Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4) (12 page)

Donnie’s eyes widened to caricature size. “Boss, no. No way. I was just doing my job, I
swear
.”

Nick did not lose his temper. He went cold, not hot. But the urge to let loose on this fucker and beat him senseless was strong, making his arms ache. “Get out. Vinnie’s on at ten. You stay put in the hallway until he relieves you. And you worked for free today.”

“Okay, boss.” Donnie’s voice was shaking now. “I’m sorry I fucked up.” He went out into the hall, and Nick shut the door in his face.

He turned to Beverly, still standing there, holding a white plastic bowl, half-filled with popcorn. She looked confused and angry.

“What did you just do?”

“I dealt with a personnel problem. He’s your bodyguard, Beverly, not your boyfriend.” He stepped toward her and reached his hand toward the popcorn.

She yanked the bowl out of his reach and stalked into her kitchen. Her setup in this space was smaller than his but similar—a kitchen separated from a living room by a tiered counter, the living room side at bar height, to make for a dining area. His décor was neutral and considerably darker in tone than hers. Her appliances and cabinetry were white, her walls and countertops a sort of sand color. And then there was that magenta wall. A store-bought negative space print of Audrey Hepburn had pride of place over her new, white sofa. The sofa had throw pillows on it now—orange and pink flowers. Everything about her place, from what he could see, was cheerful.

“
He
was invited in.
You
were not. And what is your fucking fascination with boyfriends? I don’t have a boyfriend—not Chris, not Donnie, nobody. Why won’t you get that? And nobody calls me Beverly. I’m Bev.”

He knew she didn’t have a boyfriend. But she was wrong if she thought she wasn’t surrounded by men who wanted to be. Including her friend Chris. Nick had caught, more than once, the way he looked at her when she was looking elsewhere. He’d seen the near-agony on the man’s face when they’d been dancing together at Neon. Beverly had a friend. Chris was in the friend zone.

But Nick knew this was not the time to point that out. That was not insight he thought she would ever want to have, and Chris’s discontent was not his concern. Until and unless it became his concern.

“
I
call you Beverly. I don’t like Bev.”

She got a previously-opened bottle of white wine out of her white refrigerator and filled a glass on the counter—she didn’t offer him a drink. “Well, I do, and it’s my name. Where do you get off deciding what to call me?”

“I like the way my tongue moves around your real name.
Beverly
. I like the way it feels in my mouth.”

With the glass halfway to her mouth, she froze, pink rising over her cheeks. “Oh.” Despite her combative tone before, that word was barely a gasp. He waited, watching, keeping his face neutral, while she worked that out. When she spoke again, her voice was more assured but less sharp. “Why are you here?”

He wanted her company. Seeing her go back down the hall to her own apartment, this apartment, the morning before had been absurdly difficult. Seeing her go with such obvious relief had hurt his feelings. He’d stayed away the rest of Sunday, spending the day as usual, at Mass and then at Uncle Ben and Aunt Angie’s with his mother. He’d had work to do after. All of it kept him from thinking too much about the hurt he’d felt when she’d left.

But now he was here. He came around the corner and got close. She wore a long, straight, knit skirt, dark brown, and thin-strapped t-shirt in a color like the inside of a cantaloupe. White bra straps showed under the straps of her top.

Her hair, a fascinating blend of colors, obviously natural, that came to a sum of glistening reddish-brown, was loose and waved softly over her shoulders. Her blue eyes glittered with irritation and a little fear—but her wide pupils told him what he really wanted to know. She wanted him. Her chest, that beautiful chest, heaved erratically with her anxious arousal.

“How’re you feeling?”

It took her a beat to answer. Before she did, she set her glass down and took a step back. “Better. Still sore, but nothing like it was.”

“Good.” He lifted his hand to her face and brushed his thumb lightly over her scraped cheekbone. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”

She hadn’t flinched at his touch, but she did at his words. He wrinkled his brow at her.

She answered his silent question. “That’s the first time you’ve said that.”

“What?”

“That you’re sorry. I got the impression that you don’t apologize. In general.”

“In general, I don’t. In general, I don’t do things I regret.”

She laughed at that. Her laugh was wonderful, quiet and breathy, but still rich, tuneful. Nick’s balls clenched behind his already-hard cock.

“That’s funny?” He brushed her hair over her shoulder and left his hand resting there, his thumb on her pulse point. The beat against the pad of that digit was fast and shallow.

