Everlasting Bad Boys (31 page)

“Beats being a fool,” Wind said. “Let’s go where we can do the most good.”

Justin nodded. “The subway.”

“I have a feeling the folks down there could use a cool breeze.”

“And some light.”

They were right across the street from the entrance to the labyrinth that ran for blocks under Times Square, where twelve subway lines converged. Beth shuddered. She’d gotten lost in the maze of corridors and connections when it was all lit up—it was hard to imagine what it was like in there now.

“Beth, you ever flown without a plane?” Wind was asking.

She backed away. “No. N-no. And I don’t want to.” Her hands stretched out toward them. What she meant as refusal they took as opportunity.

Wind grabbed one of her hands, Justin grabbed the other, and she was flying between them, soaring over the mass of humanity in Times Square, between the buildings—they scared a few pigeons—and then down to earth by the entrance to the subway station.

The three of them felt their way down, squeezing past the people who were struggling to get up.

They seemed surprisingly calm. Some exchanged tales of the last blackout. Justin worked up the energy to light their way and Wind began to blow subtly, not so anyone would notice.

But it was enough to alleviate the stale air.

“You gotta find a hot connection,” he murmured between puffs to Justin. “Use your powers for good.”

“So that’s where you got that line,” Beth said to Justin, who hadn’t let go of her hand.

“Yeah. We both read comic books. I’m not much of a hero.”

She shook her head. “No. Let’s hook you up, light up this place, and help people get out of here.”

He glowed more brightly. “There’s a transformer around here. Anyone see a Con Ed sign?”

“Shine on, man,” Wind said. “We’ll find it.”

The throng of people moved slowly but surely through the corridor they were in, and Justin got through them to a panel in the tiled wall.

“This is it.” He lifted it off.

“You guys from Con Ed?”

“No,” said Wind, who was dressed in his basketball clothes, Beth noticed.

“Yes,” said Justin, who was bare-chested.

“Whatever,” said the man who’d asked.

Justin reached into the wires and fuses, connecting this to that, and ultimately attaching a cord as thick as a finger to his own finger.

“Stand back,” he shouted.

No one in the crowd paid any attention. Wind began to blow in their direction, pushing people away without them knowing why.

Justin glowed a brilliant, pulsing yellow.

A lady with two babies in a stroller and an older boy clinging to its handle stopped and stared.

The air was filled with a crackling that made everyone’s hair stand on end.

“Justin, be careful!” Beth whispered. She was fascinated, horrified, and totally pissed off at him all at once.

The air hummed and crackled. Justin radiated a light so strong she couldn’t look at him. He was turning a thousand different colors in succession.

One guy stopped and dug in his pockets for money to give him. “That’s a hell of an act, pal.” He smoothed out a paper bag and put a handful of coins on it in front of the three of them.

Justin laughed and the connection broke. The corridor was plunged into blackness again.

“Man, pay attention,” Windham said peevishly. “That’s chump change. What have I told you about keeping focus?”

“Eyes on the ball,” Justin said. “Got it. Okay, here I go.” Beth watched as Justin slowly lit up again. He seemed to have less energy than before but for a good reason. One by one the lights that illuminated the labyrinth flickered on. And they stayed on.

People could see their way and streamed toward the staircases.

She heard the subways rumble to life and the doors whoosh open. For the most part, the passengers got off, not wanting to risk getting stuck.

A blackout, in a weird way, was just part of living in New York. Something to dine out on and talk about for years. And this had been a mercifully brief one, thanks to Justin.

But eight million people had been stopped in their tracks, also thanks to Justin. Who’d stopped turning colors and was looking at her sheepishly. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. You did.”

“Can we go back to my place?”

“Not on the subway.”

“We can take a cab.”

“Your wallet’s in your shirt pocket. You left it in the movie.”

Justin thrust his hands into his pockets and looked at Windham. “Can I borrow twenty bucks, man?”

“Don’t look at me,” Wind said severely. “You got me off the courts. I wasn’t carrying no wallet.”

Justin looked back at Beth. “Guess you’ll have to pay. I’ll make it up to you.”

“No!” Beth yelled. All the tension of the last several weeks and the sheer, mind-blowing weirdness of the last hour exploded out of her. “This will never, ever work! I can’t be with a guy who can shut down the whole city of New York and hit me up for cab fare home!”

She turned and bolted, looking for the staircase that would bring her out in the heart of Times Square. Justin wasn’t far behind her. She could hear his pounding footsteps as she reached the top, panting frantically.

