Sin on the Run (7 page)

B
lake hated playing cards, hated walking through a casino and even looking at cards. In fact, he couldn't think of a more useless way to pass the time. So it could have been that his ass was growing roots from being forced to stay in bed for two weeks, but when Rhonda invited him to a friendly game of poker, he agreed. After a while, not only was she beating said ass, but if they'd been playing for money she'd have cleaned him out. Better still, if they'd been playing strip poker, he'd have been buck naked instead of wearing a robe and pajama bottoms. Or maybe if they were playing strip poker, he'd be playing better and they'd both be naked. Yes, he was starting to feel better.

He was a good boy and swallowed every pill she gave him, partly out of guilt for having landed her here, but mostly because he'd been trying like hell to figure her out. She liked bossing him around. But as pushy as she was, sick bastard that he was, he liked the attention. She'd bark out an order—lie down, shut your eyes, go to sleep—then when he complied, she'd fix his covers and brush his hair off his face. Shit, a time or two he'd even pulled his hair over his forehead to feel her hands against his skin. Childish, he knew. But a bored man was a bored man.

Blake lay down his hand and once again her straight beat his three of a kind. “What are you, a card shark?”

“No, you just suck.”

“I had three of a kind,” he said, acting more insulted than he was.

“This time. Mrs. Grekov played better than you and she kept confusing the game with Go Fish.”

“Mrs. Grekov. She was your neighbor when you were a kid?”

“More like a babysitter. She died when I was eleven. I don't remember telling you that,” she said, not missing a beat. “So it's true? You have a file on me? Maggie said you might.”

“I'm sorry. Does that bother you?” He hadn't meant to upset her. “We only wanted to make sure there wasn't something Krupin could use against you. Against us.”

“Yeah, Maggie said you'd say that too. It's okay. My life is an open book. I don't have anything worth keeping secret.”

Everyone had something they didn't want others to know. Even if they themselves weren't sure what that something was. But he was certain that it wasn't what Rhonda had meant. However, now that the topic had been opened, he had to ask.

“What was it like? All those years taking care of your father?” Growing up, Blake hadn't wanted for anything. And when he did, a servant brought it to him.

She laughed. “Your file didn't tell you that?”

“Oh.” He picked up the cards and shuffled. “So you're mad about the file.”

“I'm not mad. More like creeped out a little. It's like finding out someone went through your underwear drawer.”

Blake smiled, rubbing the two-week growth of his new beard. “This was more like your sock drawer. It was a basic background check.”

“What's the difference? Snooping is snooping. What if I kept my vibrator in my sock drawer?”

Blake's eyebrows shot up. She said it so earnestly, so honestly, he knew she didn't mean anything sexual. And yet his mind went straight to the gutter. He started to imagine exactly how he'd use that sex toy on Rhonda. This time he didn't have the pain meds to blame. So why was the image of her sprawled in his bed, legs open and welcome, refusing to go away? Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubbed them with two fingers.

“Blake, you all right? Is the pain back?”

Rhonda's sudden concern finally snapped him out of it. He opened his eyes and went to shuffle, not realizing he'd squeezed the cards, molding them into a curve. “Sorry.” He dropped the deck.

Rhonda glanced down at the pack. “Don't worry about it. Those are casino cards. They'll take a beating.” She smiled. “You on the other hand . . . Can I get you something? I know you said no more pain medication—”

“No, no, I'm fine. A small twinge, that's all it was,” he lied, feeling more the ass. If he didn't stop having those “small twinges,” he was in serious danger of breaking his promise to Christian.

“Okay, so let's call it an afternoon. You go back to bed, get some rest, and I'll bring you tea.”

“Tea?”

“Sure. Isn't that what you foreigners like?” She grinned, teasing him. “If you're nice, I'll sneak some bourbon into it.”

“Why Miss Rhonda, what would my nurse say?” he said, playing along.

“She'd say it would shut you up and make you sleep.” She fluttered her eyelids like a true southern belle.

