Triple Time (10 page)

“You'll like this one, sweet Juliet.” He made an overexaggerated bow. “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good-night till it be morrow.'”

With a final flourish and one last wink, Romeo righted himself and swept out the door. Devin sank to the floor and watched the door swing shut, cutting off her view of his biteable ass in his impeccably tailored pants.

Damn.
The man even made a suit look good. Which was saying a lot, coming from her. She usually went for the T-shirt and jeans type. Bad boys who rode motorcycles and smoked clove cigarettes. Probably because they never asked for more than a few laughs and some between-the-sheets action.

Not like Gabe.

Devin dragged her own sorry ass up off the floor. She had three days to figure out what to do about Mr. All-or-Nothing. But first...

She gathered up her boots, tossed them into the closet and flopped onto the sofa. Tucking her feet underneath her, she reached over to the end table and opened the drawer. A ragged stuffed armadillo stared at her with his single, lonely eye, his tail hanging by a thread. She moved it aside and pulled out a spiral notebook with Victor's name scrawled across the faded green cover. Flipping it open, she ran her finger down the page.

Alpine Learning Center.

Institute for Community Living.

Adult Autism Partnership Program.

Pages and pages of institutions, group homes and residential facilities, and next to each one a phone number. She'd dialed them all before. Some more than once.

Nausea churned in her stomach at the thought of starting all over. But Victor needed her. And she was out of options.

First thing tomorrow morning, it was time to start dialing again.

 

10

“G
ABE
?”

Gabe stood leaning against the base of one of the Met's majestic columns.
A guy in
a dark blue security-guard uniform who matched the description Noelle had given him—midsixties, slim, with Coke-bottle glasses and white-blond hair—jogged up the steps to meet him. “Gabe Nelson?”

Gabe held out his hand. “You must be Ed. Thanks so much for doing this. It'll mean a lot to my friend.” He hoped.

Ed gave the proffered hand a hearty shake. “Well, your sister knows folks in high places. It's not every day the chairman of the board of trustees calls to tell me to open the doors after hours for a prima ballerina's brother and his girl.”

“Yeah.” Gabe tried to ignore the way his heart lurched at the words
his girl
and focused on the rest of Ed's statement. Gabe had some powerful friends, for sure, but Noelle was on a whole other level. “I owe her one.” Or ten. “Did you get the stuff she dropped by for me?”

“It's all set up in the last gallery, like she requested.” Ed checked his watch. “Where's your girl? We need to get rolling if you're going to be out of here before I have to make my rounds.”

“She should be here any minute.” Gabe scanned the street. Not a raven-haired, long-limbed, tattooed goddess in sight. He'd texted her this morning but hadn't heard back. Maybe he should have arranged to pick her up.

“Tell you what.” Ed took his wallet from his pants pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to Gabe. “Here's my cell number. When she gets here, go around to the entrance at Eighty-First Street and give me a call.”

Gabe thanked him again, tucked the card in his shirt pocket and settled back against the column to wait. He was taking a big risk with this stunt, he knew. But great rewards didn't come without great risk. And he had a feeling getting Devin to open up to him might be the greatest reward of all.

“Come here often?”

Devin's voice sounded strained and breathy, like she'd run all the way from Washington Heights. Which wasn't likely in her micro-mini dress and skyscraper heels. Damn, the woman knew how to dress for maximum cock-swelling effect.

He cleared his throat and offered his arm to her, praying she wouldn't notice the reaction under his zipper. This night wasn't about sexual gratification. It was about making a different, deeper connection. “Only when I'm waiting on a beautiful woman. Come on. We're late.”

She wrapped a hand around his biceps and they descended the grand staircase, her stilettos clacking on the granite. “I'm sorry. The six train was delayed. Some drunken idiot made a scene and the transit cops had to haul him away.”

“You and your subway,” he joked, rounding the corner at the end of the stairs.

“You and your cabs,” she shot back, her come-hither smile taking any sting out of her words. “So where are we going?”

“Patience, grasshopper.” He returned her smile with a grin that he hoped read boyishly charming and not crazed serial killer. “All will soon be revealed.”

They stopped in front of the Eighty-First Street entrance, and he pulled out his cell phone and Ed's business card.

She pursed her lips. “I told you, the museum's closed.”

“Trust me.” He dialed Ed's number, and Ed picked up on the first ring.

“Ferguson.”

“It's Gabe Nelson. We're at the south entrance.”

