt of the parking lot ground and welcomed it. Despite the pain of the short fall, she shot to her feet and raced into the bar. Her breath came back in a burning exhale. Her first thought was to blame Blackie. As soon as he walked in the door, she’d given him a piece of her mind. When she didn’t get what she needed from him, the rest of her world went to hell too. She was so mad now, she wanted to march back out to the truck and slam her fist through Willie’s few remaining teeth. What was with men anyway? They either tried to take what they couldn’t have, by force if necessary, or they refused what was freely offered to them, even if they wanted it. And then there were men like her father, who melted all her anger the minute she saw him behind the bar. He shouldn’t have sent Willie, but she couldn’t even reprimand him for it. He hugged her. "So proud of you, muffin." When they separated, he glanced away to fill a glass with ice. "So, how did everything else go?" Lori realized with a start that her father asked how things had gone between her and Blackie. In not so many words, he asked if they made love. Taking the glass of club soda from him, she shook her head, deciding to pretend she didn’t understand him. "Something strange happened actually. I met Mom." Lori was aware she’d given Blackie the impression she planned to pursue a relationship with Megan. In fact, she’d come to no conclusions about what to do. Reaching out was simply an option right now. How should she feel? She hated what Megan had done to her father. She hated everything her father and/or Blackie told her about the woman. Yet it all came down to their memories. She had no personal memories of her mother. And the idea of living a part of her life on a grudge, on hate...Who wanted to live that way? She couldn’t punish her mother. Megan wouldn’t feel it. She would. "She still works there, huh?" her father said in a guilty tone. "Why didn’t you tell me?" she asked, moving to stand in front of him. He shrugged. "She was so ambitious. I thought she’d move onto bigger and better things." Finally, he met her eyes. "I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, punkin. Hell, I didn’t know what to say when you told me you...and that company..." He shook his head. "How is she?" Everything her father told her had been in a matter-of-fact tone. He seemed to harbor no bitterness toward his ex-wife. It’d almost been like he didn’t want Lori to hate Megan for her crimes against them both. "She’s fine. How do you feel about it?" As she’d expected, he shrugged. "How do you?" Lori shrugged too, just before the door connecting the bar and the back apartment opened. Blackie stood there, saw her immediately, and a mixture of relief and fury darkened his face. "Can I talk to you?" he said in a calm voice that didn’t fool her for a second. She knew it wasn’t what he wanted to say any more than how he wanted to say it. He just didn’t want to upset her father. Lori set down her glass and went to him. Once he ushered her into the privacy of the apartment, he demanded heatedly "You wanna tell me why your underwear’s strewn all over the parking lot?" She hadn’t been expecting this from him. Lori glanced toward the back door. Through the screen, she saw the contents of her suitcases "strewn all over the parking lot", just as Blackie claimed. She hadn’t bothered to grab her cases out of the bed of Willie’s truck. She just ran. "How do you know they’re mine?" Blackie glared at her, but she knew he was afraid something happened to her. Something he’d blame himself for, no doubt. "Are you hurt, dammit?" Instead of torturing him further, she shook her head. "I can take care of myself occasionally. Last night isn’t one of those occasions. Why did you do that?" She shook her head. "I know why, but...I can’t understand why...Did you ever feel like I was your daughter? Your sister? Why is it so wrong to you, even now? I’m a grown woman!" He averted his face and his gaze, but she put her hands around his jaw, forcing him to be straight with her. "You were Jerry’s. Always. I never felt like you were my sister or kid." Lori snorted an angry noise. "So why can’t we be tog—?" "What the hell do you want from me?" he exploded. "What do you want? Why can’t you just leave it alone? Everybody but you can see it’s wrong." "You’re the only one who thinks it’s wrong. The only one who ever thought that!" His jaw tightened for an instant. To a certain point, even he had to admit to himself that she was right. "What do you think your daddy would think about this?" he asked quietly, pointedly. "What do you think he’d do if he found out I took you every-which-way when you were nineteen? He’d tell me to get the hell out and never come back." The fact that he believed that with every ounce of conviction threw Lori. Her father worshipped him. How could Blackie not see that? She shook her head at him. "Bet on it, Princess." "He knows." Now she’d stunned him. He stared at her suspiciously. "What?" "I told him. I told my father everything about that night. He knows we made love." They heard voices in the parking lot, kids, and they both went out to get her things before they were strewn around the neighborhood. "Whether you know it or not, Blackie, my father loves you like you’re his own son. You can do no wrong in his eyes." She picked up her bag and started shoving stuff into it. Accepting the truth couldn’t be easy—especially when it was the complete opposite of everything he’d ever believed. Blackie rebelled against accepting the truth just like she knew he would. He didn’t look at her as he filled her other bag. "Haven’t you figured it out yet? He asked us both to move back here because he wants us to be together. This was all a set-up. His health—does it sound like something he’d do? I mean, would my father really complain about his health to one person let alone both of us?" He took the bag she’d filled and walked inside with both of them. She caught up to him on the stairs. He’d actually tried to run from her and/or the truth of this situation! Did he believe she’d let him get away with it? "You told me you haven’t been with anyone for a long time because of me," she said breathlessly. "I have." At the top of the stairs, he stopped as if he’d hit a glass wall. He stopped yet didn’t turn. The rigid line of his shoulders seemed familiar enough for her to entertain the thought he might be jealous. "I tried to sleep with other men. I really did. But each time they touched me or kissed me or undressed me, I thought of you. You touching me and kissing me and undressing me." She walked around him to the top step and faced him. Either he didn’t have time or his emotions were too hard to fight. His face contorted with the impact of too much all at once. "Blackie, I love you. I think you love me. The only thing keeping us apart is you." He stared at her as if he wanted to finish what he’d started last night...or walk out of her life forever. "Who hurt you?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, ignoring everything she’d said. "Ozzer?" Nothing could get through to him. Not only did he believe he wasn’t worthy—a part of him seemed to want to believe it. Lori shook her head. "No. Not Willie. You." What would he do about that? He couldn’t protect her from himself in this case. "You should have fucked those other guys, Princess. We’d both be better off." He moved past her with her suitcases, and Lori sighed. He wanted her to give up, despite making her promise last night never to leave him. Maybe she should, but she saw a light at the end of the tunnel. A little more love and patience and maybe they could walk out into the healing light together, as one. She had nothing else left to hold onto. DAMMIT, his head wouldn’t stop replaying Lori’s words back at him: "I told him. I told my father everything about that night. He knows we made love." Jerry knew Blackie had slept with his nineteen-year-old daughter and yet he ‘could do no wrong in his eyes’? It was insane! He couldn’t...wouldn’t believe it. He wanted to block it out because it scared the hell out of him to think like that. If Lori was within his reach, the entire foundation he’d built his life on crumbled. If he let himself go, if he believed...oh shit. He felt like pounding on something. Someone. He’d have a good excuse if Lori gave up Ozzer, but she wouldn’t now any more than she had as a teenager. He wanted to taste blood, so damn bad, he was delirious with the fever of it. You want her. You wanna taste her again. You want her in your blood cuz she’s your fever. And she’s what you wanna drive into with everything inside you. The memory of last night made him so hard again, he groaned out loud. The arousal matched the anger so closely he couldn’t untangle the two. The door of the office opened, and she came in looking at a pile of mail. She’d showered and now wore a skirt and short top, and, hell, she smelled so damn good his nostrils flared at the added stimulant. ...writhing beneath the lash of his tongue against her nipples, her legs locked around his, the scent of her desire so strong his mouth watered. Gone. Gotta have her. Even if it’s only this way. Lower. Pushing her thighs up and out until she was completely open to him. She screamed the minute his tongue touched the core of her and then she was gone too.... Mindless, driven and saturated with need, completeness, hell—love, so damn strong he could have howled at the pain of it.... "Hm, this one’s addressed to Byron Scarpacchio," Lori said, completely unaware she was being hunted. "Lord Byron." Her teasing only fueled him more. She held the letter up for him but snatched it away when he grabbed for it. He lost control. Grabbing at both the mail and her, he yanked her toward him. Her stunned expression fueled him too. Never took much with her. She was stunned but more than that she was turned on like she’d never really been off. "You like romantic poetry and symphonies, babe, you’ve got the wrong man," he muttered harshly. He ground his hips, his full erection against her, until she gasped and closed her eyes. The mail dropped to the floor yet neither of them made any effort to retrieve it. "I like warriors. You know that. Dark, dangerous warriors who conquer their women in a single glance...kiss." Simultaneously, he unzipped her skirt and slid his hand down into her panties. Already wet. Still ready for his conquest. "You want me as much as you did last night," she spoke his thoughts, her mouth on his neck. "Why didn’t you take me? Why did you deny yourself? Us? I want you to be satisfied too." She bit him, and he groaned between his teeth. So hot. His fingers plunged inside her and it was nowhere near enough to satisfy him. Lori took his hand, pushing him away from her. Then he felt her palm on the front of his jeans. His curse was a token rejection. He couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t stop her. She hadn’t touched him for so long. All he wanted was to fill, and be filled with, her. She caressed him boldly, first through denim and then naked skin to naked, throbbing flesh. Closing his eyes, he kissed her blindly, without ambition. He said something, but he didn’t hear or understand even himself. When she spoke, he heard. Her voice carried him past any restraint. "Do you remember how I used to sneak into your bedroom at night?" Before he started locking his door. "I used to crawl into bed with you—" Crawl into bed with him and drive him out of his mind with her lack of inhibitions. One minute he’d been asleep and the next he’d been in some hazy, erotic world of soft lips, wet, hot mouth...He’d sent her away the second he woke and drove the demons she left him with away with someone else. Some faceless, redhead who cured him temporarily. "Let me love you, Blackie. This is right. This is good." He looked down at her and knew he was already lost. Love her, hate yourself. Leave her, hate yourself. Love and leave her, destroy yourself and her. With both hands curved around her face, he gazed at all the love in her eyes, her lips. Why do you love me so much, my angel? My princess? My reason for everything? Why do I love you so damn much I wanna die every time I push you away? Why can’t I have you? Even if he let himself have her, he knew it wasn’t over. His demons were too strong to be conquered so easily. The door opened, and Lori’s assistant stepped in. She gasped in shock and darted out squeaking "I’m sorry!" like a startled mouse. Instead of facing Lori’s expectations, he buttoned up and moved out, fully expecting her to follow. Fully expecting himself to cave. And fully expecting to know it was a mistake even as he made it. Chapter 15 For a long minute, Lori stood in complete shock. One minute oh God...and the next completely alone. No. It would not end this way! Not again. After putting her clothes in order, she rushed downstairs to deal with her assistant. As she’d known, Helen stood in the living room looking mortified. "I’m so sorry! I had no—" Later, Lori might be embarrassed by what Helen had walked in on. Right now all that mattered was discharging her immediately. "Helen, can you take the day off?" Helen stared at her like she’d flipped for even suggesting it. "A week day? Take a week day off without at least three months’ notice?" "I’ll take the heat from Kira, all right? Just go and don’t worry about anything. I’ll call you tomorrow." "Well...good luck." Lori turned and raced back upstairs. At this moment she couldn’t care less if she lost her job over this. She was utterly furious that Blackie would take any excuse to chicken out of risking his heart with her. She burst into his room, momentarily flummoxed about the fact that he hadn’t locked it. "You’re a coward!" He turned from the window, full body. His eyes were so intense, they resembled glowing coals. "You’re not going to do this to me again. I won’t let you." Without the slightest warning, he stalked toward her. Lori’s breath stuck in her throat. He was going to walk out of here and she didn’t have a clue where he would go if he got as far as his car— He did walk past her but instead of marching through the door, he slammed it closed and locked it. When he spun back, a bolt of exhilarated fear went through her. She had no idea what he thought, what he planned to do...and she was afraid he’d come to his senses and not do any of it. That he’d leave her, as the song said, all revved up with no place to go. She tried to swallow, but he was suddenly so close to her she couldn’t even think. Not only did he reach for her, he went straight for the buttons on her light cardigan. Instead of unbuttoning it, he tore her shirt open. Lori heard the scatter of buttons hitting the wood floor but never allowed her gaze to leave his face. "Why can’t you leave it alone, dammit?" he asked in a low, don’t-answer-me-or-this-is-over tone. He undressed her as if annoyed by the whole convention of wearing clothes. He wanted them off and wanted them off ASAP. "Damn, you’re beautiful, Princess." Tears filled her eyes at his unexpected, almost