He had to laugh, the image of the gothic beauty doing anything that femininely cliché too funny, but regretted it as pain lanced his chest.

“Bed,” she ordered, all teasing gone.

Having learned it was best not to argue, he complied. “Damn you're bossy.” He wanted the fun back.

“And don't you forget it.”

After he climbed back into bed, she tucked him in the way she always did. It was odd. She handled the covers like they'd done something to offend her, but then she'd look up and smile.

“You don't have to do that, you know.” He took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I appreciate you taking care of me. I do. I really do.”

He appreciated it a little too much. It had been a long time since someone had been this sweet to him. Even at home, his grandmother had insisted on a no-nonsense approach to childrearing. Not until Colin's accident had he seen the nurturing side of his mother. He figured nearly losing one of her children had made her realize how important they were to her.

“I'm feeling better.”

“Really? Ready to run a mile?” She crossed her arms, daring him to disagree.

“That's not what I meant. I meant you don't have to baby me.” He indicated the bed covers. “You make me feel bad.”

She tugged on the covers to flatten them even more, then smirked.

“Did I say bossy? I meant evil.”

“I do my best.”

“Which brings me to the question you didn't answer. Your file said your mother died when you were . . . four?”

She sat on the edge of his bed. “Three. A drunk driver killed her. Kind of ironic considering how my dad ending up dying.”

“I'm sorry.” It was lame, but what else did one say?

She nodded. “My dad never got over it.”

“Is that when he started drinking?”

“Near as I can tell. It started off slowly, you know, the drink after work. He'd pick me up from the sitter, we'd have dinner together, then I'd go to bed. Then sometimes, if I got up for water, I'd find him on the couch with another glass of wine. He'd kiss me, and then tuck me back in. By the time I turned six, he couldn't tuck me in anymore. He'd be asleep on the couch and I couldn't wake him. So I started tucking him in. Sometimes he'd sleep through his alarm so I'd learned how to use mine and wake him up in the morning. We no longer ate dinner together. Mrs. Grekov would feed me and give me leftovers for dad. I was seven and a half when he lost his job.”

“That must have been tough.”

“Not as tough as conning social services into thinking my dad could still take care of me. I'd had to keep him sober for an entire day. But we did it. He'd looked like total shit. I managed to convince the case worker he was getting over the flu.”

“Maybe it would have been better if they'd taken you from the home. You might have had a better life.”

“And my dad? What about him?” She shook her head. “We only had each other. He'd lost my mom. It would have killed him to lose me too. You see, he wasn't a bad drunk. He wasn't mean and he'd tell me every day how much he loved me. He just couldn't cope.”

“When you have a small daughter to take care of, you don't run away from your responsibilities.”

“You won't get any arguments from me. But it was what it was.”

“That's a pretty good attitude about the whole thing.”

“I'm a glass-half-full kinda girl.” She smiled, but it never made it to her eyes. “Plus, there were kids far worse off than me. I was lucky. At least my dad loved me.”

Blake thought she'd gotten it wrong. Her father was lucky to have her. He couldn't imagine a five-year-old realizing she had to be the parent. What kid did? “The file said you moved to Vegas to live with your grandmother.”

“I was fourteen. She was my mother's mom. Up to then, her husband, my grandfather, wanted nothing to do with my dad. He blamed him for Mom's death.”

“But what about you? You were his granddaughter.” Say what you would about his grandmother, the old hag, she loved her family. For that reason alone he hadn't cut all ties. Even with all her bullshit, if someone said anything negative about one of her family members, she'd tear into them, in her own entitled, aristocratic manner.

She stood and went over to the window, the afternoon sun catching her glossy black hair. “I don't know. Maybe he blamed me too.”

“You were a kid when she died. That makes no sense.”

“I don't know. My dad and I never discussed it.”

“So he had a change of heart? Your grandfather?”

“He died,” she said over her shoulder.

“That'll do it.”

