The Girl With Hearts (Midtown Brotherhood #1) (3 page)

Chapter 3

HENRIK’S CRASH DOWN

Henrik felt like a seven year old longing after an ice cream truck the way he gazed at the bundle of red lace in his bottom drawer. He’d come in the room to raid his condom stash, but realized too late that in his haste of unpacking a couple weeks ago, he had thrown his souvenir into the same hiding spot.

He didn’t know what he expected to find or feel when he got back to his hotel room that night in Newark. He knew Leila would be gone, unwilling to risk the chance of Austin finding out about their tryst in the bathroom, but a part of him had felt disappointed.

The feeling was undeniably foreign. He’d never felt disappointed to find out one of his conquests had left without notice. It made him uneasy.

He’d been exceptionally quiet the remainder of the night, listening as a sobering Austin rattled on about Callen’s run-in with the cops. It wasn’t until he lay down, rolling onto his stomach, determined to make himself sleep, that his hand slipped underneath his pillow, coming in contact with the unfamiliar fabric. He pulled it out, unsure what he’d uncovered, but it had only taken a second for the reality to sink in.

Leila left her panties.

His pulse started a slow and steady thud in his ears.

She left the panties she’d voluntarily removed because she’d planned to seduce him.

He could practically feel her breath on his neck, her fingers clinging desperately to his back. He clenched his eyes, determined to focus.

Why? Why would she do that?

They hadn’t left on good terms. He’d been in the middle of an argument with her when Austin showed up. He couldn’t comprehend what could have happened in those five minutes she was alone in his room to make her want to do such a thing.

Leila Blakely was pure evil. She didn’t require a logical reason to torture him.

He hastily shoved the evidence of his betrayal back under the pillow, his heart rate and libido panting wildly as he tried to pretend everything was normal.

Nothing was normal now.

As his hand gripped the delicate lace, he fought not only to find sleep, but also to muster a thought that didn’t involve her image. He lay there deep into the morning, silently fearing nothing would ever be normal in his life again.

It had been less than a month since their encounter, but he’d been thinking about Leila all night. Maybe it was the blatant contrast between her and the lackluster date waiting for him in the living room.

Or maybe it was because he hadn’t heard a peep from Leila, not even a pass-along hello from Austin. Girls always called, or at least left a desperate voicemail or two. He wasn’t accustomed to being shafted, and the thought of it wasn’t sitting well with him. Mainly, he had questions for Leila that he wanted answered.

“Hey. There is a grouchy old man on the phone for you.”

He whirled around to see his date, the buttons already undone on her blouse, holding his cell phone out for him.

“You answered my phone?” It was obvious, but he was annoyed and wanted her to hear the disdain in his voice.

“The number wasn’t in your phone,” she replied, completely unaffected by his retort. “I was just curious.”

In other words, she was making sure it wasn’t another woman. He shut the drawer without retrieving the condoms. This girl wasn’t worth the headache. “Give me the phone,” he huffed, stalking into the kitchen for privacy. He rubbed the tips of his fingers against the pain that was slowly forming behind his eyes. “Yes?”

“Sir, it’s Carl. We have a code red.”

Carl, his eighty-something year old doorman, agreed to be his first line of defense against extra company in exchange for a couple playoff tickets last year. A code red meant there was another woman downstairs requesting to come up to his apartment.

“Who is it?” he whispered, turning around so the brunette behind him couldn’t hear. At this point, though, he’d be happy to piss her off and get her out of his apartment. “The blonde?”

“No. She’s not one of the usual girls. She’s wearing a jersey.”

That didn’t sound right. No woman he brought to his place would be caught dead in a jersey. None of them even liked hockey, just the fact that they knew he played it. It never really bothered him until now.

“What kind of jersey?” he inquired, running a hand absently through his hair.

If it was a Rangers jersey, then it was just a fan. It happened from time to time. Hockey fans were resilient. No matter the precautions he took to keep his address out of the spotlight, they’d always find him eventually.

“I’m not sure.” He could practically imagine Carl straining his eyes around the corner from his desk to check. “It’s green.”

Henrik paused in thought. His Rangers jersey definitely wasn’t green, but that wasn’t the jersey that flashed in his mind at that moment. A raw flush of hormones shot through him, causing his back to snap suddenly straight. “North Dakota, by chance?” His voice dropped a register.

“Yeah,” Carl considered. “I think so.”

“My guest wouldn’t happen to be a feisty redhead, would she?”

“She was a little rude,” Carl grumbled. “She was asking for Mr. Blakely, and then your brother, but when I told her they were both gone, she finally said she would settle for you, but she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Leila.” He said it loud, just loud enough to bring attention to himself. When the brunette turned around, her eyes narrowing at him, he smiled. “Send her up, Carl.”

“Who was that?” The woman leaned back on the couch, her feet propped up on his coffee table. A poor attempt to bring attention to the fact that she’d hiked up her skirt while he was on the phone. He walked to the door and swung it open. “I apologize—” he paused, realizing he didn’t remember her name “—but I’m going to need a rain check.”

She sat up, eyeing him suspiciously. “Who is Leila?”

He contemplated it for a moment, deciding which answer would get her out the quickest. “It’s my wife. She’s on her way up.”

Her face hardened. “You’re not married. I Googled it.”

She remained on the couch with her arms crossed over her chest like a three-year old about to have a tantrum. He rubbed the bridge between his eyes again. “Okay. So, she’s not my wife. But there is another woman on her way up here, and apparently I want you to leave so badly that I lied to you about her being my wife to get you out of the apartment. Either way, I’m an asshole.”

