Falling For Rachel - Stanislaskis 3 Part 7

He turned back to her. She noted that he wasn't even breathing hard, and that the gleam in his eyes had only sharpened. "Where were we?"

"You idiot." The words were little more than a whisper as she fought to get them out over the lump of fear in her throat. "Don't you know any better than to jump someone holding a knife? He could have killed you."

"I didn't feel like losing my wallet." He glanced down at the can in her hand. "What's that?"

"Mace." Disgusted by the fact she hadn't even popped off the safety top, she dropped it back in her purse. "I'd have given him a faceful if you hadn't gotten in the way."

"Next time I'll step aside and let you handle it." He frowned down at the trickle of blood on his wrist and swore without much heat. "I guess he nicked me."

She went pale as water. "You're bleeding."

"I thought it was his." Annoyed more than hurt, he poked a finger through the rip in the arm of his sweater. "I got this on Corfu, my last time through. d.a.m.n it." Eyes narrowed, he stared down the street, wondering if he had a chance of catching up with the mugger and taking the price of the sweater, if not its sentimental value, out of his hide.

"Let me see." Her fingers trembled as she pushed the sleeve up to examine the long, shallow slash. "Idiot!" she said again, and began to fumble in her purse for her keys. "You'll have to come inside and let me fix it. I can't believe you did something so stupid." "It was the principle," he began, but she cut him off with a stream of Ukrainian as she stabbed her key at the lock.

"English," he said, pressing a hand to his stomach as it began to knot.

"Use English. You don't know what it does to me when you talk in Russian."

"It's not Russian." s.n.a.t.c.hing his good arm, she pulled him inside. "You were just showing off, that's all. Oh, it's just like a man." Still pulling him, she stalked into the elevator.

"Sorry." He was fighting off a grin, trying to look humble. "I don't know what got into me." He certainly wasn't going to admit he'd had worse scratches shaving.

"Testosterone," she said between her teeth. "You can't help it.'' She kept her hand on him until she'd gotten them inside her apartment. "Sit," she ordered, and dashed into the bathroom.

He sat, making himself at home by propping his feet on her coffee table.

"Maybe I should have a brandy," he called out. "In case I'm going into shock."

She hurried back out with bandages and a small bowl of soapy water.

"Do you feel sick?" Scared all over again, she pressed a hand to his brow. "Are you dizzy?"

"Let's see." Always willing to take advantage of an opportunity, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her mouth to his. "Yeah," he said when he let her go. "You could say I'm feeling a little light-headed."

"Fool." She slapped his hand aside, then sat down to clean the wound.

"This could have been serious."

"It was serious," he told her. "I hate having someone poke me in the back with a knife when I'm kissing a woman. Honey, if you don't stop shaking, I'm going to have to get you a brandy." "I'm not shaking-or if I am, it's just because I'm mad." She tossed her hair back and glared at him. "Don't you ever do that again."

"Aye, aye, sir."

To pay him back for the smirk, she dumped iodine over the wound.

When he swore, it was her turn to smile. "Baby," she said accusingly, but then took pity on him and blew the heat away. "Now hold still while I put a bandage on it."

He watched her work. It was very pleasant to feel her fingers on his skin.

It seemed only natural that he should lean over to nibble at her ear.

Fire streaked straight up her spine. "Don't." Shifting out of reach, she pulled his sleeve down over the fresh bandage. "We're not going to pick things up now. Not here." Because if they did, she knew there would be no backing off.

"I want you, Rachel." He caught her hand in his before she could stand.

"I want to make love with you."

"I know what you want. I have to know what I want."

"Before we were interrupted downstairs, I think that was pretty clear."

"To you, maybe." After a deep breath, she pulled her hand free and stood. "I told you, I don't do things spontaneously. And I certainly don't take a lover on impulse. If I act on the attraction I feel for you, I'll do so with a clear head."

"I don't think I've had a clear head since I laid eyes on you." He stood, as well, but because it suddenly seemed important to both of them he kept his distance. "I realize how the saying goes about guys like me and women in every port. That's not reality-not my reality, anyway. I'm not going to tell you I spent every liberty curled up with a good book, but..." "It's not my business."

"I'm beginning to think it is, or could be." The look in his eyes kept her from arguing. "I've been on land for two years, and there hasn't been anybody important." He couldn't believe what he was saying, what he felt compelled to say, but the words just tumbled out. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if there's ever been anyone like you in my life."