“Great. Be there in five.”

Gabe ended the call and stashed the card and cell in his pants pocket.

“Who was that?”

“Friend of a friend.”

“On the inside?” She eyed the building as if it was Willy Wonka's chocolate factory and she was Charlie Bucket.

He chuckled. “You make it sound like we're going to raid the joint.”

“Aren't we?” She braced one palm against the side of the building, lifted her foot and took off her shoe. “There's a blank wall over my couch just screaming for an original Renoir.”

“Don't you mean over your bed?”

“Same diff.” She tipped her shoe upside down and shook it. A rock about the size of a pea clattered to the concrete walkway. “Damn. No wonder I could barely walk.”

“I thought that was because of the five-inch daggers sticking out of the soles.” His balls tightened as she rubbed her foot and let out a low moan, and he had to bite back an answering groan, reminding himself yet again that, no matter how goddamned much he wanted her, he wasn't going to have her. Not until he could convince her this thing between them went way beyond sex. “I don't know how women wear those things. Or why.”

“Don't you?” She slipped her shoe back on. “They call them fuck-me pumps for a reason.”

Damn
. He swallowed hard. Looked as if his resolve was going to get one hell of a workout tonight.

The door creaked open—
hallelujah—
and Ed stood smiling, a shock of snowy hair flopping over one eyebrow.

“Hello, there. I see you found your girl.” He appraised Devin in a way that somehow managed to be appreciative without crossing into disrespectful. “Definitely worth waiting for.”

“Devin.” She stuck out her hand.

“Ed. Pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and kissed it, then let it fall. “We'd better get moving. It'll take you a couple of hours to see the whole exhibit.”

“Exhibit?” She studied him suspiciously.

“The Matisse exhibit.” Ed stepped back to let them in.

Devin hesitated at the threshold, Gabe right behind her. “But it's not open yet.”

“Not to the general public.” Ed waved them in. “Follow me.”

Devin turned to Gabe, her expression surprised and confused. “How?”

Gabe's chest puffed up. He'd put that look there. Flapped the unflappable Devin Padilla. With a hand on her back, he guided her inside. “A magician never tells his secrets.”

“Then...why?”

“Now
that
I can answer.” His hand drifted up to her shoulder. “Because you love art. Because you work two jobs and spend your spare time reading to needy kids, and it's time someone did something for you for a change.”

She stumbled, and Gabe could have sworn she blinked back a tear as he steadied her so she could regain her footing. They reached the entrance to the exhibit, and Ed unhooked a velvet rope. “It's all yours, kids. Enjoy. I'll be back to close up in a couple of hours.”

They wandered through the exhibit, taking in paintings and paper cut-outs, still life and anatomically correct nudes. All in wild, expressive, often dissonant colors. Devin was alternatively talkative and taciturn, sometimes explaining the artist's work in enthusiastic detail, at other times a still, silent, serious observer.

When they stepped into the last gallery, she stopped short. “What's this?”

“A little refreshment.” He crossed to the center of the room, where a red-and-white checkered blanket was spread out on the floor. On it sat a picnic basket, two wine glasses, a bottle chilling in a stainless steel bucket and a crystal vase filled with fresh-cut flowers.

Noelle had outdone herself this time. He really did owe her.

Gabe sat and motioned for Devin to join him. “I don't know about you, but appreciating fine art always makes me hungry.”

For what, he didn't say.

She stood, gaping at him. “Are you for real?”

“As real as it gets.” He patted the blanket next to him.

“Seriously. You're not like any guy I've ever known.”

“Exactly.” He opened the basket and started pulling stuff out. Crackers. Brie. Assorted fruit. Some kind of dip and pita chips.

Devin took a few tentative steps toward him and lowered herself to the blanket. “Seeing as you went through so much trouble, I guess we shouldn't let it go to waste.”

Gabe flinched, her words like a punch to his solar plexus. She'd screw him in a heartbeat, no questions asked. But breaking bread with him? That was another story.

A story he was determined to rewrite.

“Strawberry?” He peeled the lid off a plastic container, plucked out a berry and held it out to her.

“Thanks.” She bit into it, her lips brushing his fingers for a second until she pulled back, closing her eyes as she chewed. “Mmm.”

“That wasn't so bad, was it?”

She shook her head and her lashes fluttered open. A rivulet of juice ran down her chin and he fisted the blanket, resisting the urge to lick the sweet syrup off. “No one's ever fed me before.”