unwilling worship. But instead of increasing her need for tenderness, the tears made her feel needy, greedy. She’d barely yanked his shirt over his head before he urged her back to his bed. I told you you can do no wrong in my father’s eyes. You can do no wrong in mine either. There’s nothing I wouldn’t let you do to me, Lori thought desperately as his body covered hers and he kissed her. Crazy as it was, she didn’t want him to go slow now, to be tender. That would give him too much time to think, and if he thought too much.... With all her strength, she rolled them until she was over him. Quickly, she undid the front of his jeans, getting out of bed to yank them off. He was already...or still...aroused. His erection was full and hard, way past being contained by the black briefs he wore. As she eased them down, she put her mouth on him, not at all surprised when he pulled her up instantly. "I can’t take that. Not after...been too damn long." He caressed her face as he looked up at her. Lori lowered herself until her lips could brush his. "Then come inside me," she whispered. Begged. "I can’t take any more either." She watched him as she kissed him. He kept his eyes open too, allowing her to see the conflict between pure need and something much more tender and fierce. "Top drawer," he muttered after a long, torturous moment. She sat up and reached for the top drawer of his nightstand. Inside, among various other things, was a strip of condoms. She tore off one. He’d put them here for her. For them. What else could she believe? He admitted to not having been with any other women for a long time, and he hadn’t lived here for a long time either. As she put it on him, she felt a pressure in her ears, like she was underwater or drowning. Tears burned too, but Blackie held his arms out to her and she went into them, into a kiss that made her feel cherished and afraid. Afraid he was going to give her everything, once and for all, and then he’d leave her. He rolled her under him, reached between them, then he was inside her. For an instant, they watched each other. When he started to move, deep, rhythmic strokes, Lori let out a prolonged gasp. Oh right there, yes. You’re finally mine again. Don’t make me let go again. "Aw, Princess, Princess..." Lori dug her fingers into his hard buttocks, guiding and forcing him to go all the way each time. She’d never experienced anything like it. Her climax came almost immediately but never subsided. She rode the wave in mindless pursuit of something she already knew was out of reach—satisfaction. What he gave her was love he didn’t want to give yet couldn’t fight. He was no closer to taking her heart than he had been before. Giving his own.... She could feel his unwilling love in everything he did, each time he looked at her. Her tears fell as he gave himself up to physical fulfillment. He seemed stunned when he opened his eyes with effort. Feeling something as sharp as disappointment and as hot and humiliating as shame, she rolled from under him and turned away. She heard his harsh breathing, the curse that slid beneath it, and she wanted to do something other than cry silently. She wanted to wail. "I can’t live without you, Princess," he said like he wanted to make her feel better, wanted to take away any pain. He rubbed her shoulder, his touch somehow awkward now, after the intimacy. "I don’t know anything except that. Don’t...expect anything." She gasped out a sob, and he immediately tried to hold her. "No! You can’t kill me and heal me at the same time." He tried anyway, and this time she let him. She sobbed and held on savagely, unwilling to let him go now. He couldn’t kill her and heal her at the same time. Yet, impossible as it was, that was exactly what Blackie Scarpacchio had done to her all her life. SHE slept in his arms without a sound, but Blackie knew she slept hard, the way a child did after crying equally hard. She was no child and he hadn’t taken her favorite toy away. He’d disappointed, shamed and crushed her. All in one fell swoop. Real knack for it, he thought in disgust. The curtains hadn’t been pulled before the darkness descended on them. Moonlight spilled through his window, over the bed. Blackie eased her from his chest onto the sheet. She shifted slightly, reaching out, but settled as soon as her hand touched him again. As if he could possibly kick himself more, his sex stretched to life again as he looked at her. Hell, she was more beautiful than a goddess with her flaming hair, each silky smooth curve.... Aw, damn. He wanted to touch her again and do it right this time. He wanted to take her love instead of fighting it. You want her to believe in you, not turn away. But you engineered that part, you bastard. Lori wasn’t a liar. She’d never bothered with lies. That was true rebellion. She might not be a rebel anymore, but when she said she’d told her daddy everything and Jerry was okay with it, it was the truth. It simply wasn’t a truth Blackie could accept. If Jerry knew they were in here together, across the hall from him...If Jerry had any inkling Blackie had re-enacted the crime this day, he wouldn’t be okay about the whole thing. His daughter deserved royalty, not some little shit whose own parents didn’t want him. Blackie slipped out of bed and into his jeans. If he couldn’t have her again, he’d paint her. Closing the door tightly and silently, he wondered if Jerry really was asleep over there. Usually, in the dead of night like this, the old guy’s snoring filled the hallway. Since Blackie rarely slept more than a couple hours, he heard it just about every night. Maybe he’s on his side and it calmed the chainsaw temporarily, Blackie thought because he couldn’t believe Jerry would just lay there awake without intervening if he knew what went on across the hall. Flipping the light on in the office, the first thing Blackie saw was the pile of mail under his drafting table. His body reacted to the memory of the two of them there earlier, and he cursed himself. The past couple years, he’d learned to control sexual need. In fact, until he saw Lori again, that part of him had become almost dormant. Now anything turned him on: a memory of her, the sight of her, the scent of her. No, not anything. Just anything her. He walked over to the table and picked up the scattered envelopes. One of them was addressed to Lori, no return address and no postal marks. He wouldn’t have read it if he hadn’t seen the magazine letters on the note sticking out from the envelope. When he unfolded it and read Go back to New York, bitch, he didn’t know whether to laugh or roar. It was something straight out of a bad mystery novel. And yet the thought of anyone threatening Lori...He couldn’t laugh. His hands tightened on the paper. After having read enough mystery novels, he checked the envelope. Cheap quality, the front was typed from a decent machine. Nothing fancy. He couldn’t tell what kind of magazine the letters came from. Flannery came first to his mind, but as far as he knew Lori hadn’t had any contact with the guy since Blackie took care of things. Megan? He couldn’t believe she’d be so tasteless and melodramatic, despite her sad performance at Lori’s first show. Why hadn’t Lori told him about this immediately? She’d opened it for sure. It didn’t matter that she was sound asleep and needed to be after the fiasco he put her through earlier. If someone threatened her, he took it seriously. Whether or not she wanted to, she would too. Inside his bedroom, he carefully closed the door behind him, then flipped on the lights. Lori immediately put her arm over her eyes. "Why didn’t you tell me about this?" "Hmm?" "Were you even planning to tell me?" She raised her head, still shielding her eyes, but peeped out at the clock. "Go back to New York, bitch." When she did look at him, she still squinted in sleepy confusion. It was two o’clock in the morning. He could have waited. Could have but couldn’t. He waved the letter in her face, and she laid back shaking her head. "It’s just some stupid letter." She curled herself around a pillow, looking like she fully intended to go back to sleep. Blackie moved closer and sat on the bed turned toward her. "Do you know who sent you this? They just put it in the mailbox, you know." "I know, but...how should I know who sent it? Probably just some idiot who didn’t like the way the moving van was parked in the lot when I got back to Milwaukee for good." Blackie turned her face toward him, leaning close. "This could be serious." "But it’s probably not." She sighed, rolling to her back. "Look, I lived in New York for a long time and people act crazy there sometimes. I got mugged once or twice, someone broke into my car and stole my stereo—" "Why didn’t you call me?" He said it without thinking; she always called him when she was in trouble, yet hadn’t these times. "And say what? ‘Somebody stole my purse, the police caught him and I have to have all my credit cards replaced’?" Shaking his head, he refused to see her reasoning. "You should’ve called me, Princess." She pursed her lips slightly, staring up at him for a long minute. "I had this...I used to park everyday in the same slot when I first started worked for Kira. After a week, I started getting these crazy office memos that would say "110 not 111." Underlined like twenty times. Or someone would mess up my desk or send a virus to my e-mail and I’d open it because it was from someone in the company. "I finally caught this guy sticking laxatives in my coffee and he confessed. He was this passive/aggressive accountant. He was too shy to just tell me to my face that I was parking in his slot every day. When I got my parking permit the first day, I assumed the number on it was just an example, or a recommendation or something. I liked parking near the end of the lot because there weren’t as many cars and there was less chance my car would get hit or scratched. So I parked back there instead of in my VIP slot." She waved her hand at the letter he held. "This is probably the same, dumb thing. Some people get annoyed about silly things and they do silly things in retaliation. What can you do?" Her story was silly, but there was no way to know a silly threat from a dead-serious one. And he wouldn’t take any chances with her. "Keep you in my sights morning, noon and night," he said in a forceful whisper. She swallowed with difficulty, and he noticed her eyes were still red from crying. Yet she murmured "Promises, promises." She didn’t move or reach for him. She didn’t have to tell him she wanted him again—despite the pain he’d caused her last time. "Some people never learn," he muttered thickly, feeling his body betray him. When her hand slid slowly down her neck, over her breast and lower, he knew he was lost. He couldn’t help himself anymore, now that he’d crossed the line. He tossed the letter on the nightstand, got up to turn out the light, then slid into bed beside her, into her waiting arms. "Let me love you enough to heal the scars," she said softly. She’d already given him more love than he could ever accept. She had and her father had. His friends had. This was different. For all of five seconds, he was aware that if Jerry was awake, he’d hear everything. The walls up here were paper thin, the door unlocked. If her daddy wanted to kill him for what he was doing, he’d have easy access. That awareness faded in to her. Her lips, her breasts, the sweet taste of her and the groan-inducing, soul-shattering way she took him in her mouth and straight out of his mind. By the time he drove inside her, he didn’t care if the Pope could hear them. He loved her. Dammit, he loved her more than life itself. Whether it was right, whether it was wrong, there it was. And he had no answer except Lori’s for why Jerry didn’t interrupt them even once. And, in the morning, over coffee, he looked at them differently, yet said nothing. Blackie started to think of himself as the criminal who got away with his heist every damn time. Chapter 16 Lori switched off the ignition, then sat back on a deep breath. She’d been nervous since her mother called her yesterday afternoon and asked her to lunch today. Apparently Megan was in town on business. When Lori saw a cab drive up to the front of the expensive restaurant of her mother’s choice, and a few seconds later, Megan emerge, Lori forced herself to get going. She’d changed her clothes a dozen times...one of those times Blackie had helped—or hindered—her. Now she had on her "trademark", an outfit she’d made herself—long, narrow skirt and a cropped summer sweater. Why did it bother her so much? She wasn’t even sure. The shock of having her mother contact her had never fully sunk in. Blackie thought she was crazy for agreeing. He actually thought Megan could be the author of that ridiculous letter. They argued about it and then made love frantically enough to leave them both without fight. After securing a theft deterrent to the steering wheel and locking her car doors, Lori crossed the parking lot and went inside. The lighting of the interior was dim, but Megan had dressed in a stark white, sophisticated outfit she stood out in. Lori suddenly felt like a slob. Megan saw her, and Lori forced herself to walk toward her. "Is the outfit one of your own creations?" her mother asked, and Lori nodded mutely. "It’s exquisite. Especially with your figure. I’m surprised Kira hasn’t commissioned you to do your own clothing collection." A waiter approached them. Megan turned toward the man, but Lori continued to stare at her mother. She hadn’t expected anything like this. The woman she met in New York had been...well, not happy, not breezy, not friendly. And she certainly hadn’t made Lori feel like she was a quality designer. They were escorted to their table and, a second later, Megan said "Isn’t that Blackie?" Lori turned to see Blackie sit down at the bar. He’d told her he wouldn’t allow her to go alone. When she sneaked out of her bedroom, she assumed he was asleep. He didn’t know where she was having lunch with her mother, therefore he wouldn’t be able to tail her. "He keeps you on a short leash, doesn’t he?" Megan said, and Lori immediately defended "It’s not like that." She should have been annoyed at him, she really should, but Blackie had never been protective of her out of a sense of possessiveness. He did it because he cared about her. "How is it?" Megan asked, sipping her water. She didn’t bother to hide her inappropriate interest. For an instant, Lori floundered in surprise. Was Megan actually asking what exactly her relationship with Blackie Scarpacchio was? "He’s the love of my life." Even as she acknowledged she’d revealed too much, Lori accepted that there could be no other answer. She was completely, hopelessly, forever in love with the man. More so now than ever before. Megan didn’t comment, and Lori was relieved. The past week had been too precarious and incredible for her to share it with a single other soul. Blackie had gone from fighting involvement with her to break-neck indulgence. Her