"I have priorities..." she began. The words sounded weak to her. "And I don't know if I want this kind of complication right now. We have Nick to think about, as well, and I'd rather we just take it slow."

"Take it slow," he repeated. "I can't give you any promises on that. I can promise that the first chance I get, when it's just you and me, I'm going to do whatever it takes to shake up those priorities of yours."

She jammed nervous hands in her pockets. "I appreciate the warning, Muldoon. And here's one for you. I don't shake easily."

"Good." His grin flashed before he walked to the door. "Winning's no fun if it's easy. Thanks for the first aid, Counselor. Lock your door." He shut it quietly behind him and decided to walk home.

At this rate, he was never going to get any sleep.

Chapter Five

She wasn't avoiding him. Exactly. She was busy, that was all. Her caseload didn't allow time for her to drop by Zack's bar night after night and chat with the regulars. It wasn't as if she were neglecting her duty.

She had slipped in a time or two to talk with Nick in the kitchen. If she'd managed to get in and out without running into Zack, it was merely coincidence. And a healthy survival instinct.

If she let her answering machine screen her calls at home, it was simply because she didn't want to be disturbed unnecessarily.

Besides, he hadn't called. The jerk.

At least she was making some progress where Nick was concerned. He had called her, twice. Once at her office, and once at home. She found his suggestion that they catch a movie together a hopeful sign. After all, if he spent an evening with her, he wouldn't be hanging out with the Cobras, looking for trouble.

After ninety minutes of car chases, gunplay and the a.s.sorted mayhem of the action-adventure he'd chosen, they settled down in a brightly lit pizzeria.

"Okay, Nick, so tell me how it's going." His answer was a shrug, but Rachel gave his arm a squeeze and pressed. "Come on, you've had two weeks to get used to things. How are you feeling about it?"

"It could be worse." He pulled out a cigarette. "It's not so bad having a little change in my pocket, and I guess Rio's not so bad. It's not like he's on my case all the time."

"But Zack is?"

Nick blew out a stream of smoke. He liked to watch her through the haze. It made her look more mysterious, more exotic. "Maybe he's laid off a little. But it's like tonight. I got the night off, right? But he wants to know where I'm going, who I'm going with, when I'll be back. That kind of sh-" He caught himself. "That kind of stuff. I mean, hey, I'm going to be twenty in a couple of months. I don't need a keeper."

"He's a pushy guy," Rachel said, trying to strike a balance between sympathy and sternness. "But he's not only responsible for you in the eyes of the law-he cares about you." Because his answering snort seemed more automatic than sincere, she smiled. "His style's a little rough, but I'd have to say his intentions are good."

"He's going to have to give me some room."

"You're going to have to earn it." She squeezed his hand to take the sting out of her words. "What did you tell him about tonight?"

"I said I had a date, and he should b.u.t.t out." Nick grinned, pleased when he saw the answering humor in Rachel's eyes. He'd have been very disappointed if he'd realized she was amused at the term date. "It's like he's got his life and I got mine. You know what I'm saying?"

"Yes." She drew a deep appreciative breath as their pizza arrived. "And what do you want to do with your life, Nick?"

"I figure I'll take what comes."

"No ambitions?'' She took the first bite, watching him. "No dreams?"

Something flickered in his eyes before he lowered them. "I don't want to be serving drinks for a living, that's for sure. Zack can have it." After crushing out his cigarette, he applied himself to the pizza. "And no way I'm going into the d.a.m.n navy, either. He swung that one by me the other day, and I shot it down big-time."

"Well, you seem to know what you don't want. That's a step."

He reached out to toy with the little silver ring on her finger. "Did you always want to be a lawyer?"

"Pretty much. For a while I wanted to be a ballerina, like my sister.

That's when I was five. It only took about three lessons for me to figure out it wasn't all tutus and toe shoes. Then I thought I might be a carpenter, like the men in my family, so I asked for a tool set for my birthday. I think I was eight. I managed to build a pretty fair book rack before I retired." She smiled, and his heart rate accelerated. "It took me a while to come to the conclusion that I couldn't be what Natasha was, or Papa or Mama or anyone else. I had to find my own way." She said it casually, hoping the concept would take root.

"So you went to law school."

