A Moment of Weakness Page 8

  “Yeah, baby girl,” he nudged Shae off him and said. “I can go with you. Let me take a shower first, okay?”

  Once showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Micah made his way to the kitchen where Shae and Laurel stood at the counter, preparing pasta salad and bagging cut-up fruit.

  “Do I have time for a cup of coffee first?” he asked as he entered the small room. His eyes went directly to the counter Laurel had been sitting on last night, his cock jumping with the memory of her stunning body propped up on it like a goddamn queen. Maybe hooking up with her wasn’t the best idea, and maybe it was sending the wrong message about him to her, but there wasn’t an ounce of regret in what he’d done. If anything, it had him craving more.

  He glanced to Laurel. Cut-off jean shorts and a fitted, but not too tight, T-shirt. He’d explored every inch of skin that lay beneath that material, and he wondered how the day was going to go, spending it with the woman he couldn’t stop imagining naked and trembling beneath him—

  “Here, Daddy. Laurel already made one for you.”

  Near the sink, Laurel busied herself with loading the pasta salad into small Tupperware containers. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t smile. Didn’t react in a single way to his presence. So this is how it’s going to be?

  “Shae, honey,” he said, gripping the edge of the counter to keep him from rushing over to her and kissing her breathless just to show her there was nothing she should be regretting from what they’d done. “Would you get the small cooler from the closet by your room for all this food?”

  Without complaint, his daughter romped out of the room, and Micah approached Laurel with hurried but careful steps. “Is this how it’s going to be?” he asked, striding well into her personal bubble. He felt her stiffen. “You not talking to me because we decided to—”

  “Don’t say it out loud,” she whispered, throwing him a condemning look. “Your daughter can hear you right now.”

  He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t seem too concerned about that last night.”

  “Well…” She threw back her shoulders and lowered her gaze to her hands. “I’m not sure I was thinking straight last night.”

  A smug smile tilted Micah’s lips upward, and he smoothed his fingers over the line of her jaw and neck. “That, Miss I Need More, sounds like a compliment to me.” If he hadn’t been standing this close, he’d never have seen the pinkish hue to her cheeks. Or the slight slant of her head when she relaxed into his touch. The very sight slammed an uncontrollable hungry surge through him.

  But then she opened her mouth. “You hired me to help take care of Shae, not do…that.”

  With a shrug and a teasing wink, he shot back, “I have no problem calling that one of the benefits of the job.”

  He wanted to taste those lips again, wanted to carry her to his bedroom and devour every square inch of her body. She licked her lips, holding her ground. Whether she regretted their hookup or not, she clearly wasn’t opposed to doing it again. What they’d done was supposed to be a one-time deal—get her out of his system and move on. But this craving was potent, pressing in on him, clouding his thoughts. Slowly, he lowered to her level. He was playing with fire—pure, wanton fire—and he was all too willing to get burned. Eyes searing hers, he leaned closer…closer—

  “Got it!” Shae hollered, and the two of them sprung apart like polarized magnets. The cooler landed on the counter with a staring Shae behind it. She glanced to Micah then Laurel. “Am I in trouble?”

  Quickly, Laurel gathered the pasta salad and utensils. “Of course not, sweetie. I was just telling your dad about your new friend.”

  “New friend?” Micah questioned. His daughter didn’t have many friends outside of school and the neighbor next door. How come she hadn’t told him?

  Shae clapped her hands and giggled. “I hope he’ll be there today!”

  He?

  The three of them descended the wide sidewalk through the rolling expanse of bright green grass and past the pond lined with trees, their branches draping over the glistening water. Boston’s high-rises stood tall in the distance, sending a pang of disgust through Micah. Had his childhood been different—his life in general—he may have ended up there: a successful businessman instead of a co-owner of a decrepit bar. He would never have met Russo or gotten tangled into the web of mob life.