“We moved in with her. But she had her own health issues. I ended up being nursemaid to both of them. She died when I was eighteen, two months before I graduated paramedic school. The city provided homecare assistance for her, so I'd been able to get a job and save some money to pay for college.”

“Ever think about going back, finishing the degree?”

She eyed him sideways. “You been talking to Maggie?”

“No. She make the same suggestion?”

“Makes. The key word is
makes
. I've heard it a hundred times from her. But I'm not like the other girls.”

He'd agree with that but most likely for far different reasons than Rhonda. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she said. “We've been talking too long. Get some sleep.”

He wanted to talk more, wanted to know more about her. But he knew better than to argue.

R
honda closed the door softly behind her. What she really wanted was to slam it. It would make her feel better, but leave Blake wondering what kind of a nut was taking care of him. All that talk about family. She had no family. They were all gone. Her life was now her own.

Her grandmother may have lost a daughter, but she'd lived a full life. Rhonda couldn't fault the woman for needing care in her old age. And it had been her dad's decision to drown his sorrows and not face his pain. Now they were gone. They'd had their lives, good or bad. It was Rhonda's turn. Too bad she had no idea how to do that.

For all her talk, it turned out she didn't mind taking care of Blake. And that scared her to death. Was she cursed to be the sap everyone counted on, the one who couldn't say no because, for some sadistic reason, she had this need to help? Help she would, but she didn't want to spoon-feed anything to anyone ever again.

Rhonda headed for the kitchen to make dinner and take her mind off her pathetic life. Dozier sat at the kitchen table, a sandwich the size of Texas in his hands.

“Your choppers big enough to bite into that?”

His smile had perfect white teeth. Opening his mouth, he bit into the triple-decker meal.

“You know, one of your bites could feed a family of four.” She took a chair across from him.

He chewed, swallowed then smiled again. “I'm a growing boy.”

She harrumphed. “I pity the woman who had to feed you when you were a teenager.”

“No one fed me when I was a kid.”

“Seriously?”

“My mamma died when I was seven and by the time I was ten, I decided foster care sucked. Those five o'clock beatings tend to get on your nerves after a while.”

Rhonda's heart clenched. What a shitty life for a kid.

“I lived on the street until I was fourteen.”

“How'd you feed yourself? Where did you sleep?” she asked, fearful for the kid he'd once been.

“Shelters mostly, on the streets when the weather was good. And when you're hungry, you eat whatever you get your hands on. Rats are good with a little ketchup. Anything is good with ketchup.” He grinned.

The man liked to smile. “You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding before I gag.”

“Just teasing. I did have a homeless guy offer me rat once, but I had my limits.”

“How'd you avoid social services?”

“A black kid? In Detroit? Wasn't hard.”

“That sucks. I mean not social services. I get that.” The idea of social services taking her from her father had given her nightmares. “But having no one to take care of you.” Maggie spent a lot of time and energy helping kids like Dozier.

“You deal with what life gives you. I hear you and I aren't that different.”

“You read my file too?”

“Part of the job. Sorry.”

“No, it's fine.” Nothing in that file could reveal the real stuff, the personal details she didn't want anyone to know. “But I had family, a home.”

“True, but no one there to take care of
you
.”

“It's not the same. You had it harder.”

“I had no responsibilities. Is that better or worse?”

She shrugged. She'd always known there were kids who had it worse than she. Kids like Dozier, who didn't have a warm bed to sleep in or social assistance to put food on the table.

“Besides, if I'd never been on the streets, I wouldn't be here today. You see, Ryan's daddy developed a soft spot for the kid who'd tried to steal his wallet. Instead of sending that smartass to juvie, he gave him a home, taught him right from wrong. Made him a man.”

“Your boss's father took you in?”

He nodded. “I grew up with Ryan.”

“Really? I imagined Ryan Sheppard as an old guy with money.”

“You got the money part right. Take this place. It was falling apart when Ryan bought it. Spent a fortune just making it structurally sound.”

