Don't Say No Page 8

  Tonight’s plan had worked like a charm. Knowing Vance, Nic had figured that the man wouldn’t respect any deal he didn’t have to jump through hoops for. So he’d given him a few hoops to jump. Only Vance didn’t know that those hoops would lead him to whole lot more trouble than he was expecting.

  “The mansion?” Rafaél asked.

  “No, drop me off at Melanie’s.”

  Diego said, “Brett’s watching her.”

  “I know,” Nic said simply. Both Rafaél and Diego gave him questioning looks, but neither voiced their concerns.

  Melanie was well taken care of. The plan he had and the team helping him coordinate it were so self-sufficient he didn’t need to see her ever again. He could call her once they had Marcus out and tell her it was time to leave. In fact, he could probably delegate that task too.

  Given her angry response to their last meeting it was a bad idea to go and see her. Keeping away made sense. Yet at this very moment sense was the last thing on Nic’s mind.

  But her pull was too strong.

  She was everything he remembered and more; fiery, passionate and as compassionate as ever. She fired his blood more than any woman ever had, or ever would. She was the reason he’d avoided coming back to the States. He’d known that one drink of her, and his thirst would be exacerbated, not quenched. He was right.

  Now that he’d had one taste of her presence, he wanted more.

  One more look, he promised himself as he scaled the fire escape bordering her building. He wanted one more look to savor during the lonely nights when all he could think of was her. One more look to remind himself that he’d made the right choice in leaving.

  Just one more look.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Ssss!” Melanie’s pained hiss reverberated in the empty living room. Throwing her sewing machine an irritated look, she sucked her thumb. This was the fourth time she’d pricked her finger on the needle.

  Today she’d done her first home visit. Rather than go back to the store and try to etch out space in Jo’s already squeezed workspace, she’d decided to sew from home. Usually she could fine-tune several garments in one sitting, but tonight she was uncharacteristically accident prone. And she knew the reason.

  Him!

  She was distracted with thoughts of Nic.

  She was still embarrassed that she’d cried last night. The last thing she wanted to show Nic was weakness. She wanted him to know that his leaving hadn’t broken her. She was stronger without him. Then she had to go and cry.

  Way to go, Melanie.

  As if it wasn’t already embarrassing enough that she needed his help to get out of the Vance situation. As much as she wanted to refuse Nic’s help, she was out of options. Maybe if she was alone she would’ve spat at his offer and stomped away. But she had Sly and Marcus to think of¸ and when it came to them she had no pride. Her ego could take a beating for them anytime.

  That didn’t mean she had to pretend to like the man.

  Is he coming tonight? She wanted to call to ask but preferred to see if he would on his own, lest he think she was that eager to see him.

  She didn’t want to see him, she reassured herself. The only reason he was even on her mind was because of the recorder lying on the coffee table. Melanie was pleased with herself. She should’ve been a spy. With some sneaking around she’d extracted it without Iona realizing that it’d ever been there. And boy, had there been some juicy information in there. She couldn’t wait to flaunt in Nic’s face.

  Talking about my plan won’t work! Psh!

  That was the only reason she wanted to see Nic. To gloat! Her pulse’s anticipative racing and her heart’s quickening patter were just a coincidence.

  Determined to shake off the distraction, she moved her needle to the top of its travel before starting another seam on the green cotton fabric. She barely noticed time fly as the machine whirred in time to her direction. She was so into her sewing she didn’t even hear the turn of the hallway doorknob, or the footstep behind her. Not until he touched her shoulder. “Lanie.”

  Her pulse jumped, and she swiveled fast coming face to face with him. “Nic.”

  “Hey.”

  “Jeez. You scared me.” She pressed a hand to her bosom as she glowered at him. “You know one of these days I really am gon shoot you.”

  “Right,” he scoffed.

  Her heart skipped a beat at how delicious he looked. His hair was ruffled as if he’d run his hands through it a couple of times. The last time they’d met she’d been too distraught to note what he was wearing. But judging by his custom suit’s thread count and the expensive watch on his wrist, Nic had done well for himself. The fabric of his suit molded to his athletic frame crisply clinging to the broad shoulders and muscular thighs.

  “Where d’you even come from?” She looked beyond him to the hallway, in case there were more where he came from.

  “Your bedroom,” he offered blithely as he took the couch closest to her workspace. “You should find a more secure latch for your window.”

  She cut her eyes at him. “Believe me, I will. I wouldn’t want any intruders sneaking in.”

  “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” His shoulders stretched the black fabric of his suit-jacket as he straightened his arms over the back of the couch. His actions drew her attention to his reddened knuckles.

  “Work,” she returned before pointing to his hands. “Vance?”

  He looked at his fist then nodded. “Vance.” Noting the concerned look she gave him, he chuckled. “Don’t worry. It looks worse than it feels. And you should see him. His whole body looks like my fist.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I was teaching him a lesson.” He didn’t elaborate, but he’d roused her curiosity

  She turned completely to face him. “What exactly is your plan to deal with him?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze took a slow turn around the cozy living room. It skated across the snug red couches with multicolored throw pillows, the wooden trunk that served as their coffee table and the brown, red and white carpet. It soared upwards to the pictures that lined the walls. He stopped at a selfie of her and Sly snuggling and grinning into the camera lens. Sly was just four years old then and had the cutest little gap where his teeth were supposed to be. Nic stood up and strode towards it for a closer examination.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he offered, his eyes never leaving the picture. “I got you.”