She cleared her throat. “Sort of, yeah. You must be a very careful person, then. I figure if I get through a day without having to apologize for something, then I didn’t have a very interesting day. Sometimes I just apologize on spec.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know—just in case I did something that warrants an apology.”

“That makes your apologies pretty cheap.” He traced the length of her throat with his thumb.

She was doing well to keep up her end of the conversation. “They’re always sincere, but I think an apology
should
be cheap. How much does it cost to be sorry if saying sorry eases somebody’s mind?”

In his world, it could cost everything. But Beverly was not of his world. He stilled his hand. “I’ve never known someone who sees the world like you do.”

“How do you think I see the world?”

“In perpetual daylight. Sunshine.”

“And how do you see the world?”

“Midnight.” He kissed her. Bringing his other hand to the back of her head, he held her still and kissed her hard, giving her a taste of his darkness, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth. She tasted of popcorn and wine and the faintest hint of fruity lip balm. She was stiff at first, not participating, and then he broke away and ducked his head, kissing the same pulse point on her throat he’d been massaging. When he bit down, she moaned and put her hands on his hips.

Returning to her mouth, he now found her responsive and eager, her tongue twisting with his, her moans and gasps filling his mouth. As turned-on as he could remember being in a while, maybe at all, Nick reminded himself that she was injured. He walked her backward until she stood against the refrigerator. He wanted to press into her, make her feel him, but knew he would hurt her if he did. So he dropped a hand from her head and let it fall slowly down her neck, over her chest, to take a breast. God, she was so soft. Her skin was like silk, her body firm but yielding. He wanted nothing more than to feel her around him.

He could feel the hard pebble of her nipple through her shirt, her bra, and he took it between his fingers and pinched. She tore her mouth from his with a cry. Oh, he liked that.

“Oh, my God.” She looked him in the eye. “Be Good Nick. Please. Please be Good Nick.”

That plea stopped him cold. She was not of his world. She’d already been hurt, bare minutes after stepping her toe into his world. She had no clue who he was, what he was capable of, what she’d be getting herself into.

Because what he wanted with her was more than a fuck. He didn’t know what it was, but it was more than that. And he knew she wanted more, too.

He leaned back, letting go of her breast to take her face again in both hands. “No,
bella
. I’m not Good Nick. There is no Good Nick.”

He kissed her forehead and left her apartment.

~ 8 ~

“You can sit in the booth at the back.” Bev pointed at the farthest booth against the front wall.

Donnie looked unconvinced. “I don’t know…it’s pretty far from the door here.”

“So you’ll be able to see people coming in.” Bev had figured out that Donnie wasn’t an experienced bodyguard. But he was definitely watchful, and he was nice. He’d been good company these past few days.

“Okay, yeah. Sounds good.” He went over and sat on the side of the booth that faced the door. He yawned, his jaw cracking. He didn’t look like he’d gotten much sleep the night before, and he’d been on early today. Bev had had to be in for her shift at Sal’s at five o’clock.

“I’ll get you coffee. Regular? And you want breakfast?” As she asked, she headed toward the back. She usually came through the back, but Donnie had wanted to scope the front entrance, even though the diner wasn’t even open yet.

“Sure—just pancakes and sausage. Tall stack.”

“Comin’ right up as soon as the grill’s up.” She went around to the kitchen and came face to face with a worried Bruce. “Hi, Bruce.”

“Hi, sunshine. You okay?” He looked under the empty ticket wheel, to the dining room and Donnie. “What’s he doing here?”

“I’m okay. A lot better.” She was. She still felt a little achy, but she was much better than Saturday. Four full days had passed since Friday night, and she was ready to be out in the world again—even if it meant traveling everywhere with her new friend, Donnie.

Bruce was still looking at Donnie, who was absently perusing the menu. Noticing a furtive look about her boss, Bev asked, “Do you know him?”

Guilt clear on his face, Bruce said, “I’ve seen him around, yeah. He’s bad news. Why’d he come in with you?”

Donnie didn’t seem like bad news to her at all. “Donnie? He’s my…my bodyguard, I guess.” At Bruce’s sharp look, she went on, “Sounds stupid, I know. It’s complicated, but he’s supposed to follow me around until whoever blew up Nick’s truck is caught. I guess. I don’t understand everything.”

