Hard As It Gets

Chapter 5

“Wait. You live here?” Becca asked, recognizing the brick warehouse-style building she’d visited the day before despite the dark. The whole neighborhood was a collection of empty-looking brick warehouses located just a few blocks from the business end of the harbor.

“Yep,” he said.

She stared at him, waiting for more. But Nick remained quiet as he turned into a gravel lot at the side of the building, big hands gripping the wheel, console lights casting shadows over his strong profile.

Nick cut the engine and glanced her way. “Home, sweet home.”

She peered out the window at the dark brick building. “You mean tattoo parlor, sweet tattoo parlor.”

He winked and pushed out of the car. “That’s only the one part.” The back door opened and he retrieved her bag.

What the hell was happening to her life? Charlie missing and maybe taken. Chased from her home. Now, taking shelter in a run-down warehouse in a not-great part of town. “Good to know, I guess,” she murmured. Grabbing her pillow and her purse, she opened her door and stepped out. And almost walked right into Nick, who’d apparently come around to open her door. Warmth filled her chest, though she couldn’t say why the polite gesture should affect her after everything else he’d done for her tonight. “Sorry,” she murmured.

He placed his hand at the small of her back, and his heat seeped into her skin through the thin shirt. “This way.” She wasn’t a small woman, but he almost made her feel it walking next to him. And it wasn’t just his height, though he had a good seven or eight inches on her five-foot-seven-inch frame. It was the breadth of his shoulders, the almost defensive way he moved next to her, his general presence.

On the brick by the back door, he flipped up a metal covering and entered a code into a backlit panel. The door disengaged with a snap and a low buzz. He opened it and gestured for her to go first.

The inside was pretty much what she’d expected. Brick walls, gray-painted cement steps, and a gray, metal railing. A wall-mounted light with grating over the bulb cast a dull illumination over the entryway, as did another at the bottom of the steps.

“Hard Ink’s through there,” Nick said, pointing at a door adjacent to the staircase. “In fact—” He tugged the door open and stepped through, holding it for her to follow. She braced it with her back but didn’t enter. She was holding a pillow, for God’s sake. Wouldn’t whoever was here think that was weird? “Hey,” he said to someone inside. He waved her in.

Oh, what the hell. Maybe it was good that someone else knew she was here. Though, truly, no part of her thought the sense of safety she felt around him was misplaced. Was that because he’d known and fought with her father? Or because he’d shown up to help exactly when she’d needed him? She propped the pillow against the wall and rounded the corner to join him.

The room was large and airy, surrounded on three sides by warm brick walls. On the longest wall, a large graffiti-like painting read, “Bleed with me and you will forever be my brother.” It was a striking design, a jagged cursive with reds and grays and blacks blending through the words.

Nick’s brother, Jeremy, sat at a round table in the middle working on an intricate abstract drawing, a sketch pad, printed pictures, and a book on modern art in front of him. “Hey,” he said, glancing up. He did a double take, shook his hair out of his eyes, and straightened in his chair. “Oh, hey. Uh, uh . . .”

“Becca,” she and Nick said at the same time. Yeah, this wasn’t awkward at all.

“Hi, Becca. Good to see you again.” Smiling, he glanced from her to Nick and back again.

“What are you working on?” Nick asked, ignoring Jeremy’s unasked but obvious questions.

The younger Rixey glanced down at the drawing. “Oh, an abstract tat I have to start tomorrow.”

Nick walked over to the table. “That’s a monster.”

“Guy already has ink, but I’ve never worked on him before. This is easily four or five hours’ work. Might take two sittings. Speaking of which . . .” He flipped to another page in his pad. “This dude came in right before closing and asked for a design along these lines, about this size.”

Curious, Becca stepped closer. Jeremy had black letters in a block font on the backs of each of his fingers, but she couldn’t make out what they read.

Nick glanced to the page and frowned. “And?”

“This one’s totally yours, man.” He smiled up at his brother, clearly undeterred by the volume with which hell no radiated off Nick’s body and expression. Becca couldn’t help but compare the two men. Though they shared the same dark hair and light green eyes, Jeremy was lean where Nick had bulk, and he had tattoos everywhere she could see, except for his face. And it wasn’t just their appearances that differed. Jeremy seemed to have an inherent playfulness that was so different from Nick’s hard-edged seriousness.

