Hooked #4 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 4) (3 page)

I knew that he had things to do, people to see in
the morning. I knew the rest of the world didn’t have such an open calendar,
like
I did. Of course, I knew this was temporary, that I
would ultimately have days and days of constant classes, of ballet, tap,
jazz
, whatever.
But not now.

“Who cares?” he asked.

We hung up the phone, with the understanding that he
would
come
get me in just twenty minutes. My heart
started doing cartwheels in my chest. I swallowed serenely, trying to calm
myself down. This was what I wanted; I wanted to be in a couple. I wanted to
just go for it. We had so much in common; I couldn’t ever get him out of my
head. Sure: he was a player. And sure: he’d bought my dance studio out from
under me. But there wasn’t anything between us anymore. I had a new dance
studio. I had new prospects. I had a new formation of a life. And we could
build on ours together, one day at a time. I bit my lip and rushed to my room,
filtering through my clothes to find the perfect dress. It was a deep purple
one: a dress that made my eyes
look
dark and sultry. I
pulled it over my head, noting it pushed my breasts up well, making them look
round and full. I grinned to myself in the mirror.
Another
date with Drew Thompson.
I could play along a bit longer; I could try to
mold our relationship into something real. I could.

Ten minutes later, I received the call. He was
downstairs. I grabbed my purse and tapped Boomer on the head. He meowed at me
with big, worried eyes. I’d probably been leaving him alone too often. I sprang
down the steps and saw Drew’s white Porsche outside, gleaming in the light of
the city. He stood outside of it by the passenger seat, in a long, khaki coat.
He looked very professional, if a bit mysterious. I stepped closer, grinning at
him in a secretive manner. He reached out and grabbed my shoulder, bringing me
in for a kiss. His lips were so warm, so moist against mine. I longed to open
myself to him, to allow my body to be his.

But it wasn’t time. He brought his hand back and
opened the passenger door, allowing me to enter behind him. I dropped myself
into the front seat and waited expectantly as he rushed around to the other
side.

“How are you?” I asked as he revved the engine.

He waggled his eyebrows at me enticingly. “No
pleasantries, Miss Molly. Let’s get going.” And we sped into the Chicago night.
I allowed my head to fall back against the Porsche seat; I allowed my eyes to
glaze as each of the lights passed by in a blur. I nearly started laughing at the
beautiful sensation of the surrounding world.

The radio was on, and it was playing an old song,
Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to
Run
.” Drew placed his
hand on the volume knob and turned it up, nodding his head elaborately with the
time of the song. He started to sing, forcing a smile to spread across my lips.
“TRAMPS LIKE US.
BABY WE WERE BORN TO RUN!”

I was caught up in the beauty of the moment; in the
beauty of falling in love with this truly incredible man. I started singing as
well, allowing the words to course from me easily, sometimes in an
almost-scream. (I’d never been a singer, of course.)

“You ever dance to anything like this?” he asked.

I shook my head, giggling. “No.
Much
more classical, much less Springsteen.”

“It’s too bad. I think Springsteen has such passion
behind him. When you see him on stage, it’s almost
like
he’s dancing, you know. The way his body is. It’s like—“

“It’s like he’s encapsulating the American spirit,”
I offered, nodding. My mother had loved Bruce Springsteen; it had been the one
thing we’d had in common. I remembered listening to the records with her in the
small, lounge room in the years after my father died. I sniffed.

“Yeah.
I mean. My dad was totally into Springsteen,” Drew spoke. He turned the car to
the left quickly, screeching the tires. “It was a long time before I could
listen to it without feeling sad. But now, I listen to it thinking that maybe
my dad’s in a better place now, you know?”

I nodded. I thought about that all the time, really.
About my father, about where he was. It didn’t make sense that he could just up
and leave to another dimension, another place that no one I knew had ever been before.
Death was everything, in that sense. It was everything we couldn’t comprehend.

Drew parked on the street in front of this grand
brownstone apartment. Somebody rushed to my door and opened it, allowing me to
exit evenly. It appeared to be a valet from the building, an earnest man with
bright eyes. He nodded at me as I walked up onto the sidewalk. “Good evening.”

I nodded back. Drew walked around to the side and
tossed the keys toward the man, who nodded once more. He got into the car and
spun it slowly into the underground parking garage as Drew placed his hand on
my back and led me up the grand steps to his building.

“So.
You bought this entire place?” I asked as we sauntered up.

“Oh, yes. I longed to have a big place, you know.
To feel like the king of something.
When I lived in New
York, I had something like eight hundred square feet. It wasn’t working for
me.”

“I imagine not,” I murmured, as I thought about my
three-hundred square feet and what I would kill for just an inch more.

CHAPTER
THREE

He unlocked the door and led me into a great foyer.
The floor was gleaming, even in its age.

“This used to be a small hotel, actually,” he
explained. “See the front desk?”

He was right. Next to the entrance was a great front
desk. The mailboxes were still behind the desk, as were all the hanging keys.
“Wow. Are all the rooms still there?” I asked.

“They sure are. But I’m going to knock them all
down.” He placed a finger over his throat and made a cutting motion. He grinned
crookedly. “Come on. Let’s head to the kitchen. I need a drink. It was a long
day.”

I nodded, trying not to think about the fact that
his long day meant destroying and re-building the very place my building had
been.
“Of course.
Let’s grab a drink.”

I followed him beyond the front desk, toward the
back kitchen. We passed a grand dining hall, where I imagined—once it was fixed
up—Drew would have grand, illustrious parties, like out of a storybook. A large
mirror stood on the other side of the room, reflecting us as we rushed by. I
watched my purple dress glide behind me like a cape.

