Falling For Rachel - Stanislaskis 3 Part 12

"I want to be with you." She touched her fingers to the back of his hand.

"It's good. And that's enough."

"Yeah." He was nearly sure it was. "I can take some time Wednesday.

How about an early dinner?"

"I'd like that." They fell into silence again, until she sighed. "You'd better go."

"I know."

"Maybe Sunday you and Nick could come to dinner at my parents'. We talked about it before, remember?"

"That would be good." He kissed her again, and the kiss went on and on.

"Just once more."

"Yes." She enfolded him. "Just once more." Rachel shifted the phone to her other ear, scribbled on a legal pad and stared dubiously at the stack of files on her desk.

"Yes, Mrs. Macetti, I understand. What we need are a couple of good character witnesses for your son. Your priest, perhaps, or a teacher." As she listened to the rapid-fire broken English, she wondered if she could catch the attention of any of her harried co-workers and hope that they'd feel sorry enough for her to bring her a cup of coffee. "I can't tell you that, Mrs. Macetti. Our chances are very good for a suspended sentence and probation, since Carlo wasn't driving. But the fact is, he was riding in a stolen car, and..."

She trailed off, carefully folding the page she'd written on. "Uh-huh.

Well, as I explained before, it would be rather difficult to convince anyone he didn't know the car was stolen, since the locks had been sprung and the engine hot-wired." Satisfied with the shape of her paper airplane, she shot it out her door. It was as good as a note in a bottle.

"I'm sure he's a good boy, Mrs. Macetti." Rachel rolled her eyes. "Bad companions, yes. Let's hope that this experience will have him keeping his distance from the Hombres. Mrs. Macetti. Mrs. Macetti," Rachel said, trying to be firm, "I'm doing everything I can. Try to be optimistic, and I'll see you in court next week. No-no, really. I'll call you. Yes, I promise. Goodbye. Yes, absolutely. Goodbye."

Rachel hung up the phone, then dropped her head on her desk. Ten minutes of trying to deal with the frantic mother of six was as exhausting as a full day in court.

"Tough day?"

Lifting her head, Rachel spotted Nick in her doorway.

He had her paper airplane in one hand, and a large paper cup in the other. "Tough month." Her gaze locked on the steaming cup. "Tell me that's coffee."

"Light, no sugar." He stepped in and offered it. "Your note sounded desperate." As she took the first sip, he grinned. "I was coming down the hall, and it hit me in the chest. Nice form."

"I find they make excellent interoffice memos." Another sip and she felt the caffeine begin to pump through her system. "Since you saved my life, what can I do for you?"

"I was just kicking around. Thought maybe we could grab some lunch."

"I'm sorry, Nick." She gestured to the clutter on her desk. "I'm swamped."

"They don't let you eat?" Because he found he enjoyed seeing her here, entrenched in the business of justice, he eased a hip down on the corner of the desk.

"Oh, they throw us some raw meat now and again." Lord, he was flirting with her, she realized. Rachel gauged the files piled in front of her, calculated how much time she had before her meeting with the DA to bargain on a half a dozen cases. It was going to be close. "Actually, I would like to talk to you, if you have a few minutes."

"I'm on six to two tonight, so I've got plenty of minutes."

"Good." She stood, easing by him to close the door. The moment she turned back, she realized he'd taken that gesture the wrong way. His hands went to her waist. She had a moment to think that in a few years that combination of smooth moves and rough manners would devastat e hordes of women. Then she managed to slip aside.

"Nick," she began, then hesitated. "Sit down." When he settled in her battered office chair, she sat behind the desk. "We're going on three weeks. I'd like to know how you're feeling." "I'm cool."

"What I mean is, when we go back in front of Judge Beckett, it's very likely she'll give you probation-unless you make a big mistake in the meantime."

"I don't plan on mistakes." The chair creaked rustily as he leaned back.

"Going to jail isn't high on my list these days."

"Glad to hear it. But she may also ask about your plans. This might be the time to start thinking about that, whether you'd like to make the situation with Zack more permanent."

