Knight Errant Page 11

  They passed the park and walked to the end of the street. Once the road had continued on through a few barren blocks of trees and ditches, but long ago those blocks had been broken up and left in great chunks, a pile here, another there. A guardrail fastened with reflectors stretched from one side of the street to the other, and a chain-link fence, hanging in vandalized strips, made a halfhearted effort to block off the marshy area beyond.

  As they crossed to the sidewalk on the opposite side, Nicholas gestured toward the house on the end. “I always liked this place.”

  Lainie stopped on the curb, hands in her pockets, and studied the house. She could understand why. The house was big and square, with the main level a good six feet above the ground and reached by twin staircases that met in the middle. The broad porch was sheltered from sun and rain by a deep overhang, and there were plenty of windows, six across the front and an equal number on each side, for ventilation. Of course it needed paint, new windows, major repairs and a dump truck to haul away the debris and garbage from years of neglect. Once fixed up, though, it would be, like Karen’s house, like the Donovans’ house would soon be, a source of pride and beauty.

  “Why don’t you buy it?”

  The look he gave her was just short of derisive. “And what would I do with it? It’s not fit for anything but tearing down.”

  “You could fix it up. Live in it.” When his look turned scornful, she shrugged. “That’s what I would do. I would paint it, replace the windows—”

  “Replace the roof, rescreen the windows, rebuild the chimney, repair all the damage from vandalism and neglect, rewire it, replumb it, convert it from multiple apartments back to a single-family home, remodel it, modernize it.”

  She continued as if he hadn’t interrupted in that cynical tone of voice. “But first I would clean out the yard and all those great planters, and I would fill them with flowers so it would be beautiful while I worked at making the house beautiful.”

  “And what would you do all alone in a place like that?”

  It was a big house with a huge lot, much too big for just one person. But it would be perfect with all the rooms and all the space for a large, loud, boisterous family—one thing she wasn’t likely to have at this late stage of the game. One thing she still, from time to time, found herself wanting. Especially lately. “I would buy the lot next door, too,” she said, deliberately turning from thoughts of family, “and start my own business—a nursery with a greenhouse and acres of flowers, plants and trees. I would donate flowers to everyone on Serenity who wanted them, and I would hire only people who lived here, and I would make it Serenity’s first wildly successful commercial venture.” If she were going to stay here forever. If she had the freedom to do something risky and exciting. If she were the Lainie Farrell he thought she was. With a shrug that made clear his opinion of her idea, he began walking again and, after giving the house one lingering look, she followed him. She couldn’t blame him for being skeptical. After all, she wasn’t going to stay here forever, she wasn’t going to throw away the career she’d worked long and hard for to risk everything in the craziest of ventures, and she wasn’t the Lainie he thought she was.

  Even though, right this moment, she wanted to be. She wanted it more than anyone could imagine.

  Nicholas let himself into the apartment and closed the door behind him. The sounds of life from downstairs—the television, conversation, Sean O’Shea’s delighted laughter—immediately faded into stillness. Nothing but the lazy whir of the fan blades broke the silence. Only a few days ago, he had told Lainie that the apartment suited him exactly the way it was, and he had meant it. Was it possible that he’d changed his mind in so short a time? Because the place certainly didn’t suit him this evening. It felt cold, impersonal, unwelcoming. Like a prison.

  He gazed around the living room, though there was nothing to see but a little dust in the corners, then went into the bedroom, tugged off his shirt, kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed. He turned onto his side so he could see the photograph on the night table, but he didn’t pick it up. The last rays of light coming through the window touched it, making it the bright spot in the room, the way Rena had always been the bright spot in his life. She had accepted him in a way few people had, had loved him in a way no one ever had, and she had paid for it with her life.

  He had thought he would never get beyond that knowledge and the guilt that accompanied it. Lately, though, he’d spent entire periods of time where he didn’t feel the guilt, where he didn’t even think of her. Of course, that made him feel guilty in an entirely new way, even though he knew Rena would be the first to approve. She would have been disappointed at the way he’d lived his life without her, would have fiercely disliked the choices he’d made—the mistakes he’d made.

