Smart, Sexy and Secretive (The Reed Brothers 2)

My dad starts to whistle, the window still down. I’m glad Logan can’t hear it because it’s annoying the crap out of me. “I want to be kissed,” I say.

He groans and presses his lips to my forehead, holding them as he breathes in and out, in and out.

In a perfect world, I could go home and we could talk late into the night on the phone. But that can’t happen with us. Logan can use a TTY, but it wouldn’t be the same.

“Emily,” my dad warns.

“I have to go,” I say, and I kiss him quickly on the lips. The driver holds the door open for me, and I slide into the car. I feel like he’s shutting the door to happiness when I have to leave Logan. I sigh heavily and lean back against the backrest. This sucks.

Logan

I run up the stairs as quickly as I can. Paul is standing in the kitchen and spins to face me when I run in and slam the door.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. “Someone stole all your clothes and brought you home dressed like a f**king douche.”

“Can I borrow your bike?” I ask, my breath rushing from my body. I need to go, and I need to go quickly.

“It’s too f**king cold to ride the bike,” he warns, his eyes narrowing. “Why do you want it?” Paul has a Suzuki street bike that he won in a card game. He doesn’t drive it this time of the year.

“Can I borrow it?” I ask, hurrying to get my lined overalls and a stocking cap. I don’t have a ton of cash for a cab and the subway will take too long.

He opens a drawer and fishes around until he finds the keys. He tosses them at me and my heart leaps. If I hurry, I might be able to get to Emily’s before they do.

“Thanks,” I say.

I pull on my overalls and get Paul’s helmet from the closet. The bike is down in the garage under the building, but there’s no guard and no delay this time of the night. I run down the steps, hoping the damn thing starts when I try it.

The bad thing about cars and things with engines is that I can’t hear when they start. I can feel the vibrations, though, and I put my hand on it and turn the key. It hums for a second, and then it stops. Of course, this would happen. I’m wrapped like a pig in a blanket and the f**king bike won’t start. I turn the key again, and the bike revs to life. I look behind me at the black smoke billowing from it and straddle the machine, kicking it off its stand. It’s cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra, but I have a bad feeling about sending Emily home with Trip. I just do. I don’t know why. But it’s there, and I need to get to her.

The city keeps the streets pretty clear, and cars have been on them all day today. Except for some black ice, I’m not too worried about the roads.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to get to her house. I see the tail lights of the limo pulling away as I drive up. Henry opens the front door and looks out as I stop Paul’s bike in front of the door, looking through the window for Emily. She must have already gone upstairs.

Henry motions me forward. “Bring that thing inside,” he says. He points to the bike and points to the inside again, like he’s not sure I understand. “If you leave it out there, someone might steal it,” he reminds me.

It’s a small bike, but it’s going to leave wet tracks on the tile if I bring it inside. He nods at me in encouragement and jerks his head, gesturing me into the lobby.

I kill the engine and push the bike into the foyer. He points to a storage room, and I roll the bike toward it. He takes a bucket with a mop sticking out of it from the same room, and goes behind the wheels really quickly, cleaning up my mess.

“Sorry about that,” I say.

“No worries.” He cocks his head at me. “Why weren’t you with Miss Madison?” he asks, his brows drawing together.

“Technical glitch,” I say, pulling my knit cap from my hair. I blow into my hands. They’re f**king freezing, even though I had on thick gloves.

He motions for me to come close to the heater blow his desk. “Warm up a bit. Then you can go upstairs.”

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, as if I don’t care about the answer to my next question. “Are Emily’s parents upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “Just that man. The little f**ker.” Henry is a New Yorker through and through. I never can tell, since I can’t hear accents, but I can tell when men start dropping the f-bomb where they’re from. A laugh bursts from my throat.

“Oh, you have no idea,” I say.

“I do know. He threw a fit yesterday when I wouldn’t give him a key.” He shakes his finger in the air like he’s just remembered something. “Speaking of which, I have your key.” He reaches into a drawer, takes out a small brown envelope, and places it in my hand with a flourish. I could kiss him, I’m that happy. I shake the key into my hand and thread it onto my key ring.

“Thank you,” I say.

He nods his head toward the elevator. “You better go up. She didn’t look very happy when they came home.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He had icicles hanging from his nuts, if I’m not mistaken,” he says with a grin. “That girl isn’t giving him a second glance, much less any action.”

I really will have to kiss Henry for that. I reach for him, and he jumps back. He’s spry for someone as old as he is. “Save that for Miss Madison,” he says with a laugh.

I unhook my thermal overalls and step out of them. “Can I put these with the bike?” I ask. He opens the storage-room door back up, and I drape them over the Suzuki. I look at Henry. He looks tired.