About the Author

KATHLEEN O’REILLY is an award-winning author of several romance novels who is pursuing her lifelong goal of sleeping late, creating a panty-hose-free work environment and entertaining readers all over the world. She lives in New York with her husband, two children and one rabbit. She loves to hear from her readers at either www.kathleenoreilly.com or by mail at PO Box 312, Nyack, NY 10960, USA.

New York Nights
Shaken and Stirred
Intoxicating!
Nightcap
Kathleen OʼReilly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With special appreciation for bartenders everywhere.

I don’t know what we’d do without you.

Shaken and Stirred

1

WHEN SUMMER BROKE in Manhattan, the sun burned hotter, the days turned muggy, men demanded their beer ice-cold, and women expected the martinis chilled. The sun was setting on one such blistering Thursday evening when the middle-aged female approached the long mahogany bar, a blush on her cheeks and her mouth creased in an apologetic smile.

Gabriel Cormac Silas O’Sullivan, owner, bartender and general patsy of a brother, felt a familiar sense of inescapable doom.

“I think there’s a problem with the ladies’room,” the woman began. “For the last ten minutes the door’s been locked, and there’s…moaning coming from inside. Sometimes female, sometimes male. I think there’s something lewd going on in there.”

Tessa Hart, an employee whom Gabe had previously considered loyal, turned to him, trying not to laugh. “He’s your brother.”

Ah, yes, his brother. More like the worm in his tequila, the backwash in his beer, the sediment in his wine. And that was being kind. “I don’t want to claim him. Not really.” There were three O’Sullivan brothers, but Gabe and Daniel were normal. Sean, not so much.

Tessa pointed an accusing finger at him. “You own this place. Do your job.”

Thus he was shamed into performing his duty as owner of Prime, the infamous Manhattan bar that had been in the O’Sullivan family for nearly eighty years. Nowadays, the wooden floors creaked when you walked across them, but they glistened from fresh polish. Three dark mahogany bars shaped to form a “U” around the room, a brass railing running underneath.

Rows of photographs covered the walls. Some famous mugs, some mugs not so famous. Front and center behind the main bar were the pictures of the last four noble generations of O’Sullivans. An O’Sullivan had poured for sitting Presidents, Mafia dons, Joe DiMaggio and Bob Dylan—and now, apparently, this fine establishment was serving as the No-Tell Motel for one Sean O’Sullivan.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Gabe scanned the bar, wondering which nubile young thing Sean had torpedoed this time. Slowly it dawned on him exactly who was missing and he grinned. Okay, maybe Sean wasn’t so bad. Unfortunately that didn’t put the ladies’ room back in business.

He took the old, narrow staircase down to the twin doors that marked the ladies’ room and the men’s room, then rapped once on the former, hard and authoritative.

“Open up. It’s the police. According to regulation ten-forty-three of the NY City Code, lascivious conduct is forbidden in public places.”

From beyond the door came Sean’s voice, stuck in the throes of more passion than Gabe wanted to imagine. “This wasn’t a public place until you stuck your yap in it, Officer. And by the way, there’s no Regulation ten-forty-three. I know the law.”

“Are you insulting one of New York’s finest?”

“No, I’m insulting my baby brother. Now go away and spare your brother a good seven—ah, darling, that’s perfect—make it fifteen minutes.”

“We have paying customers who need to use the facilities.”

There was a pointed silence, followed by more lurid groaning.

Gabe leaned against the door, making himself comfortable. “Did you tell her you were a lawyer, Sean? Because I don’t know why the women keep falling for that one. I guess it’s hard for a man in the sanitation industry to attract a certain class of woman, although you ended up married easy enough. Could have been the pregnancy, I suppose? How’s Laura doing, by the way?”

Gabe waited, counted to three…and finally heard the low murmur of heated voices. Not heated enough, dammit. Who knew a woman with so much power in the health department would be so desperate? Didn’t matter, Gabe could stoop even lower. “The clinic called. The test results were positive, but with proper medication and professional counseling, you’ll be able to live a completely normal life.”

Eventually Sean’s voice sounded again, a little less steady this time. “Go away. And have pity on a man who’s about to go onto his fourth tour of duty and won’t see a woman again for the next—aahhh—nine months.”

How any woman—especially a NewYork City health inspector—could mistake his brother for a soldier was out of the range of rational possibility. Yet for some reason, rationality, Sean and women never went together anyway. Gabe banged on the door.

Sean yelled back. “You’re embarrassing the poor woman, Gabe. Be a gentleman and leave.”

Gabe shook his head. “All right, but don’t think I won’t remember this,” he threatened.

“Instead of worrying about me, why don’t you worry about Tessa?”

So typical of Sean. Diverting attention from the matters at hand. Three-card monte with emotional overtones. Sadly Gabe was suckered into it, because Tessa had enough problems to worry about, and it would be hell if something else came up and bit her in the butt.

“What about Tessa?” he asked.

“Employees not coming to Dr. Phil? Tsk-tsk…”

“What about Tessa?” Gabe repeated, seriously considering busting the door down, but he’d only replaced it three months ago, and doors weren’t cheap, especially the seven-feet tall, two-feet wide, custom-made kind.

“Give me another six minutes and I’ll tell you the whole story, because it’s obvious she’s keeping secrets from you.”

With a frustrated sigh, Gabe put an “out of order” sign on the ladies’ room door and went back upstairs. Thursday nights lacked the chaos of the weekend, but when the Yankees were on television, the crowd skewed to beer and bets. Even some of the daytime regulars were there, as well. Judging by the happy faces, the Yankees were winning.

An embarrassingly short two minutes later Sean appeared at the top of the basement steps with a tall brunette wearing schoolmarm glasses. Sean lifted her hands to his lips—just like Sir Fucking Lancelot. Jeez.

