Conduct Unbecoming (13 page)

With the door closed, the darkness was absolute.  It was disconcerting enough that Harley wobbled a little, and in the process of trying to steady herself she bumped into something big and bulky.  The damn thing rolled away from her, wheels squealing, but not before something cold and slimy sloshed out onto her toes.

“Eeeww.”  Harley wrinkled her nose, scooting back away from the mess - definitely a mop pail - only to slam, ass first, into a wall of hard, solid man.

Harley felt his hand on her hip, the heat from his palm, the subtle pressure of his fingers digging into her flesh.  She sucked in a breath, held it for a second or two.  She should move
, she
knew
she should move, but it felt like she was frozen in place.

“
You alright?” he asked, his voice harsh, rusty-sounding. 

Was she alright? 
No
, she wasn’t alright.  Jesus, he was standing so close she could feel his breath, soft and warm, on her skin.

Then the door swung open, someone reached in to flip on the light, and Harley jumped nearly a foot in the air.  Chablis stepped into the closet with them, shut the door behind her.  So now instead of two people crammed into a
space  too small to accommodate them, there were three.

Perfect.

“What are you two
doing
here?” Chablis hissed, hands on her hips. 

Dante whipped the note she’d sent out of his pocket, waved it in her face.  The look he shot her was pure
any other
dumb questions
?  

“
At.  Roxi’s.”  Chablis took a deep breath before she continued.  “What are you doing at Roxi’s.  I swear to God, Dante, Richie’ll have a cow if he sees you in here again.”

Dante frowned. 
“Why?”

“
I don’t know why.”  Chablis shook her head, shrugged.  “I don’t
care
why.  I just don’t want to have to sit across from him and explain why you’re back again when I was supposed to get rid of you.”

Dante glanced at Harley, then back at Chablis. 
“Okay.”  He nodded.  “Tell me who Enzo’s seeing and I’m gone.” 

Chablis looked at the wall, down at her feet, anywhere but in Dante’s direction. 
“I told you, Richie has-”

“
A rule.”  Dante raised his eyebrows.  “Yeah, you said.”

Chablis was quiet for a moment,
then sighed in defeat.  She muttered something under her breath about getting her fired before she admitted, “I think she’s been seeing one of the waitresses.  Sophie.”

“
Is she here?”

“
No.”  Chablis rubbed at her temple, frowned.  “And even if she were, you can’t see her.  You’ll get us
both
fired.”

“
Where then?”

“
Be at the diner around the corner tomorrow at noon.”  Chablis opened the door to peek outside, then looked back over her shoulder.  “And when you leave?  Use the back door.”

* * * *

Harley shoved the bar door open, barreled through it into the parking lot; Dante trailed behind her.  “What is your problem?” she hissed over her shoulder.  She’d felt his eyes boring into the back of her head - not to mention other parts of her anatomy - all the way through the bar.

Okay, so she wasn’t his type.  That much was glaringly obvious.  But he was pissed about it?  Well screw that, screw
him
.  She was pissed, too. 

“
Maybe you’re my problem,” he snorted.  “Ever think of that?”

“
Oh, right.”  Harley turned, walked backwards through the parking lot, her nose wrinkled.  “The cleavage is a deal breaker, huh?”

“
What the hell are you
talking
about?”

Harley kept walking backwards, kept talking, as though she didn’t hear him. 
“Or maybe it’s my clothes.  Maybe my skirt should be shorter, or my blouse tighter.”  She stopped, frowned for a second.  “You know what?  I don’t even care.  You’re not exactly my type either.”  She shook her head, then turned and walked away, hips swaying.

“
Wait a minute.  Just... wait a goddamn minute.”  Dante grabbed her arm.

“
Why?  Is this little conversation gonna somehow change your obsession with strippers and big-breasted waitresses?  No?  I didn’t think so.”  Harley jerked her arm free, stalked off again.  She was ten, fifteen feet away when she heard him laugh.

Harley stopped dead in her tracks.  She spun around to face him, pressed her palm to her racing heart. 
“You asshole.  You think this is
funny
?” she breathed.  “Oh my God, you do.  You think this is funny.”  Stunned, she shook her head.

She was beyond embarrassed.  She wanted to scream, to hit him.  She wanted to hurt him, almost as much as she wanted to take her next breath.  Instead she pulled off a sandal and whipped it at him, as hard as she could.

“Jesus,” Dante hissed.  He dodged to the left, just a little, and it flew past him, missing his head by inches, bounced off the hood of a nearby car.  At least he was done laughing.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t anywhere near done wanting to hurt him.  Hurt him?  She wanted to annihilate him.

“Aw, what’s the matter?  Not quite so funny anymore?”  Harley stood on one foot, pulled off the other sandal.  Said, “Maybe this’ll help,” and threw it, too.  But this time he was ready.  He snatched it out of the air like he played in the majors, scooped the other one up off the ground and went after her.

Before Harley knew what was happening Dante had scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. 
“Put me down,” she squealed, clutching at his shirt one minute, pounding on his back the next.  “Put me down right now.” 

Dante didn’t respond except to stop for a second and roll his shoulder, shifting her weight a little before he kept going. 
“Swear to God,” Harley hissed, squirming, “if you don’t put me down I’ll... I’ll...”

“
Unless you’re next words are
shut up and listen to reason
,” he said, still walking, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“
Shut up?  Listen to
reason
?”  Fuming and indignant, Harley’s voice got louder, shriller.  The fact that no one seemed to notice spoke volumes about the neighborhood.

