Deserve Page 8

  I mentally shake my head at her taste in men and give up my attempt to sow seeds of doubt. Any criticism of him will likely taint our new friendship. “I’m glad for you.”

  When we walk into the building, Ed, my resident assistant who is manning the front desk, calls out, “Hold up, Maggie. There’s a package for you.”

  “I’ll see you upstairs,” I say to Hannah, trying to recall if I ordered anything online.

  “Okay.”

  I walk up to the desk and Ed places a huge bouquet of yellow gerbera daisies on the counter. Ed points to it and says, “Those are yours.”

  Heart beating rapidly, I cradle the bunch of flowers and pluck out the card.

  Happy Birthday, Freckles. Sean.

  Hugging the flowers to my chest, I grin widely. He didn’t forget!

  I should never have doubted him. Every year, around my birthday, I get a card and something whimsical from him. This is the first time I’ve gotten flowers. How did he know these were my favorite?

  Does this mean he feels something more than platonic friendship for me?

  Even as I caution myself, I can’t suppress the little spurt of hope in my heart. In the last few weeks, we have spent a lot of time together, sharing meals and exploring the city on the weekends.

  There’s something different about how we relate to each other. Yes, there’s friendship, but there’s something…more. I have caught him looking at me in a way that makes my heart beat faster, but it’s always fleeting, gone before I can analyze it. My head insists it’s all in my imagination, but my heart remains stubbornly optimistic.

  “Oh, and this is yours too.” Ed pushes a packet toward me. It is wrapped in plain brown paper and there’s a card taped to the front.

  “Thanks!” I wedge the surprisingly heavy box under my arm and head to my room.

  I can’t find anything to hold the flowers and run to the kitchen. On one of the shelves, I find a chipped ceramic pitcher. Filling it with water, I bring it back to my room and put the bouquet in it. The happy daisies immediately brighten up my room and I take a few moments to admire them.

  My other present is calling to me though. I want to rip into the package like a kid on Christmas morning, but I restrain myself and carefully detach the card.

  I hope you like this. Sean.

  Smiling like a loon, I clutch the package and do a little wiggling dance. Even without seeing it, I already know I will love it. I ignore the inner voice warning me to not get carried away by my emotions. Finally the anticipation is too much for me and I tear into the brown paper. When I see the scrawled message on the boxed set, I jump up and down and squeal with delight.

  “Girl, why do you look like a Chihuahua on a caffeine drip?” Hannah is standing in my doorway, laughing at my antics.

  I hold out my present. “It’s an autographed collection of James Montanari’s complete works.”

  “Who’s James Montanari?”

  “He’s a best-selling author. He writes about these vigilante cops who go after serial killers.”

  Hannah shudders. “Ugh…no thanks. Give me a nice romance any day.”

  Her lack of enthusiasm doesn’t dampen my spirits one whit. Setting my books down gently on my bed, I text Sean.

  Thanks for the books and flowers. I love them.

  Hannah walks over to my desk. “Oh, those flowers are beautiful.” She bends down to smell them and then slants me a look. “Who’s the guy?”

  Fighting not to blush, I say nonchalantly, “Sean sent them for my birthday.”

  “Ooh…the hot cop slash billionaire.” She grins teasingly.

  Just then my phone buzzes. My heart flutters like crazy when I see the text from Sean.

  You’re welcome. Are you free for dinner?

  I glance up at Hannah and she grins knowingly. “Let me guess. He wants to take you out for dinner. We’ll do a rain check.”

  I lose my battle with my blush. “Thanks, Hannah.”

  She sobers and touches my hand. “Just be careful, okay?” she says gently.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

  Hesitating for a second, she says, “Your Sean seems to get around.” She takes out her phone, taps in something, and shows me the screen. “This was some gala for the NYPD a couple of nights ago.”