“I take it we passed inspection?” asked Gabe, keeping his face purposefully bland. Not that he needed to worry. The health inspector shot Sean a punch-drunk smile. “With flying colors. Flying. Colors,” she murmured, and Sean beamed, an already healthy ego getting supersized. Shit. Sometimes Gabe wanted to shoot his brother, but Sean had connections everywhere, and the bar had never failed a health inspection yet. Okay, Gabe would forgive him. Right now he was more concerned about Tessa anyway.

He shot her a quick mental-health-check glance. Everything looked normal. She was mixing drinks with her usual Hollywood flair, tossing glasses into the air, to the delight of her male customers. But when she listened to an order, Gabe noticed the telltale tugging on the lock of hair that fell in her face.

Tessa attracted trouble like rain on a busted umbrella, but that didn’t matter to Gabe. When his employees needed him, he was there. Especially for Tess.

TESSA KNEW A TRAIN wreck idea when she heard it, and this was definitely one. She shot Gabe her best mean-girl glare, the one she’d been practicing in the mirror for nearly all of her twenty-six years. All that practice didn’t mean she was any good, but she had to keep trying.

“I am not moving in with you. You’re my boss, among other things. And don’t think you can make me say yes by flashing those earnest blue eyes in my direction, because I’m learning to say the word no to men. No. N.O. Non. Nyet. Nein. I can say it in Navajo. Dooda. See, I can say no.”

To make sure her point was not missed, she lit a flame over the flaming Jägerbomb shooter she was making, still working the mean-girl glare.

Gabe hefted a bucket of ice into the bin, biceps rippling with the effort. The world’s most perfect bartender. Understanding, thoughtful and sexy as hell.

“It’s not like that, Tess,” he said, flashing those earnest blue eyes in her direction. Four women sighed as they watched him work. Gawd, it was like synchronized lusting.

Tessa pulled a draft beer, then slid it down the bar to the waiting customer. In her heart she knew Gabe meant well. Gabriel O’Sullivan was more than just any bartender. He was the lifeline who’d given her a job when she’d shown up in Manhattan after a bitter breakup—because, after all, everyone knows that the brainiac thing to do after leaving all your worldly possessions in Florida with your old boyfriend is to move to stratospherically expensive New York with only a high school diploma and an encyclopedic knowledge of tropical bar drinks.

Not once had Gabe laughed at her, and for that, he earned her undying loyalty. Except that didn’t mean she was moving in with him. On that she was standing firm. Firmish. Unfortunately she only had five days to find an apartment.

“You need a place to live,” he continued, completely ignoring her denials. “I have an extra bedroom. It’s the perfect solution.”

“I’m looking for a place,” answered one fake-blonde type with way too much eyeliner.

“Did you need a drink?” asked Tessa pointedly, absorbing the fake-blonde hate-vibes. The blonde would get over it, especially considering the way the suit behind her was eyeing her ass. Then Tessa turned her attention back to Gabe. “And don’t you have a bar to cover? Look at poor Cain, he’s in over his—” Tessa checked out the back bar, noticed Sean had ditched his usual jacket and tie and was working alongside Cain. Just once she should be right in her life. Just once. Was that too much to ask?

Four thirsty Con Ed workers lined the bar, and she mixed up four mojitos, grinding the mint leaves with a little more force than necessary. Abject pity usually did that to her.

“I’m helping you out here for a bit,” he explained, right as the waitress, Lindy, came up with a whole barful of drink orders, leaving no space for idle chatter.

“Meyer’s,” called Gabe.

“Heads up,” answered Tessa, tossing the bottle in his direction. Gabe flipped the bottle behind his back, then poured the rum into the glass, and before you could silently mouth the word show-off, he had blended up a beautifully constructed mai tai.

Tessa, never one to be outblended, scowled and threw the shot glass in the air, sending it spinning four revolutions with an extra half twist for good measure. The Con Ed guys applauded with gusto. Tessa beamed pointedly at Gabe. Yes, she was capable. A miracle-working mixologist. A miracle-working mixologist who was about to be homeless.

Some miracle.

Unless she agreed to Gabe’s offer.

Sensing her momentary weakness, he leaned over her station and smiled in a manner guaranteed to break hearts and insure a fifty percent gratuity. “You need a place to live, Tessa. You can’t live on the street.”

Yeah, make her sound like a bag lady already. Tessa pushed bedraggled hair back from her face and met his eyes with dignity. Faked, but dignity nonetheless. Tessa was nothing if not proud.

“I could be some wet kitten or stray dog tossed out on the street by their heartless owner and you’d take me in. You’re too soft. I know you, Gabriel O’Sullivan.”

“You’re not a stray dog.”

“Thank you for that compliment.”

“Come on, Tess. It makes sense.”

She didn’t need this conversation right now, but fine, if he wanted to explore the myriad reasons why she couldn’t move in with him, she would list them off one by one. Starting with the obvious.

“You are a man.”

He didn’t roll his eyes, but he might as well have. “Yes.”

Gabe pushed it off so easily, as if his physical attributes were no big deal. But that was what made him so irresistible. Dark brown hair that had a tendency to curl into the nape of his neck, blue eyes that crinkled at the edges, not too tall, not too short, not too bulky, not too lean and a full mouth that was curved into a perpetual smile. He called himself average—and compared to the potent animal magnetism of Sean, he was—but damn if the women didn’t throw themselves all over that simple charm. Oh, yeah, he knew exactly what he did to the female species.

Tessa gave him a skeptical look. “I am a woman.”

He handed Lindy three cosmopolitans without even breaking a sweat. “There is that.”

“We cannot live together in blissful, platonic harmony. It’s impossible.” Tessa had lived with a colorful menagerie of roommates, all female. And maybe she could have considered a lesser male as a roommate…but Gabe? No. That was just inviting trouble to come on in for a late-night drink.