The old kitchen had been used for large meals, for a
restaurant, Drew explained. He had brought his great wine collection here, and
he hoped to make a cellar in the back of the kitchen for all the wine, for easy
reaching. I nodded as he
parsed
through the reds,
searching. He finally chose an aged Merlot. He opened it, allowing it to
breathe for a moment.

“Do you want to tell me about your day?” he asked.
He seemed almost obtrusive.

But I quelled my nervous thoughts. “You know. It’s
been a good day.” I slapped my legs lightly. “I had a class today.”

“Oh, you did?
Baby ballerinas?”

“Actually, older women.
It helps with their pain and their weight. They love it. And I think they love
me.”

“Oh, gosh.
I’m sure they do,” Drew said. He began to pour the wine into our glasses. I
watched as it glugged, like a river spewing from the beautiful bottle. “You
know. We should dance together again sometime.”

I brought the wine to my lips, tasting the dry,
almost-fruity nature of the liquid. I smiled, allowing it to coat my tongue.
“You really think you were that good, dancing with the likes of me?”

“I mean. I know everyone at the benefit thought we
were really something special,” Drew said, winking at me. Suddenly, he spun
back around and began sauntering out of the kitchen, back toward the foyer. For
a moment, I thought surely that he was going to make me leave, that our fun was
over.

But instead, he began leading me upstairs. I
followed him slowly, looking around me, trying to assess what could be done to
make this house what it could be. I placed my hand on my hair, feeling a bit
self-conscious. Was I the only person who’d ever seen this crumbling place
before? Did I really mean so much to him?

He led me to the second of four floors. The long
hallway stretched before us, showing us ten small hotel rooms. He began rushing
down the hallway, opening each of the doors. “It’s all mine, can you believe
it?” he called back, laughing.

I laughed too, walking behind his rushing form. I
peered into each room. They all had such a musty smell. I was certain they
hadn’t been used in many months. Even the bedspreads stayed on the bed, each
with a strange, flower-filled pattern.

We reached the end of the hallway and then we spun
around, gazing down the path.

“What
could I
do with this
floor, do you think?” he asked, scratching at his chin.

I thought for a moment.
“Would you
want this to be sort of like—the family room?
We knock out all the
rooms, of course. And we have a fireplace that connects to the one downstairs.
We have grand couches, big televisions. For the
games,
or whatever.” I could see it forming in my head: this grand space with shining
wooden floors. “You could have a smaller, separate kitchen up here.
One for different occasions.
More microwaves,” I murmured,
tapping my nose.

He laughed and tried to imagine it, closing his
eyes.
“The sporting room.
The game
room.
The guy room.”
He nodded and smiled at
me. “I love it. Let’s do more.”

He rounded the corner to the staircase. We zoomed up
to the third floor and discovered that part of the floor had actually been used
as a small library. I suggested we expand the library, make it grand. “It could
be your study room—the room you drink coffee and read the paper in. The room
with the best view, certainly.” I peered out the window at the rushing streets
below, one of the books from the library in my hand. I loved this beautiful
place; it already felt sort of like a hiding spot from the rest of the world.

“One more floor, Molly.” He led me up the steps to
the final floor. “I’ve already knocked out much of the rooms on this floor. I
want this to be my bedroom.” He opened the door and revealed the top floor.
Great, stretching windows flew over the bedspread, allowing us full view of the
stunning Chicago skyline. I caught my breath, sighing at the wonder of it.

I walked toward the lights, placing my hand on the
window. “How gorgeous,” I murmured.

Behind me was the bedroom he was building up, bit by
bit. The large bed was directly beneath the center of the skylight. It was
wrapped in a great, white comforter. It looked like it was perfectly made every
morning. I wondered if Drew was human.

Next to the bed was a small little station, with a
large couch and a television. Drew tapped a button, and a movie came on the
screen.
The Godfather.
My heart leapt in my chest, and
I smiled at him. “I love this movie.”

“Who doesn’t love this movie? Look. They’re in Italy
in this scene.”

“Don’t you just love her dress,” I asked, walking
toward him. I sat on the couch, my mind lost in thought. I felt so comfortable,
so at peace, even with the Chicago world abuzz around me. I grabbed Drew’s hand
and led him to sit next to me. I gave him that secretive, pretty smile. He gave
in, of course, and collapsed next to me, wrapping his arm around me. We sipped
wine in silence, watching Michael Corleone walk through the Italian countryside
and fall in love: perhaps the only sweet and truly beautiful part of the whole
story.

When the murders started once more, Drew and I
brought our eyes back together. We didn’t want to live in that world any more.
We wanted to be on the couch, there in Chicago.
Together.
“So.
Do you think you can come over sometimes during
the week and help me transform this place, bit-by-bit?
”
 
His voice was in a near whisper.

I nodded. I cuddled closer to him.
“Of course.
I have so many ideas. Do you think you’ll turn
that great room into a sort of ballroom? Think of the grand parties you could
have.
New Year’s parties.
Birthday
parties.”

“Right.
And weddings, even.” Drew’s eyes gazed at me with such love. My throat felt
caught. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I kick-started myself once more.
“Um.
Yes. That would be gorgeous.
”
 
I sipped my wine. I noticed there was
a large hammer off to the side of his bedroom, draped in a few white sheets.
“What is that for?”

He laughed. “That, my dear, is what I used to break
down these walls. This floor wasn’t always open.” He tapped his nose. “In fact,
I’ll probably be using it to knock down some of the walls downstairs.
”
 
His eyebrows
waggled at me. Every time I looked at him, I felt such sexual energy. “Do you
want to help?”