Restrained Box Set: Boston Doms Books 1-4, page 50
Sofia tried to turn away, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his lips.
One kiss.
She levered up on her toes, ignoring the pain that shot through her arches.
When their lips met, Nick slid his arms around her, but he let her lead. Her tongue teased gently, and he deepened the kiss, exploring, his hands in her hair.
She could lose herself in him. In the sensations flooding her neglected body and soul. But if she didn’t run…
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Goodbye.”
As she crossed the threshold into the club, she turned, then wished she hadn’t. Nick watched her, the pain in his eyes burning into her soul.
At the end of the night, Sofia locked up the cash register with shaking hands before heading to her boss’s office. “Victor?”
He didn’t respond. His back to her, Victor’s attention was fixed on the security camera footage from the club. Sofia peered through the crack in the door, praying she wouldn’t find herself and Nick together on screen. “Get in here, cу́ка. ”
Sofia flinched and pushed through the door. “H-here’s the register key.
I’m going home.”
“Not yet, you’re not.” Victor switched camera feeds, and Sofia’s heart leapt into her throat. Out on the street, she and Nick locked lips, and the sight of her in his arms, of the way his entire body curved around her, protecting, claiming, both warmed her heart and left her shaking. “Did you do what you were told?”
“He… He doesn’t gamble anymore. I told you. I…I asked him why he came. H-he said to see me.”
Victor searched her face, and the last chapter of Sofia’s textbook came flooding back to her. People often use the words “ah” and “um” when they’re lying. They repeat sentences multiple times, blink rapidly, stand perfectly still, or look to the left when talking.
She kept her gaze on Victor, cocked a hip, and raised her brow. “Can I go?”
“No. That kiss is not ‘we barely know one another.’ You have some influence over him.” Victor stood, towering over her as he crossed his arms.
“Get him back in here on Saturday night. I’ll give you the key to the liquor cabinet. By the end of the night, I want him drunk and upstairs. Understand?”
“Please don’t do this.” Sofia backed up a step, afraid to run, but terrified what would happen if she stayed. “I…like him.”
Victor’s lips curved into a smile. “I know all about you, cу́ка. How hard you work taking care of your sister. How much you need this job. Do this, or you’ll never work as a bartender again. Now go home. Use your night off to think about how you’ll get Nicholas Fairhaven back to Bound. Don’t disappoint me.”
Numb, Sofia nodded as she turned and headed back to the bar for her coat. What the hell was she going to do now?
Nick
Nick walked the two miles to Cal’s house, needing the crisp, spring air to clear his head. After a brisk knock, Cal’s wife welcomed him inside. “Nick!
It’s good to see you.” Hannah enveloped him in a warm hug once she shut the door behind him. “Cal’s in his workshop. He’s been in there all night. I hope you have something good to tell him.”
Nick met Hannah’s gaze. His friend’s wife looked tired, and her eyes shone until she blinked hard. “What’s wrong?”
“This case is keeping him up all hours, and I’m worried. He didn’t even want dinner tonight.” Hannah tugged at the hem of her sweater, the loose material billowing around her thin frame.
“I’ll sort him. Worst case, there’s a late meeting down at the First Covenant Church in an hour I’d planned to go to. I’ll drag him out with me.”
“Thank you.” Hannah hugged him again.
Cal’s workshop consisted of a small utility room in the basement of his brownstone. “Goddamnit,” the cop muttered as he dropped a hammer on his foot and hopped around, cursing under his breath.
“Easy there, mate.” Nick scooped up the hammer and set it on the workbench. “What’re you working on?”
“Birdhouse.”
Raising his brows, Nick poked at the lopsided box on the bench. “I hate to tell you, but most birds have standards.”
Cal rubbed the back of his thick neck as he sank down onto a stool. “I shouldn’t use tools when I’m this tired. But this damn case is killing me, and I needed the release.”
“We should find you a safer hobby. I’m afraid I don’t have much news on Bound, though.” Nick wandered over to the mini-fridge Cal kept in the
corner of the room and withdrew two bottles of sparkling water as he explained what had happened at the club.