“I'm glad he didn't tear it down and build new.” She liked old buildings. In Vegas everything old was demolished for something better, bigger. Vegas had a history, but most of the time it was hard to see.

“We could go outside if you want. I know I told you not to, but the surveillance cameras are showing no one's watching. Monty's keeping a close eye on the grounds. He'll ring if there's a problem. Ryan has some . . . interesting pets we might want to avoid.”

Interesting pets meant something exotic and in New Orleans that could mean a few things. “Alligators? Blake mumbled something about gators and pretty toes, but his pain meds had taken effect. I assumed he was loopy.”

“Yeah, I wished I'd gotten him on my phone. The guys back at the lab would have gotten a kick out of seeing him like that.” He laughed.

She frowned, wondering why a man in pain would be humorous. “Seeing someone hurt is funny?”

“You too? Ah, hell, I thought you'd be different. Pretty boy is like honey to bears.” He shook his head. “Lucky bastard. I meant him being stoned, not hurt. We take care of our own, in case you missed the memo,” he teased.

“Sorry, but why would it be funny?”

“Let me put it this way. I once saw him polish off a bottle of Crown without so much as a slur.”

“Impressive.” Not to her, of course. “I don't drink.”

“Good girl. Now how about that walk?”

“No thanks, I want to be here in case he wakes up.” She was using her scariest tactics to get Blake to take his pills. The hangover effect he was experiencing would take the rest of the day to clear his system. Abandoning him to take a walk didn't seem right. She told herself not to care whether it felt right or wrong, but again, she didn't listen.

* * *

It was four hours before Blake stirred. She'd gone into his room several times, each time being careful not to wake him. On the third visit, she was about to shut the door behind her when she heard, “Are you bored?”

She turned to see him struggling to sit up. When she moved to help, he held up a hand.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You've been in here three times. I'd like to think it was because you cared. But since I got you into this sorry mess, I'm thinking you can't wait to see the last of me.”

“I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you.” She chose to ignore his comment.

“Seeing you is the highlight of my day.” He dropped his feet to the floor and stood.

She watched carefully, vigilant should he fall. “Sounds like you're the one who's bored.”

“I am,” he said, deflating the little part of her ego he'd just stroked. “But what better way to keep myself occupied than watch a beautiful woman walk into my bedroom?”

“You think I'm beautiful?” He was everything you could think of on a stick. Him saying she was beautiful was outrageous. Men paid her compliments all the time. But when you'd given them a hard on, it wasn't much of a compliment.

“There is none more beautiful than you, Rhonda.” He sat where they'd played cards this morning. “Outside,” he continued, “and inside. I know you have this whole tough thing going on.” He waved his hand in the air. “And it's sexy as hell, a strong woman who tells you to shove it up yer arse with a smile that makes you wish you could take her to bed. But you've a gentle soul. A kind soul. One I think you'd rather not have. Would it be too personal a question for me to ask why?”

He motioned to the chair across from him.

She obliged. “I don't understand the question.” Who didn't want their soul?

He leaned over the small table. “It's like this. You see a bird with a broken wing and you take it home. Helping is a pain in the arse, but your heart won't let you leave the injured birdie.

“You wish you could. Walk away, that is, but you can't. You're compelled to help. I'm that broken bird. And you wish like hell you could simply walk away, but even if you could, you can't.”

“Interesting premise, except I can't go anywhere. And if I could, why would I leave an injured man to fend for himself when I have some, if not all of the training to help? I'd have to be very cold-hearted. Who would want to be that kind of person?” His assumption was hitting too close to home. It wasn't as simple as wanting to shut off that part of her that couldn't make her walk away. It was that she always took second seat. Her needs, her wants, never came first. Was it so wrong to want to be first for a change?

Then again, look what life had dealt her now. The one time she'd decided to do just that, she ended up fighting for her life in a hotel bathroom.

“No, you can't leave. Nor do you have to keep checking on me. And yet, here you are. You could send Dozier.”