  He reached toward the picture, but didn’t touch it. Love, Rena. For more than twenty years that love had kept him going. It had driven him to become a better lawyer than a punk from Serenity had any right to expect. It had compelled him to gain Jimmy Falcone’s attention, his respect, his trust. It had steered him down the wrong path, through the wrong choices, into a nightmare of hatred and a need for revenge that had almost destroyed him. It had sent him to prison and left him with nowhere to go but home. Her love and the value he’d placed on it had turned him into a man who didn’t deserve her love.

  He was a man who didn’t deserve much of anything. But Jamey and his family still offered their friendship, and Lainie...

  He rolled onto his back, feeling a familiar sense of sharp-edged frustration slice through him. He wasn’t sure exactly what Lainie was offering, but he knew too well what she wasn’t offering, what he wanted, what he was starting to need with an intensity that was damn near painful: her body. He’d had plenty of opportunities to find release elsewhere, but for reasons he didn’t care to understand, he found it impossible to look any farther than across the hall. Yes, he wanted sex—hell, after more than five years without, he craved it—but before he settled for some stranger, before he gave in and accepted nothing but purely physical satisfaction, he wanted a chance with her. Every minute he spent with her, every time he looked at her, every conversation he shared with her, just made him want her that much more. No one else. Just her.

  And that sounded like serious trouble.

  So did the voice at the door. “Hey, Nicholas.” There was a soft rap on the door. “Come and have dinner with us.”

  “Us” no doubt included the O’Sheas and the Donovans. They’d all been gathered around the bar when he and Lainie had come in from their walk. He had left her down there and come up here to brood, not in the mood to see how easily she fit in with the small group that constituted the closest thing to friends he had in this world. He hadn’t wanted to see Jamey with his wife and Reid with his, hadn’t wanted to see the intimacy they shared and know that, when the evening was over, he and Lainie would each be as alone as two people could be. He hadn’t wanted to know that she could change that if she wanted but that she didn’t want.

  He wondered why she didn’t want an affair with him, if her objections were something he could overcome. Was it simply because she hadn’t known him long or she didn’t feel she knew him well? Was it something in her past—a man who’d treated her badly, someone she still loved? Or was it his past? Maybe she didn’t mind living next door to a disreputable, dishonest ex-con ex-mob lawyer. Maybe she didn’t mind spending time with him, sharing meals, dances or a few inches of all too personal space a couple of nights ago in the hall, but she drew the line at actually doing the deed. Maybe the idea of getting down and dirty with him was just a little more than she could stomach. After all, she was a respectable woman who was simply having a run of bad luck. She wasn’t the sort of woman to settle for a man like him, not when she could easily find a hundred men a hundred times better.

  Or maybe she just needed coaxing. Seducing. Tenderness. Reassurance. Maybe she liked to believe when she had sex with a man that it meant something mo
re than the obvious. Maybe she needed the emotional connection as much as he needed the physical.

  Unfortunately he’d never been very good at emotional connections. His connection with Rena had gotten her killed.

  Across the empty room, there was another knock, then the door slowly swung open. “Nicholas?” She came through the living room, stopping in the wide doorway six feet from the bed, leaning one shoulder against the jamb. She had changed from work clothes into a hot-weather dress, a fitted little thing that was sleeveless and short and left exposed too much creamy golden skin. The dress was perfectly suitable for going out on a date, shopping with friends or on a walk through the Quarter. It was just as perfectly unsuitable for standing in his bedroom door, where all he could think about was taking it off of her slowly, so damn slowly that he just might die in the process.

  “Karen’s bringing dinner over, and she’s invited us to join them. Interested?”

  Interested? Oh, darlin’, he was interested, all right. But not in Karen. Not in her dinner. Not in anything outside this room right now. “I don’t think so.”