“I’m busy,” Nick said.

Wait, Nick did tattoos?

Jeremy laughed. “You don’t even know when I want you to do it.”

Uh, apparently. Well, that was . . . unexpected.

Becca got about a hundred times more curious to see someone get a tattoo. His big hands creating art on skin. What would that be like? She imagined the skin was hers, and her stomach did this completely maddening flippy thing. “You’re a tattoo artist?” The question was out of her mouth before she thought to voice it.

Both men looked at her. “Yes,” Jeremy said at the same time Nick said, “Not really.”

Jeremy winked. “Ignore him. He’s good. When I can get him to do it. He’s especially good at people and faces. Which is why this one’s yours.” He turned the paper so she could get a better look.

The image was only roughed out on the page. A dynamic drawing of a man: half firefighter, half soldier. The man’s face was tilted down, showing off his headgear, with the fireman carrying an axe on his shoulder, and the soldier resting an automatic weapon on his. One man, two identities. Very cool. And Nick could do this? Becca could barely draw a stick figure.

“Get Ike to do it,” Nick said, eyes still on the drawing, as if he was studying it.

“Ike’s off until Monday. Guy wants it done this weekend. Besides, doing this would give you an even fifty-five.”

Fifty-five what? she wondered, but she didn’t want to interrupt their negotiations.

Nick glanced at her, like he was uncomfortable with all the focused attention. “When?”

“Told him I’d call him. Any time this weekend. You tell me.”

He pursed his lips for a long moment. “Saturday, then. First thing in the morning or late evening.”

Jeremy slapped his hand to the sketch. “Done.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, clearly pleased with himself. “So, you kids hanging, or what?”

The innuendo in the question flooded heat into Becca’s cheeks.

“Becca will be here for a few days. I’m going to put her in Katherine’s room.”

Who the heck was Katherine? Becca’s level of discomfort ratcheted up another notch, creating an odd emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Or maybe that was just the fact she hadn’t eaten since . . . hmm. The piece of coffee cake she’d nibbled on in the break room this morning?

“Okay, well, welcome to the Hard Ink Hotel,” Jeremy said with a smile and a bowed flourish. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll try not to walk around naked while you’re here.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Nick smacked him on the back of the head, which only made Jeremy laugh and strike out with a punch that missed. “Come on,” Nick said, guiding her toward the door. “Don’t worry about him. He doesn’t do that. Much.”

“See ya later, Becca,” Jeremy called, amusement coloring his voice.

“Bye,” she said, scooping her pillow from the floor, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

“Apartment’s this way.” Nick started up the steps. “We own the whole building, so you don’t have to worry about anyone else coming or going.”

She nodded, and her heart hitched up toward her throat as they reached the landing bracketed by two more nondescript industrial doors. Another electronic code got them into the one on the right.

Unlike the hallway, the apartment wasn’t what she expected at all. With its dark kitchen cabinetry, distressed plank flooring, and chic-but-industrial fixtures, it could easily have been a warehouse loft in one of the upscale rehab developments along the expensive Fells Point waterfront. “This is really nice.” A long, narrow island with a stove and a black granite breakfast bar was all that separated the open, airy kitchen from the spacious living room. Less surprising in the home of two men was the huge plasma TV that hung on the opposite wall in front of a giant brown leather couch and two well-worn, overstuffed recliners. An overflowing bookshelf spanned the short wall before the back hallway.

Nick looked around the space, as if seeing it for the first time. “Yeah. Can’t take any credit for it, though. All Jer’s doing.” He crossed the room and led her down a long hallway, giving her the guided tour. “Jeremy’s room is here. Bathroom here. Mine’s back there. And this”—he turned a corner and flipped on a light—“will be yours. It’s nicer than the guest room we have.” He settled her bag on the wide-plank floor.

Becca leaned against the jamb, discomfort at invading another woman’s space giving her pause. Although, as she glanced in, there was nothing particularly feminine or personal about the room. A queen bed with a sturdy oak headboard and a plain maroon comforter sat against the lone brick wall, and a long oak dresser with a mirror filled an adjacent space. The warm coffee color on the other three walls tied it all together. “Who’s Katherine?”

