Parker’s Price (4 page)

Knowing her reprieve was short-lived, she cracked open her eyes and straightened away from the door.

And froze, then shuddered as tendrils of cold whispered down her spine.

She scanned her bedroom. The bed was unmade, as it always was, much to her mother’s dismay whenever she visited. Her to-be-read books were stacked on one nightstand, her laptop on the other. The drawers of her highboy were all shut. Through the open double doors of her walk-in closet she could see her clothes were hanging neatly by garment type then by color. Everything appeared to be the way she’d left it that morning.

Then why was that uneasiness stirring in her tummy?

Her fingers curled into the edges of the sweater that no longer felt too warm. Still surveying the room like she expected something to leap out at her, she groped behind her for the doorknob, missing twice in her agitation before her palm found cool, round metal. She opened the door and backed out, shutting the bedroom door firmly.

“What’s wrong?”

She turned, saw the concern on Dean’s countenance, and the reply that sprang to her lips was automatic. “Nothing.”

“You’re not changed,” he pointed out gently.

Shaking her head, she drew a corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it.

It probably was nothing. She was overreacting, a simple side effect of several weeks’ worth of sleep deprivation.

Except Dean had found her front door unlocked.

She should call the cops—and report what? Nothing was disturbed; nothing was missing, as far as she could tell. The police officers would fill out a report, probably mentally roll their eyes, then suggest she get her locks changed and install a home security alarm.

“Parker?”

She glanced at him, still unsettled, and said, “I can’t stay here right now. Can we talk elsewhere?”

“Have you eaten?”

She nodded. “Yes, but there’s a bistro down two blocks if you’re hungry.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go.”

They left the apartment, with Parker taking extra care to lock the front door. As they walked down the few short steps of the stoop, she realized she wasn’t doing as good a job at disguising her unease when Dean, with a concerned look aimed at her, took her arm to steady her. He escorted her to a waiting black Maybach.

She looked at the gleaming 62 S, the dim interior exposed by the door held open by a solid-looking, middle-aged man in a dark suit, and said, “No.”

She didn’t think she could handle being in an enclosed space, especially not with Dean Maxwell.

He gave her another baffled look, then turned to his driver and said, “We’ll walk, Gordon. Why don’t you go get something to eat and I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

“Sounds good to me.” The driver gave Dean a casual two-finger salute and turned away.

Dean’s grip slid down the length of her arm until he could twine his fingers with hers. The feel and warmth of his hand was comforting. Parker didn’t pull away and told herself anyone would need to be comforted after discovering her home may have been violated.

Dean shortened his strides to match hers and they covered the two blocks in silence. The bistro was small, friendly and filled with the homey aroma of freshly baked bread. When a passing waitress, one of two bustling about, gestured for them to seat themselves, they grabbed a small, round table alongside the window. While Dean perused the laminated menu, Parker fought to keep her attention on the pedestrians on the other side of the glass—and failed miserably.

How could she look anywhere else besides the man across from her? She’d dreamt feverish dreams where he’d played the starring role, but they’d been hazy. More sensations than concrete, visual, tactile details. She studied him. The long-fingered hands with broad palms. The big wrists she knew she would need both hands to encircle. The—

“What’s good here?”

You.

He lowered the menu and looked at her, an eyebrow raised. For a panicked heartbeat, she feared the word had popped unbidden out of her mouth. However, he only repeated his question.

“Uh, try the turkey, apple, swiss cheese and cranberry sauce panini.”

The waitress, young, brunette and efficient, stopped by the table, notebook and stubby pencil in hand. Both she and Dean looked at Parker inquiringly.

“Pineapple juice, please,” she murmured to the waitress.

Dean ordered two of the paninis, a side of oven-baked shoestring fries and a bottle of water.

“And another panini for her,” he added.

Parker aimed a frown at him, but the waitress took off before she could nix the order.

“I ate earlier,” she reminded him.

“Humor me,” he said. “I don’t like eating alone.”

He leaned forward, reached across the table and covered her hand with his. She flinched, but he simply linked his fingers around her wrist. She didn’t bother to struggle. The man would release her when he wanted to and not a moment sooner.