  She came closer, stopping at the foot of the battered iron bed. The bed in her apartment was iron, too, a little more ornate and painted bright white by the previous tenant. He was haunted by nighttime fantasies of her in it, naked, hot and needy. Now he would be haunted by dreams of her here, too. “Come on, Nicky,” she coaxed, her grin charming. Her use of his childhood nickname should have sounded silly, should have provided a symbolic dash of cold water to his libido. Instead it sounded incredibly erotic.

  Sitting up, he swung his feet to the floor. The movement made his body tingle and tighten and left him surprisingly aware of the slightest sensations. “Why don’t you come over here and persuade me?”

  The grin slowly faded, and her eyes took on a hazy look. She wanted to take him up on his challenge, wanted to walk around the bed and right up between his thighs and do whatever it took. He believed that in his soul. But she didn’t move except to wrap her fingers tightly around the thick iron of the footboard while she stared at him.

  Finally he looked away, feeling grim and sore, wishing he hadn’t said a word, wishing he’d pretended that the mere sight of her didn’t leave him feeling achy and aroused, wishing he’d ignored the heat and the hunger.

  One long moment drew out, followed by another. Sometimes it amazed him how time that involved pleasure could pass in the blink of an eye. Those few minutes outside her apartment Monday night when he’d touched her, when he’d kissed her, had lasted mere seconds. These few minutes were going to last a lifetime.

  At last he stood, walked in a wide circle around her and went to the window to stare out. “Is it because of who I am?” His tone was harsh, angry. In the past twenty years he hadn’t given a damn about who and what he was, hadn’t given a damn what that meant to anyone else, whether it caused them to scorn him, distrust him, despise him, hate him.

  Tonight he cared.

  “No. It’s because of who I am.”

  He turned to face her. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you did before you came here. I just want you.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “It’s too late for that, darlin’.”

  She stood motionless for a long time, looking utterly miserable, her knuckles white where she gripped the rail so tightly. If he uncurled her fingers and lifted her hands, he would smell the iron in a wide band across her palms. He would see bits of rust and flaked paint rubbed off onto her skin. But if he lifted her hands, he wouldn’t be thinking of smelling or seeing. Only touching. Caressing. Tormenting. Pleasuring.

  After a moment, he moved toward her. He knew it was a mistake, knew he should send her away, lock the door behind her and crawl into bed with the covers over his head until this need was gone. But he walked to the end of the bed, stopped beside her and touched a bit of skin where the wide strap across her shoulder ended. “Who are you, Lainie?”

  She tried to smile. “No one you’d want to know.”

  “You’re wrong. I do want to know you. In every meaning of the word.” He realized as he said the words that they were true. He liked being with her, even if he didn’t touch her, even if he knew he would be going home alone when the evening was over with nothing to get him through the night. Hadn’t he sought her out today, deliberately delaying his meeting with Karen until it was time for Lainie to get off work, until she could spend time with him? Didn’t he find himself listening for her on the stairs or in the hall? Didn’t he stand at the window when she was working outside and watch her, want her?

  Stubbornly she shook her head. “You can say that now because you don’t know who I am. You don’t know what I am. If you did know...”

  With his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her away from the death grip on the bed and turned her to face him. “What would I do if I knew? Judge you? Condemn you?” He shook her gently. “For God’s sake, Lainie, look at me. I’m a convicted felon. I’ve been to prison. I spent my entire career working for the mob. I worked with people who killed other people for a living. My boss ran the drug trade, the prostitution, the protection, the money laundering, the gambling, and I made it all possible. Who the hell am I to criticize what anyone else has done?”

  “You don’t understand,” she whispered.

  “No, I don’t, and if you won’t explain it, I can’t understand. But I understand this—it doesn’t matter. Nothing you ever did could possibly matter.”

  Instead of reassuring her, his words saddened her. Instead of trying to fix whatever he’d said wrong, he forced a smile. “Let’s go downstairs and eat. If Karen’s half as pushy as Jamey says, she’ll bring the food up here if we don’t.”

