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Dean instinctively swung his head to look at the door, that tense rage returning.
“He’s long gone. Thank you for coming in when you did.”
He ran both hands through his hair, his anger finally draining away. “I’ll take care of him, Bridget.”
“Marty will deal with him.” She stepped closer, offering him a tremulous smile. Because now there was no doubt that Dean’s interest in her was one of more than friendship. That kiss-and his body’s hard, instinctive reaction to it-told her he wanted more. Maybe as much as she did. “I guess that makes you my hero, huh?”
Dean stared at her, his eyes softening, the tension easing. Reaching for her, he pulled her into his arms. But this time, he didn’t attempt to kiss her. His embrace was pure, sweet comfort. He held her tightly, running his hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry. Sorry for what he did…sorry for what I said.”
“It’s all right. You were angry.” Tilting her head back, she smiled up at him. “I thought it was kinda sexy.”
For a second-a brief one-she thought he was going to smile back. To laugh, then lower his mouth to hers and kiss her again, gently this time.
But it didn’t happen. Instead, Dean sighed heavily and his mouth drew tight. “I’m also sorry for kissing you. I should never have done that.”
“I’ve been wanting you to…”
He put his hand up to stop her. “Don’t. It was a mistake, Bridget. A big one. And it won’t be repeated.”
She gasped, unable to believe he was rejecting her. Again.
“What is your problem?” she asked, completely indignant.
He just shook his head. “I don’t have a problem. I just can’t…don’t want…hell, Bridget, this just can’t happen.” As if needing to convince himself, as much as her, he reiterated.
“It won’t happen.”
10
WHEN NICK MANAGED to get through another evening at Leather and Lace without watching her dance, Izzie got a little nervous. She didn’t want to ask him about it over the next few nights since they were having such an amazing time doing wildly sensual things to one another. But she couldn’t help wondering.
On Sunday night, he’d been too busy to watch her dance. Or so he’d claimed. He’d conveniently had to go put out another fire in the club every time she was scheduled to go on.
Suspicious. She didn’t want to be, but she was.
He’d said he could handle it…but he wasn’t acting like he even wanted to try.
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. In fact, putting herself in his shoes, she’d have to say she’d probably have a major problem with other women looking at her naked man with covetous eyes, thinking of ways they could have that incredible body and handsome face.
Her man. Her man? Oh, God, had he somehow become her man?
Sitting in her apartment, she realized that yes, at some point in recent weeks, Nick had become her man.
Maybe it had been when he’d made love to her in the back of the van. Or when he’d cared for her after she’d fallen in her dressing room. Maybe it was because of his sexy smile and the intimate way he watched her when he thought no one was looking.
Maybe it was even because of the way she’d felt every single time she’d woken up in his arms.
Those pre-dawn moments. Yeah. They’d probably done it.
Because each time it had happened-whether at his apartment, or hers, she’d had to lie there and watch him sleep. Study the line of his jaw and the curve of his cheek. Wonder how a man could have such a sensuous mouth and still be so damned tough. Note the small scars on his body, and his tattoo, and grieve for the things he must have gone through as a soldier.
Yes. In those moments, her heart had opened up. And she’d let him in just as surely as she’d let him in her body.
There were moments when she allowed herself not to care. To even consider whether they could make this crazy relationship of theirs work. Maybe a masked wedding…the Crimson Rose and the sexy night watchman.
That was so lame.
But it was no more crazy to think about than the idea of an official union between Izzie Natale and Nick Santori of Taylor Street.
“Would that really be so bad?” she whispered. She’d been telling herself it would, but at moments like this, she had a hard time remembering why.
“I need sugar,” she mumbled as she headed for her kitchen, dying for something sweet. She’d been so good at the bakery and tried to resist temptation, so she never brought any of that stuff home. At moments like these, though, she regretted it.
Nick had called a while ago, saying he’d be leaving the pizzeria in an hour and would come by. She glanced at her watch, wondering if she had time to run to the corner market. She was so desperate she’d go for a packet of Ho Hos at this point.