work became sporadic, her assistant was terrified of even coming to work each day. She called ahead on her cell phone, even called from the back door, just in case. Good thing she had too. In the past week, she could have walked in on her and Blackie many times. They made love as if starved for each other every time. And it did feel like that. She couldn’t get enough of the physical passion and she would never get enough of the way Blackie loved her. Sensually, slowly, thoroughly, sometimes roughly and always with an underlying tenderness that left her emotions as shattered as her body. Each time she caught his eyes and he looked at her with that smoldering gentleness, she melted, body and soul. Her father knew, of course, but he certainly hadn’t mentioned it outright. The closest he came was making up a lame excuse about being unable to sleep and would Blackie mind running the cable up to his bedroom so he could watch TV when the insomnia hit? Lori knew it’d bothered Blackie—in times they weren’t making love, at least—so he completed the task for Jerry less than an hour after the request was made. "You’re probably wondering why I’m in town," Megan said after they ordered. "You said you were here on business." "That’s right. Kira appointed me the managing VP of the company. I wanted to visit all the branches I’ll be overseeing." Lori couldn’t help frowning. "Kira put you in charge? She never said anything—" Megan nodded. "She’s backing off a little with her own control of the company. Semi-retiring, if you will." The Kira Gunn Lori knew would never even consider something so drastic. "Do you know why?" "No! And I didn’t ask either," her mother said on a laugh. "I took it and ran." Their wine arrived, then Megan said "I’m sorry I acted the way I did the day we met. I was furious when I learned Kira was playing us off each other, letting us each create the summer lingerie line to see who did better. I guess Kira knew my "design well" was dried up and she wanted to make sure before moving me up to VP." Lori hadn’t known about any of Kira’s actions. Even as she shocked as she was by it, she could imagine Kira doing it perfectly well. After sipping her wine, her mother added "Your line is selling like mad. How are you doing on the fall collection?" Lori tried not to blush. "It’s...it’s almost finished. I’m waiting on some fabric. There was a delay..." Megan nodded. "I know. I’ve already spoken to our contact in Italy. You’ll have it within the week." Her mother’s attitude bothered Lori. She wasn’t sure whether or not to trust the woman. Why were they here together? What did Megan want from her? Or was this a business lunch? She wasn’t sure how to ask. "God, he was sexy when he was barely a teenager, but now he’s to-die-for, isn’t he?" Megan stared at Blackie, who had turned his high-backed stool toward them without shame. "Even when he’s glaring at me—" "Why did you ask me here?" Lori demanded angrily. Blackie belonged to her and allowing some other woman—especially her own mother!—to sit and lust after him like he was on display made her feel both bold and possessive. Reluctantly taking her gaze from Blackie, Megan said "Well, that didn’t take long. I wanted to see you. I should warn you right up front—this isn’t a business lunch but don’t get any ideas about me becoming a mother to you. In fact, even in your mind, refer to me as Megan Hague. For all intents and purposes, I’m not your mother and I never will be." "Then what is this?" Megan shrugged. "Whatever we want it to be. Whatever you want it to be except that mother crap." She let it hurt her—Lori allowed the cold words to hurt her, and then she didn’t know who to blame. "Look, I never wanted kids. Jerry knew that from the start and he made sure he got what he wanted anyway." "Why didn’t you just get an abortion?" Lori asked, just as coldly. Inside, she felt hot and humiliated and worthless. She didn’t like it. "Jer wouldn’t let me. He offered me the one thing I couldn’t refuse in exchange." "Money." "Surprised he told you that." Megan nodded without apology. "My parents are disputably the richest people in Milwaukee, but they never gave me an allowance once I graduated college. They told me to make my own fortune. What they didn’t realize was that they helped me develop a taste for luxury, for the fine things in life." The woman coveted luxury and she’d married Jerry Gordon? There had to be something Lori didn’t know. "Your father didn’t tell you how he got his way, did he?" Lori didn’t speak, but her gaze sent the warning not to besmirch her father’s good name. Not that someone like Megan heeded warnings. "He swept me off to this remote, supposedly romantic cabin in the mountains of Montana. Dead of winter. And he unpacked my diaphragm before we left. We were snowed in the entire time, so there was no way to get a box of condoms or something else. He seduced me the entire weekend. I was so drunk on the sex, I stopped caring whether or not I’d get pregnant. Of course I did, just like he planned." Lori’s face burned at the crude honesty. She’d never imagined her father as a sexual person—and she certainly didn’t want to now. She wasn’t sure if Megan planned to shock her or if she was just being herself. Lori was shocked—by the sex stuff, but mostly at the thought of her father being manipulative. And then she realized he’d manipulated both her and Blackie into returning home and knew her mother wasn’t lying. Just as she hadn’t been angry at her father for his matchmaking, she couldn’t be angry at his deception of Megan. He’d wanted a child. Sure, getting one the way he had was stupid, but his need was noble. Taking a deep breath, Lori glanced up at Megan. "Why? I mean, do you just dislike kids so much or is there some reason?" Megan curled a lock of her long blond hair around her fingers. While for many people it was a gesture of nervousness,—as it was for Lori—her mother didn’t seem in the least perturbed. "Both. I’m not crazy about the whole baby thing. But the reason I didn’t and don’t want kids is because career-driven, money-hungry people just shouldn’t have kids. They’d do themselves and any unfortunate offspring a favor by getting fixed." God, the negativity! The pessimism shocked Lori and she knew it shouldn’t. Her mother spoke in a tone that seemed to imply she was anything but a pessimist; she, in fact, could be considered an optimist for her way of thinking. "My parents...Well, all that mattered to them were their careers. I was raised by nannies, maids, employees, daycare centers, schools. I can count on both hands how many times I saw my parents when I was growing up." Megan smiled slightly, and it made her even more beautiful—until she said "I used to envy my friends. Their parents would shower them with gifts when they couldn’t spend time with them. My parents never bothered. They didn’t try to pretend they cared." And now you’re just like them, Lori thought. You have no regrets about it either. "They forgot my birthday almost every year, although my caretakers would buy me gifts and tell me they were from my parents. I always knew. Then I realized all I had to do was ask for something and I’d get it. I had my first car when I was ten years old. Couldn’t drive it, but it was mine. If I wanted to dabble in the stock market, I could, and whatever I made was mine and every loss was theirs. Sometimes I liked to lose—" The waiter came with their meals, but as soon as he left, Lori said "Go on." Megan picked up her napkin and unfolded it. "I don’t know why they had me. I’m sure I was just an accident or a tax write-off or a prodigy. Some people just shouldn’t have kids." Lori watched her mother dress up her salad and felt a pang of sympathy she was sure Megan never even allowed herself. "I promised myself I’d never have kids of my own. I didn’t want them, and no kid deserves to have to know they’re just unwanted or a toy on a shelf their mommy and daddy take out whenever they get a free minute." Megan glanced across the table, speared a bite of salad, and Lori picked up her own fork. She’d had no appetite before coming to the restaurant and certainly didn’t now. "That’s the problem with the world today. Too many kids and not enough full-time parents. No wonder teenagers are all either pregnant or criminals. And then we’ve got these complete idiots who want childcare to be free! More incentive for parents to dump their kids on somebody else and at no cost? Bad enough they’re rewarded with tax credits for doing it." Megan shook her head. "Well, don’t get me started. I’ve got too many soapboxes, and it’s worthless talking about something that will never change or get better." Lori wondered if her mother was lonely. Career-driven, money-hungry person that she was, she still sounded like she had no one to talk to. Really talk to. "Anyway, this whole thing—don’t expect me to be a mother. I don’t want that, and—if you’ve got any sense—you wouldn’t want it either. But if you want a relationship even after all this...Maybe we can be friends, colleagues, whatever." For an instant, Megan’s confidence wavered. She looked away when she said "I’d like that." Megan was unrepentant, offensive, selfish and completely scarred by her upbringing. Yet Lori couldn’t deny she wanted to try. For a relationship, friendship, whatever. Taking a deep breath, she said "I’d like that too, Megan." Her mother (and Lori couldn’t imagine not thinking of her that way) turned her crystal blue gaze back to her. She smiled in an almost child-like, vulnerable way. "How is your father doing?" Megan asked just after she paid the check. Lori started to say "Fine" but instead invited her mother back to the bar. "My flight leaves in an hour and a half, and I still have to check out of the hotel...Let’s do it." Lori glanced back to see Blackie following them out of the restaurant. The look he gave her made her feel completely, deliciously naked. God, she wanted him to say "I love you; let’s make this official." She was so vulnerable now, she’d probably burst into tears if those weren’t the first words out of his mouth when they were alone. She already knew they wouldn’t be. At the bar, Lori led her mother into the back apartment. "Could I use your bathroom? I need to freshen up a little." Lori started to tell her where upstairs. "Doesn’t look like anything’s changed around here. I know where it is," Megan cut her off with a smile. Lori watched her climb the stairs, turning only when Blackie came in. "I can’t believe you followed me," she scolded, with her heart lodged in her throat. He put his arms around her like he’d been waiting to do it for hours. As his mouth descended toward hers, he muttered "You knew I would." She knew he would. God, I love you! Why can’t you believe in this like I do? They only separated because they heard Megan coming down a few minutes later. Blackie headed upstairs without a word to Megan, and Lori said her father was in the bar. Jerry saw them almost immediately. Lori couldn’t help being surprised by the way he went stock-still. Megan did too, for that matter. Lori made an excuse about checking her messages to give them a chance to be alone. She went into the office, noticed first that Blackie wasn’t there, then saw something that made her gasp. The teddy she’d been working on, the one on her mannequin, was destroyed. She rushed over to it with a cry. Pinned to the shredded lace was a note, written in very straight, careful, handwritten letters: This is your last warning, bitch. You and your boyfriend get out now or you’ll be sorry. She heard someone behind her and turned to find Blackie standing in the doorway. He could obviously see the destruction...and he was furious. THE car was too quiet. To make the silence worse, Jerry had a hard time dividing his attention between driving and Megan. The second he set eyes on her today, he’d been shell-shocked—no doubt about it. That was why he offered to drive her to the airport. He hadn’t left the bar further than a couple blocks in years—other than for the weddings of his kids JoJo and Rod, Randy and Bethany and Jon, and for the funeral for his good friend Morris. He’d never had to drive to any of those events. Blackie always picked him up and drove him home. Megan still wore that perfume that made him dizzy. Jerry glanced away from her, shifting uncomfortably in an effort to hide the state of his arousal. He felt about two hundred years older than he had the day Megan walked out the door. Put on quite a bit more weight, lost almost all of his hair. All he could say for himself was that he’d showered and brushed his teeth that morning. Megan didn’t even look a day older. Did he actually forget how beautiful she was? How she affected him? He had a sneaking suspicion he’d forgotten long before she left. Marriage had that effect on him. He’d been ready to grow old with Megan two weeks after their honeymoon ended. Now he remembered those days before he settled like a hundred story building. He and Megan had gone at it like rabbits, just like Lori and Blackie were now. One thing to get what you wanted, one thing to be happy about it, and quite another to be so aware of exactly what falling in love forever entailed. Hell, no wonder Megan had wanted out. He could still remember how embarrassed he got at the end of those heated encounters with her. It was easier to do the deed and go to sleep immediately or watch football than to face her again. "You and Blackie did a good job raising Lori," Megan broke the silence in a voice a strange combination of husky and clear. Each word she spoke came in either husky or clear, as if she had a hard time controlling her emotions. "I knew between the two of you, you’d take care her." Uncharacteristic bite entered Jerry’s mind. "Not that you spared any of us a backward glance." Even before Jerry turned to her, he knew what he’d see—no regret. "I did occasionally. But you knew I didn’t want kids and you didn’t care what I wanted. I won’t feel guilty for any of it. You were wrong doing what you did." His only excuse: "I thought you’d fall in love with her at first glance, the way I did. I thought you’d change your mind once you held her." She didn’t speak and didn’t need to. After a long, thick silence (other than his nervous tapping on the steering wheel), Jerry muttered "You look good, Nutmeg." Megan laughed, either about what he’d said or his nickname for her. She was a nut too, always had been, but he always said it affectionately. "And you look even more like a teddy bear than before," she said tenderly. "Haven’t you dated at all these past twenty-four years, Jer?" He’d never told her; no reason to then or now. She was the first woman he fell in love with and made love with...and the last woman. "A man who likes being married doesn’t go back to dating," Jerry said on a grunt. "I wasn’t very good at it to begin with. You know that." A sliding, wispy noise made him turn and then she was right there, so close her breasts hugged his arm. His temporarily deflated erection returned, even heavier than before. Hell, he hadn’t wanted a woman at all in twenty-four years either. He’d assumed Megan killed that in him by leaving. "You were good at dating," she said in a soft, silky voice that did nothing to relieve him. She touched his ear with a sharp nail, and he knew he wasn’t fit to drive a car in his state. "You swept me off my feet in less than two weeks. You’re a teddy bear when you’re married and a lion when you’re not." She leaned closer, and he could smell the peppermint on her breath. "I always preferred the lion. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten married. We could have lasted." Her sins should have forced him to hold a grudge. At the very least, he should be pissed off at her. At the moment, he didn’t feel anything remotely like anger. And it wasn’t just because Lori didn’t seem to be holding a grudge against her mother. Finally, Megan’s hotel emerged and he quickly aimed the car into the parking lot. "Come up with me," she said as he parked. Jerry came apart at the mere thought. He shook his head. "I’ll wait down here." "Come up. I have to check my messages anyway." Without waiting for him to argue this time, Megan got out of his car. This is definitely not a good idea, ‘specially for a guy your age. Leave this energetic stuff for the kids, Jerry told himself. Yet he was the one who reached for Megan the instant her hotel door closed behind them. A part of him expected her to push him away, but she didn’t. Not at all. With their mouths locked, she shoved him down on the bed and straddled him. That knocked the wind out of him, but she did the rest. One minute they kissed and the next she rubbed herself against his tortured manhood and her full, firm breasts were in his hands. Oh hell, they didn’t make many women like Megan Hague anymore. She had curves in all the right places, she was beautifully voluptuous but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her entire body. "Nutmeg," he muttered harshly. "My little nutmeg." She moaned, and then her hand reached between them. His poor penis had already taken all the torture he could take today—especially when he knew this couldn’t happen. Jerry removed her hand. "We can’t do this. Hell, Meg, it’s been twenty-four years. You know me. I like to take things slower." His breathing was so labored, he didn’t think he’d be able to get up from this bed. Megan grimaced from on top of him. "I was hoping the lion was about to roar. But it’s good to know the lion is still inside you." She climbed off of him and straightened her fancy clothes. It took all his effort to raise himself to a sitting position. What the hell just happened? A fifty-nine year old man as out of shape as he was didn’t get himself into situations like this. Still trying to catch his breath, he watched her lean against the dresser. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked sorely disappointed that he hadn’t made love to her then and there. But what would have happened then? They still had twenty-four years of problems to deal with and that was just the time they’d been apart. He didn’t like dealing with problems, not even with a woman like Megan. She was too damn complicated. The first time he met her, he figured her for a rich bitch. A rich, incredibly sexy bitch who assumed the world owed her something for her misery. She was all of that, but she also had these unpredictable, child-like moments. When he thought she’d run away, she’d curl up in his arms and cry. When they fought, once all the screaming and throwing were done, instead of "I hate you. To hell with you", she became meek and subservient, like she wanted to please him. Like she was afraid she’d lose him over a few harsh words, some bumps and bruises. Her parents had hurt her with their cold-shoulder attitude, leaving her feeling uncared for and unloved. He was the only person in the world she’d ever showed that vulnerable side of herself to. A woman as independent and self-sufficient as Megan needed someone to take care of her. Oh hell, he’d loved her more than life itself. And then, like a fool, he’d driven her away because he wanted to give her something to make her feel cared for and loved. The same something he’d wanted for as long as he could remember. Maybe he hadn’t trusted himself to be enough for her. "I’m sorry, Nutmeg," he said heavily, unable to look at her. Her voice was both soft and sympathetic when she said "You’re not sorry you got me pregnant. And you’re not sorry for your daughter." Jerry shook his head. "She was my life. The second you threw that beer bottle at my head and told me you were pregnant dammit, she became my life." He forced himself to look at her. "I’m sorry I tricked you into it." Megan smiled. She actually smiled a naughty little smile that used to drive him crazy with lust. "Part of me hated you because I trusted you and the other part was turned on by what you did. I never knew you had a manipulative bone in your body. It was almost as sexy as your sweetness." She swallowed with difficulty. "I still miss that sometimes." He knew her so well that he had no doubt she’d tacked that "sometimes" on to avoid the repercussions of her confession without the word. "I’m sorry," he said again. For a long minute, she just looked at him. He didn’t chicken out and turn away either. Then she came to him, cupped his face in her healing hands and said "Forgiven." Forgiven but they had nowhere to go regardless. After so many mistakes—and so little change—he wouldn’t be the one to suggest they try again. "I’m sorry too," she said, getting her luggage from the closet. "I was pretty restless back then and either madly in love with you or mad as hell at you, but I’m sorry I cheated on you. You were a good man and you didn’t deserve that. You still are a good man." Jerry wished profusely that she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t offered her apologies for the past. A man didn’t like knowing the woman he loved had betrayed him—even past tense. Deep down in a place inside himself Jerry never went into, he’d known about her affairs. He’d never allowed himself to believe it though. But he’d been a lousy husband. He’d tricked her unforgivably into the one thing she’d stopped in the midst of their first lovemaking to stress. He’d betrayed her trust, something Megan didn’t give easily, if ever before. "Can you forgive me, Jer?" She’d stopped gathering her things to ask. If she could forgive him, he sure couldn’t hold anything against her. "Yeah." She nodded, taking and releasing a shaky breath. "We just never worked married. Not married...those were the best days of my life." Her words created an ache inside him, fiercer than twenty-four years combined. He missed her. He missed how he’d felt about her, how he loved her and she loved him. He didn’t ask for anything. He couldn’t. At the airport, she handed him a card. "Call me sometime. Or I’ll call you." She pressed a kiss to his cheek that was somehow more intimate and emotional than the one in her hotel room. Watching her walk away, he thought Maybe I should get back in shape, exercise, take care of myself a little more. Seeing his grandchildren had been some incentive to make sure he lived at least ten more years, but he was afraid to even name the incentive Megan inspired in him. Chapter 17 Four of Rod and Bethany’s kids ran around Jerry’s living room like someone had opened each of their mouths and dumped a load of pure sugar down the hatch. (Not, of course, that their mother allowed them to have sugar.) Just like their father, all of them lived life on high rev. The fifth, still a baby, lay against Lori’s breast sound asleep despite the Indian warriors’ whoops. When Lori was a teenager—just after JoJo had her first baby—she’d admitted to Blackie that, while she loved kids, holding them never made her feel like she wanted one of her own. Maybe she took after her mother that way, but Blackie didn’t think anything had changed although she was older and she was still crazy about her friends’ kids. He wasn’t entirely sure why that relieved him. If the answer was that it meant the two of them could go on indefinitely the way they had been without fear of her getting pregnant or wanting to get pregnant...he didn’t like it. He didn’t like knowing he lived his life in fear of upsetting the apple cart. Even telling himself a dozen times a day to end it, he had no willpower when he laid eyes on her. He’d kill himself and he’d kill her if he did what he should do. Instead, he did what he couldn’t stop doing—he loved her but held back the only thing that he had no right to give—the words. He still couldn’t reconcile in his mind why he was here. Why Jerry allowed this. Unless the old guy really didn’t know, not a hell of a lot made sense. "I’ve gotta do something. You wanna tag along?" Blackie asked Rod when Lori passed the baby on to Jerry and went into the kitchen. Rod’s response was a bit too eager. "Sure." "We’ll leave in a minute." Blackie got up and went into the kitchen. After gesturing with her water whether or not he wanted something too, she closed the fridge at his head shake. She seemed surprised when he took the bottle from her, set it on the table and took her in his arms. They’d been rudely interrupted in the shower together that morning by unexpected guests. He hadn’t even had time to shave, let alone to get clean. "How could you possibly get sexier?" she whispered, her hands curved around his rough jawline. He kissed her with his hands under her top. Their friends would be here all weekend. Whatever moments they’d get together would have to be stolen and extremely private. "Me and Rod are gonna go out for awhile." "Where?" she asked, her cheeks flushed, her eyes drugged, her nipples hard and elongated against his thumbs. "Nowhere. Won’t take long." Hell, he wanted her. Right here, right now. Damn the consequences—like letting their friends in on their little secret, one he had no intention of sharing if he could keep himself in check for the next couple days. "Miss me," he said softly in her ear, as he reluctantly slid his hands out where they could see them. "I already do." But she let him go. Rod followed him out to his car without a word. "So you and Lori are doin’ da wild thing," Rod said in a teasing tone that wasn’t even really a question. He seemed to know. How? Blackie glanced at his quickly, and Rod laughed. "What? I took one look at the both of you and I knew it. She looks at you like she’s desperate for anything you give her and you look at her like you hate yourself cuz you got no control but you gotta have her anyway." Ah hell. Blackie’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He’d planned to make it through this weekend somehow and take her like a dozen wild horses were on his tail the second Rod, Bethany and their passel was out the door. Rod was the gossiping biddy of their once-all-gypsy group. Come Monday—if not sooner—their friends would know. No way could Blackie keep on in such blind compulsion then. "You don’t still think it’s wrong, do you?" Rod asked as if he could read Blackie like an open book. Blackie snorted because he plain didn’t want to talk about this—with anybody. "Why? She’s all grown up." Blackie said nothing but saw, out of the corner of his eye, Rod shake his blond head. "Come on, man! You gotta admit Lori was never a typical teenage girl—gawky, geeky or just potential. She had what twenty-five-year-old women would kill for." Rod chuckled roguishly. "You think me and Jon didn’t lust after her too? She was the sexiest thirteen-year-old on the planet. And she was givin’ it away—" On its own volition, Blackie’s arm flew out. He grabbed Rod by the collar and pulled tight. "Sure you wanna continue?" Predictably, Rod didn’t struggle or flounder. When the guy believed he had to say something important, he said it. "I never took her. She was like my little sister, and Jerry’s like the old man I never had, like Morris was. I didn’t touch her. Neither did Jon. We just...noticed. We’re human, you know? You’re human too, even if you never cut yourself any slack." Blackie let him go, half hoping Rod had come to the end of his soliloquy. A minute of silence actually went by before Rod exploded into seriously pissed speech. "What the hell is wrong with you? What do you think love is? Something you gotta earn? Like a paycheck? Like stamps on a sub sandwich coupon?" Rod shook his head again. "Man, can you imagine that? JoJo’d hate my guts. Bethany would’ve left me long ago, especially when the kids wake up at two o’clock in the morning and I gotta pretend I’m solid-gone asleep and can’t hear anything." Rod laughed; Blackie was in foul enough temper not to be amused. Rod hadn’t even begun to jump up and down on his ass. Blackie didn’t look forward to it, but he knew it was coming. "People give it or they don’t. Love just accepts stuff cuz it’s not about whether or not you’ve earned it or do special stuff all the time for the other person. Either they love you or they don’t. Either you accept it or...you’re stupid. Lori’s givin’, and you’d be stupid not to take it." Blackie had no intention of responding, let alone considering anything his friend said. Rod couldn’t understand; the guy was so Miss Pollyanna he always expected life to deal him aces. If he got a joker, he’d assume it was a misdeal, not meant for him. Blackie was just the opposite because he had to be. He got dealt an ace, he knew it had to be a mistake. "Sometimes I think you like bein’ miserable. Can’t imagine why else you’d hold onto it for dear life the way you do if you didn’t enjoy it." "The sermon over or do I have to drive around the block to get you to shut up?" "Bastard," Rod muttered as Blackie parked across the street from Flannery’s house. "Where are we?" "Just stand by." One of Lori’s creations had been destroyed by someone, but Blackie had nothing to go on as to who did it. Flannery could have broken in while they were gone and shredded the teddy. Megan could have done it too when she supposedly went to the bathroom. Lori refused to believe her mother could have done it and she still wasn’t taking it seriously. Coming here would tell him whether it was Flannery he needed to scare some sense into, or somebody else. The house had a small crowd along with blaring music and an underlying stench of reefer. Not seeing Flannery in the living room, Blackie queried a girl loitering by the fireplace looking glassy-eyed where he was. She pointed to the ceiling wordlessly. "Flannery? Lori’s old boyfriend?" Rod asked on the way upstairs to the bedroom. Blackie nodded. He plowed right into the bedroom. Lori’s old boyfriend was on the bed getting head from a brunette who barely looked up at the intrusion...until Flannery lost his erection. Rod and Jon had accompanied him more than once on missions classified under the heading of Protecting Lori. Rod stood with him, saying nothing. "You can’t come here! I’ve got a restraining order against you, Scarpacchio," Flannery shouted "Where were you yesterday, around noon?" Flannery looked utterly confused for a