  On the site of a well-known tabloid, there’s an image of Sean, looking gorgeous in a tux, with his arm around the waist of a tall, cool blonde. She’s dressed in a yellow designer gown with a sweeping train. They look like Ken and Barbie dolls come to life, smiling brilliantly for the cameras. The caption reads: “Billionaire playboy Sean Rowan seen escorting socialite Alicia Samuelson. Could this be the union of old New York dynasties?”

  They look perfect together—beautiful, fashionable, and rich. The way the blonde is leaning into Sean clearly indicates an intimate relationship.

  Staring at the photo, a lump forms in my throat.

  What did you think, Maggie? That he was going to ask you to go as his date? If you wore a gown like that, you’d trip over the yards of fabric and do a face-plant, embarrassing him in front of the press.

  Hannah hugs me to her side and says with forced cheer, “Hey, I didn’t mean to be a downer on your birthday. It probably doesn’t mean anything. With the super-rich, most of their public appearances are all for show. I’m addicted to the gossip rags, but even I know I can’t believe half of what they print.”

  I smile weakly. “It’s fine, Hannah. Sean’s just a friend,” I say, not sure if I’m trying to convince her or me. From the pitying look on her face and the tightness in my chest, I know I’ve failed on both fronts. I set my jaw and do the smart thing. If Sean had truly wanted to have dinner with me, he wouldn’t have asked last minute. “Let’s get ready to go to dinner. I’m not ditching my friends.”

  “Are you sure? I didn’t mean—”

  “No! I want to hang out with you guys.”

  Her smile is instant. “Great! I’d better go change.”

  After she leaves, I glance at Sean’s invitation and tap out a quick reply.

  Sorry, I already made plans.

  Too bad. Are you free tomorrow night?

  There’s no reason to let our friendship suffer because I can’t control my own feelings, but I need some time away from him.

  School’s ramping up. Maybe when things slow down?

  Okay. Can you still make the Senator’s party?

  I take a deep breath. Two weeks should give me plenty of time to get my head screwed on correctly.

  Yes. See you then.

  Chapter Nine

  Sean

  With an eye on the clock, I review the coroner’s report and compare it to witnesses’ accounts. TV shows always glamorize detective work, but most of the job is writing or reading reports, which can be mind-numbing, but when I find the details which lead to the truth, it’s all worth it. Spotting a couple of discrepancies with one witness account of the Rodriquez case, I put the papers aside to follow up next week.

  Checking the time again, I can’t contain my smile of anticipation. I don’t remember the last time I looked forward to one of my father’s parties, but tonight is different. Tonight, Maggie will be with me.

  It’s not a date, Rowan.

  It’s far too easy for me to brush that voice of reason aside.

  It’s amazing how fucking addicted I’ve become to her. The Maggie I’ve gotten to know recently still resembles the same teenager I met years ago, but now there’s something…more. The woman she has become is utterly fascinating to me and I have an uneasy feeling I don’t ever want to stop unpeeling her many layers.

  I tell myself I’m watching out for her like Cael requested, but I know I’m full of shit. I can’t get enough of her. She hasn’t been available to hang out the last couple of weeks and I’m impatient for her schedule to free up again.

  Being with her makes me feel like life is full of possibilities again. Even the most mundane outings turn into something fun and new with Maggie. I e
ven let her drag me to the most cringe-worthy tourist traps and there are some embarrassing photos on my phone to testify to my madness.

  Then why do you keep looking at the goofy pictures, you douche?

  “Okay, tell me what the hell’s going on with you.”

  I look up to see my partner, Marc Rossini, staring at me. He’s a dark-haired, dark-skinned man with cragged features, displaying scars from his misspent youth in one of the toughest neighborhoods in the Bronx. He parks his ass on the edge of my desk, as if he’s prepared to wait me out. I save my reports, shut down my computer and swivel my chair to face him. “What are you talking about?”

  He snorts and points at my black screen. “We’ve been partners for two years. I can count on my hand the number of times you’ve left on time. In the last month, you’ve bolted out of here at five on the dot at least twice a week. Something’s up.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t try to pull the innocent act on me, Rowan. You’ve been wearing that stupid smile for the last couple of months. Something is up with you. Qualcosa bolle in pentola.” His shrewd, brown eyes narrow.

