No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (29 page)

“My turn,” he said, and I sensed his shift in mood. Catlike. Predatory. “When was the last time you were with a man?”

I was wrong. This was my most embarrassing secret.
“Um, uh.” I blushed deeply and tried to turn away, but he caught my face in his hands and held me there.

“Dare,” I breathed.

“Kiss me.” Before I had time to process the words, he lowered his head and brushed his lips over mine, softly at first and then harder, fuller and more insistent. He tasted sweet and hot and I kissed him back, lost in the feel of his mouth pressed against mine.

He lingered there for a moment, parting my lips with his tongue, drawing our bodies ever closer, his desire for me growing and pressing into my belly. Heat rushed through me and I let out a small, involuntary moan.

Nick pulled his head back, doing a slow scan of my body. “I want to see you,” he said, slipping his tongue in my ear. “Take off your dress.”

“What?”

Both hands cupped my ass, molding me to him. “You took the dare,” he said, smoothly. “Take off your dress.”

“I’m not playing anymore.”

“Neither am I.”

Oh my God!

If I had any doubt that he meant it, his ever-increasing hard-on told me he wasn’t kidding. He held the hem of the dress in one hand as he slid his fingers up my leg, taking the material along with them.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, mostly so that I didn’t end up on the floor. I didn’t think my legs would have been able to support me.

Nick stroked the back of my knees, lingering at the thigh and then beyond.

The dress slid easily over my head, and I was left clinging to him in my Victoria’s Secret silk bra and panties, bought for just such an occasion, never thinking the occasion would actually arise.

He kept kissing me the entire time, sliding his tongue around in my mouth until I was half crazed with desire. Slowly, he wedged a knee between my thighs and began to unbutton his shirt.

“Oh, please, Nick. Don’t.” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth, but there they were, and Nick is nothing if not a good listener. He stopped and waited for me to explain.

“I, uh—” I started, in my usual articulate way.

He disengaged himself from me and sat down on the couch. Reaching for the cognac, he poured some more and drained his glass.

My mind kept drifting back to the chocolate mousse pie that was sitting on the kitchen counter, untouched. Chocolate’s a real stress reliever for me, and I could’ve used a slab right about now, but I didn’t think he’d understand if I went and cut myself a hunk. Besides, parading around practically naked is not on my top ten list of most comfortable things to do. I sat down, grabbed the afghan and wrapped it around me.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?” Nick asked, his look impassive.

Fuck if I know.
I shrugged, gazing down at my lap.

He forced my chin up, demanding my full attention. “I’m attracted to you,” he said. “I
think
you’re attracted to me. Are you?”

“God, yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“No problem.”
Big, BIG problem.

He waited.

“Okay, maybe there’s a tiny problem.”

“Do you want to tell me what it is?”

I nodded.

He waited some more.

“You scare me.”

Nick choked back a laugh. “Yeah, I got that. Could you be a little more specific?”

“No.”

“You
have
been with a man before, right?”

“Yes. Of course. Lots.”
Two. And one doesn’t count because I didn’t come.

“I don’t know why this keeps happening, Nick.” And then to my complete and utter humiliation, I started to cry.

Nick pulled me close, allowing me to blubber all over his white linen shirt. When I was done he wiped my tears with the palm of his hand and shifted his body so that he could look into my eyes.

“I don’t scare you, angel. What scares you is losing control. But you know, it’s not always a bad thing.” He waited for an argument, but for once I was speechless.

“I told you once that I would never lie to you,” he continued quietly. “I am not monogamous and I am not permanent. You need to understand that about me. Do you?”

I nodded.

“I want you in my bed,” he said. “You need time to figure out if that’s enough for you. Let me know when you’re ready.”

He smoothed down my hair and kissed the top of my head, an act of endearment that spoke volumes. “Good night, angel. Oh, and you can go eat that mousse pie now,” he added and disappeared into his bedroom.

I was no longer interested in the chocolate mousse. I had too much to think about. Well, maybe just a bite.