  Melanie’s eyebrows shot up at that casual response. This wasn’t some fairytale, she wasn’t some helpless princess stuck in a tower and he damn well wasn’t a knight in shining armor. If there was any saving being done, she wanted to know how it was being done and how she could help. Who knew, maybe she could even lower her braids down the window to help him up.

  “Nic, what’s the plan?” she insisted. When he didn’t turn she called again. “Nic.”

  This time he turned. The look his eyes left Melanie momentarily speechless. Sadness. The emotion crowded his eyes and speared through the space separating them and into her heart. It forced a lump into her throat because she knew why it was there.

  The picture!

  That could’ve been their child she was holding and not someone elses. As they stared at each other, the past swept in along with memories about their discussions of the future; marriage, New York, him in the FBI, her with a store, three kids, a dog, a house with a backyard. Back then it hadn’t seemed like a pipe-dream. She’d been such a fool; trusting him.

  They stared at each other. His gaze apologetic, hers accusing.

  Where were you? She wanted to yell.

  But she bit her lower lip and swallowed the recriminations. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask anymore questions. He’d had the chance to explain himself last night and he hadn’t. Asking more would only lead to her embarrassing herself with more tears and getting no answers. She was done asking.

  “Wha- ” She cleared her throat to get rid of the lump. “
What’s the plan?”

  He took a deep breath as if to get a handle of his own emotions then strode back to the couch. Propping his arms on his knees, he turned his dark eyes towards Melanie.

  “I have a few contacts who run in the same circles with Vance. I spread word that I was looking for a new business partner,” he explained. “Vance bit and so now I’m reeling him in. Once he and I are in business, I can get a complete look into the Runner’s business and shut it down.”

  Okay, that answered that question. But it brought up a lot more. Like, who were these contacts? Why would Vance be interested in working with Nic? Was Nic in the drug trade too? Did Melanie really want to know the answer to that question? Something told her she didn’t.

  She asked, “Do you think Vance will fall for it?”

  “He’s already half in.”

  “Well. I got something that might help you to reel him all the way in.” She pointed to the recorder on the coffee table. “It picked up a conversation about when they’re receiving their next pick up. Iona also mentioned an address I think is his.”

  Nic quickly straightened and his eyes lit up with unrestrained fury. “Lanie, I told you not to get involved.”

  She arched one eyebrow. “So I’m supposed to sit back with my feet propped on the coffee table while you’re getting beat up trying to save my ass?”

  “Nobody’s beating me up,” Nic protested.

  “I beg to differ.” She pointedly stared at his red-knuckled fist. “Relax, I put the recorder in before you and I made the agreement. I won’t do it again.” When Nic gave her a disbelieving look, she rolled her eyes. “Just listen to the recording.”

  He looked at the phone but didn’t pick it up. Instead his annoyed gaze shifted back to her. Ignoring him, Melanie turned back to the machine, lined up fabric under the needle and started to sew. Finally he reached for the phone.

  The sound of Iona and her people conversing filled the room, merging with whirring sound of the machine. Melanie sewed while he listened to the recording but she was keenly aware of him; of every breath he took, his scent, the subtle lick of his lower lip as he listened to the recording, the way he kept his eyes glued to her. It was a surprise she managed to do any sewing without stitching her own fingers.

  The voices faded into silence but he continued to stare at her. His intense stare burned into her profile, cruised over her snug red thigh-length dress, lingered over her bared arms and legs before coming back to her face. It discomfited her, aroused her and despite her best efforts to resist her body responded to him. Her breasts swelled and her lower tummy fluttered. She rubbed her thighs together to ease the ache.

  Unable to stand it, she turned her head towards him. “Do you think the recording will help?”

  “It will.” His eyes never left her. If anything they seemed to shadow as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

  Discomfited by his unwavering stare, she asked, “What?”

  There was a wistful look in his eyes when he said, “You’re just so beautiful.”

  For a moment she was drawn into his words. Memories of the previous times he’d said those same words flooded in. The way those words had warmed her, the way they’d made her ache for him and eager to forgive him of anything.

  “Nope. No.” She shook her head violently to dispel those memories. “We’re not doing that.”

  “We’re not doing what?” He shifted on the couch, moving closer to her.

  “You don’t get to do that.” She shot him a glare. Yeah, she’d planned not to have any confrontation with him tonight, but his compliment roused the latent anger still cruising her blood. She said, “You don’t get to flirt with me after everything you’ve done.”

  “I’m not flirting. I was just-”

  “Just what?” When his lips parted as if to ply her with another empty excuse or worse another ‘I’m sorry’, she raised a hand to stop him. “Don’t do that either. We’re done with the apologies. Right now you’re just helping me with my family then we’re gon’ walk out of each other’s lives again.”