She twisted and squirmed - anything to see where they were going - but between her hair hanging in her face and the proximity of his ass - which was beyond distracting - it was useless.  It wasn’t until he dropped her onto the hood of
Enzo’s car that she realized just how far he’d carried her.

“
Sit,” Dante ordered.

“
The Hell I will.”  Harley was seconds away from a total meltdown and she knew it, a childish round of
you’re not the boss of me
so close she could almost taste it.  She made a desperate, last ditch effort to get off the hood, to remove herself from the situation, but in the process found herself pressed up against his body.

His hard, solid, fully aroused body.
 

Harley’s mouth dropped open.  She should... what?  Speak?  Whimper?  Beg?  Instead she sucked in a shallow breath, her gaze drawn to his mouth, lingering there for a second or two before she let it out again.

A muscle in Dante’s jaw twitched and jerked, and something - hunger? please God, let it be hunger - flashed in his dark eyes.  He slapped both palms down on the hood, one on each side of her narrow hips, effectively pinning her in place.

“
My brother might be dying,” he said, his voice sandpaper-rough.  “Jesus, he could be dead, right now, but all
I
can think about is this...” he gestured between them with his chin, “this heat.  I don’t understand it.”  He dropped his chin to his chest, closed his eyes for a second.  “Am I crazy?” he whispered.

He looked up at her again, frowned, moved his hands from the hood of
Enzo’s car to her thighs.  He was barely touching her, his fingers just brushing her skin, and she could hardly breathe.  “Tell me I’m crazy and I’ll stop.  Tell me you don’t feel it too and I’ll...”  What?  Walk away?  Stop touching her?  She wasn’t sure she’d survive.

“
You’re not crazy,” she breathed, shook her head.  “I don’t-”  She was going to say she didn’t understand it either, but before she could form the words, he was kissing her.

Thoroughly.

Intensely.

Even desperately.

There wasn’t anything gentle or refined about it - or him, for that matter.  Nothing tentative or, God forbid, polite.  He kissed her like it was... necessary.  Like
she
was necessary.  Like he wouldn’t survive another minute, another
second
, without his mouth on hers.

It was like throwing gasoline on a fire.  Harley leaned her body into his, ran her hands over his arms, his shoulders. 
Snaked them around his neck, into his silky hair.  Pulled him close, closer.

Harley felt his
heart beat, so fast, felt the heat radiating from his body.  When she felt his hands slide up under her skirt she moaned, only vaguely aware that the sound was being swallowed up by his kiss.  By the time his nimble, talented fingers slid inside her panties, inside
her
, she was nearly gasping for air.

One finger, then two, an inventive circular motion administered by a
very
talented thumb.  Harder now, deeper, Jesus... when she came it was like fireworks.  Fireworks on steroids.

Sublime.

Or at least it would be, she supposed, if they weren’t in a parking lot.  On the hood of a car.  She pressed her face into his shoulder, cringed. 

A couple of cars away someone mumbled a drunken,
“my turn, man,” before he let loose a sloppy stream of obnoxious, raunchy-sounding laughter.  “Jesus, Harley,” Dante hissed angrily, tugging at the hem of her twisted skirt with still shaky hands.   

Mortified, more by
Dante’s
reaction, his regret, than the drunk’s, Harley slapped his hands away.  “Stop it,” she snapped, sliding off the hood.  She glanced down at the ground, at her hands, at the car next to Enzo’s, anything to avoid eye contact.  If he looked at her with disappointment, or worse, pity, she’d die of embarrassment.

“
Here.”  He shoved her sandals at her, scowled.  “Put these on.”

             
She rolled her eyes and slid them on, then stood next to the car with her arms folded over her chest.  Waited.

             
“Look, Harley.”  Dante scratched his jaw.  “I’m not-”

             
“Unlock the door, Dante,” she ordered, as though he hadn’t spoken.  “We’re done here.”

Chapter 17

Harley was on her third cup of coffee when the bell chimed over the front door, drumming her fingers on the scared tabletop to an aimless, caffeine-fueled beat.  She sat facing the door, but didn’t look up.  Not because she wasn’t curious, but because she was stubborn. 
Too stubborn to admit that she’d been waiting for him, watching.

So she sat there, breath held, until the moment the footsteps stopped next to her table.  Then she looked up at him, eyebrows raised. 
“Dante.”

“
I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he said, taking the chair across from her.

“
You’re not the only one with a dog in this fight.”

“
Guess not.”  He nodded to the waitress, gestured for coffee.  Stretched his legs out in front of him.

“
You think either one of them will show?”  Harley sipped.

“
Yeah, I do.”  He smiled, lifted his mug.  “If for no other reason than to keep me out of Roxi’s.”

When the bell rang again they both looked up, and Dante lifted his hand in a greeting.  They watched Chablis take a tiny, waif-like brunette by the hand and lead her over to their table.

As usual, Chablis flashed Dante a sultry grin and ignored Harley completely.  She slid into the chair next to Dante, gestured for the brunette - Sophie, Harley assumed - to sit by Harley.

“
Thanks for coming.”  Dante spoke softly, smiled.   “I’m Enzo’s brother.”

“
I know.”  The girl’s smile wobbled a little, her dark, luminous eyes filling with tears.  “I’ve seen pictures.  Enzo talks about you all the time.”

Harley saw the guilt in Dante’s eyes, felt an unwelcome twinge of sympathy.  She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, didn’t want to feel
anything
for him, but she did.  Not reaching to take his hand took every ounce of self control she could muster.