He cut his gaze to her. “Our little sister. She’s a lawyer in D.C., so she’s rarely ever here, but when she comes, this is where she stays.”

Sister. So, two brothers and a sister, just like her family. Well, just like it had once been.

Before their mom died, she, Charlie, and Scott had been tight—Batman, Robin, and Batgirl had been Charlie’s favorite game for them. After their mom died, things started to change. Their aunt came to stay with them whenever their dad deployed, and age and disparate interests took them in different directions. But the thread of loss and grief kept the three of them tied together enough that they could slip into that old closeness when they wanted it or needed it. Man, what she wouldn’t give for Scott to be here now. With their dad often away, he’d always been so protective of her and Charlie. He would know what to do, where to start. What if she couldn’t figure this out by herself?

Nick shifted beside her, making her realize she’d just been hanging in the doorway. And that, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she felt.

Becca stepped into the room and dropped her pillow onto the bed, and a growl roared out of her stomach so loud it nearly echoed among the exposed beams and ductwork of the tall ceiling. She clamped a hand to her belly and chanced a glance at Nick.

The corners of his lips tipped up. “Guess it would be redundant to ask if you’re hungry.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I didn’t realize how much.”

“Well, that’s a problem I can solve. Tell me you eat meat.”

Nick was going to cook her dinner? Or, er, meat at least? Now she was curious. “Uh, what if I don’t?”

His bottom lip almost pouted, and the expression was as unexpected as it was cute on his masculine face. “Well, that would be a shame, because it would mean I can’t cook you my specialty.”

“You have a specialty?”

He crossed his arms. “Of course I have a specialty.”

She just bet he did. A soldier who carried her bag, tried to open the car door for her, put her up in his house to protect her, and now offered to cook her dinner. This guy was ten kinds of dangerous. And in more ways than she’d expected when she’d come to him for help. “Well, then, I eat meat.”

The left side of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile, hinting at a dimple on his cheek.

A freaking dimple. A single spot of softness on a man otherwise built of hard planes and rough edges. Becca tried not to stare, she really did. But she found herself wanting to press her lips to the little indent. For starters.

“Good. Take whatever time you need to get settled in. There’s towels and stuff in the bathroom next door. Come out to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

She shook the ludicrous urge away. “You really don’t have to go to any trouble. We could just order a pizza. I already feel bad enough—”

He stepped in close, his heat and masculine scent, all leather and clean spice, invading her space. “It’s no trouble, Becca.”

Awareness raced from her head to her toes. For a split second, she couldn’t breathe, and the urge to lean into him, to lay her head against that big chest, to fist her hands in his clothes, had her nearly swaying on her feet. Would his body feel as hard and strong as it looked? Would his arms hold her tight, or lay loosely at the small of her back, his fingers interlaced? A rush of heat threaded through her veins. She forced herself to take a step back. “Need help?”

His eyes narrowed the smallest bit as they ran over her face. Had he felt the same pull? “Nope. I got this.”

She smiled, wondering what the heck he planned to make but satisfied to let it be a surprise. “Okey dokey.”

“Yell if you need anything,” he said, then stepped out the door and pulled it closed with a soft click.

For a moment, she stared at the back of the door. And then the day caught up with her and she sagged to the bed. Letting her back collapse onto the firm mattress, her eyes traced a random pattern over the exposed architectural elements above her.

But her mind stayed firmly on Nick Rixey. He was just . . . really freaking gorgeous. And he was making her dinner. And, tonight, he’d be sleeping down the hall.

Between the way he’d reacted to her plea for help the day before and his general history as a Special Forces soldier, Becca had no doubt: Nick Rixey was the walking personification of “complication.”

And Charlie going missing was all the complication she could handle.

Charlie was out there somewhere in trouble. He was the only thing that mattered right now. Not how hot Nick was, or how he tempted her body with desires she hadn’t felt in a really long time, or how safe she felt with him. She blew out a deep breath. Soon her eyelids grew heavy and her body melted into the soft comforter.

Get up, get up, get up, she told herself. Yes, that was totally what she should do. Get up, go out there, and see what the sexy soldier man was cooking her for dinner. The thought made her smile, although she was far too drowsy to know if her cheeks actually managed to move in response. So, right. She was totally going to get up. In just a minute, or ten . . .