I sat in the kitchen, ruminating over our conversation. Nick said he would never lie to me, which meant no promises that could later be broken. He said all he could offer me was his bed. But it
wasn’t
just about sex. It was about friendship and trust and letting go. He said to tell him when I was ready. I was tired of thinking. I just wanted to “be.”

I picked up my dessert plate and stuck it in the sink so that Adrian wouldn’t get to it. Then I walked down the hall to Nick’s bedroom. His light was still on. I hesitated a brief moment and then rapped lightly on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

I opened the door and found him sitting up in bed, reading. His hair was loose and hung over the rim of his glasses. He took off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand along with the book. I glanced at the title. Sun-Tzu and The Art of War. Light bedroom reading. I don’t know why, but it sounded sexy to me.

“What is it, angel?” he asked. His words were benign but the underlying electrical current could light up a city.

I walked over to his side of the bed, still wrapped in the afghan. I studied his face for any sign that he might have changed his mind about me. And when I saw none there, I dropped the blanket. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” He was understandably wary. After all, I’d left him “high and dry” so to speak, on three separate occasions.

Four years is a long time to go between lovers. Bobby was my first—my only—until “What’s his name” in L.A. who, like I said, doesn’t count.

It’s not about losing control. It’s about letting go.

I looked at him steadily. “I’m sure.”

He reached for the lamp and turned it off, and then he threw back the covers, simultaneously pulling me onto the bed with him.
Oh boy.

His body was hard and warm and powerful. He wrapped his legs around mine and covered my mouth with his, weaving his fingers through my hair to bring me closer. His hands were everywhere, gently tugging at my bra straps, slipping into the waistband of my panties, slowly drawing them down. His mouth was hot on my neck, my breasts, my belly. It had been so long and it felt so good. And then he moved lower and I panicked, but he stayed with me, urging me to forget everything, to give in to the feeling. I grabbed onto his powerful arms, digging my nails into his shoulders as the intensity grew, until—Oh my God—four years of pent up demand exploded in a tidal wave of sensation.

I wanted to return the favor, but he wouldn’t let me.

“Tonight is for you, angel.”

“But I haven’t given you anything.”

“Oh, you will.”

He inched back up my body, laying a trail of the softest kisses imaginable as he went. Then he leaned over and reached into his bedstand drawer for a condom.

“I want to be inside you. Now.”

I am losing control. I am letting go. I am falling without a net. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!

I woke up twice during the night, once to sneak my underwear back on, and again to finish off the mousse. Nick slept through it, or if he was awake, he didn’t say anything.

He lay on his side, one arm slung over my belly, the other tucked under my rib cage, cupping my breast. I squirmed around to face him so that I could watch him sleep.

I wanted to burn every detail of this night into my brain, imprint his body on my fingertips, memorize the Spanish words he whispered in my ear as he came. I wanted to remember everything.
Because it was never going to happen again.

When I opened my eyes in the morning, he was gone. Had a meeting, the note said. He’d be home late, if at all.
Business as usual.

I sighed and sat up, hugging his pillow to my chest.

“I’m in big trouble.”
I tossed the pillow back onto the bed and hopped into the shower.

An hour later I was dressed and packed and ready to go. I couldn’t stay here anymore. Not after last night. If he hadn’t been so amazing, so kind, so genuinely loving, I could handle the “just buddies” treatment now. It’s not like he hadn’t warned me. He’d all but posted it on the Internet. But my feelings for Nick were only part of the problem.

I could deal with the unrequited “crush” thing. I’d had it bad for Scott Baio for years and I was still able to lead an independent life. It was that my life had been stolen. My freedom and sense of security had been wrenched away by a psychotic stranger, and I knew that if I didn’t act now I’d descend deeper and deeper into a life of fear, until the world didn’t exist for me outside of the safety of Nick’s apartment—and it was bound to get crowded in there with me, Nick and his various lovers. I was grateful as hell for all that he had done for me. But it was time for me to reclaim my life.

Okay, where to begin… whenever my mom wanted to feel empowered, she would crank up Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman” on the stereo and dance around the living room. I didn’t think that would do it for me. I had to find Glen and get him off the streets. And prove Toodie’s innocence. And avenge Andi and Ilene’s deaths. And get a job…unhhh.

I picked up the phone. “Mom, could you do me a favor…Yeah, that’s right, ‘I am Woman.’ And could you turn it up really loud?”

Three minutes and forty-eight seconds later I was ready to tackle the world—or at least my little piece of it. So when the phone rang two seconds after that and Keith’s name came up on the readout I clicked the button and said hello.

“Brandy?” He sounded shocked that I’d actually answered the phone.

“Oh, Hi Keith. I was just about to call you.” I made up some lame-ass excuse for never returning the four thousand messages he’d left on my voicemail. He didn’t believe me, but he pretended to, so I gave him points for playing the game.

“Look,” he said, and his voice lacked the coyness I’d found so irritating the last time we spoke. “I’m going to come straight to the point here. You have something that I want, and I have something that you want. So how about we work out an exchange?”

“What exactly do you have that you think I want?”

“Information. I know your friend Toodie is in jail and I’m his ticket out.”

Okay, that definitely piqued my interest. “How do you figure?” I asked.

Keith blew out a long breath. “Glen Davis,” he said. “And I’m sure I don’t have to point out that this is confidential information.”

“I’m the soul of discretion,” I assured him.

“So when can you come over?” Harrison asked.

“Actually, I was hoping we could meet somewhere. How about DiVinci’s at three?”

I picked DiVinci’s because it’s a public place, and I didn’t want to be alone with the guy. It’s also kind of a dump. I wanted to get the upper hand right off the bat and I figured if Keith were worried about getting ptomaine poisoning, he’d be more likely to slip up. Plus, I’d promised Bobby I wouldn’t go back to Keith’s, and whether Bobby believes it or not, I don’t
always
go looking for trouble.

“I’d rather you come to my place,” Keith insisted. “I’ve only been on my feet for a few days and the pain meds make me dizzy.”

Perfect. The guy’s a physical wreck. If anything goes wrong, at least I’ll be able to outrun him.
“Sorry, Keith, maybe we’d better postpone this until you’re feeling better.”

“No, no. I’ll be there. But this time, make sure you bring the thumb drive with you.”

Okay, so employing “Illegals” isn’t exactly kosher, but is it so terrible in the overall scheme of things? I mean if I turned in the Diamond Casino, wouldn’t I then be obliged to blow the whistle on Mrs. Gentile for hiring that guy from Guatemala who fixed her furnace last month? And the Costello’s down the block could never have afforded their God-awful addition without the day laborers they picked up near the Pavonia rail yards in Camden. The point is everybody does it. Only the Diamond Casino does it on a slightly larger scale.

I knew I was feeding myself a load of bull, to convince myself that giving Harrison back the thumb drive was the right thing to do. But if Toodie got convicted of Ilene’s murder, he could face the death penalty. When I looked at it that way, the choice was easy.

And it’s not like I couldn’t use this information after I got Toodie off the hook. Hey, I could do an award-winning expose and then Barry Kaminski would beg me to work for him. But I’d have to put him on hold while I entertained offers from several other networks. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I was doing the right thing. But I decided to hedge my bets by stopping in at Saint Dom’s for a little pre-emptive confessing, just in case it wasn’t.

I ran into Marie on the way out. She was standing on the sidewalk, buying a soft pretzel off a street vendor. I tried to squeeze past her, but she turned, blocking my path.

“Hey, Bitch. Where you going? To meet your boyfriend, Bobby?”

A bunch of local boys were standing about a quarter of a block down, warming themselves by a fire they’d started in a big metal trashcan. They looked up with obvious interest at the sound of Marie’s greeting.

I ignored her and kept on walking, but she reached out and grabbed my arm, spinning me around. I shook her off me and faced her head on.

“First of all, my name isn’t ‘Bitch’. And secondly, you should know where I’m going, you follow me around enough, which frankly is starting to get on my nerves.”