Now something like parental concern pushed guilt or nervousness from his face. Bruce was forty, hardly old enough to be her father—younger than Nick, in fact—but he still treated all his waitresses with that sort of protective affection. “Nick Pagano, huh? How’d you fall in with the likes of him?”

“He’s my neighbor. And I guess I did ‘fall’ in. It all happened fast. I’m okay, though. And Donnie’s just going to sit there, if that’s okay.”

“Taking up a booth? All day?”

“Through my shift. And it’s Wednesday, Bruce. We never have a full house on a Wednesday off-season, right?”

“Yeah, right. Okay. I guess you want me to feed him, too.” He looked yet again into the dining room. Bev had the clear and potent sense that Bruce knew Donnie in some other way—and not just that he’d ‘seen him around.’ She wondered what Donnie usually did for the Paganos, when he wasn’t following her around.

But she didn’t think it was her business, so she said, “If you don’t mind. Tall stack and sausage.” When he nodded, she kissed his cheek, patted his arm and went to change into her uniform and clock in.

~oOo~

The day was a usual, quiet weekday. The regular breakfast crowd, mostly elderly couples, came in. Chief Lumley sat at his usual spot at the counter and had his usual coffee and jelly stick while he read the paper. Bev noticed him and Donnie exchanging words, and she stopped and watched, too far to eavesdrop. They seemed to be doing nothing more than pleasantly chatting.

Donnie ate his breakfast and then spent most of his time on his phone. Bev imagined that being a bodyguard might well be one of the most boring jobs in the history of work.

Skylar clocked in around ten-thirty, as the breakfast crowd had dwindled and only Donnie and the chief were still around. Bev was filling sugar dispensers, feeling, and trying to ignore, the effects of having bruised ribs and being the only waitress on the breakfast shift, when Sky stepped to her side, still tying on her apron.

“Hey, sweets. You look pretty good. How’re you feeling?”

Bev leaned her head over when Sky came in to kiss her cheek. “Okay. A little more sore than I expected, and tired. But okay.”

“You off at two?”

“One. Ceci’s coming in an hour early. I’m going to go talk to Chris. Bring him some pie.”

Sky began to fill the coffee machine as they talked. “He’s still been ducking your calls?”

“Yeah. Since Saturday. It’s like he’s mad at me for getting hurt.”

“I think he’s mad at you for being with somebody who got you hurt. But I haven’t seen him since Saturday, either. The bookshop’s open, so I know he’s around, but he’s definitely sulking.” She turned the prepped machine on as the front door opened. When she turned toward the dining room she asked Bev, “Bruce said that’s a bodyguard for you over there.”

“Yeah. Donnie. He’s not a problem.”

“Okay. That’s fine.” She pulled her ticket pad out of her apron. “I want to talk to you, though.” Glancing at the police chief reading the paper at the other end of the counter, she dropped her voice. “Romeo got another call from that Brian guy. He hadn’t even given them his last name or his number, but he still called him. They’re offering him a shit ton of money to work security for them. Like twice what he makes at the paper company.”

“Wow. Weird.”

“Yeah—hold on.” She went out to the new table of diners, and Bev took the last fresh pot from the other coffee machine and filled Donnie and the chief’s cups. Sky was putting a ticket on the wheel when Bev got back with the pot. Sky waved her over, keeping their distance from Chief Lumley.

“He’s thinking about talking to them. It’s so much money. And it’s just security, not…any of the other stuff they do. It’s weird. I didn’t think people could just get a
job
with those guys. I thought they were—I don’t know—like a gang or whatever. Or like
The Godfather
. You have to be initiated or whatever. And his last name is Goodweather—I mean, his mom’s half-Italian, but I thought you had to have chianti running through your veins or something.”

Bev shrugged. “Sky, I have no idea. I’ve seen
The Godfather
once. Mostly I remember that there was a horse head in somebody’s bed. Has Romeo ever been a bouncer or anything like that? I mean, he’s a mountain, I know, but it’s hard to see him being all mean.”

Sky leaned on the prep counter, next to the commercial toaster. “He can be mean when he needs to be. This one time, we were at the car show, and he was talking engines with some dude and I got bored and wandered off. Some guy started following me, getting really close and creepy. Then he, like, petted my hair, and I yelled and told him to back off and headed back toward Rome. He knew something was wrong before I even got all the way to him. When I told him about the guy, he…well, I don’t think that guy creeps on women much anymore.” She helped Bev put the refilled sugar dispensers on a tray. “I guess I just want to know what you know about this Nick. He’s a hot tamale, for sure. But is he a good guy?”