"Mmm..." Her eyes brightened as she studied him. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure."

"Perry Mason." Laughing at herself, she scooped up another slice. "I was fascinated by those old reruns. You know, how there would always be this murder, and Perry would take the case when his client looked doomed. Lieutenant Tragg would have all this evidence, and Perry would have Delia and Paul Drake out looking for clues to prove his client's innocence. Then they'd go to court. Lots of objections, and 'Your Honor, as usual the counsel for the defense is turning this proceeding into a circus.' It would look bad for Perry. He'd be up against that smug- faced DA."

"Hamilton Berger," Nick said, grinning.

"Right. Perry would play it real close to the vest, dropping little hints to Delia, but never spilling the whole thing. You just knew he had all the answers, but he would string it out. Then, always at the eleventh hour, he'd get the real murderer up on the witness stand, and he'd just hammer the truth out of him, until the poor slob would crumble like a cookie and confess all."

"Then he'd explain how he'd figured it all out in the epilogue," Nick finished for her. "And you wanted to be Perry Mason."

"You bet," Rachel agreed over a bite of pizza. "By the time I realized it wasn't that black-and-white, and it certainly wasn't that tidy, I was hooked." "Ray Charles," Nick said, half to himself.

"What?"

"It just made me think how listening to Ray Charles made me want to play the piano."

Rachel rested her chin on her folded hands and tried to ease the door open a little farther. "Do you play?"

"Not really. I used to think it would be pretty cool. Sometimes I'd hang around this music store and fiddle around until they kicked me out." The twinge of embarra.s.sment made him brush the rest aside. "I got over it."

But once she had a purpose, Rachel wasn't easily shaken. "I always wished I'd learned. Tash got my mother a piano a few months ago- when we found out she'd always wanted to play. All those years we were growing up, she never mentioned it. All those years..." Her words trailed off, and then she shook herself back to the matter at hand. "My sister married a musician. Spencer Kimball."

"Kimball?" Nick's eyes widened before he could prevent it. "The composer?"

"You know his work?"

"Yeah." He struggled to keep it cool. A guy couldn't admit he listened to longhair music-unless it was heavy metal. "Some."

Delighted with his reaction, Rachel continued, just as casually. "At one of our visits down to see Tash and her family, we caught Mama at the piano. She got all fl.u.s.tered and kept saying how she was too old to learn, and how foolish it was. But then Spence sat down with her to show her a few chords, and you could see, you could just see, how much she wanted to learn. So on Mother's Day, we worked out this big, elaborate plan to get her out of the house for a few hours. Anyway, when she came back, the piano was in the living room. She cried." Rachel blinked the mist out of her own eyes and sighed. "She takes lessons twice a week now, and she's practicing for her first recital."

"That's cool," Nick murmured, obscurely touched.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." She smiled at him. "I guess it proves it's never too late to try." When she offered a hand, she wanted him to take it as a gesture of friendship and support. "What do you say we walk off some of this pizza?"

"Yeah." His fingers closed around hers, and Nicholas LeBeck was in heaven.

He was content to listen to her talk, to have her laugh shiver over him.

Even the shadows of the girls who had weaved in and out of his life faded away. They were nothing compared to the woman who walked beside him, slim and soft and fragrant.

She listened when he talked. And she was interested in what he had to say. When she smiled up at him, those exotic eyes flashing with humor, his stomach tied itself into slippery knots.

He could have walked with her for hours.

"This is it."

Nick pulled up short, standing in almost the exact spot his brother had a few nights before. As his gaze skimmed over the building at her back, he imagined what it would be like if she asked him in. They'd have coffee, and she'd slip off her shoes and curl those long legs up as they talked.

He'd be careful with her, even gentle. Once his nerves settled.

"I'm glad we could do this," she was saying, already taking out her keys.

"I hope if you're feeling restless again, or just need to talk to someone, you'll call me. When I file my report with Judge Beckett tomorrow, I think she'll be pleased with the way things are working out." "Are you?" His eyes locked on hers as he lifted a hand to her hair.

"Pleased with the way things are working out?"

"Sure." A little alarm shrilled in Rachel's head, but she dismissed it as absurd. "I think you've taken a step in the right direction."

"Me too."

The alarm continued to beep as she backed up. "We'll have to do this again soon, but I've got to get in now. I have an early meeting."