  “He’s here!” Shae said, running ahead to the grassy edge of the pond where a flock of squawking ducks surrounded an old man. Gray scraggly beard, clothes dirty enough they could’ve been run through a wash of black ash, shoulders hunched with the outline of his ribs rippling the back of his shirt…

  What the hell?

  Micah whirled in Laurel’s direction. “You let my daughter befriend a fucking seventy-year-old hobo?”

  Laurel smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “She met him the other day. His name’s Charlie.”

  “I don’t give a shit what his goddamn name is. He could be dangerous.” Micah picked up his pace toward his daughter. Laurel matched his speed, her legs working twice as hard to keep up with his broad steps.

  “He’s not, though.”

  He glared at her. “And you know this how? From letting her talk to him last time?” Jesus, how could she be so ignorant? “You don’t know the world like I do—the fucked-up shit people will say and do to get what they want. People are conniving and deceitful, and you can’t trust any of them.” Like him… Technically he was one of them. Russo’s people too.

  A warm hand landed on his arm and tugged against his forward push. At the same time, his daughter’s voice drifted up the hill. “…were there ducks here too? And what about the playground? Was that here?”

  Micah’s heart pounded in his chest, and instinctively he looked around, scanning the outskirts of the park: a mom and toddler on the swings; a few high school kids throwing a Frisbee to a dog; no one who looked suspicious or dangerous or even like the mob type.

  His gaze skipped back to his daughter.

  “Four hundred years is a long time ago,” the old man said with a chuckle, his voice raspy with age and Micah didn’t even want to think about what else. “I don’t think plastic slides had been invented back then.”

  Shae nodded. “But ducks had been invented, right?”

  The man smiled, and at the same time Laurel stepped in front of Micah. “History. That’s what they talk about.”

  Micah scowled, his eyes flicking back and forth between Laurel and his daughter. “She can learn about that in school. From a goddamn book.”

  “It’s good for her.” Laurel splayed her hands over his chest and held firm so he couldn’t take another step without barreling over her. “She’s experiencing the past from someone who lived it. A textbook can’t give her that.” Her hands slid down his arms and worked to unclench his fists. “Besides…it’s good for her to see someone who’s less fortunate.”

  Daggers, it felt like he was shooting daggers out of his eyes. Less fortunate? Was she kidding? He’d lived the less-fortunate life, and it was nothing he wanted Shae near. “Because she’s so well off? Give me a fucking break.”

  Just then, Shae ran up and retrieved a small tub of pasta salad from the cooler. “For Charlie,” she grinned and said before running back down the hill.

  Laurel shook her head. “Because it builds character. And because it’s a window into the past with unfiltered access to all that knowledge.” Her eyes brightened. “Imagine if kids—our future generation—had a solid grasp on life before X-Boxes and iPads and cell phones.” She shrugged, pinching her lips into a small smile. “What would our world be like then?”

  Saving the world one fucking child at a time. Starting with his daughter. “I don’t like the idea,” he said, but his words had lost their weight. As much as every cell in his body wanted to protect Shae from strangers in the world, maybe Laurel was right.

  Laurel blinked. “A little trust would be nice.”

  He sighed. “I do t
rust you.” Fuck. Not until those words were out of his mouth did he realize how true they were. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust. You don’t know what kind of people are out there.”

  Her fingers caressed his, over the gashes and scrapes marring his knuckles. “I would if you told me.” The sincerity in her voice and gentleness of her words sent an aching desire to simply…tell her everything.

  “You want to know why I come home like this—” He pointed to the fairly new gouge on his temple, the one she’d tried to clean last night.

  She nodded. “And this.” Gentle fingers traced the cuts on his hands.

  He wouldn’t tell her everything—couldn’t because just knowing about Russo could put her in danger. But maybe he could give her a little—just enough to make her understand.

  With a hand on her shoulder, he guided her to face the pond and sit beside him on the hill. Close enough that his daughter was still able to be seen and heard, but with enough space to whisper and not be heard himself.

