Head Above Water (Nightshade MC Book 4) (6 page)

“Just you, I've got everything else covered, I think. See you soon, Monroe.”

“See you,” Monroe ended the call and stared at the phone for a moment. He'd given Drea a lot of thought in the past few days, maybe too much thought. He felt something for her, something like what he'd felt for Maggie, so it made him wonder if he was building things up to be more than they were. Today would be a test of that, how he felt around her, but he also needed to keep an eye on how she seemed to feel about him. There was no way he wanted to miss signals that she was into him.

The thought of it gave him a headache. Why couldn't it just be simple? Why couldn't it be easy? With Fiona, there had been none of this drama. He'd just looked at her one day and known that she was the one. Too bad for him, the timing had been off.

By the time that he'd showered and dressed, Monroe knew he'd worked himself into a foul mood. He did his best to shake it off on the ride to her place. When he pulled up, he saw her car and another in the driveway. Curious, he parked at the curb and headed for the front door. He knocked, waited and got his first glimpse of Frankie Gagliardi in the flesh.

“You must be Monroe,” he said as he extended his hand. “I'm Frankie. Good to meet you.” The man was maybe an inch taller than him, but skinnier, with long hair dyed blond with dark roots showing in a style that he knew was called ombre from listening to the pass-arounds talk one day.

“Same here,” Monroe replied. “Is Drea around?”

“Yeah, she's in the kitchen. Come on in, I'll be out of your hair in a minute. I didn't know that Andrea was going to have company coming.”

Monroe didn't think that Drea had expected Frankie to be there, at least that was what the expression on her face suggested as she came out of the kitchen. “Hey, Monroe. Do you want a beer? Frankie was just about to leave.”

“Don't worry, Drea. I don't want to cramp your style,” Frankie spoke with a laugh. Monroe felt the urge to put his fist directly through the man's face. No matter how nice he was trying to be, there was something underneath the surface that made Monroe's skin crawl. He'd met plenty of guys like Frankie during his life.

“So, how about that beer, Monroe?”

“Sounds good,” he said.

“The kitchen is right this way.” She waited for him to join her before she started towards the kitchen. “Sorry about that, I didn't know he was going to be here,” she said softly as they entered the kitchen.

“Why are you sorry? He's your cousin.” Monroe raised an eyebrow when she let out a short, bitter laugh. “Why is that funny?”

“Long story,” she replied, her jaw set in a hard line.

“You want to get out of here?” Monroe lowered his voice so it wouldn't carry to Frankie, who hadn't left yet.

She shook her head. “No. I'm not going to let him run me out of my house. Let me get you that beer. Go on and sit down.”

The list of questions Monroe had about Drea's life was growing by leaps and bounds, but he knew that now wasn't the time to ask. It might never be the time. “So, how was your day going before the power went out?”

“Actually, business was brisk, or as brisk at it gets. I sold about a dozen bathing suits and cover-ups and one really expensive pair of boots.” She seemed to have relaxed some as she took the beers out and carried them over to the table. “How was yours?”

“Hot. I was in the yard most of the day. I've been putting off working on the roses.”

“You grow roses?” She sat down across from him.

“More like I inherited them. My mother was the one who planted them. It's taking some work to get them back like they were. Did you know that roses can spread? I didn't. They're everywhere now. I had to put these root blocking things in, like plastic dividers.”

“I didn't know that either.” She smiled at him. “And I never thought that I'd be sitting at my kitchen table with a biker, talking roses.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Monroe picked up his beer, took a sip.

“It's an interesting thing,” she said after a pause. “You're much more than meets the eye, aren't you?”

“Most people are. I bet that you are.” He noticed that she wasn't blushing, but she looked slightly uncomfortable. “Tell me something about you.”

“Okay.” She paused, obviously trying to think of something. “I like giraffes.”

“You like giraffes?” Monroe didn't know what he'd expected her, to volunteer but it wasn't that.

“I think they're beautiful creatures, and I collect wooden ones. It's a small collection. It's not like everything I own is giraffe themed. My bed is not covered with stuffed ones or anything. I just like them.” There was a defensive, almost defiant tone to her voice, like she expected him to mock her.

“They are beautiful,” Monroe agreed. “What made you like them?”

“My uncle gave me one. It was the nicest thing that I'd ever had. I guess it left an impression. Tell me something else about you.”

“I like movies.”

“Doesn't everyone like movies?” She teased as she got to her feet. “How about something stronger than beer?”

“That works for me,” Monroe replied. He looked over his shoulder as the front door slammed loudly. “Guess that your cousin decided not to say goodbye.”

“Good,” she replied. “I'm really not in the mood for him today.”

“You want to talk about that?” Monroe made the offer although he fully expected that she wouldn't. She shook her head. “Alright, well most people like movies. You're right about that. It was kind of a lame thing to say.”

“This is like twenty invasive questions or something.” She opened a cabinet, reached up and took down a bottle. “All I've got is tequila.”

“I like tequila.”

“I do, too. Looks like that's another thing we have in common. You want to go into the living room? It's more comfortable.”

“I'd like that.”

“I've got some movies in there. We could watch one after we eat if you want.”

“What are we eating?”

“Baked ziti and garlic bread,” she replied. “It's what I had in the freezer. I always make double so I only have to cook half the time.”

“Smart thinking,” Monroe said as he got to his feet. “Lead the way.”

The living room was nicely furnished, with a sectional couch, coffee table, end tables and bookshelves lining the wall. There was also a large television on an entertainment center filled with DVDs. It made him think of his own living room and how he hadn't spent much time making it look anything but bare. “This is great,” he told her.

“Thanks, it's almost the way that I want it. I haven't been able to finish it.”