She stood, but made no attempt to leave. “I want to know who she is.”

Thank God he hadn’t slept with her.

“Honestly?” He took a few steps forward. “She’s my best friend’s little sister, and my little brother’s first crush. I slept with her a while back. I’m hoping she just drove two hours because it was so great she wants to do it again.”

She eyed him curiously, as if she didn’t believe him. “You’re serious?”

“Hence, the door—” He showcased it like a prize on a game show.

She gawked at him a few more seconds, his words slowly sinking in. “You asshole!”

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Finally.”

The onslaught began then, the usual melody of cursing and declarations of ill will. He was too busy glancing down the hallway to really pay attention. The elevator dinged. She would cross paths with Leila on her way out. The brunette brushed by him, still diligently cursing in his direction. He nodded graciously, moving out of her way. She made it all the way down the hallway before Leila stepped into view.

Cut off jean shorts were barely visible beneath a faded Fighting Sioux jersey.

It was Leila. It was the Leila he knew. The final layers of her Derek-induced transformation stripped away.

No make-up. Long curls pulled back into a lopsided ponytail.

His adrenaline kicked into overdrive. She stopped in front of him, glancing back over her shoulder toward the brunette, who was now gone. “You’re disgusting.” She set a small black bag down next to her.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, grinning like he wasn’t wearing just a pair of briefs. Funny how all that self-doubt that tried to seep in vanished. This was better than a random text or cryptic message unknowingly passed on by her brother. “You’re the one at my doorstep for the second time. I must not be that bad,” he teased, noting how his mood had done a complete one-eighty in the past five minutes.

“Screw you.”

He shouldn’t provoke her, but it was the only way he could get an honest response out of her. Plus, it amused him. She had come back. He hadn’t felt this accomplished since the draft.

“I’m here to see Austin. Do you know where he is?”

He pretended to think it over, entertained by the notion that she was using her brother as an excuse to see him again. He made sure to shoot her a cocky smile before he responded. “I’d probably do a better job at telling you what he’s doing, rather than where he’s doing it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your nasty habits are rubbing off on him.”

He leaned forward, smirking. “I was under the impression they’d rubbed off on you.”

“Forget it. Tell him I’ll be back tomorrow.”

She whirled around to leave, and suddenly, he was in the hallway behind her, grabbing her elbow. “Wait.”

She flinched at his touch, the sensation setting off a chain reaction in her that sent her elbow flying as she twirled to get out of his grasp. He stood behind her, his hands in the air.

“What’s up with you? You almost took my head off.”

Leila looked around, her face cold. “Don’t touch me. Who knows where your hands have been tonight.”

So, she was mad about the brunette getting on the elevator.

He wasn’t going to lie. He felt satisfied knowing it had sparked even a small amount of jealousy in her. It was at least something.

She turned to leave when the elevator dinged again. His younger brother Drew stumbled out, laughing as he pulled a girl along with him, obviously drunk off his ass. Drew was drunk off his ass a lot lately.

Leila’s back jerked straight, and he decided to act on instinct. He grabbed her by the waist, quickly pulling her inside his apartment before slamming the door behind them.

Brothers and their fucking impeccable timing.

They were face to face now, their noses almost close enough to touch. He knew he should move, allow her out of his grasp, but he waited for her to show the first indication that pinned up against his door wasn’t where she wanted to be right now.

She breathed heavily, her eyes dark with worry. “Is Drew about to—”

“Don’t ruin his night,” he interrupted, knowing where the conversation would go.

If Drew caught one glimpse of Leila, his date would be over. He was sure of it. Her face turned stern, but he continued. “That’s the first date he’s been on in months, and I practically forced him to go.”

Leila’s eyes softened. The only time he ever noticed it was when someone mentioned his brother. He was man enough to admit it made him a little envious.

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Her head fell back against the door with a resounding thud.

The gesture exposed the smooth skin at the nape of her neck. His mind instantly went in the gutter and drained down every licentious ditch after it. “But since you’re here,” he cooed, biting his lip.

Leila’s eyes widened as if she noticed for the first time that a half-naked man was pressed suggestively up against her. She immediately shoved him away, putting at least five feet between them before she scolded him. “I’m actually trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

He turned, unamused. “About what? My brother? Drew will be fine as long as he doesn’t know you’re here. He actually sounded like he was looking forward to his date this time.”

Leila gaped at him. “Just goes to show how little you actually listen to him,” she grumbled to herself. “In fact, I’m not sure you have the capability to hear anything that anyone says to you. You keep your head so far up your own ass it’s a wonder you can stand upright.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s thirty degrees outside tonight, and I’m wearing shorts,” she snapped. “Does that seem odd to you?”

He paused, gazing at her, confused. He hadn’t considered the weather. He’d been too preoccupied with the skin the shorts revealed to worry about anything else.

“And do you actually believe I chose to wear your godforsaken jersey on purpose?” She held the front of the jersey away from her body as if it were covered in toxic waste.

“You used to always wear that jersey,” he stated with certainty. She used to wear it to games, switching between it and her brother’s, but she always wore his number the most. He’d kept track.

“Just take a second and look at me, Henrik.” Her eyes pleaded with him now, and the erratic state of her appearance slowly started to sink in. “I haven’t slept in days. I can’t remember the last time I had an actual meal, and I am seconds away from completely losing what little sanity I have left. I came here for help, and you just proved why I asked for you last.”