Sean angled in front of her, fixing his place near a beautifully dressed brunette.

“I thought you were working,” said Gabe.

“I was doing you a favor, but I got the phone number I wanted and now I’m no longer working. Now I’m just shooting the shit with my family and friends and listening to this fascinating conversation on the intricacies of the human libido. A male and a female living together is a huge mistake.”

Gabe shook up a vodka martini. “With Tessa? I’m not worried.”

Tessa coughed, the emotional equivalent of a furball stuck in her throat. “I don’t know why I put up with this place.”

Gabe flashed her an easy grin, and for one second the resemblance between Gabe and Sean was unmissable. Sean was broader, beefier, swore like a sailor, with a nose that had been broken in two bar fights since she’d known him, but somehow he was always impeccably dressed in a suit and tie.

“You put up with us because we like you and you’re the fastest mojito maker on the Atlantic seaboard,” said Gabe. “Sean, tell her she should move in with me.”

Sean rested his chin on his palm. “Why should I contribute to what will be the loss of our finest frozen drink maker and chief barback when Tony doesn’t show? Do I look like a moron? Oh, no, Gabe. This is all about me. I like Tess. I want her to stay gainfully employed at this fine establishment so I can flirt with the female patrons while she works her little ass off, finely shaped as it is. She moves in with you, and you two will be all over each other. Groping, fondling…” Sean illustrated with graphic hand movements. “I’d put good money on that one.”

Tessa strategically avoided looking at Gabe. “I should sue you both. Male chauvinist perverts.”

“Come on, Tess,” Gabe insisted. “You know it’s the perfect solution. We’ll make it temporary.”

“Temporarily forget about having sex then,” added Sean. “With Tessa Trueheart here as your roommate, you can kiss that goodbye. One more reason this is a bad idea.”

Sean was only half-right, and Tessa corrected the attack on her character. “I would never interfere in my roommate’s personal activities. Hailey—the roommate before Janice—she had three boyfriends and none of them knew about the others, except for me, of course. I hated it. All that lying and pretending.” She stuck out her tongue. “Blah.”

Sean’s expression sharpened, transforming into full Law & Order mode. “So you come home and Gabe here is getting busy with some fine young thing on the sofa. What do you do?”

“What time is it?” asked Tessa, pouring a Jack neat for a Wall Street type with kind eyes.

“What does that matter?” asked Gabe.

“It’s important. If it’s still daylight, and under civilized society’s strictures for productivity—i.e. time for Tessa to hit the books—then I don’t care who’s doing it in my living area. I’m going to study or else I’ll never get my degree.”

“That’s cold.”

“You haven’t lived with the number of roommates that I have. You have to have rules and order or you’ll go crazy. You both are on your own. Someday soon I’m going to be on my own.”

Tessa ended with a sigh, picturing herself walking up the mighty stone steps of her most prized apartment building, waving at Rodney the doorman before trudging into the old, quaint gated elevator that shuddered when it passed the third floor. After she made it safely upstairs, she’d open her door to solitary paradise, where she could crank up her Cher CD—the one she hid from the world—and then she’d fall into a neatly covered periwinkle-blue chintz chair. A huge tabby cat would jump into her lap and curl up in the afternoon sun, purring like a vibrator—the one that she’d buy if she lived alone.

There were a lot of advantages to living life alone. Most people took it for granted. Tessa, who had always had someone breathing down her neck—and finishing off the last of the milk, craved it the way some women craved pricey shoes. And at Hudson Towers, not only would she have the apartment she wanted but she could afford the rent on a one-bedroom all on her own. Well, not right at this exact moment but very, very soon. Her savings were piling up nicely, and once she finished her associate’s degree in finance—approximately forty-six more credit hours—she’d be good to go.

Gabe pulled out a bottle of Grey Goose and poured a shot. “Well, right now you need a roommate, and I think you should bunk with me until you find someone who isn’t going to desert you again.”

She shook her head. “Must you try and rescue every female you meet?”

“Yes, he must,” answered Sean and then promptly stuck a celery stick into his mouth.

“At least think about it,” Gabe said. “And if you’re thinking about bunking in the storeroom until your find a place, think again, Tessa. It’s against the law.”

“In what state?”

“In my state. My bar. My state. My rules.”

Tessa shot a lime wedge in his direction, not that it mattered. The writing was pretty much on the wall. With five days left before she had to move, she really didn’t have much choice.

ALL NIGHT GABE POURED drinks, a gazillion cosmopolitans for a gazillion females who were all looking to meet Mr. Right or Mr. Wrong and the gazillion single males who skimmed in their wake. Yeah, it was a rough life. Actually, it was the only life he’d ever dreamed of. Gabe’s great-grandfather had done it right.

In 1929, O’Sullivans had been a speakeasy when his great-grandfather fell dead at the age of fifty-three. Surprisingly enough, his wife had taken over, and ran the place until gin was flowing legally in New York again.

Years had passed and generations of O’Sullivans had worked the old bar. Each generation had taken it over and then spent their lives working to keep the place going. During World War II, Gabe’s grandmother had split the bar into two real estate parcels, keeping one, and selling the other, which had been, up until a few months ago, a bodega. Gabe’s father, Thomas O’Sullivan, had ignored the family business and chose to be a newspaperman until he died of a heart attack at fifty-six.

Gabe had inherited his great-grandfather’s dream, a dream passed down to his grandfather, his uncle and finally Gabe. As a kid, he’d worked behind the bar illegally, which had only made it sweeter. He loved listening to people talk, loved meeting new people and in general loved the bar. Where else could a kid have his picture taken with the New York Yankees and the Teflon Don? Nowhere else but O’Sullivans.