“Now, tell me what happened back at your place.”

Startled, she glanced at him. She’d been expecting more questions about her sudden rejection of him the night before.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were white as a sheet when you came out of your bedroom and you couldn’t leave your place fast enough.”

“Nothing.”

“What were you afraid of?”

“Noth-ing,” she repeated, deliberately drawing out the two syllables.

Not buying her answer, he scrutinized her until she was sure he could sketch her face from memory.

“You didn’t leave your door unlocked,” he said finally.

His fingers tightened on her wrist until her eyes met his.

She exhaled softly. “I’m not that careless, no.”

“Your lock wasn’t busted. Who has an extra set of keys?”

“My mom.”

Dean lifted a brow. “What about the ex?”

“
No.
Definitely not.”

A small smile lifted his mouth, but he refrained from commenting.

“Anyone else? A neighbor for emergency purposes?”

Twin lines appeared between her brows as she shook her head. “No one. I’m not the most trusting soul.” She blew out a breath. “Maybe I did leave the front door unlocked. I’ve been so distracted and tired lately I very well could have.”

She didn’t believe her own words and, from Dean’s expression, neither did he. However, she was granted a reprieve when the waitress chose that moment to swing by with their order. Dean released her hand so he could help the waitress rearrange the condiment containers on the table to make room for the new additions. To give herself something to do, Parker pulled the tall glass of pulpy pineapple juice closer and took a sip through the straw. The naturally tart but sweetened beverage went down easy.

When they were alone once more, Dean gave her a measuring look, then pulled out a slim cell phone from his front pocket and flipped it open.

“Who are you calling?” she asked, studying him suspiciously.

“Gordon, my driver, to ask him to track down a locksmith for you.”

“Oh.” The jolt of surprise was followed by a shaft of warmth that was, quite frankly, not unpleasant. “There’s no need to bother him. I plan on doing it when I get home.”

“Gordon’ll have the locksmith waiting for us when we get back.”

She started to protest, but he raised a hand to stall her words.

“Humor me. I’ll sleep better if I see for myself your locks are changed.”

Her delicate brows drew together, but she couldn’t say anything because Gordon came on the line and Dean outlined his request. It was disconcerting—and disarming—to have someone else look after such details for her, even if he did delegate them to someone else. With her mother and sister, it was Parker who made sure things around their house were repaired or replaced when required. She dealt with the bank when it came time to renew the mortgage on the Jersey property. She booked the oil changes and tune-ups for their car. She made sure their income taxes were filed properly and on time.

These things were the least she could do for refusing to give up her life in Manhattan when Brenda became pregnant.

The
snap
of Dean’s cell phone as he closed it jerked her out of her thoughts. Blue eyes captured hers.

“Gordon says he knows someone who can be there within the hour.”

“Thank you,” said Parker softly, unable to look away.

He reached over and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “You have this confused expression on your face.”

“You’re not what I expected,” she admitted baldly.

“You listen to rumors and hearsay?”

She was silent for a moment, then asked quietly, “Are they rumors and hearsay if they’re true?”

His face tightened, as did his voice. “Why don’t you tell me what you heard and I’ll save you the trouble of sorting fact from fiction.”

Savannah’s cherubic face flashed before her mind’s eye, and she looked away from Dean.

“Parker?”

She sat back in her chair and lifted a hand to brush her hair back from her face even though she didn’t need to do so. “It…it seems foolish now,” she said awkwardly. A shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “Let’s forget about it.”

Disappointment darkened his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar,” he accused softly.

She stiffened and, even though he was right, annoyance and resentment flickered through her. Just as quickly, they were gone. Her shoulders fell and, without looking at him, she shook her head. “I can’t do this,” she whispered hoarsely, and twisted around to grab the hobo bag she’d hooked on the back of the chair.

Male fingers manacled the wrist of the hand she hadn’t even realized she’d laid on the table.

“Parker, don’t run off.”

Her fingers clenched around the shoulder strap of her bag. He made her sound so cowardly when it was only smarter to keep away from him.