second and then just plain furious. "If you come near me, I’ll make sure you get strung up by the balls legally. I held up my end of the bargain. I haven’t been near your whore since then...although I did go to Rainbow Nights for a drink once or twice. But I didn’t even see her old man, let alone her." Blackie wasn’t surprised by the news. Flannery liked to live on the edge, to see what he could get away with. "Now you keep your end and get out of here." If Flannery was the one who threatened Lori, his main concern would be—not Blackie’s presence—but defending his whereabouts yesterday. He’d either flaunt the fact that he had threatened Lori and Blackie couldn’t prove it or he’d cover it up for all he was worth. Blackie had gotten what he wanted here. He turned away and walked out. "What the hell was that?" Rod demanded, tagging along after. He sounded disappointed that Blackie hadn’t taken anybody out. Bethany would take him out if he brought Rod home after leading him into a fight. "It’s not him," Blackie muttered his gut instinct since he walked in on Flannery. He resisted the urge to kick his car in frustration. It would have been easier if Flannery was guilty. A couple more broken bones, the shit scared out of him again, and Flannery’d never darken Lori’s doorstep again. He’d never live dangerously again. Now what did he have? It had to be Megan, much as Lori—and he—couldn’t believe it. Lori seemed to believe her mother wanted to become friends with her. Maybe that was part of Megan’s ploy to get close to Lori and destroy her, career-wise. He’d never get himself to hurt a woman physically, so he was screwed in protecting Lori if Megan was behind the threats. Megan wouldn’t pay attention to any threats Blackie might send her way. She’d laugh in his face. His only option was to become Lori’s shadow. The man in love, the man who wanted to just accept her love and forget everything else thought breezily Don’t mind if I do. The web he’d helplessly, willingly entangled himself into was growing tighter and tighter. LORI woke up Monday morning alone, in her own bed. He let me sleep, she realized. Blackie had carried her up here the night before and let her sleep instead of.... She turned on her back with a sigh, not sure whether to be insulted or enamored with him more. Other than a hijacked attempt in the shower Saturday morning, they’d kept their hands off each other all weekend. Not her choice, of course. Blackie didn’t want their friends to know they were...whatever they were. Rod and Bethany knew anyway, and the rest of their friends would soon be made privy to the fact that something went on between her and Blackie. Why did it bother Blackie so much? It bothered her to find out he was so embarrassed or uncomfortable about making their relationship "public" to their closest friends. Friends who were probably all thinking Poor Lori, totally gone again on a man who can’t or won’t give her what she needs. With a snort of humiliation, she dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. She locked the door too, and then regretted it because—unless he told her—she’d never know if he made an attempt to join her. You tell yourself everything’s going along nicely, maybe not exactly the way you want, but it’s a start anyway—and now you don’t know.... Lori swiped her towel over the fogged mirror. Oh God, now you don’t know if he just did everything because he couldn’t help himself instead of because he was starting to believe we have a future. As she left the bathroom, crossing the hall to her bedroom, she discovered Blackie’s door was open. Her chest tightened. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t end it with him. If they had to go through the rest of their lives playing games to be together, she’d probably do it. Deep down, despite what he might say, despite what he wouldn’t allow himself to say, Blackie loved her with everything inside him. And he accepted her love now, even if it was only physical acceptance sometimes. Would he end it now? Because their secret was out, forcing him to face something he’d tried to hide from? Lori dressed in one of the very short skirts she’d designed for herself yet rarely wore. Today, she wanted to give Blackie every incentive not to turn tail and run. As an afterthought, she put on a pair of pure lace bikini panties beneath the skirt. That was when she heard his footsteps in the hall. Swallowing with difficulty, Lori grabbed a brush so she wouldn’t appear to be waiting for him with every nerve in her body. Whether he went to his own bedroom or their office, he’d have to pass by her room. When he appeared in her doorway with a mug of coffee and she caught the scent of cinnamon, she almost burst into tears. Rod and Bethany left yesterday afternoon. All she and Blackie had been allowed was one long, intense gaze before the phone rang upstairs. She’d answered it, who knew why, and got the lecture of her life from her boss. Although Megan claimed to be in charge, Kira clearly hadn’t backed down on her duties, if she planned to. She’d asked questions that left Lori stumbling for answers—anything except the truth. When Kira asked if her father’s health had become worse, Lori knew she better get back on track. Instead of taking advantage of the opportunity to be with Blackie again, she’d forced herself to get caught up on the declining health of her career. "In the bosses’ doghouse?" Blackie asked, handing her the coffee. Lori hadn’t told him anything after the phone call that interrupted their silent, mutual communiqué. How did one go about saying "I can’t make wildly erotic love to you—although I’ve been aching all weekend for you to touch me and make me yours again—because I have to work"? "Something like that." Taking three steps closer, he took the coffee he’d just handed her and set it on her dresser. "You fell asleep on the couch," he said, swallowing her up in his strong, sorely missed arms. Lori could hardly find her voice. "You carried me up here and left me to sleep." "Hardest thing I’ve ever done." She’d never know if the shaky breath she’d been about to exhale was relief or soul-deep need. The way he kissed her mouth left her as weak as it did fiercely eager for more. When his hands slid beneath her skirt, she moaned "I have to work today. Dammit. My assistant’s husband is sick." Her words restrained him...slightly. He didn’t continue the kiss other than short nips and licks. With their foreheads touching, they watched each other. His hands kept kneading her bottom, rhythmically rubbing her against his massive arousal. "I’m going with you...wherever you’re going," he said, his breath fanning her lips and making her more hungry for him. "How did you know...I’m going somewhere?" she murmured without energy. "You told your assistant you were going somewhere first thing this morning when you talked to her last night." He’d eavesdropped, but she really didn’t care. All she wanted to do was sluff off work again to be with the man she loved with every bit of her heart. The door to her father’s room opened across the hall, and Blackie let her go like a hot potato. His reaction both hurt and annoyed her. Why did it still matter so much what anyone else thought about them? Why couldn’t he want her anytime, anywhere, no matter what? She got her purse and briefcase, and he followed her out to her car. He didn’t ask what was wrong; she would have slugged him if he had. He could easily have convinced himself she was angry because he insisted on acting as her bodyguard. Crazy as it was, he’d convinced himself Megan was to blame for the threats—she had both motive and opportunity, even if the modus operandi was all wrong. Lori’s mother struck her as being much too honest and straightforward to do anything in an underhanded manner. At the Milwaukee branch of Kira Gunn Fashions, Lori signed in and had a very naughty thought that she told herself not to consider. She wanted to see if Blackie was as concerned with appearances as he seemed to be. He didn’t want anyone to know about them publicly. Ducking into the bathroom, she put the in diaphragm the she’d decided a couple of weeks ago was more "spontaneous" than condoms. She also took off her panties. Admit it, you want to test him and you just plain want him, anytime, anywhere, no matter what. Lori swallowed in guilt as she left the ladies’ room. Blackie fell into step beside her. "I need to get some supplies," she said, half expecting him to accuse her of needing more than that. Her whole body felt flushed and hot with anticipation at the thought of seducing him. "Can you help me carry some of these things?" She hoped he didn’t see the bags near the door of the stock room. Checking her list, she moved between the aisles of sewing supplies. She heard the stock room door close with a thud. He agreed, but before he could get too close, she stretched way up high, pretending to search for something on the top shelf. Then she bent over slightly—just enough—to check out one of the lower shelves. A few aisles later, after more stretching and a little more daring bends, she heard both an under-the-breath curse and a series of crashes. She turned to see that he’d dropped all the supplies she gave him to carry. Lori gasped as he advanced on her. The aisle had only one way out—the way they’d come. He backed her against a cold, rough cement wall. Her list, purse and briefcase hit the floor too. Blackie immediately picked up where they left off in her bedroom, except this wasn’t slow, this wasn’t gentle. This was exactly what she needed. He turned her to face the wall, and Lori’s legs turned to pure jelly when she felt the zipper of his jeans open against her behind. Then he took hold of her hips and she stopped thinking at all. "You planned this," he muttered. "I like the way you think, Princess." Her chuckle caught in her throat when he touched the core of her from the front. It came down to heartbeats, harsh breathing and bright, white lights converging. She didn’t have the strength to hold herself up, nor could she look at him. "Hell, I’m so damn obsessed with you," he said, turning her into his arms. His almost unconscious words penetrated her fog as easily as a razor. Obsessed? That was what their relationship amounted to for him? An obsession? Something dark and forbidden and wrong? She had no right to be hurt because she’d known—based on his distance in front of their friends—that he hadn’t changed. He hadn’t overcome any demons to be with her now. What they shared stemmed from a desire for her he couldn’t deny anymore. He loved her, she loved him, and he’d never believe it was right and good and forever. Chapter 18 Nothing more pathetic than a man in the doghouse without a clue how he got there. Worse, if he asked why, he’d be in it even longer, and then he faced thunder and lightning, cold, loneliness, hunger. From the passenger seat of her car, Blackie glanced at Lori out of the corner of his eye. If he said one word, she looked like she might fly into a thousand pieces. What the hell had he done? Said? She not only initiated that in the stock room, she’d wanted him as bad as he wanted her. He couldn’t figure Lori for coy or even embarrassed about how down and dirty they’d gotten. So why the sudden cold shoulder? Blackie tried to remember everything he’d said in that room and came up blank. If he spoke, his gut did the talking. He’d been too damn blown to be coherent. Until she gathered her stuff and walked out without a word, he would have said she’d been too. You should’ve just let go. Let her go. Then maybe you could still look her in the eyes. She pulled into the parking lot behind Rainbow Nights, and he wondered if she’d be a typical female. Sudden cold shoulder followed by sudden explosion and meltdown. He decided he’d prefer the explosion to this deep freeze. At least she’d be talking to him. Lori didn’t explode. She got out of the car, gathered her things and started for the back door. Hell, he wanted to be pissed at her, but he kept thinking What if I really hurt her and she decides to say "To hell with you!" What if I made her feel.... Aw damn. Blackie got out of the car and caught up to her. When he took the stuff from her, she let him wordlessly. The pain in her eyes floored him. Whatever he’d done, he’d done a bang-up job of it. And he didn’t have a clue how to make it right either. She walked inside the apartment, stopping short without warning. That was when Blackie saw two things. Willie Ozzer leaning over in front of the couch. He held a piece of paper and a pen in his hand. As soon as he saw the two of them, he straightened and whipped the paper behind his back. Lori had moved forward a few steps. Her gasp "Daddy!" got her moving fast. Ozzer backed away with a wide-eyed look. Blackie swore under his breath when he saw Jerry collapsed on the floor. Dropping everything where he stood, he grabbed the phone. He didn’t hear himself request an ambulance or give the address. The only thing he could focus on was Jerry looking dead and Lori sobbing over him. "What did you do?" he demanded of Ozzer in a strangled voice, hanging up the phone. "I done nothin’, boy! I came back here and found ‘um like this. I was just about to call a’ ambulance myself." Blackie stalked toward him, spun him around and grabbed the piece of paper. In careful, child-like letters was written: I Jerry Gordon will to William Donald Ozzer my oldest and deerest friend my bar Rainbow Nights {address} legull and free. Sinned ___________________. Jackass. "Yeah, well, I think the police’ll find this pretty interesting." Blackie shoved the paper into his pocket, not bothering to pursue when Ozzer darted out to the bar like a scared jackrabbit. Turning back to the scene, Blackie saw a rope attached to the doorknob. It had a series of plastic pulleys and wheels. For a second, he thought Willie lied; he’d used this somehow to lay Jerry out. Then he realized it was an ancient piece of exercise equipment. He glanced at Jerry. The old guy was dressed in a ridiculously small jogging suit and drenched with sweat. Jerry’d been exercising. Obviously he went overboard, tried to drag himself to the couch and instead collapsed in front of it. Lori looked up at Blackie when he approached them. "What’s wrong with him?" she whispered tearfully, and Jerry opened his eyes. "He had a heart attack." Kneeling next to the only father who’d ever cared about him, Blackie said "You’re gonna be okay, man. Just hold on. The ambulance’ll be here soon." As if on cue, they heard sirens approaching in the distance. Jerry opened his eyes again, just barely grunted Blackie’s name. "I’m here." With a strength he didn’t look like he could spare, Jerry grabbed him by the collar and yanked him right into his face. "You take care of my baby, Blackie. You love her like she wants and deserves. Like you deserve. You’re the only man worthy of her, son." The words were so soft, and Blackie barely made them out. They didn’t penetrate immediately either, not until Jerry let him go and his eyes closed again. "Dammit, you’re