After his uncle had died, Gabe had worked four jobs to pay the back taxes on the place to keep it open, and even then he’d needed his brothers’ financial help. But things had worked out, and voilà, here he was. He’d updated the interior, changed the name from O’Sullivans to Prime and now he was mixing Jell-O shots with seven adoring females eagerly waiting on line to pay him for a drink, tip him another twenty and then scribble their phone numbers on the cocktail napkins. And the next step in the Gabe O’Sullivan hospitality empire? The full restoration of the bar into the space next door.

Considering the medical history of the male O’Sullivan genes, Gabe figured he didn’t have any time to waste.

He winked at a particularly lovely specimen with coal-black hair and honey-colored eyes that dripped with the promise of a good time. Jasmine, he thought, and slid a glass of wine in front of her. “You’re looking lovely tonight. Why aren’t there five guys angling to buy you a drink?” It wasn’t the most creative line in the world, but he wasn’t looking to pick her up, he only wanted her to like his bar.

Tessa walked behind him and slapped him on the butt, and he didn’t even stop as he reached for a clean glass. “Don’t mind her. She’s madly in love, but I keep telling her no.”

Tessa muttered something incomprehensible but most likely insulting and then went back to work on the other side.

Eventually Jasmine moved on, to be replaced by Cosmopolitan Amy, Banana Daiquiri Lauren, Kamikaze Rachel, Cosmopolitan Vicki and, for one short moment, Wild Turkey Todd. The hours flew by, as they always did on a busy night, and Gabe never broke a sweat.

There were a few interventions, just as there always were. Two fake IDs, one male patron who decided that Lindy needed to show more cleavage and a couple of Red Sox fans who didn’t understand that when in Yankees territory you better keep your mouth shut or get doused in beer. Typical but never boring.

Eventually the clock struck midnight and the crowds thinned to something less than chaos. Out of the corner of his eye Gabe noticed Cain handing Seth a twenty at the back bar, which meant only one thing. There was a new bar pool on the bulletin board downstairs.

Gabe took the stairs to the basement, where the kitchen/office/storage/bathrooms were located, as well as the betting board. Sure enough, a white sheet of paper was tacked up with a grid of numbers and letters. Nothing to indicate the bet, though. When would they learn the right way to run a pool? Amateurs.

While he was enjoying the calm, Gabe began breaking down beer cases, and soon Cain was downstairs, adding a new square to the grid. Cain was quiet and bulky, a New York fireman who bartended on the weekend in order to survive. You’d think they’d pay men better to risk their lives by running into burning buildings, but no. Gabe didn’t mind, because he judged every man by how fast he could mix a martini, and Cain was almost as good as Tessa. Almost.

“What’s the bet?” Gabe asked.

“You don’t want to know,” said Cain loading a rack of glasses through the dishwasher.

“Yeah, I do.”

“It was all Sean’s idea.”

Which wasn’t encouraging. “What’s the bet?”

“How long you and Tessa can last.”

“As roommates?”

“Before you have sex.”

Gabe felt a punch in his head not unlike being clocked with a two-by-four. “You’re joking with me, right?”

Cain looked at him blandly. “No. Want to put some money down?”

Gabe swallowed. There were women that Gabe had sex with and women Gabe didn’t have sex with. In his head, Gabe had long ago covered Tessa’s body with a habit and a veil and pushed any sort of sweaty, thrusting thoughts far, far away. She’d come to New York still wearing the scars from her last relationship. In four years you’d think she’d have recovered—but, no, you’d be wrong. Tessa wasn’t like other women. She had her own set of goals, her own strange focus in life, and men weren’t a part of it, which was why she was the only woman he’d ever consider as a roommate, and only because of said habit and veil. When you lived with Mother Teresa, it wasn’t hard to keep things platonic.

However, right now it was past midnight and Gabe had been the recipient of four pairs of panties, seventeen phone numbers and assorted sexual propositions and, okay, he was a little wired.

It always happened as the night wore on. No big deal.

Gabe mentally clothed Tessa back in the habit, ordered his hard-on back in the bag, and pasted an easy smile on his face.

“You guys didn’t say anything to Tessa, did you?”

“You’re kidding, right? She put down a bet.”

Oh, God. The habit and veil were slowly being peeled away, but Gabe kept that damned smile on his face. “Poor kid, I’ll have to let her down easy. How long did she think she’d last?”

“Hell Freezes Over. Last entry, right here.” Cain pointed to the board where HFO was neatly penned in black ink.

“She said that?”

“Her exact words weren’t ambiguous, but you got a fragile ego. So you gonna bet? The pot’s almost three grand.”

Gabe continued to break down boxes with an amazing amount of compressed energy. “I won’t encourage morally bankrupt games of chance in my bar.”

“What about the Super Bowl pool, March Madness, the Subway series and last month’s bet on which patron was most likely to get breast enhancements?”

That one lapse in judgment had cost Gabe a sweet thousand dollars. And who knew that the Yankees would actually choke in the bottom of the ninth? “Shut up, Cain.”

“I have to go upstairs. Lindy can’t cover the bars alone.”

“Tessa’s gone? I wanted to talk to her before she went home.”

Cain shrugged. “Her shift was over. She left. If you run, you could probably catch her before she hits the subway station.”

Gabe bit back a curse and headed out into the long, lonely darkness that was Manhattan at the midnight hour. The outside air was cool and crisp and felt marvelous after being cooped up in the bar for so long. He broke into a run simply because he needed to move.

Around the corner and down two flights of stairs was the station, occupied by the usual patrons. A group of late-night partygoers trying to find their way back to Jersey. A mediocre saxophone player blowing out what was supposed to be the blues. A few kids heading home. A set of foreign tourists taking pictures. And, yes, there was Tessa, standing alone, waiting for the train.

“Why do you always do this? You know that one of us is supposed to walk you down here.”

“I haven’t needed supervision after dark since Giuliani was mayor, Gabe. Besides, I got my mace. They know not to mess with me.”