  “Lanie, I was trying to protect you.”

  “From what?” She set the fabric aside and turned in the chair to face him completely. When he didn’t answer she repeated, “From what?”

  He kept quiet.

  “Don’t make statements like that if you can’t back them up with an answer,” she said. “You know what I think happened? I think you got tired. You peeped all the baggage I was coming with and decided to check out. I don’t blame you. I would’ve run too. But the least you could’ve done was tell me. Instead you snuck away like a coward. Real classy, dude!”

  “I didn’t get tired.”

  “Then why’d you leave?”

  She waited for an answer and got, “I’m sorry, Lanie.”

  Ugh! She was so tired of his ‘I’m sorry’s’. Why was it so hard to get a straight answer from the man? What was the point of asking for forgiveness if you couldn’t even confess your crime? This time she was really done asking because his non-answers were making her angrier at him.

  She turned back to the sewing machine. Wiping her voice of any emotion, she asked, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be tonight?”

  He didn’t respond to her curt dismissal nor did he leave. His silent presence only heightened the tension circling them like a kettle of vultures salivating over the carcass that was their love. It stabbed at her already nettled nerves and it took everything in her to keep sewing and ignore him.

  He released a heavy sigh of breath before saying quietly. “You know I would never have left you if I didn’t have a hell of a good reason.”

  “And I’m done asking what it is,” she retorted.

  They sat in the tense stillness, unspoken words floating between them punctuated only by the steady staccato sounds of her machine moving. The standoff probably would’ve lasted longer if it wasn’t for the sudden creaking of a door.

  Melanie whipped her head towards the hallway just in time to see Sly exit his room. Her gaze shot to Nic who, quick on his feet, moved from the couch to the window and tucked himself behind the long curtain.

  “Bad dreams?” Melanie asked her pajama clad nephew as he emerged into the living room. Sly nodded drowsily as he plodded toward her. She shifted on the sewing stool, creating space for him. “Come here.”

  She held him to her side, stroking his body and whispering soothing nothings and assuring him it was just a nightmare. His head on her shoulder grew heavier as he drowsed off. When she was sure he was okay, she guided him back to his room and put him back to bed.

  By the time she came back to the living room, Nic was gone.

  CHAPTER 10

  She woke up the next day determined to find out more about him.

  Last night she’d been plagued by dreams of him; hot dreams of his touching her, sad dreams of his leaving, worried dreams of something happening to him at the hands of Vance, crazy dreams of him turning into Vance. She’d woken up in the middle of the night in cold sweat.

  What if she’d aligned herself with the devil to get rid of a wasp?

  There was no doubt that Nic was a wealthy man. But where had that wealth come from? Not a week since his disappearance had passed without her canvassing the internet for any sign of him, with zero result.

  If he was as wealthy as he seemed surely there would be footprints in the dailies, the financial papers, professional groups… somewhere. These days, anyone in legitimate business was subject to the internet’s intrusion. She wasn’t even that successful and there was plenty about her on the internet from client reviews, a few random blogs, people trashing her clothes.

  Unless his business wasn’t legitimate!

  That was a very real possibility. Her suspicions were further cemented by one; his allusion that he and Vance ran in the same circles. Two; the continued sneaking around. She hadn’t missed that he only visited her at night when everyone else was asleep and refused to knock on doors. And three; that he ha
dn’t once suggested using the police and had in fact insisted they not be involved. It just didn’t sit right with her common sense.

  What was Nic into? What was he hiding?

  She would’ve asked him but somehow she knew she wouldn’t get any answers. Well, if he refused to give her answers then she would find them for herself.

  Her internet search of Nicolás Gavilan came up empty, as expected. As usual, it led to every other Nicolás Gavilan out there except him. Then she remembered his insistence that he’d left money for her in her account. Banks always tracked transactions, didn’t they? With a renewed sense of purpose, she left Jo to watch the store while she crossed the street to the bank.

  “Here you are, Ms. Daniels.” The teller handed her a bank slip.

  Melanie almost fell off her chair when she saw the amount on it. One point three million dollars. Her eyes widened in shock as she read over the figure again. One point three million dollars. She’d never had that much money in one go. Her heart jolted in excitement, but she shut it down quickly. It isn’t yours.

  Of that amount, only thirty thousand was her own savings. The rest had to have come from Nic. She had no intentions of touching it, determined to find her own way around their new home once she got there. She was indebted to the man enough as it was without taking his money. But it would give an excellent clue to who Nic really was.

  Her voice was surprisingly even when she asked, “Can I have a copy of my statement too?”

  “Of course.” The teller’s fingers flew over the keyboard in quick clicks before he stood up and left his station. When he came back he handed Melanie a sheet of paper.

  The moment her gaze fell on the transaction’s column, Melanie exclaimed. “This isn’t right!”

  “What isn’t right?”

  “This.” She set the paper on his desk and pointed to the offending column. “It says here that I’ve been depositing twenty thousand dollars into my account every month for the last five years.”

  The teller craned his neck to read the document then nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”