Cal nodded as he accepted the bottle. “Dammit. I was hoping you’d have something. I’m getting a lot of pressure from the higher-ups to find this kid, and everything in my gut tells me she ran away. Parents.” He shook his head.
“They never want to believe it. And most times, they’re right. But this kid?
All the markers. Failing grades, a recent tattoo, drinking…”
Cal guzzled half the bottle down. With his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and precisely shaven beard, he always reminded Nick of the patriarch of the Fairhaven clan. Or at least what Nick imagined Father would look like, had he lived.
“I know many reputable men and women with tattoos,” Nick offered.
“Including my brother. And failing grades…” Sofia’s tear-stained face hovered behind his eyelids. “Many reasons come to mind.”
“Twenty-five years of police work tell me she took off on her own. But then that kidnapping you stopped the other day…Emily Norse? The girl won’t talk to us. I’ve left her four messages.”
Dammit if Cal didn’t sound a bit like Father as well. Except for the lack of a British accent. Nick ran a hand through his hair. “What’s your next move?”
Picking up the hammer and turning it over in his hands, Cal shook his head. “I’ll get a warrant for Bound and a couple of the other clubs in the area.
If I can get a judge to listen without a single shred of evidence.” A misshapen shingle fell off the birdhouse, and Cal snorted. “Shit. I really suck at this.”
The two sat in companionable silence for a few minutes while Cal methodically disassembled the lopsided box. After the last nail dropped into the garbage can, Cal brushed his hands on his pants. “How’s your family doing?”
You just had to ask.
Loneliness simmered just under the surface, along with anger and frustration. “Alex has very little to say to me these days. The photos of me from the club the other night have caused him no end of trouble, and Elizabeth…” Nick rose and stalked over to the corner of the bench, rifling through the various drawers in Cal’s storage cube until he found the right-sized nails for the birdhouse. “She’s dealing with some issues with her parents. That’s put Alex in a bad state, and he’s not his usual understanding self. My attempts at making amends failed miserably.”
God, even Nick hated how hollow his words sounded. In truth, he’d completely failed to get through to Alex, though at least his brother had emailed him that evening to tell him the board wasn’t calling for Nick’s head
—at the moment.
Cal laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Fair enough. Have you made any progress towards a hobby? Or perhaps a new career?” He brushed splinters from the workbench and raised his brows.
“I have plenty to keep me entertained.”
“Oh?” With a sly grin, Cal leaned forward. “You seeing someone?”
Nick bristled at the question. From the look in Sofia’s eyes when she’d run from him, she wouldn’t call. Even if she did manage to read the note he’d left on his card. “No. However, I spend ten hours a week at the Food Bank on Houston Street.”
Cal snorted. “And what the hell do you do with the rest of your time? For fuck’s sake, man, I spend more than ten hours a week commuting. You can’t tell me that’s enough to keep you out of trouble.”
Clenching his free hand, Nick counted to five. “For now, yes. I haven’t missed a meeting in months, mate. I work out every day, I’ve learned how to cook, and I enjoy reading. I have feelers out with a handful of charitable organizations, and until one of them returns my calls, that’s enough.”
It has to be.
“Nick, for five months, we talked every damn day. Went to meetings together three times a week. I know you better than you know yourself, son.
And I’m telling you, if you don’t figure out some sort of purpose in this life, you’re going to find yourself falling so fast the bottom won’t know what hit it.” With a sigh, Cal picked up the remains of the birdhouse, turned it over in his hands, and snorted. “I’m a shit carpenter. I admit it. Burning the hell out of my hand a few years ago fucked with my dexterity. It’s a miracle I can still shoot straight. But tinkering around in here makes me happy. You need to stop lying to yourself. Before you lose sight of the truth forever.”
The lump in Nick’s throat made it hard to breathe. He sucked down a few sips of water before he tried to speak, and when he did, his words came out hoarse and faint. “Fine. I’m bored out of my fucking mind. Not a single charity I’ve contacted wants anything to do with a recovering gambler who made news for his involvement with the Italian mob.