“Still.”

“What are you really here for?” she asked him quite patiently. That was Tessa. Never out of sorts. His gaze skimmed over her, checking for some sort of weakness, but there wasn’t any, which for some reason always surprised him.

Not that she was hard. Oh, no, Tessa was all cotton and smiles, but she held herself back, one step between her and the rest of the male world. Gabe included.

However, there was something oddly vulnerable about the whacked brown hair that had never seen a decent cut juxtaposed against the model-sharp cheekbones that could cut glass. Like a painting half-done or a bridge half-built.

A work in progress. That was Tessa, too.

Her summer-green eyes look tired, but she was bouncing back and forth on the soles of her running shoes, still full of energy, going home to an apartment that would be gone in five days.

“I wanted to hammer out the details before you went home. I got Danny to cover for me all day on Monday, so I think we’re good to go.” He was actually there to see if the bet had unsettled her, but she didn’t look worried. So if she wasn’t worried, then he wasn’t worried either.

“You know this is only temporary.”

“As long as you need. I don’t use the room much anyway. I can put everything in storage tomorrow.”

“Don’t you dare touch a thing. I won’t take up any space. Besides, this is short-term. Temporary, just like you said. I’m not going to cramp your style. It’s all about education for me, Gabe. I’ve got a few notices posted around the campus, and on craigslist, so hopefully something will pop soon and I’ll be out of your hair. Three weeks tops.”

“It doesn’t matter how long you stay. You know that.”

“Yes, I do know that, and you’re a sweet man, but I need to take care of myself.”

“I’m really not a sweet man, you know.”

“You gonna make me move in all by myself, Mr. Unsweetened Man?”

Gabe stuck his hands in his pockets. “How much furniture do you have?”

“A twin bed, a nightstand and some books,” she answered, with a remarkably sweet smile.

“Oh, yeah, that’ll take seven minutes to load up. I’ll borrow the truck from Cain and be there at ten.”

The lights of the train appeared in the tunnel and she stood on tiptoe, planting a friendly kiss on his cheek, “You really are a sweet man.”

“I’m not a sweet man.”

Tessa pointed up the tracks. “Look, that old lady—she’s getting mugged!”

Gabe took off running, but Tessa’s laughter stopped him in midstride.

“Busted!”

He walked back, whapped her on the arm. “I was going to clean up the place for you, but not anymore.”

The doors on the train slid open, and she waved before slipping inside.

Gabe didn’t bother to wave back. Sweet man, my ass.

2

MOVING DAY WAS A piece of cake. Of course, that’s the way of it when all your worldly possessions fit into three wooden packing crates. Except for the decrepit twin bed, which Gabe glared at, nostrils flaring in disdain—not a usual look for him. She didn’t like his judging her possessions—or lack thereof—and so Tessa protested a few minutes longer than she might have if he had remained glareless.

Janice, her former roommate, had already moved out, and the apartment was depressingly barren. Tessa ignored the equally depressing sensation in her gut. Moving in was always a new adventure. Moving out was another change-of-address form and another adventure squandered.

For once, Tessa wanted to know that when she changed her address it was because of something good, something positive, something that Tessa could be proud of.

Gabe, not sensing Tessa’s emotional turmoil (typical male), hovered over the thin metal frame and then poked a finger at the mattress. “This is your bed?”

It was stupid to get worked up over a mattress that belonged in a Dumpster, but seeing Gabe mentally inventorying her life reminded her of how far she still had to go.

“A featherweight mattress is easier to move.” She slung it over one shoulder to demonstrate. “See?”

He stood firm. “That’s not going into my place.”

“This is my bed. What am I supposed to sleep on?”

Gently Gabe disentangled her fingers from their death grip on the mattress. “I’ll buy you a futon.”

“I hate those,” she began and then stopped, sighed. There was no point in lying—she loved futons. “I don’t want you buying me furniture. I can afford it.” And she could. Her savings account was surprisingly healthy considering her lack of furniture and fashionable attire. Tessa had priorities—namely the perfect one-bedroom apartment in Hudson Towers.

And it was perfect. A prewar building on West End Avenue. With a board that kept out the riffraff, but wasn’t crazy-stringent about it either. Reasonable rents and maintenance fees a full seven percent less than the average. They had redone the shared space four years ago, a great use of morning light and windows. The place had a part-time doorman, Rodney, which was much more sensible than hiring a full-time doorman who would only sit on his heinie all day and earn union wages from overpriced rents.

Ah, someday…

“You sure you can afford a bed?” Gabe asked, pulling her out of her apartment fantasies. She hadn’t planned on buying a new bed, but her old one was on its last legs, literally. At her nod, he tossed the mattress in the corner.

After that, she picked up a crate and headed for the door. “First ground rule—no more making fun of Tessa’s stuff. Observe the boundaries, we’ll be fine.”

He opened the door for her, politely following behind. “Deal. Now let’s get you home.”

GABE’S BUILDING WAS A postwar elevator building on the Upper East Side. The outside was a little too seventies for her own taste, but since he’d owned it for over ten years and it was probably worth close to seven figures, she figured she’d give him a break. That, and the cut-rate—i.e. free—rent. That had been another argument she had lost. However, as a consolation prize he’d let her buy lunch.

In the lobby there was a full-time doorman, Herb, a teapot of a man with a five-o’clock shadow on steroids. And once they got to Gabe’s floor she noticed the nice view, without parking garages to block the sight of the East River.

All in all, the apartment was as she’d imagined. A legitimate two-bedroom, not one of those skimpy conversions from a large one-bedroom. The main living area had all the basic essentials: television, couch and a dining table, mostly covered with newspapers. The kitchen was galley-style and definitely not big enough for two. However, the appliances were a step above what she was used to.

“You can live here?” he asked while she examined it room by room.