"Permanent?" He gave a quick laugh. "Hey, I don't know about that. I'll probably want my own place, you know. Zack and me... well, maybe we're getting on a little better, but he cramps my style. Kind of hard to have a lady over when big brother can walk in any time." He flicked his green eyes over her face. "Know what I mean?"

An opening, she thought, and dived in. "Do you have a girl?"

His smile was very male and very attractive. "I'm more interested in women. Women with big brown eyes."

"Nick-"

"You know, when I was walking over here, I started to think how getting busted turned out to be a pretty lucky break." He lifted her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles before toying with her fingers. His eyes never left hers. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have needed such a great- looking lawyer."

"Nick, I'm twenty-six." It wasn't what she'd meant to say, or how she'd meant to say it, but he only tilted his head.

"Yeah? So?" "And I'm your court-appointed guardian."

"Kind of an interesting situation." His smile spread. "It'll be over in about five weeks."

"I'll still be seven years older than you."

"More like six," he said easily. "But who's counting?"

"I am." Frustrated, she started to rise, then realized it would be best if she stayed in the position of authority behind the desk. "Nick, I like you, very much. And I meant what I said when I told you I wanted to be your friend."

"You can't let the age thing bother you, babe." When he rose, she realized she'd miscalculated by staying behind the desk. When he came around to sit on the edge of it, she was trapped between him and the wall.

"Of course I can. I was in college when you were starting p.u.b.erty."

"Well, I've finished now." He grinned and traced his finger down her cheek. And his eyes narrowed. "Is that a bruise?"

"I ran into something," she said, and tried again. "The bottom line is, I'm too old for you."

He frowned at the bruise another minute, then lifted his eyes to hers. "I don't think so. Let me put it this way. Do you figure a woman shouldn't get tangled up with a guy six years older than she is?''

"That's entirely different."

"s.e.xist," he said clucking his tongue. "Here I figured you'd be all for equal rights."

"Of course I am, but-" She broke off with a hiss of breath. "Gotcha."

"Regardless of age-" since that wasn't working, she thought "-I'm your guardian, and it would be wrong, certainly unethical, for me to encourage or agree to anything beyond that. I care about what happens to you, and if I've given you the impression that I'm interested in anything more than friendship, I'm sorry."

He considered. "I guess you take your work pretty seriously."

"Yes, I do."

"I can dig it. No pressure, right?"

Relief made her sigh. "Right." She rose, giving his hand a quick squeeze. "You're all right, Nick."

"You too." They both looked around when her phone began to shrill. "I'll let you get back to serving justice," he told her, then had her mouth dropping open as he brought her hand to his lips. "Five weeks isn't so long to wait."

"But-"

"Catch you later." He strolled out, leaving Rachel wondering if it would help to beat her head against the wall.

Nick was feeling great. He had the whole day ahead of him, money in his pocket, and a gorgeous woman planted in his heart. He had to grin when he thought about the way he'd fl.u.s.tered her. He hadn't realized it could be so satisfying to make a woman nervous.

And imagine a knockout like Rachel worrying about her age. Shaking his head, he jogged down to the subway. Maybe he'd thought she was a couple of years younger, but it didn't matter one way or the other.

Everything about her was dead-on perfect. He wondered how Zack would react when he saw Nick LeBeck strut into the bar one night with Rachel on his arm. He didn't imagine Zack would think of him as a kid when everybody saw he'd bagged a babe like Rachel Stanislaski.

Wrong, he told himself as he hopped on a car that would take him to Times Square. That was no way to talk about a cla.s.sy lady. What they'd have was a relationship. As the subway car rattled and squeaked, he occupied himself by daydreaming about what they'd do together.

There would be dinners and long walks, quiet talks. They'd go listen to music, and dance. Now and again they'd have a lazy evening snuggled up in front of the television.

Nick considered it a sign of his commitment that he hadn't put s.e.x at the top of the list.

On top of the world, he came out into the bustle and blare of Times Square and decided to use some of his loose change for a little pinball.

The arcade was noisy, and there was a loud rock back-beat blasting over the metallic sounds of beeps and buzzes. Though he'd mi ssed the freedom of being able to breeze into an arcade any time he chose, he had to admit it felt good to be able to spend money he'd earned.