“I’m sorry. I want to talk to you.” He hesitated. “But I’ll drop that subject.”

For now.

She heard the silent words clear as a bell in her head.

“We’ll eat, talk about innocuous things, then I’ll walk you home,” he said coaxingly as he turned her hand over and stroked his thumb over the pulse throbbing a little too quickly in her wrist. She inhaled deeply and her fingers flexed, curling inward before she realized what was happening.

She tugged on her wrist and, to her surprise, Dean freed her. He was going to let her choose, which seemed much more diabolical than forcing her to stay. She stared at him. His expression was blank, very non-threatening, except for the eyes gleaming with something that made a shiver snake down her spine. Her gaze fell to the table and the food they—actually, he—had ordered.

She told herself it wouldn’t be right to walk out on him and go home, where, she recalled, a locksmith he’d arranged for might already be waiting for her.

She let go of her bag and turned back in her seat. Once he was certain she wasn’t going to take off, Dean picked up one of his paninis and took a large bite of the crispy sandwich.

“A little on the small side but good,” he said after he swallowed. “See? I can do innocuous.” He tried an ultra-skinny stick of deep-fried potato. “Parker’s an unusual name.”

“It’s my mother’s maiden name,” she told him as she forced herself to pick up half of the panini on the plate in front of her. She took a much smaller bite than his. She chewed carefully, as if uncertain of the taste. Then the apple and cranberry sauce hit her taste buds and she sighed contentedly.

“See? Had I not ordered you one, you’d have gone after mine.”

Her lips softened as they relaxed. “I wouldn’t have done that.” Her gaze lowered to the fries. “I might’ve stolen a fry or two. Or three.”

He pushed the plate she was eyeing toward her. “Go for it.”

She took him up on his invitation, snatching a fry from the pile.

“Ketchup?” He nudged the glass bottle toward her. She shook her head and popped the fry into her mouth.

“Women rarely order what they really want in restaurants, then they end up picking off someone else’s plate.”

“Happens to you a lot, does it?” Then she slanted a skeptical look in his direction. “But you don’t exactly look malnourished.”

“I have two older sisters. I learned how to survive around women at an early age.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Don’t tell me you’re the baby of the family.”

He nodded. “But I had my growth spurt early. I’ve been the tallest in the family since I hit the big one-three.”

Her lips stretched in a full-blown smile. “But I bet that didn’t stop your sisters from bossing you around.”

A pained expression crossed his features. “No, it didn’t and they’re still at it. They’re unmerciful. They like to remind me that no matter how old I get, they’ll always be older, with the unspoken advantage of being wiser.” He snorted.

She chuckled. “Oh, I think I’d like them.”

“You would,” he said dryly. “And they’d like you.”

As they worked their way through the remainder of the food, Dean was true to his word and kept the conversation topics harmless. He entertained her with tales of growing up with two older sisters. She shared with him the unglamorous yet humorous anecdotes of the fashion industry. The conversation continued to flow easily over spiced pumpkin pie and even after they finished eating and started the trek back to Parker’s converted brownstone apartment.

The sky was darkening as evening approached and the air was touched with a biting autumn chill that had been absent earlier in the day.

“You should’ve worn your jacket,” he admonished when he saw her shiver.

“I’m fine.” She sucked in a lungful of air. “The cold air’s clearing my head.”

“And it’s making your teeth chatter,” he said, and he curved an arm around her shoulders and hauled her into his side. Off balance, her hands came up and she grabbed fistfuls of his sweater to remain upright. Parker’s entire body went still while her senses reeled, every pulse point racing even as her core went molten. Her eyes closed and she inhaled deeply, letting the masculine scent of warm skin and a hint of spicy aftershave fill her nostrils.

He pulled her closer, one of his legs sliding between both of hers. And she had to bite back a moan, wishing her hands were on his skin and not lost in the soft material of his sweater. She knew one little sign from her and he would drag her to the nearest dark corner. The urge to lift her head and offer up her mouth to his made her fingers clench. It would be so easy to throw caution to the wind and worry about the consequences later.