Thoughtfully she walked around, keeping her face nonjudgmental, wanting to make him nervous. “Yup,” she answered quietly.

He backed against the wall, far away from her—but not far enough. she was used to him at work, but this felt different. More intimate. If it hadn’t been for that stupid bet, she wouldn’t be nervous at all.

There was a silence, an awkward silence. A silence she normally would’ve filled, except she knew he would’ve seen through that because she wasn’t a social chitchat gal. He folded his hands across his chest, not seemingly affected at all. Of course, he was used to silence. He was used to living alone.

He.

Gabe.

Tessa felt it again. That fast leap in her stomach, like flying downhill on the Cyclone. She shrugged it off. Life was full of ups and downs and screeching corners, and she wasn’t about to let a little chronic stomach anxiety ruin anything.

This was temporary. She’d be out of his hair soon enough.

She put on a cocky smirk and looked around, anywhere but at him. “It’s great. Listen, I should go study,” she said and promptly fled the room.

FOUR HOURS LATER, SHE was already settled, sitting on her brand-new futon. The earlier flicker of fear had caught her by surprise. And it wasn’t just any fear. No, it was the dreaded man-fear. The implications of living with Gabe had suddenly hit her in places where she didn’t want to feel those complicated implications.

Denny had been the only man she had ever lived with, and in those young, naive days, he had convinced her that she didn’t need to worry about her future. College? Nah. If she only hooked up with Denny Ericcson, then all her dreams would come true. So Tessa deferred the college years, took a part time job as a bartender and spent her days tanning on the sunny Florida beaches. But then her twenty-second birthday arrived. Denny told her that the relationship had gone stale and he was ready to move on, because he wasn’t the one-woman-forever type. Putting her out to pasture at twenty-two.

Dreams could come true? Ha. More like nightmares.

Needless to say, the last four years had been manless. No hookups, no man dreams and, yes, there’d been times in the past when she’d felt momentary urges, but nothing lasting. As a bartender, it was expected that your customers would hit on you. You learned how to either brush aside the urges or act on them. Tessa was a brush-asider, always a brush-asider.

And, to be honest, she’d had urges for Gabe before, too, because, well, she wasn’t blind, or stupid, and Gabe was…

Oh, God. Living with him was going to kill her study skills.

Even her room was filled with his presence, and he wasn’t even here. She felt like an intruder in this place that was so obviously his.

A metal desk stood in the corner, covered with O’Sullivan family photos, papers nearly overflowing the top. A weight bench sat next to the window, and a monstrous collection of vinyl records sat in open boxes in the corner. Her first thought was to snoop, but that was a violation of all the roommate privacy regulations that she kept dear.

No, she was going to study, so Tessa covered her face with her accounting book, blocking out all temptation. Eventually the sinking fund method of depreciation brought her back to a mind-numbing cold reality. And then, as if to really drag her back to reality, her mother called.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, abandoning all pretense of studying and wandering over to look at the O’Sullivan family pictures.

“How did you know it was me? Were you thinking of your favorite mother?”

“Caller ID, Mom.” Her mom was a Luddite where technology was concerned, but Tessa forgave her for it.

“Your phone’s been disconnected.”

With a heavy and completely audible sigh, Tessa put back the photo of three dark-headed boys in Little League uniforms.

“I moved, Mom,” she said, before mouthing the word Again?

“Again?”

Argh.

“Mom, you don’t understand the Manhattan apartment market. Rents are always changing, fees are going up, rentals turn into co-ops overnight. You have to stay on your toes, ready to handle whatever comes your way.”

“That assumes that someone can handle whatever comes their way.”

“How long have I lived on my own?”

“You’ve been in New York for four years, but you never have lived on your own. You should come back to Florida, Tessa. Your family is here and we can help you.”

Tessa returned to the comfort of her futon and leaned her head against the wooden back. This was a horse that’d been beaten, eviscerated and then hung on the wall as modern art. “Thank you, Mom, but no. I love you, and Florida’s grand, but I’m doing fine here. Honestly.”

“I just worry. If something happens, who’s going to take care of you? Are you eating okay?”

“Pastrami and rye for lunch.”

“Getting enough sleep?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tessa answered, stifling a yawn.

“How are the classes going?” Her mom had never approved of her going back for a degree, which meant only one thing: there was an ulterior motive to this conversation, and Tessa probably wasn’t going to like it.

Time to transition from negative energy to something positive—like hanging up.

“Good. Listen, Mom, I have an accounting quiz this week and I need to study. Talk to you soon, ’bye.”

Because she didn’t like the idea of lying to her mom, she opened her accounting book and went after it again. However, her concentration was elsewhere, poking through the record collection, browsing the photos. In short, being everything she hated in a nosy person. So Tessa loaded up her book bag, stuck her feet into a pair of flip-flops and headed for the door.

Sacked out on the living room couch, sleeping peacefully, without a worry in the world, was the source of her wandering concentration. It must be marvelous to take a nap in the afternoon. Her lips curved into a smile as she watched him sleep. He’d been the one constant in her life since she’d moved to New York, but she’d never seen him sleep. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, one arm flung over the edge. He even snored a little, a comfortable rumble that was low and even. She’d have to tease him about that. A plaid throw dangled from one armrest, and she took it, tucking it around him.

Instantly the hazy blue eyes opened. “Problem?”

Tessa jumped back, caught red-headed in the act of intruding on his space. “Heading off to Starbucks.”

Gabe didn’t seem to notice her violation, instead rubbing at his forehead with two fingers. “Sounds great. Can you bring me back a cup?”

“I’m going to study and then I’m heading for class.”

He sat up, tossing the throw aside, and Tessa took another step back. Wow, twelve hundred square feet could really be tiny at times.

“You can study here. Set up at the table or the desk in the back room. I can toss my stuff on the floor.”