He put a gentle hand on her arm. “Hey, I really am sorry. Whatever was going on with me is over. Turning everything on again took care of it.”

She looked away from him, up at the lurid, immense signs that pulsed and glowed and sparkled. It was like the blackout had never even happened.

“Marry me, Beth,” he said suddenly. “I love you.”

“Hah! The answer is no. Not if you’re going to go crazy on me every twelve years.”

“I might,” he admitted. “Just a little. Lock me in the back bedroom and tell the kids that daddy’s watching TV.”

“Tell the who? What?”

He reached out his arms and enfolded her in his strength. He was warm…so warm. Her temper dissolved in his embrace.

“The kids. Our kids. Someday, when you’re ready, I mean. Freddy needs somebody to play with.”

“Freddy hates kids.”

“So we’ll get him a feline friend to perk him up. I’m totally serious. Let’s do it. We’ll be happy.”

She snuffled into his bare, hot chest. It was very satisfying. Her arms slipped around his waist. “How do you know?”

Justin dropped a kiss on her hair. “I just do,” he whispered. “I really do love you.”

“Will that be enough?” Classic girl-type question, but she couldn’t help it.

“You won’t have any in-laws.”

Beth grinned against him. “You will. Wait til you meet the Ink Man. You’ll like him, I think.”

“Is that a yes?” He held her away from him and looked at her soulfully. She saw a blue, blue fire deep in his eyes that was close to heavenly. He was radiating pure love.

“Not yet,” she said calmly.

A whole year and a lot of couples counseling later…

They were sprawled on the enormous sofa in his Bolt Building apartment. He was behind the sports section and she was brushing her hair. Beth looked over at the big feet in clean white socks, which was about all that she could see of him. She patted one fondly.

“Honey, how many superheroes does it take to change a lightbulb?”

“I don’t know,” he said absently. “How many?”

“One,” she replied. “But he has to ask his wife where the lightbulbs are.”

Justin rattled the paper. “Ha ha.”

Just another peaceful Sunday in their aerie. She was utterly content. She hadn’t minded moving in and old wheezy Freddy loved the Bolt Building. He’d laid claim to the sunniest corner and pretty much stayed there all day.

She pulled the sports section out of Justin’s hands and threw herself on him to steal a kiss.

He didn’t protest. They kept on going from there. Afterward, Beth lay in his arms and thought about how incredibly happy they were, just as he’d said.

No surprise there. The man was the light of her life.

A
n hour later, she was quite thankful for the addendum maps, as she’d be hopelessly lost without them. Actually, even with them she’d gotten herself somewhat turned around at the end of the west wing—at least she was pretty sure it was west. Even the dogs had given up on the adventure and trotted off some time back to God knew where. She was sure they’d find her when they got hungry or wanted to go out, so she wasn’t too concerned about that. But she was getting hungry herself, and she had no idea how to get back to the kitchen area, much less the garage, or the rooms she’d been assigned to stay in.

She was stumbling down a dark corridor, unable to find the hall light switch, when a very deep male voice said, “If you’re a burglar, then might I direct your attention downstairs to the formal dining room. The silver tea set alone would keep you in much better stealth gear for at least the next decade. At the very least, you’d be able to afford a flashlight.”

She let out a strangled yelp, as her heart leapt straight to her throat, then froze in the darkness. Except for the animals, she was supposed to be completely alone. Not so much as a valet or sous chef on premises for the next twelve days. Of course the notebook did say that Cicero had a lengthy and amazing vocabulary. But he was at least two floors away. And she doubted he knew how to use the house speaker system. Armed with a notebook and not much else, Emma decided offense was the best defense. “Please state who you are and how you got in here. Security has already been alerted, so you’d best—”

Rich male laughter cut her off. “You must be the sitter.”

“Which must make you the burglar, then,” she shot back, nerves getting the better of her.

More laughter. Which, despite being sexy as all hell, did little to calm her down. Because though she’d been joking, the idea that she’d been on the job of a lifetime for less than two hours and had already allowed a thief into the house was just a perverse enough thing that it would actually happen to her.

The large shadow moved closer and she was deep into the fight-or-flight debate when a soft click sounded and the hallway was illuminated with a series of crystal wall sconces. Emma’s first glance at her unexpected guest did little to balance her equilibrium.

