“Can I see you? Sometime soon?” I asked. “To … er … talk.”
“Talk? Okay, how about tomorrow? In the office? I’ll shift things around to make time for you.”
“I’m never coming to your office again, in my lifetime.”
He laughed softly. The sound was low and deep, and it rumbled through me like good liquor.
I held my breath. “How about tonight?”
“You’re at work now, aren’t you?”
Of course, he was aware of my every movement. “I mean afterwards. Will it be too late?”
“I’ll wait up,” he said. “But I’m no longer in Jersey. I have a place in Midtown.”
I noted that whiff of danger in his voice. I was coming to like it way too much. “Oh, ah okay then.”
I wanted to ask why, but I didn’t have to because he offered up the information.
“We’re trying to smoke out who’s behind the attacks. Better chance of doing that if I’m perceived to have less security around me.”
My stomach roiled at the danger involved in their tactic, but I kept my concern to myself.
“When you come over can you be as inconspicuous as possible?”
“Oh, okay. You mean, I should come dressed as someone else?”
He laughed again and my heart soared. It was rare communicating with him in such a light-hearted manner.
“You couldn’t come as someone else if you tried for a year, Freya.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded immediately.
“Maybe one day I’ll tell you. Look, I gotta go. I’ll send you the address. See you later.”
I ended the call and gave a little skip of joy.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Freya
At twenty minutes to two in the morning, my co-workers and I ordered pizza. The moment it arrived at the bar, it was pounced on by them.
I turned to pay the pizza guy and noticed his cap. It was scuffed and painted in red and white with Johnny’s pizza stamped in front of it. Apart from that he had a plain black bomber jacket on. Mine would do, but the helmet, I needed to have.
“How much will you take for the cap?” I asked.
“Uh,” he was stumped by the question.
At the end of our strange discussion I walked away with his old busted cap, and he with an extra $20.00 tip.
I arrived at the high-rise residential building in midtown Manhattan and with my cap pulled low, I quickly went into the building. I was greeted by the night porter and upon the confirmation of my visit, I rode the elevator to the 63rd floor.
The building was finished with marble floors and gigantic centerpieces. It stank of extreme wealth. I saw my reflection in the mirror and couldn’t believe how shabby I looked in those surroundings. Neither could I believe I was once again going to the man that I’d sworn I hated to the depths of my soul.
Life was sometimes such a sick, twisted bitch.
I arrived at his door and knocked. The busted old hat was still on my head and for a moment, I thought to take it off, but I couldn’t decide fast enough because the door suddenly clicked open… and there he was!
He was wearing only his pajama trousers, and it instantly scrambled my brain. In the soft yellow lights of his apartment his skin glowed. I swallowed hard at the sight of the pure slabs of muscle and the strength radiating from them. When I saw the fairly healed bullet wound I had given him on his chest it made me sad all over again. I wanted to reach out to touch it, but he quickly brought me back down to earth.
“Creative,” he said, his gaze on my hat.
I rolled my eyes at his sarcasm. “Are you going to let me in?”
He stepped aside and I walked into the gorgeously decorated apartment. “How much do I have to tip you?”
I turned back around to face him and summoned up the boldness to say exactly what I wanted to. My gaze lowered to and settled on the bulge in his pants. I could see that he was already excited and growing.
“About nine inches.” I pretended to shake my head as if to clear it. “I mean, nine dollars.”
He smiled. A dark and sexy smile.
I felt my throat tighten at his amusement. Fuck… but he was beautiful, in a dangerous way that made me begin to drip with arousal.
He came forward and took the box from me, found it a bit light, and shook it. “You ate all the pizza before you got here?”
“My coworkers did. Did you want some?”
“I could eat a pizza.”
“Well, uh … I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll bring you some next time.”
He threw the box aside and placed his hands on my hat. I shut my eyes as I suddenly felt too heated, and remained still as he pulled it off my head and flung it behind him. I felt him lightly brush his fingers down my hair to arrange it, and then tuck some flyaway strands behind my ear. I had held it all together and secured it to the nape of my neck so that the helmet could sit properly on my head. I shifted uncomfortably at the strong throb of the bud between my legs.