  Once more she tried to smile. It wasn’t much of a success. “Karen’s not pushy. She just likes to get her way.”

  So did he. If that meant slowly seducing Lainie, if it meant forgetting that he’d been without sex for a lifetime, if it meant taking his sweet time and winning her over one word, one touch, one promise, one kiss at a time, then that was what he would do. Even if it killed him. Of course, it wouldn’t. Succeeding would kill him. Lying naked with her, kissing her, touching her, filling her, satisfying her, finding his own satisfaction inside her... It would be the sweetest death any man could ask for. Then Jimmy could have his revenge. Nicholas wouldn’t care, because he would have had Lainie.

  Or maybe he would care entirely too much, because he would have had Lainie.

  Backing away from that possibility, he turned his shirt right side out and pulled it on, stepped into his shoes and followed her at a safe distance down the stairs. In the broad hallway below, three tables had been pushed together and food had been laid out. There was a platter of muffalettas, made on round Italian loaves and cut in quarters, heavy with meats, cheeses and olive salad, and bowls of salad and vegetables for Jamey’s vegetarian daughter-in-law. Jamey and Karen sat on opposite sides at one end, with Sean in his high chair between them. Reid and Cassie were also on opposite sides in the middle, leaving the last two chairs for Nicholas and Lainie. Also on opposite sides.

  He would rather sit beside her and run the risk of bumping her every time he moved than across from her, where every single time he looked up from his plate, she would be the first—the only—thing he’d see.

  He sat down in the empty chair next to Cassie. Though her oldest sister had been his girlfriend for three sweet years, Cassie was young enough to be his daughter. There were eleven Wades between her and Jolie, every one of them a better kid than the average Serenity Street product. Though Jolie’s overprotective parents and unending supply of siblings had been a pain back then, he had envied her. He had often wondered what it felt like to have a family. Back then, everyone on Serenity had had a family, even Jamey—though his father had been a drunk and his mother had been a drunk and chronically depressed. Only Nicholas had been alone, and he had hated it. Finally, after years of practice, he’d gotten used to it, but now he was starting to hate i
t again. He was starting to crave companionship, starting to hate the long, empty hours alone in his world.

  Damn Lainie for it.

  She was subdued across from him, trying to unobtrusively scrape the olive salad from her sandwich, probably wishing she’d gone from his apartment to her own or, more likely, that she’d never set foot in his. He would apologize, but the only regret he felt was that she hadn’t accepted his challenge and crawled right into bed with him. At least, then she wouldn’t be worrying about offending their hostess by not eating part of the meal. Then she wouldn’t have had to worry about anything except surviving the passion for hours and hours and...

  Everyone was looking at him, and he realized that someone must have spoken, though he couldn’t remember hearing a voice—at least, not one suitable for the dining table. No doubt, somewhere in his rich fantasy life was an entire audio section—soft whimpers, breathless pleas, helpless, shuddering little moans, all in Lainie’s honeyed Georgia drawl. Clenching his jaw, he looked questioningly around the table, his gaze settling on Karen, who was leaning forward to see him.

  “I asked if you’d given my suggestion any consideration,” she patiently repeated.

  “What—Oh.” She’d made the same suggestion this afternoon that Lainie had made the day she moved in—that he volunteer his legal services at the women’s center—and he had offered the same response. He was a disbarred lawyer who had been convicted of multiple felonies. Karen had reminded him that, even disbarred, he could provide legal advice for free and then had gone one step further: she had suggested that he make an effort to get reinstated. She had refused to take no for an answer, had insisted that he think about it, but he hadn’t. His desire to practice law was dead. He had nothing to offer anyone, especially the sort of women in trouble who frequented the center.

  “Look, if you need a volunteer to clean up or paint or something like that, fine. But I’m not a lawyer anymore. I can’t help anyone with their problems. I can’t give advice—” He broke off as Lainie looked up and met his gaze. Her expression was steady, blank, uninvolved, and still she somehow managed to convey disapproval. Well, damn it, he didn’t care what she thought.