  “Fuck off with your stupid Italian sayings. What the fuck does that even mean?”

  Unperturbed by my irritation, he said, “Hey, don’t knock my Nona’s wisdom! It means something’s up, you asshole.”

  “Look, with all due respect to your Nona, nothing’s up. Since when is working efficiently a crime?” I grab a stack of files and hand it over to him. “I went through some of the reports and these need follow up. Here’s your half of the work.”

  Not even glancing at the paperwork, he sets it beside him. “No, seriously, what’s going on?”

  Marc is a great partner. We were both promoted out of our respective precincts at the same time so there was no power struggle in our work relationship. Best of all, my status as a senator’s son and my wealth never stopped him from treating me like one of the guys. He’s a damn fine cop. Thorough and tenacious. I just hate it when he turns that persistence my way.

  I throw my hands in the air. “Nothing!”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were in love.”

  My face settles in lines of horror and he roars in laughter.

  Pointing a finger at my face, he gasps, “And that is why I know better. It’s not a disease, asshole.”

  “Not everyone can be lucky like you, asshat.”

  Immediately, his face softens at the reference to his pretty wife, Laurel. It never fails to distract him. But it’s only a temporary reprieve. Fucking bloodhound.

  “Well, it’s got to be a woman.”

  “It’s not,” I lie. Recognizing his suspicious gaze, I quickly tack on a truthful statement to throw him off the scent. “I haven’t been on a date in months.”

  He snaps his fingers. “That’s it. You haven’t been laid in so long, it’s screwing with your mind!” He leans close and lowers his voice. “You can’t let that shit build up. It’s unhealthy.”

  I roll my eyes and try my diversionary tactic again. “Is that what you tell Laurel when you’re trying to get laid?”

  Whack! His palm taps the side of my head. “Shut up about my wife, already!”

  “Ow!” I rub the spot and grin at his overreaction. “Does Laurel know you have this violent, abusive side to you? When she finds out, she’s going to leave you and run away with me.”

  I chuckle at the look on his face and block the hand coming straight at my head. Razzing Marc about his wife is a surefire way to get him riled up. I can’t help myself because he’s such an easy target.

  “Shut the fuck up!” He glowers at me. Swiping the stack of reports off the table, he stalks to his desk, which is directly across from mine. Before he sits down, he says, “Listen, we’re going out for drinks next Wednesday. You should come. Maybe you’ll get some badge bunny to go home with you and convince you that there’s more to life than work.”

  The idea of picking up some random chick at the bar is beyond unappealing. My balls draw up in disgust and I grimace, thinking about bumping into the blonde again.

  “We’ll see,” I say noncommittally before I grab my jacket from the back of my chair. “I’ll see you next week.” I can feel his speculative gaze burning into my back as I leave the floor.

  I rush back to my apartment, shower and change into my formal wear. As the son of a politician, I spend a fair amount of my life in my tux, attending galas and campaign functions, but I always feel like I’m slipping into a costume—an actor about to go in front of the cameras.

  At least tonight, I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not when I’m with Maggie.

  Before I leave my apartment, I text her.

  Leaving now. Will be there in fifteen minutes.

  Her response is instant.

  I’ll meet you in the lobby.

  As I head out the door, I catch my reflection in the hall mirror and I halt in surprise. Marc is right. I do have a stupid smile on my face.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were in love.

  I violently shove away the ridiculous notion and turn away from the mirror. No, I care about Maggie and enjoy spending time with her, but that’s all there is to it. Without another glance at my reflection, I leave, slamming the door with unnecessary force behind me.

  As I wait for her in the dorm lobby, I watch the twenty-somethings wandering around. They seem like an altogether different species—their eyes shining with dreams and endless possibilities. I see a young couple holding hands as they pretend to study. Maybe I’m the alien here. I don’t remember ever feeling as young and hopeful as they look.

  “Sean!”

  Maggie’s voice makes my lips curl up automatically.