Was Nick a good guy? For the billionth time, Bev replayed that kiss, the way he’d controlled her, his mouth rough but yet somehow tender, his hands unyielding around her head and neck. That kiss had exceeded any fantasy she’d dared to entertain about him. But then he’d left her. As she’d stood there, burning hot and gasping for him, he’d walked away, straight out her front door, without even looking back. Because she’d asked for Good Nick, and he’d said there was no Good Nick.

But that wasn’t true. She’d seen Good Nick. She’d seen enough to know she wanted more. And there was a lot of Bad Nick she didn’t mind, either. If it had been Bad Nick kissing her, touching her, being hard for her, then she didn’t mind him at all.

What she minded—and minded very much—was being left alone that night. And ignored since. She wished she knew whether his lack of attention meant he was being noble—Good Nick—or dismissive—Bad Nick.

“Bev?”

She forced herself back to the present. “I don’t know. I think he can be a good guy. I know he can be a bad guy. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You like him, though.”

She saw no point in evading that truth, not with Skylar or herself. “Yeah. I really do. But my history with guys says that I’m not a reliable judge of character.”

Skylar huffed her discontent. “Okay. Thought I’d ask.” She squinted at Bev, as if she were trying to see something deeper. “You be careful with this guy, right?”

It didn’t seem like she needed to worry much about it, actually. She smiled a big, bright smile. “Yeah. I’m being careful.”

~oOo~

After her shift, Donnie followed Bev down the street to Cover to Cover Books. She had no idea what to expect when she faced Chris inside. In the more than ten years of their friendship, he’d never iced her out like this before. But the last thing he’d said to her was that he loved her, so she knew—she was
sure
—that they’d make up. She balanced the pink pie box on one hand and reached for the doorknob. As the bell over the door tinkled, she turned back to Donnie.

“Can you stay out here? Or maybe go for my car and wait in it?” She lived not much more than a mile from the diner, and she usually walked to work. But with her sore ribs, she’d decided a walk, then a full shift on her feet, then another walk would be a bad idea. But Donnie had insisted on driving—and then, for all the five minutes of the drive, had complained about her Prius.

Donnie shook his head emphatically. “Forget about it, Bev. I’m staying with you. You keep trying to get me in trouble. I’ll give you some space, but I’m going in. When we’re out, I want you where I can see you.”

“It’s a bookshop, Donnie. Lots of nooks and crannies. It’ll be impossible to give me space and also see me.”

Color actually drained from his face. “Then maybe you shouldn’t go in there. Fuck! I don’t know about this.”

“I do. I’m going in. Keep your distance. I have private things to say to my friend.” Without brooking further discussion, she pushed the door all the way open and went in.

“Chris?” Silence answered her call. Then she heard a
meow
, and Lady Catterley, Chris’s bookshop cat, pure white, with long fur and regal blue eyes, sashayed up from the back. “Hey, Catty.” She bent down, wincing at the pinch in her ribs, and let the cat rub herself on her hand. Lady Catterley did not deign to be petted. She would, however, allow a human subject to serve as a rubbing post. When Bev’s function was fulfilled, the cat turned and sauntered off with a flick of her upright tail.

“Pretty cat.” Donnie looked around the shop as if he’d never been in here before.

“Yeah.” She pointed to a reading nook near the door that had a decent view of the wider areas of the small shop. “You can sit there. I won’t be too long.” Donnie nodded and went where she’d indicated. And Bev went toward the back, the direction the cat had come from.

She found Chris sitting on the floor at the ‘transition’ stacks, where he put newly-acquired inventory that needed to be logged, as well as books he’d pulled off the sales floor for various reasons. He was unpacking a wooden fruit crate, one of several stacked nearby. “Estate sale?”

He answered without looking up. “Yeah. In Newport on Sunday. Some really great finds. What’s up?”

His tone was uninterested, at best. Bev decided not to be hurt by that. She chose the weight of her problems, and this little awkwardness between her and Chris was an air bubble. They had too much history, too much knowledge to be out of sync for long. “Pie of the day today is peach. I brought you one. Oven fresh.” Peach pie was Chris’s all-time favorite. Bruce baked nutmeg into the pie crust—it was a freaking fantastic pie.

He looked up at that. She smiled back at his frown. He always looked glum. Even when he smiled, it seemed to be hurting him to do so. She loved his mopey face.