Monroe wondered if that was because of time or financial constraints. It felt a little like cheating to know so much about her when she knew so little about him. He walked over to the couch and sat down. “You've got a comfortable couch, that's a good start. And I like your library.”

“Thanks. It was supposed to be a little library, but I've got more books than I realized. I worry that the books overwhelm, this place isn't that big. I couldn't beat it for the price, though. I wanted to do a vegetable garden, but time got away from me. Maybe next year, I'll get it in the ground before the season is half over.”

“You could talk to Caroline about that. She's into growing food. She and Buster have a nice little setup in the backyard. They've even got pumpkins in the trees.”

“Pumpkins in trees? I didn't know that was possible.”

“Neither did I, but Buster says it's happened every year.” Monroe leaned forward, grabbed the tequila. “No offense, but you look like you could use a drink.”

“I could,” she agreed as she sat down next to him. “It's been a long day. I should warn you, I'm probably going to get drunk.”

“I'll consider myself warned,” Monroe said with a chuckle. “Actually, drunk doesn't sound so bad.” He grabbed the glasses, filled them most of the way with the tequila. “Tell me something else about you.”

She reached for one of the glasses, picked it up and tossed it back. “I didn't see a movie or television until I was ten years old.”

“What?”

“My grandmother raised me. She thought that television and movies were tools of the devil. It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Probably why I watch so much now, trying to make up for lost time or whatever.” Drea set her glass down.

“What was the first thing that you watched?”

“Scooby Doo,” she replied with a small smile. “I remember being amazed and scared at the same time.”

“Scooby was cool,” Monroe agreed. “You want another drink?”

“Please,” she replied. “So, you want to put a movie on? You can choose.”

“What if I choose something you hate?”

“I'm pretty sure that I don't own any movies that I hate, Monroe. That would be a little silly, wouldn't it?”

“Maybe,” he agreed. Her movie collection was extensive, not as extensive as his, but he was impressed. Once again he'd found something they had in common; there were no less than a dozen titles that they had in common. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Drea pour herself another drink. She must not have realized that he could see her, because her expression had changed. Monroe selected a movie, put it in and returned to the couch.

It wasn't his imagination that she moved closer to him when he sat down, Monroe chalked it up to the tequila. He was behind her by at least two healthy drinks. “I'm going to grab a beer, if that's okay.”

“Only if you grab me one,” she told him. “You know where the kitchen is.”

The ease that they settled into watching the movie and drinking came as a bit of a surprise to Monroe. The foul mood he'd carried on his way over was gone, and he hadn't even noticed the change. There was a change in Drea as well; some of the tough-as-nails persona she usually showed was gone. There was something almost vulnerable about her.

“I can't remember the last time I was this drunk,” Drea admitted as she leaned back against the couch. “It's nice, though.”

“Yeah, it is.” Monroe could clearly remember the last time that he'd been this drunk. He'd spent too much time drunk after Maggie.

“I've got to say, I'm a little surprised and disappointed.”

“Why is that?” He turned his head to face her. She was a little farther gone than he'd thought, he could see it in her eyes, but she was smiling. For the first time since he'd met her, her hair was down. It was longer than he'd thought, thick, dark and wavy. The urge to touch it struck him as hard as the image of him grabbing a handful as he kissed her.

“I thought that you'd be all over me by now,” she replied without hesitation. “But if we fell into the friend zone or whatever it's called, that's cool, too. I have a good time with you.”

Monroe had fought the urge to kiss her several times since he'd arrived. “I have a good time with you, Drea.”

“But...”

“There's no but,” Monroe assured her. “You're beautiful. I'd be crazy not to want you.”

“So, why aren't we fornicating by now?”

“You certainly are direct, aren't you?”

“In certain situations, direct is the best option. The only option, really. Plus, tequila gives me balls.” She reached out, laid her hand on his leg.

It was as clear an invitation as could be. Monroe felt his cock stiffen at the thought of being with her, on her and in her. “We're drunk.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she said with a smirk. “And while I appreciate that you're trying to be a gentleman, I'm very aware of what I'm saying and of what I want. I don't beg, though, I won't beg. If you don't want the same thing, no harm done.” Drea removed her hand, got to her feet.

Monroe realized she was steadier on her feet than he'd thought she would be. “I don't recall asking you to beg. That's really not my thing.” He kept his voice even and calm, like the way that Ace talked to Jillian when she was on edge. Drea looked on edge. Despite her words, he thought that if he walked away, there would be harm done.

“Whatever,” she replied. “I'm getting a beer.” She headed for the kitchen and he got to his feet. He watched her grab the beer. She turned back around, saw that he was standing and frowned. “What?”

Monroe decided not to answer with words. Instead, he went with action. She remained expressionless as he moved closer to her, but gasped when he buried his hands in her hair. He dipped his head down, brought his lips to hers. She tasted like tequila and beer.

There was no hesitation in her response to him. She kissed him back, and his hands in her hair wasn't enough. He let his hands slide out of her hair, over her shoulders and to her back. Drea pushed closer to him, let her arms move around his neck. Monroe only pulled back when the need to breathe became too great to ignore.

“I don't know about you, but I'm about to go upstairs and get naked.” She stretched up, kissed him and untangled herself from him. Monroe followed her up the stairs. It was smaller than downstairs. “I didn't make my bed this morning, don't judge me.”

“Why make it? You're just going to get back into it anyway.”

“Good answer,” she laughed as she opened the door to her bedroom.

Monroe had expected it to be bare, sort of how her living room was, but she seemed to have settled in up here. One of the walls slanted slightly; she had strung little sparkling lights along the top of it, so he got a good view of a plush bed, and tall armoire, even before she turned on the overhead light. Once she did turn on the light, she started to take off her shirt.