  “When Ryan and I took over The Alibi, the bar was in really bad shape—worse than it is now—with old equipment, furniture, basically everything. We needed a lot of money to fix it up, but because we were both still in school at the time and spending all of our extra hours in the bar, I had to pick up a side job.” Beside him, Laurel looked out toward the pond, Shae in her sights. “It’s an under-the-table job, one I’m pretty much stuck in.”

  Laurel stiffened, cutting her eyes in his direction. “You mean it’s illegal.” She didn’t look scared, but there was a definite change in her expression and the slow, cautious tone of her voice. She gestured at his head. “Let me guess; that wasn’t from a bar fight.”

  “No.”

  “So this job involves fighting?”

  For a breath of a moment, he said nothing. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, then nodded in understanding, and he had to admit, she was nothing like the innocent, naïve twenty-four-year-old he originally thought she was.

  This woman had a smart head on her shoulders—a head that contained eyes that were now glaring at him.

  “I don’t fight for money, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said with a sigh. He had to be careful, not give away anything that would hint to his ties to the mob. The safety of his daughter meant keeping the nanny who cared for her out of the loop as much as possible. “I fight to get people to pay the money they owe.”

  “So you can then get the money,” she accused, her words short and pointed. She thrusted back her shoulders and waited. Damn, she could be feisty.

  “A percentage of it, yes.” Below them, Shae sat cross-legged on the grass, watching the man—Charlie—as he dug his fork into the pasta salad and shoveled bites into his mouth. Laurel sat quietly, tightening then loosening her grip on her bare legs.

  “So you’re like…a repossession guy?” she asked.

  He stared down at his boots, the scuffs and gouges along the edges of the soles he’d never noticed before. “I suppose it’s kind of like that. Though the people I’m getting to pay up are mostly criminals.”

  She let that settle, pressing her unpainted fingernails into the skin along her forearms. Then she said, “Criminals… Is it something that could put Shae in danger?”

  Micah winced with his answer, but this wasn’t anything he should sugarcoat. “Yes.”

  “And me? Could it put me in danger too?”

  He wanted to say no, wanted to assure her safety would never be an issue, but if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a liar. “If you became an asset to me, then most likely. If they found out you were responsible for Shae—which, knowing them, they probably already do—then definitely.”

  Behind them, the dog playing Frisbee started to bark, and Micah’s senses jolted into overdrive. He cast an eye over the grassy hills, keeping his other on his daughter. The dog jumped in front of the boy holding the Frisbee and spun a circle, barking again. Micah relaxed.

  “Who’s they?” Laurel asked, staring at the side of his face. Micah pinched his lips tight, said nothing, and Laurel nodded curtly in his direction. “You can’t tell me.”

  “It’s for your own good.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You mean safety.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not sure I like that.”

  She had no idea how much he hated everything Russo could hold over his head if he didn’t pull through with whatever assignment was thrown at him. A harsh-sounding chuckle sounded from his lips. “I have no say in the matter. Like I said, I’m stuck.”

  “What happens if you don’t get the money?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never not gotten it.”

  The breeze blew along the hillside, the rustle of leaves replacing the sound of their voices. Laurel shifted, straightening her legs and flattening her hands along her thighs. Her voice was lower, more stoic when she asked, “What about your sister? Does she know?”

  “You sure do ask a lot of questions.”

  Her fingers curled under the hem of her shorts. “I’m just trying to understand.”

  He let out a breath. “No, April doesn’t know.” And he expected it to stay that way. “I don’t want you to tell her, either.”

  “Because she wouldn’t approve?”

  “Because”—he speared her with a pointed look—“the only person who would approve of this is the man who raised me to be this way.”

  “Your father?”

  Micah said nothing, feeling the burn in his jaw as his teeth clenched harder. His father didn’t deserve a single breath wasted on him. Laurel stared at him for a moment, then her eyes skittered down to his forearm. “Your tattoo,” she said, “Don’t terrify the rough ones…” Her voice lowered. “That’s you, right? The rough one?”