“But I have the medical training.”

“You were here three times this afternoon,” he said, driving his point home.

He had her there, but no way was he winning this argument. She had flaws. Didn't mean she liked anyone knowing them. “Okay, I admit it. You're just too hot to resist. And you're even hotter sleeping there, all pathetic like. I can't help myself.”

He looked at her for a very long time. So long, she thought he'd bought her bull.

“I'll ignore the ‘pathetic' part. It's because of your father, isn't it?” he asked.

“What does my father have to do with you being so beautiful angels are jealous?”

“It couldn't have been easy,” he continued. “All those years. Being the parent, when all you must have really wanted was to go outside and play, maybe stay out late on a date, not take a job that would pay all his bills?” An obvious reference to her stripping. “No one would have blamed you if you'd walked away. He was a drunk. But you stayed.”

“He was my father. Flaws and all, I loved him.” So why had she been relieved when he died? What kind of a daughter did that make her?

“Yes, so much so you took a job with Maggie.”

“It paid the bills.”

“But he's gone now. Why don't you do something else?”

“Are you ragging on me for stripping?” Just because she didn't like stripping didn't mean anyone else could take her to task for doing it.

Blake didn't like Rhonda stripping, but not for the reasons she'd think. She deserved better than to have all those horny pricks staring at her, imagining things they had no right to imagine. But she didn't belong to him, and he had no right to comment on it.

“I don't have a problem with women who want to strip. It's the ones who are forced into it I take issue with.” His haughty grandmother would disagree, but there were many things she and he disagreed on.

“Then we don't have a problem.”

“You and I have never had a problem. Look, I . . . I just don't want you to feel like you have to take care of me. I can handle this. And Dozier can help with the bandage on my back.”

“You'd rather have Dozier helping you?”

He sighed heavily. He was never going to make her happy. “I'd rather have your hands on my body, thank you very much. It makes me wish I could push you beneath me and fuck you senseless.” He was just being honest. “But you look pissed every time you come in here. So I don't think it would be very wise to tell you how good your hands feel when you touch my forehead or brush your fingers against my face.”

It took her a minute to resume blinking, the stunned expression on her face a good indication he'd caught her off guard. That made two of them. But, damn, the woman was exasperating.

“Okay then,” she finally said. “I'm confused.” She scratched her forehead. “Do you, or don't you, want Dozier to help?”

He could see only one way out of this. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he reached out and pulled her across the table, where he kissed her with everything he had. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but her taste was worth it. Hell, the woman's mouth was meant for kissing . . . and other things he had no business wishing for. He knew damn well their one night together was simply that, one night. But he was in pain and she was here. And the image of her beneath and on top of him wasn't easily forgotten. She'd been the best one-nighter of his life. And more importantly, she wasn't pulling away. He told himself to keep his tongue out of her mouth. He didn't listen. And if not for the stabbing pain to his chest, he'd have kept right on not listening. Reluctantly, he let her go.

He was staring at her. Was anything more beautiful than a woman whose lips were wet from his kisses? He felt suddenly possessive, with a need to kill any man who dared touch her mouth. “I'll not apologize for kissing you. So don't expect me to.”

“Okay.” She licked her lips, drawing his saliva into her mouth. It was so hot, he considered kissing her again simply to watch her repeat it.

His hard-on told him he'd better cut it out or Christian would have his balls. He needed a way out of the mess he'd just created. He liked Rhonda. Shit, the woman had saved his life. She deserved better, better than anything he was capable of giving. Which for now, was nothing. Colin had to inherit the money, or his brother might not have anyone in his life either.

“It's close to dinner,” she said, breaking the silence. “You hungry? I can bring you something.”

Bloody hell, was the woman not listening? “Am I going to have to kiss you again?” Now it was himself he teased.

She smiled, laughing a little. “I have no idea why you kissed me. Did you take a pain med when I wasn't looking?”

He returned her smile and leaned in. “I like kissing you. Is that not reason enough?”