“No one's ever done a lot of things for you. But I'd like to change that. If you'll let me.” He wiped the droplet away with his forefinger, slid it between his lips and sucked it clean. “Delicious.”

“You don't have to work this hard, you know. I'm a safe bet. It's pretty much a given I'll sleep with you.” She took another strawberry and popped it into her mouth.

“I told you, I'm not interested in sex.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not just sex.”

“I was hoping you changed your mind.”

“No such luck.”

Without warning, she straddled his lap, knocking over the fruit and crushing the box of crackers with her knee. “Then I guess I'll have to change it for you.”

* * *

D
EVIN
FRAMED
G
ABE
'
S
face with her hands, his five-o'clock shadow scraping seductively against her palms.

“How's this?” She ground into him, his growing erection pressing into her core. “Changed your mind yet?”

Gabe clamped his hands on her hips, freezing her. “You're doing it again.”

“Doing what?” She ran her hands down his chest, loving how his muscles bunched and flexed under the soft cotton of his button-down shirt.

“Using sex to distract me.”

“Is it working?” She nudged his collar aside with her nose and pressed her lips to the hollow where his neck met his shoulder. Her tongue darted out for a taste. Clean. Salty. Male.

“There's nothing I'd like more than to bury myself inside you,” he growled.

“What's stopping you?” she murmured against his neck. Her tongue stole out for another sample.

“You.” He leaned back on his elbows. “What are you so afraid of?”

She shook her head. “I'm not.”

“You are.” His slate-gray eyes bored into her, and for a second she felt like one of his defendants on the witness stand. “You're afraid to trust me.”

She met his gaze head on. “My track record in the trust department is piss poor.”

His eyes softened and the hint of a smile played around the corners of his mouth. “I'm not like any of the other guys you've dated. You said so yourself.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shakily. “That's not fair.”

“What?” He brushed her hair back and his hand lingered on her cheek, one finger tracing the shell of her ear.

“Doing...that. And using my own words against me.”

He laughed, low and sexy. “All's fair in love and war.”

“Which is this?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Both.”

The hand on her cheek slid to the back of her head and he drew her in closer, until his lips barely brushed hers. He nibbled her bottom lip then licked it, tracing the seam of her mouth with his tongue. She wound her arms around his neck, trying to hold him tighter to her, force him to deepen this kiss. But he held back, his lips teasing, taunting, refusing to give her more than a hint of what was in store if she gave in to him.

Damn
. She might be on top, but he was in control. Again.

“Ready to say uncle?” he asked when he came up for air, his mouth still mere inches from hers.

“What if I am?”

“Then we can take this back to my place, out of range of any security cameras.” He gave her another quick kiss, laced with promise. “Have a little faith in me, Devin. In us.”

“I don't know how.”

“Yes, you do.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I won't hurt you. I promise.”

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. “You can't promise that. No one can.”

“I can promise I won't deliberately hurt you.” He raised his head to pierce her again with those stormy eyes. “And if I hurt you unintentionally, I'll do everything in my power to make it right.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“I'm serious, Gabe.” She rolled off him and sat on the blanket next to him, putting a good six inches between them. She couldn't think straight when he touched her like that, and thinking straight was an absolute necessity where Gabe was concerned. “I'm a train wreck. I like my skirts too short, my music too loud, my cars too fast. You could have your pick of women with more class in their raised pinkie fingers than I have in my whole body. Women who'll fit in with your crowd, who'll be a political asset instead of a liability.”

“Been there, done that. I don't want a running mate. I want a partner. Someone who makes me a better man. And that's you. You've taught me how to stop and smell the pretzels. Helped me become more laid-back. Less stressed. Less—dare I say—boring.” He took her hand and turned it over, drawing lazy circles in her palm with his thumb. “Don't desert me now, just when things are getting interesting.”

“They are?” The words escaped on a thin breath. Christ, she sounded like a porn star. Or a phone-sex operator.

“Oh, yeah.” He brought her palm to his mouth for a kiss.

She shuddered and tried to pull her hand away, but he held fast.

That was the thing about Gabe, she realized, as his thumb went back to work on her palm. He held on to what was important to him with an iron grip. His job. His family.

Her.

Steady
. That was the word she'd used to describe him on their walk home from Naboombu. He wasn't a man who would abandon her like her father had. Or neglect her like her mother. He was a man who cherished the people he cared about. And for some unfathomable reason, he cared about her. She'd be an idiot to turn her back on that.