“I met this intriguing woman—Bound’s bartender for fuck’s sake—and even had coffee with her this morning. But when I went to the club tonight,
she told me she didn’t want to see me anymore. At least she warned me about the paparazzi running amok inside. What do you expect me to do? Beg? I volunteer wherever I can, and I spend the rest of my days trying to distract myself so I don’t wallow in the life I lost.”
Cal reached over and squeezed Nick’s bicep. “That’s what I wanted to hear, son. Honesty. Look, I’m living proof you can come back from the bowels of hell. I almost lost everything, but despite this fucking case, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. You’ll get there too. As long as you’re honest with yourself.”
Nick scrubbed his hands over his face. “You’re right,” he said quietly.
“Now, let’s see if we can put our heads together and figure out a plan.
We’ll get you in with a charity somewhere. The word of a BPD lieutenant ought to be good enough to at least get you an interview.”
“While we do that, let me fix this pitiful excuse for a birdhouse. I’d prefer not to be shat on next time I come over for dinner.” Picking up the hammer, Nick grinned. “You might not believe me, but I know a thing or two about carpentry.”
At midnight, Nick paced his living room as a cup of tea cooled on the coffee table. After replaying his meeting with Sofia over and over again in his head, he worried he’d missed something. That she’d lied to him about the paparazzi. But why else would she warn him away? Did she know something about the trafficking ring? Was her boss involved? He kicked himself for leaving her there. The alpha-male protective side of him had wanted to pick her up, carry her to his car, and get her somewhere safe, neutral—somewhere they could talk. The caveman side of him wanted to fuck her senseless. Deep down, though, his heart won the battle with his cock. She wanted space, and he’d give it to her. For tonight, at least. Tomorrow…he made no promises.
After Lia…he’d given her space for months and look at where that had landed him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Sofia’s kiss did him in. He wanted her. Naked. Bound. Begging. But
more than that, he wanted to know her. To take her out for dinner, to laugh, and hear her stories. To tell her his. For the first time since Lia, Nick wanted a relationship.
After trying a sip of his now-lukewarm tea, Nick dumped the mug in the sink. He changed into a pair of gym shorts and unfurled his yoga mat.
Meditation would help. Or…he’d spend the entire time lost in the memories of that one, passionate kiss.
9
Sofia
Sofia jerked awake when something crashed in Gina’s bedroom. Her sister’s muffled curse followed, and with a groan, Sofia rolled over and shoved her pillow over her head. All their lives, Gina had been the morning person, while Sofia had—by necessity—been the night owl.
When the banging continued, Sofia peeked out from under her protective cocoon. Not even 9:00 a.m. and Gina couldn’t manage to be quiet?
Trudging towards the bathroom, Sofia stumbled over a large box filled with discarded clothing. Unable to right herself, she slammed into the wall, overcorrected, and missed cracking her head on the kitchen counter by two inches.
“Dammit, Gina. You have a whole bedroom. You can’t sort your stuff in there?” Sofia rubbed her aching shoulder as she gingerly pushed to her feet.
“You could have killed me.”
“I’m almost done,” Gina muttered through a crack in her door. She murmured something unintelligible to someone behind her—probably Rick the dick again. A pang of guilt sliced through Sofia’s heart. A little over a week and her sister would be gone. A hint of jealousy followed.
“Do you need any help?”
Her sister turned and called, “I’ve got this,” as the door shut.
Of course you do.
For the past ten years, Sofia had given up her hopes and dreams so Gina
could succeed. No vacations, no splurges, no beauty treatments…all to put her sister through school. And now, Gina was about to backpack across Switzerland before starting her graduate degree in Germany. All on her own.
Leaving Sofia with a blackmailing boss who could ensure she had no job—
and no options—if she didn’t do what he wanted. How many therapy offices would take a chance on her once they saw a police record? None.