  I lift my head and my jaw almost hits my chest. I push away from the wall and take a few steps toward her.

  Fuck! She looks like a scrumptious treat and I want to take a big bite.

  Maggie is clad in a traffic-stopping, red halter dress. The color is just dark enough to not clash with her bright hair. Sparkling clips hold her curls over her delicate ears. Her small breasts are displayed to perfection and the silky material clings to her hips and thighs. The dress ends above her knees, displaying shapely calves and ankles. On her small feet are gold sandals with insubstantial straps over her toes.

  Normally Maggie doesn’t wear makeup, but tonight she has done something to her eyes to make them look smoky and mysterious. Glossed with red, her lips look like succulent cherries. I imagine my tongue running along the seam and letting the sweetness burst on my tongue. Her skin looks smooth and creamy and infinitely lickable.

  And every male at the party would want to lick every inch of her.

  At the unwelcome thought, my mood plummets south and all I want to do is to throw a gunnysack over her head.

  As she walks toward me, I see male heads twist to look at her in appreciation and I want to snarl at them. I don’t, but I meet the gazes of a few overly enthusiastic oglers and they immediately recoil from the promise of death in my eyes.

  Expecting her to throw her arms around me, I’m puzzled and disappointed when she comes to a stop a foot away from me.

  Fuck it.

  I enfold her into my arms and my hands encounter smooth, silky skin. Her small breasts flatten against my chest and I swear I feel her nipples burning through the material of my tux. As soon as I picture her tits, my cock throbs impatiently in my pants. I keep reminding myself that this is my friend’s baby sister, but it doesn’t affect the dumb stick in my pants.

  Fuck me.

  Before my body can betray me, I grasp her shoulders and push her gently away. “Hi, Freckles.” The nickname is supposed to come out in a teasing tone, but it sounds alarmingly like a caress to my ears. I clear my throat. “Uh…you look very nice.” I wince. I have charmed more women than I care to think about and the best I can come up with is “you look very nice?”

  “Thanks.” Pink spots appear on he
r cheeks. Her eyes rove over my face and torso. “So do you,” she says shyly.

  “Hi, Maggie.” A male voice comes from behind her.

  I react swiftly to the flash of fear on her face. Grabbing her arms, I shove her behind me and assess the threat.

  Male. Six feet. One seventy. Dark brown, almost black, eyes. Brown hair. Narrow nose and thin mouth. Mole on lower left cheek. Blue jeans and black t-shirt.

  I memorize each of his features, already cataloging the details that would help a sketch artist draw his likeness. The blank, fixed look in his eyes sets off my internal alarms. Adrenaline pumps through my body.

  “Who are you?” I ask bluntly, expanding my body in an intimidating stance.

  Maggie tries to come out from behind me, but I push her back. She pinches my back and I almost ruin my menacing posture with a smile. When I wear my cop face, most people cower in fear, but not my little sprite.

  Not yours, I remind myself.

  “Sean, stop it!” She peeks from around me and says slowly and deliberately, “Hi, Josh. I can’t talk right now, okay? I’m going out with my friend.”

  “Okay. Bye, Maggie.” Instead of leaving, Josh continues to stare at her. Everything about this kid rubs me the wrong way.

  She takes my hand and tugs me toward the exit. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I let her lead me away, but I throw a look over my shoulder, sending Josh a wordless warning to stay away from her. His lack of reaction and his laser-focused expression make my gut churn with uneasiness.

  Once we’re in my car, I ask, “Who is Josh? And why are you scared of him?”

  “I’m not scared of him.” When I shoot her a narrow-eyed glance, she adds, “He startled me by coming behind me without any warning.”

  I study her innocent face. “Maggie, stay away from him.” At times like these, I want to tell her about all the fucked up people in the world so that she would stay vigilant, but I also don’t want to terrify her. Bile rises in my throat as I think about the homicide case Marc and I were just assigned to. The world is full of sick fucks and it makes me nuts to think about all the innocent people, like Maggie, who are in danger every time they leave the house.