No sneaking around, no vague sense of guilt. Maybe he didn't have the gang to hang around with, but he didn't feel nearly as lonely as he'd thought he would.

It wasn't something he'd admit out loud, but he was getting a kick out of working in the kitchen with Rio. The big cook had plenty of stories, many of them about Zack. When he listened to them, Nick almost felt as though he'd been part of it.

Of course, he hadn't, Nick reminded himself, using expert body English to play out the ball. There was no possible way he could explain how miserable he'd been when Zack shipped out. Then he'd had no one again. His mother had tried, he supposed, but she'd always been more shadow than substance in his life.

It had taken all her energy to put food on the table and clothes on his back. She'd had little of herself left over once that was done.

Then there had been Zack.

Nick could still remember the first time he'd seen his stepbrother. In the kitchen of the bar. Zack had been sitting at the counter, gobbling potato chips. He'd been tall and dark, with an easy grin and a casually generous manner. Once Nick had gotten up the courage to follow him around, Zack hadn't tried to shake him off.

It was Zack who'd brought him into an arcade the first time, propped him up and shown him how to make the silver b.a.l.l.s dance.

It was Zack who'd taken him to the Macy's parade.

Zack who had patiently taught him to tie his shoes. Zack who'd clobbered him when he chased a ball into traffic.

And it was Zack who, barely a year later, had left him with a sick mother and an overbearing stepfather. Postcards and souvenirs hadn't filled the hole.

Maybe Zack wanted to make up for it, Nick thought with a shrug, then swore when the ball slipped by the flipper. And maybe, deep down, Nick wanted to let him.

"Hey, LeBeck." The slap on his shoulder nearly made Nick lose the next ball. "Where you been hiding?"

"I've been around." Nick sliced a quick glance at Cash before concentrating on his game. He wondered if Cash would make any comment about him not wearing his Cobra jacket. "Yeah? Thought you'd dropped down the sewer." Cash leaned against the machine, as always, appreciating Nick's skill. "Haven't lost your touch."

"I've got great hands. Ask the babes."

Cash snorted and lighted a crushed cigarette. His last. Since Reece had copped less than ten cents on the dollar for the stolen merchandise, Cash's share was long gone. "Man, the chicks see that ugly face and you never get a chance to use your hands."

"You've got your b.u.t.t mixed up with my face." Nick eased back on his heels, satisfied with his score and the free game he'd finessed. "Want to take this one?"

"Sure." After stepping behind the machine, Cash began to bull his way through the game. "You still hanging with your stepbrother?"

"Yeah, got a few more weeks before we go back to court."

Cash lost the first ball and pumped up another. "You got a tough break, Nick. I mean that, man. I feel real bad about the way it went down."

"Right."

"No, man. Really." In his sincerity, Cash lost track of the ball and let it slip away. "We screwed up, and you took the heat."

Slightly mollified, Nick shrugged. "I can handle it."

"Still sucks. But hey, it can't be so bad working a bar.

Plenty of juice, right?" Nick smiled. He wasn't about to admit he'd downed no more than two beers in the past three weeks. And if Zack got wind of that much, there'd be h.e.l.l to pay. "You got it, bro."

"I guess the place does okay, right? I mean, it's popular and all." "Does okay."

"Must be plenty of s.e.xy ladies dropping in, looking for action."

The neighborhood bar ran more to blue-collar workers and families, but Nick played along. "The place is lousy with them. It's pick and choose."

Cash laughed appreciatively even as he blew his last ball. "Want to go doubles?"

"Why not?" Nick dug in his pocket for more tokens. "So what's going on with the gang?"

"The usual. T.J.'s old man kicked him out, so he's bunking with me. Jerk snores like a jackhammer."

"Man, don't I know it. I put up with him a couple of nights last summer."

"Couple of the Hombres crossed over to our turf. We handled them."

Nick knew that meant fists, maybe chains and bottles. Occasionally blades. It was odd, he thought, but all that seemed so distant to him, distant and useless. "Yeah, well..." was all he could think of to say.

"Some people never learn, you know. Got a cigarette? I'm tapped."