“I have trouble concentrating. It’s a self-discipline tactic. When I go to the coffee shop, I know I’m there to study.”

“Ha. Some people go for coffee. Unenlightened plebes.”

She was about to launch into a lecture, but he held up a hand. “I know, I know. I won’t interfere. Personal space. Sorry. This is new to me. What about dinner? I’m thinking either pasta or Thai.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll grab a sandwich after class. And FYI, I’ll be back around seven in case you want to get out, or, uh, have company or something.”

His mouth twitched. “Sure.”

TESSA’S ACCOUNTING CLASS was at the Knightsbridge Community College in Queens, which overlooked Flushing Bay. Forty people comprised her class. Young students, old students, an ethnic smorgasbord from all walks of life. Tessa had never doubted her abilities to breeze through this class with eyes closed, but…

Last week’s test was the first item on the menu, and Professor Lewis walked up and down the aisles, handing out papers with a smile or a frown. When he reached Tessa, he frowned.

She frowned in return.

Her frown grew even darker when she saw the fat red D scrawled on the top of the test. This had to be a mistake, because a failing grade was not part of her life plan.

She waited patiently through the lecture, sneaking a peek at the paper every few minutes, checking to make sure she had read it correctly—maybe it was a half-assed B—but, no, with all the red circles, there was no mistake.

After the clock ticked the hour and her classmates started to file out, Tessa walked up to the prof’s desk on slightly wobbly legs, reminding herself that she faced angry drunks at three in the morning. This shouldn’t be a problem. Professor Lewis was long past middle age, with a thin, ruddy face that indicated a long love affair with, most likely, scotch.

“I wanted to talk to you about the test,” said Tessa, giving him the opening to immediately correct her grade.

He gave a long look at the clock, as though he was ready to take off, and then started drumming his pencil eraser on the desk. Too bad, buddy.

“There’s not much to say, Miss Hart. You stumbled over key concepts. Allowance for Doubtful Accounts and Inventory Flow, and you made a mess of the Statement of Changes in Financial Position. I was horribly disappointed in your work. Substandard. Are you sure you studied?”

“Didn’t everyone do equally bad?” she asked, because she had spent three days going over formulas and she could feel her blood pressure elevating, possibly in anger but probably in pure ice-bitten anxiety.

“Actually, the average was quite high. Eighty-three.”

Which meant no curve, which meant she still had a D. Damn. Her blood pressure notched up higher.

“Look, I don’t think you understand,” she said, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. “I can’t make a C in this class, much less a D. It’s A or B all the way, because if I come out of community college with anything less than a three-point-oh, I’ll be screwed at getting into anyplace else. And at this juncture in my life’s journey I really need to be thinking beyond a two-year degree. I need a future. I need a career.”

“I feel your pain.”

Oh, I bet you do. Typical scotch drinker, always thinking of yourself.

“Can I make this up with extra credit? An assignment, a paper, something, anything?”

“Study hard for the final, Miss Hart. That’ll clean your grade up nicely.”

Tessa shoved the paper low in her book bag. “Thanks,” she murmured through clenched teeth and headed outside.

COLLEGE WAS NOT supposed to be this hard. She had aced high school, graduated with honors. This was college. A community college. Not even a four-year program. Everyone had told her that it’d be easy. Sean had told her she would finish with flying colors—summa cumma whoma. So why was she having problems?

Tessa considered going back to Gabe’s place, but she wasn’t in full control yet. The test was burning a hole in her bag. She was going to have to convince him that everything was peachy. So she did what she always did when she wanted to regain control: she took the Manhattan apartment tour.

She started by heading south down Fifth Avenue, the setting sun glinting on the windows. Her favorite building was the San Remo, with the two white finial-topped towers that stood guard over Central Park. The building was all 1930s art deco and class, the grand dame of co-ops in the city. Old, with a history that was older than Carnegie.

The board was rumored to be less fussy than the one at the Dakota, but they had ixnayed Madonna as a tenant back in the eighties, so they did have some minimal standards. There was a full-time doorman, a plethora of classic six and seven floor plans and a stunning limestone cartouche that rose above the entrance like a magnificent eagle.

Two blocks south was the Dakota, “the” address in New York. People who lived here were looking for an address, a destination in life. Personally Tessa thought it was overrated because the old building looked like a medieval prison instead of a home. There was no personality, only accoutrements out the wazoo. By the time the sun had quit the day, she had walked past the Beresford, 740 Central Park West and the Ardsley. These were the apartment buildings that defied gravity in the real-estate market.

The buildings weren’t for her—they didn’t have the simple charm of Hudson Towers—but they were symbols of the resolution of the city. The roots that had been laid down so long ago, that no man would ever put asunder. Staring at the limestone facades that had seen so many years, so many changes, Tessa felt the calm return.

She was here. She would make it.

She would survive.

It was time to go home. As she was entering Gabe’s building, her cell rang again. This time it was her brother, Robert.

Now Tessa was starting to get suspicious, so she took the call from a chair in the lobby. Yes, her family could be overly protective at times, but they weren’t overly chatty.

“Why are you calling a mere three hours after our mother?”

“No reason. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be fine, Robert? Why do you think I shouldn’t be fine?”

“Can’t I call my sister to see what’s up?”

“No, because you don’t like to talk. You’re uncommunicative—unless it’s an emergency. Why is this an emergency?”

She heard the long sigh, which meant she was getting closer. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me exactly what nothing is.”

“Fine. It’s Denny.”

Denny. Ex-live-in-boyfriend Denny. No big deal.

“His girlfriend’s pregnant. They’re going to get married.”

And now ex-live-in-boyfriend Denny was going to be Daddy Denny. No problem that he hadn’t wanted a ball and chain or kids four years ago. But now? Oh, now his sperm was flying all over the planet, happily procreating at will.