not gonna die, Jerry. You hold on." Jerry didn’t move or respond, and Lori choked out another sob. Blackie turned and wrapped her in his arms. He held her tight enough to break her, tight enough to combat the tears that filled his own eyes. THE one thing that kept Lori from losing it completely was Blackie’s presence. She’d moved back home because the thought of coming back to the bar and not finding her father there had terrified her. Why did she lull herself into believing she didn’t have to worry about him anymore? Blackie seemed to think Jerry had exercised himself into a heart attack. The idea of her father exercising was too bizarre. She couldn’t even imagine why he might think to start exercising now. He was too "I do what I do" to suddenly become concerned about his health or his weight. What if he died? Blackie put his arms around her again, as if instinctively knowing she needed his strength. "Don’t leave me," she whispered again, something she’d said over and over since they followed the ambulance to the hospital in Blackie’s car. He kissed the top of her head. JoJo and Randy came into the waiting room. Blackie had called everyone. He’d taken care of everything. This had to be just as hard for him as it was for her—in ways maybe even harder. Yet he seemed to need to be responsible. "How’d you get here so quick?" JoJo hugged her, asking how she was doing without really expecting an answer. "We’d planned to go out later, so we already had the babysitter," Randy told them. "Heard anything?" Blackie shook his head, telling them the vague updates they’d received from nurses or assistants. They didn’t know any more now than they had three hours ago. Over the course of the next half hour Jon, Tracey, their baby girl and Rod showed up together. Bethany had agreed to stay with the rest of the kids. They’d barely had time to greet each other and share what little they knew when a doctor came in. Lori clenched her teeth as he introduced himself. All she wanted to hear was "Yes, he’s alive." Nothing else would penetrate right now. "Well, he’s finally stable, but it was touch and go for awhile there," the doctor said. Blackie’s grip on her shoulder tightened considerably. The doctor went on to tell them Jerry had had a massive heart attack (miracle he was alive) induced by over-extending himself, but he’d probably been leading up to one for awhile now. He asked if Jerry had any symptoms—difficulty breathing, nausea, chest pains? Lori mumbled that she didn’t know, feeling guilty because she’d noticed very little of anything since she moved home. Very little except Blackie. A nurse led her and Blackie to see Jerry. Lori’s throat closed as soon as she saw her father attached to so many tubes and machines. He was pale and lifeless. He could still die. The doctor had said he’d need to be under close supervision for at least the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Lori kept herself from touching him because she was afraid she’d hurt him. Every sin she’d ever committed against this man came back to her in crushing clarity. "Oh Daddy, Daddy. What would I do without you?" she moaned, feeling the tears storm forward again. When Blackie turned to her, she saw tears in his eyes too. He pulled her against him too fast for her to catch more than that first glimpse. "Don’t leave me, Blackie. I can’t be alone now." He backed up, cupping her face in his hands. The tears were gone, but the emotional pain in its place eclipsed any physical reaction. "Why would I leave you, dammit? Tell me how I’d do that. I’m here. Anytime you need me, Princess, I’ll be right there. Believe it." Whether or not she could believe it, he’d said what she needed to hear. Right now, it was all she could hold onto. Chapter 19 The next morning, Blackie lifted Lori out of his car. She’d sat by her daddy’s side all night, holding his hand and trying to be brave the few times Jerry did wake. The lack of sleep had finally caught up with her, and she’d put up only slight opposition when JoJo insisted she’d stay right by Jerry while Blackie took her home to get some rest. Blackie couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to dream or think or consider. He wanted to drink,—pretty much the way he handled complicated situations—but Lori or Jerry might need him. After he laid down with her for a half hour, she fell asleep again. It was almost ten a.m. The bar would either open today, depending on who was scheduled to work or Blackie would have to post that they were closed until further notice. That thought bothered him. He couldn’t imagine a single day had gone by that Jerry didn’t work in the bar, if only for an hour. He’d worked the day he got married, every day of his honeymoon, after Lori was born. Jerry loved Rainbow Nights. It’d been his first baby. Blackie realized just how much he did too when he went downstairs and out to the bar. He’d found a family here, friends, love. If Jerry wasn’t here...Aw hell. The man had turned his life from a nightmare into something solid and stable. Something Blackie had been afraid to trust because nothing good had ever happened to him before. He never learned how to accept it either, other than by working, being there, giving everything he had and never becoming a burden. Never taking. "Take care of my baby. Love her like she wants and deserves. Like you do. You’re the only man worthy of her, son." Blackie turned to see the stool behind the bar. Jerry’s old, black-taped stool. He’d tuck a towel into his belt, sit on that stool if he wasn’t serving or washing glasses. He used to have an unlit cigar clamped in his teeth all the time when Blackie first came here, before Megan came and got rid of that "nasty habit." "Blackie can do it. Don’t you worry about that. I trust him." "I can always count on you, son." "You’re a good kid, Blackie. Don’t ever let anybody tell you different." The lump in his throat grew. "You’re the only man worthy of her..." Worthy of the most priceless jewel in Jerry’s humble crown. Jerry believed he was good enough for his precious daughter. How the hell could that make sense? Blackie hadn’t wanted it to make sense. Cuz if he let himself believe that and then it turned out not to be true...he’d be completely lost. Having nothing at all was better than having it and then letting it go because it was never yours. Now he could believe. And he was just as scared at the prospect. A life with Lori. After thirty-eight years, he didn’t know what he was capable of—good or bad. The front door knob of the bar jiggled as a key was inserted and turned in the lock. Blackie moved from out behind the bar with a purpose. He was there when Ozzer stepped in and, immediately, seeing Blackie, doubled back. Blackie grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him inside. Slamming the door behind them, he rammed Ozzer against it. "Reporting for duty...or you after more of what you’ve been taking under the counter all these years?" Instead of allowing himself to concentrate on the situation at the hospital, he’d tried to piece together what Ozzer had been up to with that sham will. He’d come up with a lot of speculation he probably would never be able to prove, even if he staked his life on it being the truth. Blackie suspected Ozzer had been "embezzling" from Jerry at every turn, living the good life off it too. Then, when Blackie and Lori moved back in, Ozzer figured he couldn’t continue with it because Blackie kept his eye on him whenever he was around. Old Willie decided to prey on the weaker of the two at that time. He’d threatened the one thing Blackie could easily be distracted by—Lori. Ozzer sent the letter and he’d destroyed Lori’s work. (Blackie figured a friend or girlfriend wrote both notes; the handwriting and "intelligence" of the notes compared to the will were too different to be written by the same person.) Willie probably even suspected Jerry’s health was in decline. Seeing him collapsed on the living room floor, instead of doing the human thing, Ozzer saw his opportunity to get the bar "legull and free." Jerry had, of course, been in the throes of a heart attack at that point and not able to sign the idiotic will anyway. "You don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, boy! I paid my dues and I’m not goin’ back for somethin’ I didn’t do. Old man died on his own. I had nothin’ to do with it." "He’s not dead. But even if he was, you think this will would be legal? You don’t even know how to spell the word, you piece of shit." Blackie let him go, turning away with a snort of disgust. Ozzer seemed offended when he said "Friend of mine who reads all those legal books said it was plenty legal. Why shouldn’t I get the bar? I put ‘most as much into it as the old guy. And you got your artsy cay-reer. Bitch of a daughter don’t want—" Blackie grabbed him by the collar again and slammed his fist into Ozzer’s nose. The crunch and blood satisfied a long time anger inside him. "That’s for everything I can’t prove but we both know to be true." As hard as he could, Blackie shoved the creep to the ground. "Two warnings you better heed, Ozzer, cuz they’re your last chance: 1) Don’t you ever speak another bad word about Lori or Jerry Gordon, and 2) Leave. Leave town, leave the state. Just don’t ever show your face here again. I’ll never be this easy on you again if you do." Blackie crumpled the counterfeit will, tossed it at the backward-pedaling Ozzer. As soon as he was out the door, Blackie locked it, put up the Closed sign followed by a call to a locksmith, then he went back to the apartment. Lori came down the steps looking lost and confused. "You said you wouldn’t leave me," she said softly, when he reached her. "I’m here. I didn’t go far, Princess." She put her arms around him tight enough to make his throat close again in overwhelmed emotions. You’re worthy of her. Lori backed away only far enough to kiss him gently. "Take me upstairs. Lay with me. Love me. Make me believe everything’ll be okay." Swallowing, he looked at her and for the first time didn’t feel like a thief or a pervert for wanting her. He wasn’t a fool for loving and taking from her. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe he was good for her. Right now, no other person could give her what she needed to be whole. No one else could ever love her like he did. "SOMEBODY has to take over the bar," JoJo said what Lori was sure all of them realized as soon as the doctor told them Jerry would recover but he wouldn’t be able to work full-time anymore, if at all. Her father had been moved out of the ICU today. The doctor sent them all home not long after that, saying Jerry needed rest and they could visit in the morning. They’d come back to the bar, straggling into the apartment and sitting mutely in the living room. The whole world felt different to Lori. Her father would need someone to take care of him for the rest of his life—because anyone who knew Jerry Gordon knew he didn’t do well taking care of himself. As long as he was here with them, Lori wouldn’t mind that at all. Blackie had changed too. A part of her was afraid to believe that since he hadn’t said anything different. She just saw it...in the way he looked at her, felt it...in the way he touched her. As soon as they’d come in, he sat in one of the chairs and pulled her down on his lap. Her position was both comfortable and intimate. His hand resting between her breasts was too possessive to be anything except a declaration of his feelings, their feelings, of a relationship. Their friends couldn’t have missed the implications, yet none of them spoke of it. They apparently knew Blackie as she did: Speak the unspeakable and send him in the opposite direction. "Ozzer?" Jon suggested. "No. Hell no. He’s history." Everyone looked at Blackie when he spoke. He looked at Lori. "We’ll take care of the bar. And Jerry." The intensity of his gaze roared though her like a backdraft of fire. "Needs to be fixed up too," Randy said. "We could all pitch in on that, here and there." "Sounds like a good idea," Blackie agreed, drawing his thumb over Lori’s bottom lip. She wanted to cry. Kiss him. Scream "How can you rip my emotions every-which-way the way you do?" When he pulled her closer and whispered in her ear "You wanna go to bed?", she knew she wouldn’t scream at him. She’d love him the way she always did. And—for whatever reason—he’d love her. As they got up as one, Blackie said "Somebody can take my bedroom. I’m with Lori." Her face burned in surprise and happiness, but he was already leading her upstairs to the chorus of goodnights. The questions rebounded inside her head. She couldn’t get herself to voice even one of them as they closed themselves behind her door and began undressing separately. He finished before she did and sat at the edge of the bed watching her. Before she could reach for the clasp of her bra, he reached for her. Lori let him draw her between his muscular thighs. His gaze locked on hers, and she couldn’t have looked away if she wanted to. There could be nothing good about her father’s heart attack, and yet...it’d changed something inside Blackie. She even knew what had brought about the change. Whatever her father had said to Blackie just after they found him collapsed. She hadn’t heard his words, but whatever they’d been had a profound affect on Blackie. God, she didn’t want to be the cause of another vow between this man and her father. "You tired?" Blackie asked softly. Lori swallowed hard, managing to shake her head. "He’s gonna be okay. He won’t be able to run the bar anymore, but..." His fingers undid the clasp of her bra as he spoke. "...I’ve been working the past couple years. My art...It’s become a job. I don’t feel it like I did when I first started. I was thinking I could take care of Rainbow Nights and paint when I’m inspired again, not cuz I need to fill the hours of every day." "Are you sure that’s what you want?" she asked because she would have a hard time giving her job up part-time, even to save the business her father loved. She knew how much Blackie loved his art. "I love Rainbow Nights. It’s a part of me I don’t wanna let go of." He kissed her, cupping her breasts, stroking her nipples until she gasped. Love. He’d never used the word "love" before, in any context. Not for his art, his friends, her father or for her. When she was a teenager and told him she loved him, he’d say "You know" instead of "I love you too." He was afraid of that word and the power simply uttering it could have over him. Their breath came in ragged pants when he eased back to look up at her. "Take me, babe. Damn, I need you." He’d changed here too. Each time he made love to her since her father went to the hospital, he’d been so tender, so giving. Every kiss seemed to come straight from his soul. Anytime they’d ever made love, without fail he gave more than he allowed himself to take. Now he’d given her the controls. He laid back. Lori scooted off the bed, shed her panties quickly, then covered him with her body. He held her as she kissed him, and she could see the fierce arousal and emotion in his eyes when she looked down at him. "You’re everything to me, Blackie. God, I love you." Cradling her face in his hands, he almost smiled. Tears slammed into her eyes. He didn’t kiss her ferociously, take her passion to higher realms in the single-minded urgency of escaping her professed love. He just-barely smiled and said to her the next best thing to "I love you." He said "Don’t you ever stop, Princess." Chapter 20 Blackie woke and immediately realized he’d slept. He’d slept with Lori, in the literal connotation of the word. Since they became lovers, he got next to no sleep. Something rose in him, a pressure that he forced down, just barely. He wanted to hold her desperately like tomorrow was the grim reaper, like today was all they had and it’d never be enough. He touched her jawline lightly, then leaned forward and kissed her. You’re mine, Princess. And, God help me, I’m gonna make you happy for the rest of our lives. His body urged him to deepen the kiss; he could have woke her fully and satisfied them both again. But they had plenty of time. Despite the pressure he battled, they had the rest of their lives. He got up and dressed, watching her curl closer into the pillow he’d laid his head on last night. The rest of the house was quiet. Rod lay asleep on the couch, snoring like a chainsaw. He heard whispering in the kitchen and smelled strong coffee. Jon and JoJo turned to him as he entered. The urge to grab coffee and duck out came on, but he figured the sooner they gave him hell, the sooner he’d get rid of the urge to duck out. Feeling their gazes on him, he went about getting a mug and pouring coffee. "Everybody else asleep?" he asked when he turned. From the countertop she sat on across from them, JoJo mumbled an affirmative. Jon said "Tracey’s nursing the baby." Blackie nodded. "You goin’ in right away?" They both understood he meant going to visit Jerry. When they agreed they planned to, he said "Why don’t you wait a little. I wanna talk to Jerry alone." They could read what they wanted into that. He expected a little razzing. JoJo said nothing, just looked at him intensely. She didn’t have to say out loud what she thought: Love is scary as hell and you probably wanna run for cover, cuz anything could happen now. But it’ll be okay. Could you get a better witness? He’d been scared out of his freaking mind. He’d already run—pretty much all he’d been doing since Lori came home. But after Jerry said those words and Blackie tried to hide from the truth again, he’d slammed into a brick wall every way he turned. The truth hadn’t allowed him to get away. He could love Lori. He could let her love him. It was okay. Maybe it was even destiny. Right now, he was sure being with Lori was right—just as sure as he’d been before that it was wrong. "I’m glad you two are happy together," Jon said awkwardly, and Blackie almost laughed out loud. What did a person say in a situation like this? What was the proper etiquette for seeing two people give in to their feelings for each other? "Yeah. Me too." He fished a couple coffee grounds out of his mug. Obviously Jon made the coffee. "You look happy. Barely recognize you," JoJo said. Blackie shrugged. "She’s...She makes me high. I look at her and...that’s all...everything." He shrugged again, glancing at his coffee once more because that pressure rose again, even stronger than before. Jon moved around the room, standing next to the counter JoJo sat on, like he wanted to get a better look at the mighty fallen. "What happened to ‘It’s wrong. I’m a freakin’ pervert for even thinking about her like that’?" JoJo kicked Jon, probably thinking this kind of comment would send Blackie into hiding again. He faced them instead because he had to. "I don’t know. I just always thought I didn’t belong anywhere. That Jerry took me in out of a sense of moral obligation...I couldn’t accept I was anything other than a vagabond without a home, you know? You believe anything else and the world kicks you in the teeth. Now...now I belong. Here. With Lori. And that’s okay." He couldn’t say it—not yet—but he belonged here because of love. JoJo hugged him, muttered "You wanted all of us to be happy. ‘Bout time you got some of your own. You deserve it." "More than most people," Jon added, not daring to touch him. "I wouldn’t be with Tracey now if it wasn’t for you." JoJo laughed. "I’m sure Randy would’ve given up on me if you hadn’t kicked me in the head and made me go to him." "All right, all right." He stepped away from them. "You’re embarrassing me." JoJo ruffled his hair while he drained his coffee. He’d never considered his intervention in JoJo and Jon’s love lives as matchmaking. He’d considered it exactly what JoJo said—kicking them in the heads when they most needed it. What were friends for? "Tell Lori where I am if she wakes up before I get back," he said, rinsing his mug and setting it in the sink. He had no plan for his talk with Jerry. All he knew was if he spent the rest of his life with Lori he didn’t want Jerry to pretend to be ignorant of the situation. Crazy as it was this day and age, Blackie wanted Jerry’s blessing. BEFORE heading to the old guy’s room, he stopped to ask a nurse how he was doing. She grinned. "Already asking when he can go home. He’s going to be fine if he takes it easy from now on." Sounds like Jerry, Blackie thought, chuckling to himself. He and Lori would make sure her daddy took it easy. Jerry was wake, staring at the TV blankly. "Any idea when I’m gettin’ outta here?" Jerry asked immediately. Although his expression didn’t change, Blackie could tell by the tone of his voice Jerry was glad to see him. Blackie smiled. "Soon." "Doctor chased you all outta here last night, huh?" Jerry said after Blackie sat down. Blackie nodded. "What the hell you doing exercising, man?" Until Jerry blushed fiercely and shook his head, Blackie thought he was introducing a safe subject before he went into the real reason he’d come. "Crazy. Forget it." "Forget what?" Jerry turned to stare at the TV again, but he obviously wasn’t seeing it. "I know you never liked her. You thought she was trouble. And God knows she did some bad stuff. But so did I. And it’s not like she’d ever consider me again." Jerry shook his head again, and Blackie asked softly "What are you talking about, Jerry?" "I was exercising...for Megan." Oh shit. Blackie didn’t know whether to laugh or lecture. "Something happen?" Jerry blushed again, and one of his machines started beeping a little faster. "I drove her to the airport and we stopped by her hotel to get her luggage." And they’d forgotten why they shouldn’t be together, Blackie could only assume by Jerry’s schoolboy reactions. "It’s wrong to feel anything for her, isn’t it? Because of what she did to my little girl?" Jerry genuinely asked him, and Blackie found he couldn’t say what he really felt. "You think she’s changed?" The snort of laughter Jerry gave was sarcastic but not bitter. "No. Megan’s Megan, no regrets. But she’s not heartless or evil." Both Jerry and Lori seemed to find good in a woman Blackie wrote off as a heartbreaker the first time he met her. The only thing good she’d ever done was making Jerry happy for a while there and leaving him. Leaving him qualified as both good and evil. "I don’t like the idea of her hurting you again. Or Lori." Jerry didn’t say anything, and Blackie had to conclude that Jerry was a grown man. He could only protect him from so much. Silence ended the discussion. Blackie leaned forward on the chair, elbows on knees. "What would you think...?" Jerry turned to him. Blackie wanted to look away but forced himself not to when he finished "...if I asked your daughter to marry me?" The silence and Jerry’s shock left Blackie floundering for his earlier confidence. Maybe he misunderstood.... "You damn well better wait til I’m out of here. I’ve waited a long time for this and I don’t wanna miss it." Blackie rubbed a hand over his mouth, chuckling in overwhelmed relief. "You won’t." Foolish tears stung behind his eyes. He’d expected Jerry to question him, make a few fatherly demands. But Jerry seemed to know. Just know that this was right, that Blackie would be good to her. He’d be everything Lori needed. "I never told you this, son," Jerry said in a strangled voice. "I hoped you knew—even after that damn stupid vow I forced you to make." Blackie couldn’t speak. The vow had been damn stupid and he’d only done it because Jerry asked it of him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Jerry, but this—this thing between him and Lori—had nothing to do with vows or obligations. That vow had forced Blackie to believe things that probably weren’t true, now or then. "I love you, Blackie. I loved you the day I found you out in my garbage bin. You’re my son. And any man’d be proud to have you as a son. Any woman’d be lucky to have you too." Blackie pressed his fists as hard as he could against his mouth. "I don’t know if I ever did right by you, son, but believe this. The day you become my son-in-law will be the proudest day of my life." Closing his eyes, Blackie took a deep breath. He had to say what he’d never said to anybody. Jerry was the father he’d always wanted. He’d known that from the start. A couple weeks after Jerry took him in, he’d driven Blackie home. His parents’ house had been empty. It was then they both accepted that Blackie’s parents had no intention of ever seeing him again. And the part of it Blackie would never forget—not the emptiness or the overwhelming sense of worthlessness and abandonment—was the relief he’d felt because his mom and dad weren’t there. In three short weeks, he’d felt more love than he had in ten years. He’d wanted to stay with Jerry, and he’d cried for the last time when Jerry said "Stay with me, son. I’ll take care of you. We’ll make it." No, Blackie would probably never get the taste of ten years of terror out his memory. Were they just punishing him again or would they leave him for good this time? The pain of never being good enough to make them love him, of never knowing why—any of it. The stench of the garbage in the alley after they pushed him out of the car and drove off. If he left to try to find his way home, they’d never find him. So he’d stayed in the alley, in the cold rain that started that night and the even colder realization that they were gone and they never loved him. He remembered the gnawing in his belly and the hot tears cutting through the rain on his face as he huddled closer to the dumpster. And he remembered the warmth in Jerry’s face when he’d found him, invited him in and took care of him. Until he forced him to take that vow, Jerry never made him feel like caring for him had been a burden on him. When Blackie opened his eyes, Jerry shook his head at everything Blackie needed to say. "I know, son. You don’t have to say it. You proved to me how you feel a million times. My daughter’s the one who needs to hear it. Go to her." Blackie stood and kissed the top of Jerry’s head hard, staring at the white wall across from him. One last thing and his redemption would be complete: go to Lori. JERRY was lonely and bored again just five, long minutes after Blackie left. Man with a mission, Jerry thought, and I’m a man in a cage. He sneered down at all the tubes and needles connecting him to the menagerie of machines in the room. At the very least, he would have appreciated a roommate; he’d have someone to shoot the breeze with when his kids weren’t here. But the other bed in the room was empty. He’d gotten too used to "shooting the breeze" with the bar patrons. While it hadn’t completely filled the emptiness of living alone all those years, it was still better than turning on both radio and TV to drown out the black-hole silence. A nurse came in and started doing the battery of annoyances. She was someone to talk to, so Jerry cooperated with the blood pressure check. "That your son?" she asked. "Yeah." Jerry beamed as much as he could with a thermometer poking out of his mouth and inflated rubber squeezing the life out of his arm. "He’z gettin’ mareweed." "All the good looking ones are either married or gay," she said good-naturedly as she plucked the thermometer out. The door opened, and the nurse turned, inadvertently giving Jerry a clear view of his visitor. He couldn’t believe it. "You’re a popular guy." The nurse left them within a few minutes. "How did you know?" Jerry asked. "I called the bar last night. One of your strays told me." Megan hovered near the door like she needed the option of escape. She seemed nervous...or something else. She’d never been terribly fond of all the "strays", as she called them, filling the apartment at any given moment. Blackie’s friends became Jerry’s kids too, and Jerry’s cronies’ kids became his too. Rarely a day went by that the apartment wasn’t inhabited by more than him, Megan and Blackie back then. It was the way Jerry liked it. He didn’t like to be alone. Megan never understood that since she grew up in a house where the only people she might see in a day were her caretaker and the chauffeur. No warning whatsoever. One minute Megan stood by the door, nervous or something, and the next she burst into tears. All Jerry’s protective instincts kicked in. This vulnerable side of Megan only made infrequent appearances. As far as Jerry knew, he was the only person who’d ever seen it. "Are you going to die?" she demanded of him. He was confused. Why was she crying and why would she ask him a thing like that? "No. I’m...I just overdid it." Blackie had pretty much covered the truth of the thing—why had he been exercising? Now he felt more foolish than ever before, and not just because he’d squeezed his marshmallow body into that long out-grown jogging suit. Even after he’d been gasping for breath and his chest felt like an anvil or twenty sat on it, he kept going, telling himself his laziness got him in the shape he was in. Megan held her hand over her mouth while trying to hug herself with her other arm. She looked like a lost little girl. Jerry swallowed the lump of sympathy in his throat. "At least come over here, Nutmeg." His plea broke her. She ran to him and threw herself in his arms. With her face pressed into his neck, she sobbed. "I’m not gonna die, Megan," he said softly, soothingly. Her head came up, her stare intense. "Promise me!" Jerry shook his head, chuckling. "Megan...who am I? God? Doctor seems to think I’ll live ten, twenty more years if I take care of myself." She stared at him, and all the signs of aging he hadn’t seen last time revealed themselves now. She was even more beautiful for them too. Because they told him she hadn’t spent the "necessary" time today to cover the so-called flaws. Megan was a wear-makeup-to-get-the-mail type of woman. He’d always preferred the thoroughly cleansed, free-of-artificial-beauty woman who crawled into bed with him at night. The one who woke in the morning looking as soft and innocent as a newborn kitten. "You can’t die. What would I—?" Cradling her face in his hands, Jerry tried not to smile. He was laying flat on his back in a hospital, hooked up to life support systems, and all he wanted to do was tumble his ex-wife into bed and become her lion/teddy bear again. "What are you trying to say, Nutmeg?" She lowered her face, pressing it lightly against his cheek, then nuzzling him. "You’re the only person who ever loved me. The only man I’ve ever loved. Hell, I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I can’t lose you." In his condition, he wasn’t up for anything. Even a border-line erotic kiss had his heartbeat doing double time. Megan broke away when she heard it. "I was so mad at you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so mad in my life. I wanted to hurt you and I knew leaving would hurt you more than anything. You weren’t even mad at me for that, were you?" Jerry had always known he should be angry with Megan for walking out on him and their child—at least for Lori’s sake he should have been mad. He’d been too hurt and convicted for his own crimes to reach the proper state of fury. Besides, Blackie had been pissed off enough for the both of them. "And you haven’t been with anybody since, have you?" He didn’t need to confirm it verbally. She knew him. When he loved, it was for a lifetime and it was loyal no matter what. Megan shook her head at him. "Pitiful. You’re absolutely pitiful, Jer." But she smiled a little. "All I’ve been able to think about since I came here last is you...us." "Me too," Jerry admitted, despite the fact that he hadn’t been able to pick up the phone and call her, like she’d asked him to. Easier to convince himself it was the heat of the moment that motivated her to give him her card. He stared into her gorgeous eyes and thought the exact same thing she said: "I can’t think of any way this can work. We’re no good married. And I won’t give up my career. I worked too hard to get this far." "I’d never ask you to." He didn’t before either. She couldn’t be happy that way any more than he could be happy anywhere except in his bar. She glanced down, trailing a nail over his chin. "So, where do we go from here?" Jerry had no answers. Wrong or right, having her near him even if only for a short time made him happy. "I want you in my life again. I want to get to know Lori. What do you want?" "The same." he admitted. She pursed her lips, then let out an exhale. "So how do we make this work?" "I don’t know." Jerry smiled. "But we’ll work it out somehow." Maybe love would find a way, like it had for all of his kids. Chapter 21 Lori woke slowly and knew even before she was fully conscious that she’d overslept. She’d always loved her sleep a little too much and—despite years of late-to-bed, early-to-rise—she could fall back into the habit of sleeping until afternoon easily. Opening one eye, she searched out the clock. She had to see her father, call her boss, demand of Blackie why he’d let her oversleep...or why he left at all. When she didn’t immediately see her clock the way she should have, she opened both eyes, sitting up slightly. A piece of drawing paper was propped in front of her alarm clock. A gasp/sob escaped her as she reached for it. She saw the sketch of herself sleeping wantonly naked; it was both beautiful and embarrassing. But what captured her attention was the inscription on the bottom right corner of the sketch. Blackie’s cramped scrawl: "I love you, Princess. Blackie." Lori closed her eyes, but nothing could hold back the chest-wracking sob that came from the deepest part of her soul. The word "love" was something Blackie had never spoken, let alone written. She’d looked for it specifically while reading his comic book series. This meant as much to her as hearing it from his own mouth. Careful not to bend something she would cherish forever, she hugged the drawing to her bare chest. And then the first doubt hit her. He’s done a lot of things you thought you’d cherish forever—for your father, not for you. This could be another one of the vows he keeps so loyally. Lori took a deep, shaky breath. No matter what, she had to get up, call her boss and visit her father. She could deal with this later. After going to the bathroom, brushing her teeth and getting ready, she started downstairs. One of her friends would be here and could tell her how her father was doing. A lump formed in her throat the instant her gaze collided with Blackie’s. She’d reached the bottom stair. He was just coming out of the kitchen with a mug of steaming coffee. She could smell the cinnamon despite the distance. Her own anger conflicted with love that felt a million years old...and stronger than ever. What other person can make you so reckless, yet need so desperately to find a haven? What person can make you think you’ll accept anything as long as he stays, yet you want the best for yourself? The best he can give you. Not obligation, not obsession, not just once but always. "How is my father?" she asked, putting a little steel in her tone. If he thought she’d fall all over herself because of the words she’d waited a lifetime to hear...Well, never mind that she already had fallen all over herself over them. He did seem surprised. There was a hint of confusion in his eyes, something like thinking you knew where you were going then suddenly realizing you were lost. "He’s good. He’s gonna make it, Princess." Lori sighed at that. She didn’t even want to think about the alternative. For obvious reasons but also because it would change everything between her and Blackie. If he stayed with her, she’d never really believe he was there for her. "I have to call my boss," she said, turning to go back upstairs. "She called. I told her. She said to take all the time you need—‘long as you make your deadline." Lori pivoted back to face him and he moved toward her, setting the coffee on the table behind the sofa. God, he was incredible. The last thing she should even consider right now was his physical effect on her. God knew that alone could weaken her resolve. But, oh baby, she loved watching him move—toward her, away from her, didn’t matter. Remembering last night, the way he’d let her do anything and everything—as long as she wanted—certainly didn’t help. By the time he reached her, her body felt heavy and flushed with insatiable desire. So much for backbone. "Come out to the bar with me." Her pleasure-saturated brain heard "Come upstairs with me." Then nothing penetrated as he kissed her. She’d just decided to be mad later when he took her hand and started in the opposite direction of upstairs. "Where are we going?" she asked in confusion. He allowed her to catch up with him. "Time to make it official." Either he was talking gibberish or she was still up in bed dreaming incoherently. The dream got even more strange once they went out to the bar. There were all their friends, including her mother. What in the world was going on? Lori started to pinch herself. Everyone looked so expectant, amused and, frankly, a little hopeful. They looked at Blackie that way. Turning to him, she was surprised to find him on one knee in front of her. She did pinch herself then. Oh God, she wasn’t dreaming. Blackie grinned like he couldn’t believe any of this himself. "I didn’t have time to get a ring, but then if you say no I’ll probably be glad I didn’t." A ring? She needed that coffee. She needed it now! A part of her was already giddy with anticipation, the other warned her that if he said what she thought he might she had to be 100% sure of his motives. There was absolutely no way she’d accept a marriage proposal from any man if offered at her father’s urging. Especially from this man. Absolutely not. Probably not. "Marry me, Lori." Her heart drained out onto the floor at his proposal, given exactly as she’d always fantasized as a teenager. No! You can’t accept this. Not without making sure. Aware that all eyes trained on her, Lori leaned down and whispered "Can I talk to you alone?" The thought of facing anyone was too much, so she just turned away and walked back into the apartment, stopping in the hallway. Blackie had followed. He closed the door behind him. She tried not to notice how vulnerable he looked. It’d been hard for him to express his feelings in front of all their friends Leaving him all alone in that expression had to be humiliating. Time for a little backbone. "I don’t want anything because my father asked you to do it or made you feel obligated because of how I feel about you. Because it would—" The past overwhelmed her. Hard tears filled her eyes. Waking up after a night of loving the only man she’d ever wanted, only to have him say he’d been drunk and their entire relationship was based on a vow to her father...Oh God. Never again. Blackie put an arm around her waist, pulling her close and putting a finger against her trembling lips. "Forget your daddy. Forget all the bullshit before. This doesn’t have anything to do with either." "This...?" She swallowed tears. She didn’t want to lose it completely, It’d be too easy to do just that. "You. Me...us." He glanced away, but she’d seen his embarrassment. "Didn’t you see—?" "Yes," she said in a whisper. Convince me it was your heart in those beautiful words on that sketch. When his gaze returned, she held it for dear life. "I want you, Princess. I’m not just being loyal to your daddy. I wanted you then too, but...now..." Lori swallowed again, realizing he kept hitting a brick wall, one she wanted to jump over the way she always had to get to him. But she couldn’t. Not this time. He had to break through it himself, once and for all. Cradling her face in his hands, he stroked her jaw with his fingers. "I...Ah hell, I love you." He said the taboo word so forcefully it seemed to shatter the air around them. It definitely shattered her heart and then made it whole finally. Lori threw her arms around him and kissed him between sentences: "I love you, Blackie...Just the two of us...Oh God, I need lots of time to savor this..." He laughed slightly, nodding when she backed up. "Yeah. I think I’m gonna need that too." Not allowing him to kiss her the way she knew he wanted to, she led him back out to the bar. Seeing everyone now looking confused and uncertain didn’t dampen her enthusiasm. She turned to Blackie. "Now, what were you saying?" His grin and headshake thrilled her even more. "Marriage. You. Me. Ring on our to-do list." Lori glanced at their friends, giving them plenty of time to be held in breathless limbo. Anyone who knew her could guess her answer. Staring into Blackie’s eyes, she could have shouted to match the internal state of her emotions. Instead, she said with quiet confidence "Yes. A million times yes." Blackie turned to shout over his shoulder "Break out that champagne." Then he swept her into his arms and kissed her straight into forever. Epilogue Although Lori and Blackie opted to have a small church wedding, Jerry found it a lot more tasteful than his own wedding had been over twenty years ago. That ceremony had been fit for a prince, and Jerry felt like an idiot most of the service. Megan had deserved a fairy tale wedding, but mostly she’d wanted to bleed her parents for all they were worth one last time. The sanctuary held enough flowers to perfume a herd of cows, yet the guests only filled two pews—on the same side. Lori had convinced Blackie to wear a white shirt and a black jacket, and even in black jeans, without a tie, the guy looked more handsome than Jerry had felt dressed to the nines at his own wedding. The dress Lori designed and now wore was unconventional,—"Poetry & Passion", she called it—yet Jerry got tears in his eyes watching his baby girl come toward him. "You’re beautiful, punkin," he said, hugging her lightly so he wouldn’t wrinkle her. The wedding march beckoned them, and Lori pulled back to smile at him. The last three months had been the happiest of her life—the glow on her face said that. Jerry had recovered, the kids renovated the apartment from top to bottom, Blackie took over the bar while Lori finished one clothes line and started another—this one regular clothes instead of the sexy stuff. Living with the two of them had been...well, uncomfortable as it was satisfying. They were in love and new, thoroughly insulated walls couldn’t encase their passion for each other. A single glance proclaimed that. Watching them separately proved the changes too. Lori had more confidence in everything she did. She glowed everyday, not just this day. Blackie smiled more, laughed a lot and was just plain more open with everyone. Certainly more affectionate in public displays. What else could a father want for his kids? Lori took his arm, and Jerry hugged her to him closely as they took to the aisle. The look on Blackie’s face brought Jerry back to one of the few moments in his own wedding that had made him forget all the pomp. Seeing his bride come down the aisle toward him. And feeling like nothing could ever be more right. Blackie had that slammed-in-the-gut, oh-so-right, forever-starts-now look on his face too. For an uncontrollable instant, Jerry’s gaze went to his ex-wife. Last night he’d made her his wife again. Maybe not in the legal sense. Maybe never in the legal sense again. He’d asked, of course, but she was right. They didn’t work married. They lost the magic then. And last night had been magic. Jerry was twenty pounds lighter, felt better than he had in three decades, and Megan still felt exactly the same in his hands. Soft, sweet, sexy and completely his, the way he’d always been hers. This morning they’d held each other for hours, stroking lightly but not attempting to recreate the magic so soon after the last time, and talked. They’d reached a compromise that satisfied them both more than any of their other options. He couldn’t live in her world permanently, she couldn’t live in his, they couldn’t forget each other. They would belong to each other exclusively, and they’d lead separate lives, coming together whenever they could. An imperfect solution but the best they could do to hold on to their love. Jerry kissed his daughter, hugged Blackie, then took their hands and joined them. It was the proudest moment of his life. When he went to stand with Megan, she hugged him from the side. "That’s my daughter," she whispered in a proud tone. The pride didn’t surprise Jerry. Lori and Megan had grown close over the past three months. He’d just had no idea Megan started to think of Lori as her daughter. She’d been so adamant about the two of them not taking those roles. Jerry couldn’t help smiling at the way fate worked. He glanced around him. Four, five happy couples. Now he could settle into being a teddy bear to his grandkids...and a lion with Megan. All of his gypsy children had finally found their homes. ~ The End ~ Did you enjoy Lori & Blackie’s story? Then you’ll like the rest of the Gypsy Road Series: Leather & Lace, Book 1: Gypsy Road Series, ISBN 1-58200-017-4 Flesh & Blood, Book 2: Gypsy Road Series, ISBN: 1-58200-111-1 Fire & Ice, Book 3: Gypsy Road Series, ISBN: 1-58200-112-X