Whoever he was, he beat her five-foot-nine height by a good half foot, which made the fight thing rather moot. Flight probably wasn’t going to get her very far, either. He had the kind of broad shoulders, tapered waist and well-built legs that her defensive line-coach dad would recruit in a blink, and charming rascal dimples topped by twinkling blue eyes that her Irish mother would swoon over as she served him beef stew and biscuits.

Emma, on the other hand, had absolutely no idea what to do with him.

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J
ust as she raised her hand to knock again, the door jerked open, her fisted hand coming close to bopping him in the nose. In the dim light, Vittorio grimaced at her through sleep heavy eyes. His long hair was tangled and shoved haphazardly back from his face. Bare muscled chest and flat stomach appeared over sweatpants slung low on his narrow hips.

“I’m sorry,” Erika immediately said, even as her heart skipped wildly. An image of him lying in bed filled her mind, quickly morphing to a picture of her in bed with him. “I—I didn’t think you’d be sleeping,” she managed to mumble.

He frowned, blinking, then peering over her shoulder at the evening sky, now nearly leaving them in darkness.

“I keep weird hours.” His tone was flat, yet his voice still lent the words a beauty with its deep baritone timbre.

Erika stared at him, unable to keep from studying the shadows emphasizing the muscles of his chest and stomach. Chiseled and perfect. She immediately wanted to capture that perfection with her art.

But she managed to stop gaping and move her gaze up to his face, which was also a study in shadows and beauty.

Clearing her throat, she managed a smile. “I keep odd hours too.”

He lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Instead he leaned on the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement caused his muscles to come to life. Erika’s fingers twitched with the longing to run her hand over them like she would the smooth clay of one of her sculptures.

“I’m guessing you didn’t come up here to discuss our sleep habits.”

Erika’s eyes returned to his, as did the sense of dread she’d been experiencing at the bottom of the stairs. Cool disdain—that was what she was getting. Crap.

“No.” She offered him another small smile. “No, I came up to see how your head is.”

“It’s fine.”

Erika nodded at the clipped response that didn’t invite further questioning. Yet she couldn’t seem to go, even though it was clear he didn’t feel the overwhelming attraction she did. She should just give her apology and leave. She’d tested Philippe’s theory, and she’d been right all along.

She moved back, preparing to do just that, when she remembered the plate in her hands.

“Oh, I made you these,” she said, shoving the plate toward him. “You know as a peace offering.”

He stared down at the plastic wrap-covered squares as if he expected them to crawl off the plate and attack. Perhaps sticking in his beautiful long hair.

Her fingers tightened on the plate while feeling a desire to touch the silky looking locks. Was she utterly mad? This man was not interested in her in the least, and she was fantasizing about touching his hair.

“I—” He still regarded the cookies with a definite look of consternation. “I don’t eat—sweets.”

“Oh.” She pulled the plate away from him. “Okay. Well, I did just want to say I’m sorry.”

He nodded saying nothing.

“About last night, I mean,” she said, watching his expression.

A muscle in his jaw worked as if he was clenching his teeth.

“As you’ve already said,” he stated.

Erika nodded, not sure what else to say. It certainly didn’t appear he was any more willing to forgive her tonight than he was last night.

Suddenly that uncharacteristic feeling of irritation swelled inside her again. Why did he dislike her so much? Okay, she had hit him with a cell phone, but it had been in an unusual circumstance. And she did feel truly awful about it.

But instead of just accepting that he wasn’t going to warm up to her, she heard herself saying. “I know this is going to sound weird, but I’m actually trying to figure out if you are someone that my psychic told me I’d meet.”

Vittorio straightened, and the remote look in his eyes shifted, but it wasn’t to an expression she liked any better. His eyes widened with amused disbelief.

“Your psychic?”

Erika had this reaction before. More than once. And she immediately regretted her honesty.

“I’m sure this sounds a little strange to you.”

He tilted his head. “What did this psychic say?”

She hesitated. Was he genuinely curious, or did he intend to mock her?

“He’s been predicting that I would meet someone who, at least physically, fits your description.”

He nodded, his gaze leaving hers as if he was considering the idea. She still couldn’t quite decipher what he might be thinking.

“And what else did this psychic say?”

Erika again debated what to tell him. But the lopsided, not altogether kind, slant of his lips made her stop. He thought she was nuts. And he didn’t appear to like her any better for her nuttiness.

“Forget it.” She raised a hand in a gesture of defeat. “I just wanted to be sure your head was all right.”

She started to leave, when his voice stopped her. “Thanks.”