Sofia flicked on the coffee pot, and the comforting whirr of the grinder, followed by the glug-glug-glug of the life-giving liquid promised to fortify her for the day. She’d figure a way out of this.
With a sigh, Sofia leaned a hip against the counter while she waited, listening to the moans and gasps of her kid sister getting frisky with a guy Sofia still hadn’t technically met. Sofia had walked Gina to school, helped her through numerous break-ups, tutored her for the SATs, and had driven her to the dorms the very first day of college. Now, it was time for Gina to spread her wings.
Glancing at her mother’s statue of the Virgin Mary that watched over them from the top of the fridge, Sofia whispered a quick prayer. “Please keep her safe. And maybe one day, let her come back to me.”
Coffee in hand, she retreated to the bathroom for a shower.
Once the sounds of passion from Gina’s room stopped, Sofia put down her book. Principles of Psychoanalysis had threatened to lull her back to sleep, but she’d powered through two chapters and kicked herself a half a dozen times for her performance on her exam. While she hadn’t failed completely, she needed to ace the final if she wanted to graduate. All the answers were there if she’d only managed to study a little more.
“Going out!” Gina yelled seconds before she and Rick shot through the door and slammed it behind them.
“Be careful,” Sofia murmured, knowing her sister couldn’t hear her. “I love you, baby girl.”
Now that the apartment didn’t feel so much like a war zone, Sofia pulled
out her laptop. She had to quit Bound, and her only chance was to find another job first—and pray any background check would go through before Victor and his friends made good on their threats. She marked half a dozen bars in the South End to visit, then remembered a couple of weeks back, she’d picked up a card at an upscale restaurant while running errands. She dug into her coat pocket and found it—along with Nick’s business card.
“Why did I have to meet him now?” she asked the plain, unadorned walls of her apartment. “Why couldn’t I have finished my undergrad, then run into him at a Dunkin’ Donuts or something?”
He’d scratched out his former title—CEO, Fairhaven Exports—and had instead written “Between Careers” under his name. She fought against the smile that tugged at her lips. As she flipped the card over, her cheeks caught fire.
Have dinner with me? I don’t bite, Sofia. Unless you want me to.
A little thrill shot to her core, and under her baggy sweatshirt, her nipples pebbled. Nick’s disarming sense of humor—along with the sadness that lingered in his gaze—called to her. Perhaps her injured soul recognized a kindred spirit. And that kiss.
The bitter taste of regret coated her tongue, and she tried to wash it down with more coffee, but her stomach soured, and she collapsed against the couch cushions, clutching the card to her chest. “I’m sorry, Nick.”
By noon, she’d applied for half a dozen jobs online and had appointments at another six bars that evening. One of her rare nights off—with the apartment all to herself—and what was she going to do? Spend it trying to make sure all of her nights for the next ten years were spoken for.
The pounding on her door startled her enough to drop her phone, sending it clattering under the couch. “Damnit.” As she dropped to her knees, she called, “Just a minute.”
Next to her phone, amid a few sparse dust bunnies, she found a small baggie—empty save for a white, powdery residue.
Fuck. Gina, what the hell did you do?
Another knock and Sofia swore under her breath. “You’re going to have to wait.”
Once she’d flushed the baggie and washed her hands, she was too flustered to bother checking the peephole before flinging the door wide open.
“Oh shit.”
“That’s not the response I’d hoped for,” Nick said as he offered her a to-go cup from Artist’s Grind. “Especially when I brought a peace offering.
Cappuccino?”
“How did you know—?”
“Which apartment? Your name is on the mailbox downstairs.” He lifted a brow, nodding at the coffee cup. “I’ve already had two espressos this morning trying to work up the courage to knock on your door. Any more coffee and I’ll start vibrating.”
Sofia accepted the cappuccino, cursing inwardly when their fingers brushed and warmth spread up her arm. “Thank you.” Shoulders slumped in defeat, she headed for the living room with her coffee cupped protectively in her hands. He wasn’t the type of man to give up if she closed the door in his face. Not that she wanted to.