  Unexpectedly, he chuckled. Guess I never thought of it that way. “No.”

  Silence. A bird swooped past, squawking out a loud, shrilling call. He glanced over at her, at the tiny crease drawing a line between her dainty brows.

  “So the rough one is…?”

  His chest grew tighter, stomach feeling like it was falling over the edge of a cliff. “Off limits,” he snapped. No more. He was done talking. Jesus, why did thinking about it always do that to him?

  Her gaze met his. “Is it your family?”

  The back of his throat burned like words were screaming for release. Muscles jumped under his skin. He scowled at her. “Why are you so curious?”

  “Because I want to know you better.” Simple. Not sounding reproachful at all. And ever so slightly, it worked loose the tension constricting his body.

  “That’s a pretty dangerous wish for someone who’s all rainbows and fucking sunshine, wanting to save the world.” He shook his head at her. “You don’t want to know me.”

  Her eyes searched his face. Gentle. Inquisitive. Then her finger traced the tattoo. “Is it your father?”

  Fuck. Really? He swallowed against the revulsion even those two simple words—your father—brought up and smiled tightly. Fine, he could give her this. “Was.”

  “Oh…” Her warm hand flattened on his forearm. “He’s—”

  “Not dead, unfortunately. Just out of my life.” And nowhere near Shae, thank god.

  A moment of silence descended between them, the sound of ducks protesting the lack of food in the area filling it. “Is it something you want to talk about?” she eventually asked, sliding one finger back and forth across his skin.

  “No.”

  “Okay.” Another hushed beat, this one more drawn out and awkward. Then she said, “When I was a kid, I used to play this game with my parents. They would ask me to come up with a single word to describe how I was feeling.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like a boring game to me.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe game is the wrong word. But it really helped pinpoint the emotions I was feeling.” She faced him, sliding her hand up his arm and across his chest. “Try it. Tell me one word to describe what yo
u feel when you think about the past.”

  That was easy. “Fucked up.”

  Laurel laughed and nudged his shoulder with her hand. “I’m being serious.”

  He tried to look past the beautiful smile. The searching blue eyes. He narrowed his stare on her again, though this time he couldn’t manage the starkness. “So am I,” he said, softer than he’d planned.

  “Please?” Fingers mapped out the cords on his neck, ran across the collar of his shirt.

  “Shitty,” he growled between his clenched teeth. Damn, what was this girl doing to him?

  “Micah…”

  “It’s all I’ve got. My childhood was nothing to write home about, okay? It was fucked up and shitty and left me feeling the same. Now can we please stop talking about it?”

  Her fingers stilled, warm and pressing into the side of his neck. He focused on the feel of them instead of the burning in his chest until she rose to her feet and said, “Of course we can. Let’s play some ball.” From the bag of toys they’d carried in, she retrieved a plastic ball and bat, then hollered to Shae that it was game time.

  “Girls against boys!” Shae squealed up the hill.

  Micah stood, hands on his hips, taking a deep breath to push down the choked feeling in his chest. “That’s hardly fair. I’m outnumbered.”

  Shae scrunched her nose and jabbed her thumb in Laurel’s direction. “You haven’t seen her play.”

  Micah laughed and Laurel gave his daughter a playful shove. “Yeah?” she said. “Well, I wasn’t lucky enough to grow up with a dad who liked sports.” She looked at Micah when she said this, eyes soft in an accepting sort of way. He wasn’t going to talk about his father, but she’d tell him about hers. Whatever.

  “No sports?” both Shae and Micah spouted, identical incredulous stares.

  Laurel shook her head. “My dad’s more the artsy type. Painting, playing music. Besides, in a house full of all girls—even if he’d wanted to—sports would’ve had no chance.” She picked up the bat—wrong hand placement, wrong stance, low elbows.

  “Wow.” He gestured to her form. “I know a six-year-old who holds the bat more correctly than you.” Smiling, Shae pointed at herself.