“That’s great,” Tessa said, knowing that he expected her to say something—or else fall apart.

“You’re taking this well.”

“Of course I’m taking this well. It was four years ago, Robert. Time heals all wounds, and my wounds are closed, scars are faded. I’m getting on with my life. Did Mom tell you that I moved today? It’s a great place. Two-bedroom. Doorman. Nice location on the Upper East Side. I haven’t lived here before, never really thought I was upper east side material, but I think I’m going to like it.” She was rambling now, but Robert wouldn’t know any better.

“Okay, then. We were worried.”

“About me? Pshaw. Stop worrying,” she said and hung up before her face splintered into a million pieces.

For the last four years she had kept her focus on one thing only—supporting herself. She didn’t have time for men or relationships, it wasn’t in her plan. And off in Florida—happy, carefree Florida—there was Denny, who was having tons of sex with women, happily supporting himself and now a new wife and kid.

It sucked.

She waved happily to Herb as she boarded the elevator and was tempted to go out alone somewhere, anywhere, to have a good time, to see what she’d been missing, but she was tired, she wanted to lie down and she needed to climb into her bed and possibly never come out again.

At the apartment, Gabe was nursing a beer and watching the Yankees win. The all-American singleton life. A man who didn’t have to worry about accounting tests or failed relationships and in general treated life as if it were a soufflé to be whipped into shape.

“How was class?”

“Great,” she answered and trotted to her room where she closed the door and collapsed.

She wasn’t going to cry, because crying was for people who were lost or homeless or lived alone. When you had roommates, you learned to suffer in silence, listening to the awful pounding of your heart, knowing the tears hovered close to the surface but you had to master them and control them. She took out her accounting book, but the tears started to spill onto the pages, and a water-damaged textbook certainly wasn’t going to help her grade.

She hated Denny Ericcson with a passion. Hated him for letting her think that her life was taken care of for forever and then ripping the rug right out from under her a mere three years after the fact. She peeled away the waistband of her jeans and saw the permanent proof of her idiocy: a tattoo on her butt. D-E-N-N-Y inked in cute red letters with a curlicue at the end.

Argh.

Instead of celebrating their third year together, she’d ended up starting all over. It was a time when most women had their lives all mapped out. Tessa wiped her face. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of tears. Not anymore. Of course, no way was she going to face her roommate, her cheeks warm and no doubt stained rosy-red.

She crept along the soft carpet of the hallway, soundlessly heading for the safety of the bathroom. Tessa looked up, met Gabe’s eyes and then made a clean run for the lavatory, slamming the door behind her.

3

GABE’S FIRST INSTINCT was to hammer on the door and ask what was wrong. Tessa wasn’t a crier, wasn’t the emotional whirlpool that the other females at the bar were. Time after time he saw her move from place to place, moving from day job to job or whatever life threw at her, and she took it all in stride. There was only one other person he knew who was so emotionally stable. Him. No, Tessa was solid rock all the way. Which was why he’d been so shocked to see her upset.

However, Tessa had been very clear about things. The first being the ground rules. She wanted her space, and he’d been fine with that, although that was before she’d turned on the waterworks, and tears always got him hinky.

He crumpled the beer can in his hand, then tossed it in the trash across the room.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

He didn’t give a damn about the personal boundaries at the moment, so he went and knocked on the door. Loudly, so she wouldn’t pretend not to hear, which is what he knew she’d do.

“Tess? I’m getting kinda bored out here. Let’s go out, get some drinks. You know, celebrate your first night here.”

“Go away, Gabe. It’s that time of the month.”

Aw, hell. When females freely admitted to PMS it meant serious danger ahead. He knocked again.

“Leave me alone, Gabe.”

“I know you have your rules, Tess, but at least talk to me.”

“No.”

Gabe fought the urge to pound on the door, but now wasn’t the time to be heavy-handed and go all caveman on her. He needed to use finesse and psychology. He was good at that, he was a bartender, a very good one. There was one easy way to get to Tess.

“Can you open the door? It is mine, after all.”

The door opened and Tessa flew out. He grabbed her arm before she could run.

“Stop it.”

She faced him down, every trace of a tear scrubbed away, her eyes sharp as daggers. All nice and neat and as tidy as she could get.

“I won’t pry. I won’t ask what’s bothering you. However, I will treat you exactly like I’d treat any other friend who’s had a hard day. There’s a party upstairs. I’m a popular guy—sorry, you’ll have to get used to that, but we should go. You’ll get a chance to meet some of the people in the building, but watch out for Stevie Tagglioli—he’s a basket case and will hit on anything in a skirt.”

Tessa pulled her arm free and stared at the wall. “I don’t feel like doing anything. I need to study.”

So this was going to be tricky. She was playing the academic-scholar card. But there was one thing that trumped academics: guilt. “You’re going to be boring, aren’t you? I thought this would be fun. Somebody to eat with, hang out on the couch with, go shoot some pool—but, no, you’re a closet dweeb, aren’t you?”

She lifted her tiny chin, her eyes starting to spark. “I’m not a dweeb, and you’ll be wise to remember that in the future.”

“Prove it. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“It’s going to be hell.”

“So we dip into the bowels of hell together? Besides, there’s this one girl in the building—Vanessa—and she’s been hitting on me, can’t get enough of me. You can be my cover date.”

And voilà. There it was. Fire-breathing rage. This was the Tessa that he knew and loved.

“You want me to keep some skank from hitting on you? This is the sole reason you’re inviting me?”

“Does there have to be another one?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This won’t work. Now we’re living together. If people in the building think we’re a couple, what happens if I want to date someone in the building? Do I have to sneak out on you? See what sort of tangled webs evolve when you keep the skanks at bay with false pretense?”

Okay, she had him, but at least, she was smiling and contemplating the social world again. Progress. