Waiting For Nick
Page 30
"All right." She would have reached for him, tried to comfort him somehow, drive away the misery lurking just behind his eyes. But they had reached her building, and he was pulling her purse out of his pocket.
Nick took out her keys himself and unlocked the front door, then stepped inside and pressed the button for the elevator. "Go upstairs. Lock your door."
"Come up with me. Stay with me."
He wanted to touch her, just once more. But his fingers still felt soiled where they had brushed Jack's over a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
"Do you have any idea what happened just now?" Nick demanded. "We just ran into part of my life, and if I hadn't been along, he would have taken more from you than your pretty earrings."
"He isn't part of your life," she said calmly. "He isn't your friend. But you gave him money."
"So maybe he won't mug the next person he sees."
"You're not one of them anymore, Nick. I doubt you ever really were."
He was suddenly so weary, so horribly tired. Giving in, he rested his brow against hers. "You don't know what I was, what I still might be. Now go upstairs, Fred."
"Nick—"
To silence her, he gripped her shoulders and brought his mouth down hard on hers. When she could breathe again, she would have staggered, but his hands steadied her as he pushed her into the elevator. She could only stare, system sizzling, as he snapped the grate closed.
"Lock your door," he said again, and walked out.
He took a careful look up the street, down, then turned and waited until he saw her light flash on.
He took the long way home.
Chapter Eight
She'd had incredible dreams. True, she'd gotten only a few hours' sleep, but she saw no reason to complain. In fact, Freddie had awakened early, feeling wonderful. Since she had time to spare, she walked over to the Village and spent the morning haunting some of the more interesting shops, picking up what Nick liked to call her knickknacks.
By the time she'd cabbed home, dropped off her newest treasures and walked out again, she was running a little behind.
But the day was too gorgeous for her to worry about it.
Spring was in full swing now, with just a hint of the summer to come teasing the edges. It made the day balmy and bright, with none of the horrendous heat that could plague the city during the dog days.
She was, Freddie decided, one of the luckiest women in the world. She lived in an exciting city, was embarking on a new, equally exciting career. She was young and in love. And, unless her female intuition was faulty, she was very close to convincing the man she loved that he loved her right back.
Every step of her plan was falling into place.
Since she was feeling generous, she stopped by a sidewalk vendor to buy both herself and Nick a jumbo pretzel.
As she was slipping her change back into her pocket, she spotted the man leaning on the front of the building across the street.
The thin face, the baggy clothes. With a little inward shiver, she recognized the man Nick had called Jack from the night before. He was smoking, bringing a cigarette to his lips in quick, greedy puffs as his eyes darted right and left like wary birds.
Even though those eyes lingered a moment on her before passing on, she saw no recognition in them. Relieved, she turned away. Not that she would have spoken to him unless it was unavoidable, Freddie thought. Still, she wouldn't have cared to explain to Nick about any interaction she had with one of his old gang comrades.
She quickened her pace, heading toward the bar without looking back. Though the back of her neck prickled.
She pushed Jack out of her mind as she stepped into the kitchen, and loitered there a few moments to praise Rio for his success with last night's food.
Nibbling on her pretzel, she started upstairs. Her sunny mood didn't cloud over, even when Nick yanked open the door and scowled at her.
"You're late."
So much, she thought, for loverlike greetings.
"I wasn't even sure you'd be up yet. We had a late night."
He didn't care to be reminded of it. "I'm up, and I'm working, which is more than I can say for you."
He'd had much worse than a late night. He hadn't slept more than an hour, and even that had been restless and sweaty. Old dreams and new ones had plagued him.
He'd been raw then, and he was raw now, suffering from a combination of emotional and physical frustration he'd never experienced before.
And he knew just where to lay the blame for it.
She was standing right in front of him, looking as bright and golden as a sunbeam.
Though she was well aware of his foul mood, Freddie smiled at him, tilted her head. He hadn't bothered to shave, she noted, but she didn't object to the look. The angry eyes and stubbled chin gave him a sort of reckless and dangerous edge that was appealing, in its way.
She had a feeling he'd had trouble sleeping, and couldn't have been happier.
"Rough night, Nick? Have a pretzel."
Since she all but shoved it into his mouth, he had little choice but to take a bite. But he didn't have to like it.
"Where's the mustard?"
"Get your own." She crossed to the piano and sat. "Ready to work?"
"I've been working." What else was there to do, when you couldn't sleep? "What have you been doing?"
"Shopping."
"Figures."
"And before you start hammering me, I happened to have finished the lyrics to 'You're Not Here.'" Pleased to be able to put him in his place, she opened her briefcase and pulled them out. "I polished them up before the shops opened."
He muttered something, but joined her on the bench. In spite of himself, his mood began to lift as he read them. He should have known they'd be perfect.
Still, there was no use indulging her vanity. "They're not too bad."
She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Richard Rodgers."
His mouth quirked. "You're welcome, Stephen Sondheim."
Now that he looked at her, really looked, his gaze narrowed. "What did you do to your hair?"
Instinctively she reached up to pat it. "I pulled it back and put it up. It gets in the way."
"I like it in the way." To prove it, he started yanking out pins.
"Stop it." Flustered, she batted at his hands. He simply caught her wrists, bracketing them with one hand while he used the other to pull her careful hairdo apart.
Nick took out her keys himself and unlocked the front door, then stepped inside and pressed the button for the elevator. "Go upstairs. Lock your door."
"Come up with me. Stay with me."
He wanted to touch her, just once more. But his fingers still felt soiled where they had brushed Jack's over a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
"Do you have any idea what happened just now?" Nick demanded. "We just ran into part of my life, and if I hadn't been along, he would have taken more from you than your pretty earrings."
"He isn't part of your life," she said calmly. "He isn't your friend. But you gave him money."
"So maybe he won't mug the next person he sees."
"You're not one of them anymore, Nick. I doubt you ever really were."
He was suddenly so weary, so horribly tired. Giving in, he rested his brow against hers. "You don't know what I was, what I still might be. Now go upstairs, Fred."
"Nick—"
To silence her, he gripped her shoulders and brought his mouth down hard on hers. When she could breathe again, she would have staggered, but his hands steadied her as he pushed her into the elevator. She could only stare, system sizzling, as he snapped the grate closed.
"Lock your door," he said again, and walked out.
He took a careful look up the street, down, then turned and waited until he saw her light flash on.
He took the long way home.
Chapter Eight
She'd had incredible dreams. True, she'd gotten only a few hours' sleep, but she saw no reason to complain. In fact, Freddie had awakened early, feeling wonderful. Since she had time to spare, she walked over to the Village and spent the morning haunting some of the more interesting shops, picking up what Nick liked to call her knickknacks.
By the time she'd cabbed home, dropped off her newest treasures and walked out again, she was running a little behind.
But the day was too gorgeous for her to worry about it.
Spring was in full swing now, with just a hint of the summer to come teasing the edges. It made the day balmy and bright, with none of the horrendous heat that could plague the city during the dog days.
She was, Freddie decided, one of the luckiest women in the world. She lived in an exciting city, was embarking on a new, equally exciting career. She was young and in love. And, unless her female intuition was faulty, she was very close to convincing the man she loved that he loved her right back.
Every step of her plan was falling into place.
Since she was feeling generous, she stopped by a sidewalk vendor to buy both herself and Nick a jumbo pretzel.
As she was slipping her change back into her pocket, she spotted the man leaning on the front of the building across the street.
The thin face, the baggy clothes. With a little inward shiver, she recognized the man Nick had called Jack from the night before. He was smoking, bringing a cigarette to his lips in quick, greedy puffs as his eyes darted right and left like wary birds.
Even though those eyes lingered a moment on her before passing on, she saw no recognition in them. Relieved, she turned away. Not that she would have spoken to him unless it was unavoidable, Freddie thought. Still, she wouldn't have cared to explain to Nick about any interaction she had with one of his old gang comrades.
She quickened her pace, heading toward the bar without looking back. Though the back of her neck prickled.
She pushed Jack out of her mind as she stepped into the kitchen, and loitered there a few moments to praise Rio for his success with last night's food.
Nibbling on her pretzel, she started upstairs. Her sunny mood didn't cloud over, even when Nick yanked open the door and scowled at her.
"You're late."
So much, she thought, for loverlike greetings.
"I wasn't even sure you'd be up yet. We had a late night."
He didn't care to be reminded of it. "I'm up, and I'm working, which is more than I can say for you."
He'd had much worse than a late night. He hadn't slept more than an hour, and even that had been restless and sweaty. Old dreams and new ones had plagued him.
He'd been raw then, and he was raw now, suffering from a combination of emotional and physical frustration he'd never experienced before.
And he knew just where to lay the blame for it.
She was standing right in front of him, looking as bright and golden as a sunbeam.
Though she was well aware of his foul mood, Freddie smiled at him, tilted her head. He hadn't bothered to shave, she noted, but she didn't object to the look. The angry eyes and stubbled chin gave him a sort of reckless and dangerous edge that was appealing, in its way.
She had a feeling he'd had trouble sleeping, and couldn't have been happier.
"Rough night, Nick? Have a pretzel."
Since she all but shoved it into his mouth, he had little choice but to take a bite. But he didn't have to like it.
"Where's the mustard?"
"Get your own." She crossed to the piano and sat. "Ready to work?"
"I've been working." What else was there to do, when you couldn't sleep? "What have you been doing?"
"Shopping."
"Figures."
"And before you start hammering me, I happened to have finished the lyrics to 'You're Not Here.'" Pleased to be able to put him in his place, she opened her briefcase and pulled them out. "I polished them up before the shops opened."
He muttered something, but joined her on the bench. In spite of himself, his mood began to lift as he read them. He should have known they'd be perfect.
Still, there was no use indulging her vanity. "They're not too bad."
She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Richard Rodgers."
His mouth quirked. "You're welcome, Stephen Sondheim."
Now that he looked at her, really looked, his gaze narrowed. "What did you do to your hair?"
Instinctively she reached up to pat it. "I pulled it back and put it up. It gets in the way."
"I like it in the way." To prove it, he started yanking out pins.
"Stop it." Flustered, she batted at his hands. He simply caught her wrists, bracketing them with one hand while he used the other to pull her careful hairdo apart.
