The Real Deal. Debbi Rawlins

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СКАЧАТЬ imagine what the poor guy was going through right now. Though Nick had spent hours with him in the hospital, and Billy’s spirits hadn’t been too bad, by now the shock had to have worn off. Reality would be eating a hole in his gut, as weeks of rehab and his uncertain future lay before him. Hell, Nick was pretty shaken himself, and he wasn’t the one with the mangled arm and leg.

      Was he being selfish? Did Billy need privacy, or did he need a friend about now? Damn, Nick was a coward. Seeing Billy laid up had reminded him of his own vulnerability. Of how in a matter of minutes his charmed life could disappear. And then what would he have to fall back on? He hadn’t finished college. All he knew was baseball.

      The car stopped, and Nick peered out to see what was holding up traffic, startled to find that they’d already pulled up in front of Orso. The popular restaurant already had a line out the door.

      “Should I wait, Mr. Corrigan? Or do you want me to come back in a couple of hours?” the driver asked, meeting Nick’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

      “No use waiting around.” He dug in his pocket. “Go on home.”

      The man blinked. “So you’ll call me when you’re ready?”

      “Nope. Take the rest of the night off.”

      “But, sir—” He turned around, obviously alarmed. “The service said you needed me for the entire evening.” His eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

      Nick shook his head. The man was new. Tony normally drove Nick but he’d taken the week off. “Nothing personal. I like taking cabs sometimes. You’ll get paid for the whole night.”

      He jumped out with an umbrella when he heard Nick lift the handle. “I wish you’d reconsider,” the driver said while holding the door open and the umbrella aloft. “With this rain, it might be tough to get a cab.”

      Nick smiled and tucked a fifty in the guy’s breast pocket. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

      There was always a cab for Nick Corrigan. Or anything else the pride of the Knight’s wanted.

      At least for now.

      “OH, THIS IS JUST PERFECT,” Emily muttered, tilting her face up to the blackened sky. She’d been in New York for one night and, until now, she’d been lucky.

      Raindrops hit her cheeks. Quickly she bowed her head and backed up until she was sheltered by the overhang of the crowded restaurant. She didn’t care if her jeans and sweatshirt got wet, or even her hair. Her only concern was the shopping bags full of silk lingerie, obscenely expensive sweaters and an indecently short dress she was trying to juggle.

      If she got them wet, she couldn’t chicken out and take them back tomorrow. Of course the lingerie was a done deal but she wouldn’t return any of those things, anyway. How long had it been since she’d treated herself to anything but granny pants? She felt positively decadent. Now if she could only keep everything dry. It wouldn’t be easy. She’d been waiting for a cab for ten minutes, along with everyone else on West 46th, and the storm had only just started.

      A taxi rounded the corner, and she stuck out her arm, tote bags and all, but the cab stopped for someone else half a block away. If only she hadn’t spent so much time at the bookstore she would’ve beaten the rain and been safely back at her hotel by now. Served her right, really. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t go near a library, computer or bookstore while she was here. But feeling sorry for herself when the guide she’d hired had stood her up, she’d broken down and popped into the first bookstore she spotted.

      She peeked into the large tote bag holding her new dress and the two books she’d purchased. No doubt she’d turned three shades of red while standing in line at the register. She’d almost hidden the one paperback in with her new lingerie until she could pay for it and have the books wrapped, but common sense prevailed. Embarrassment was easier to get over than getting arrested for shoplifting.

      Another taxi sped through the intersection. She stepped into the rain to wave the cab down, and the car miraculously stopped in front of her. But before she could get to the back door, two men rushed past her. The one holding an umbrella over the taller man’s head edged her aside and grabbed the door handle.

      Emily automatically stepped back, but no. Not this time. “Hey, that’s my cab.”

      They both looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. The one with the umbrella wore a name tag. He shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am, but I called for this cab.”

      “Right.” She used the back of her wrist to shove the damp hair away from her face, blinking hard at the drop of rain that caught on her lashes.

      “It’s okay, James,” the taller, dark-haired man said, “let her have it. I can wait.”

      “But it’s gonna take another—”

      “Really, it’s okay.” He opened the back door and turned to Emily. “Sorry about the confusion,” he said, regarding her with sincere hazel eyes and gesturing for her to slide in. “Please.”

      She hesitated, her pulse quickening as she took in the perfectly shaped mouth and the strong angular jaw. He seemed vaguely familiar, except she didn’t know anyone here in Manhattan.

      “Better hurry. Your packages are getting wet.”

      She glanced down. Although she’d been partially protected by the umbrella, her soggy bags hadn’t. All she needed was for them to rip and spill their contents in the middle of the sidewalk. “Look, we can share the cab if you want,” she said, shoving the sacks into the backseat and out of the rain.

      He looked surprised, thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

      The guy named James seemed even more taken aback. “You sure, Nicky?”

      He pressed a bill into the man’s palm. “If I don’t see you before then, have a good Thanksgiving.”

      Knowing the umbrella was about to disappear, Emily quickly scrambled in beside her packages. They took up a third of the bench seat, so when the stranger slid in next to her, she found her thigh pressed firmly against his. The innocuous contact sent a shiver up her spine.

      “Where to?” the cabbie asked.

      “The Thornton hotel for me.” Emily lifted a couple of the totes onto her lap and slid over toward the far door, leaving a few inches between her and the good-looking stranger.

      “And you, buddy?” The driver pulled into traffic, directly in front of another taxi.

      Emily jumped, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for impact and the crunch of metal to explode in her ears. Seconds later they were moving along with the flow of cars, and she cautiously opened her eyes. To her horror, she saw her hand clutching her seatmate’s thigh.

      “Oh, my God.” She promptly drew back, but not before noticing the rock-hard muscle beneath her palm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

      He chuckled. “Not in the least. I’m Nick, by the way.”

      “Mister, I need to know which way to turn at the intersection.” The driver glanced at Nick in the rearview mirror. “Where you headed…? Damn, you’re—”

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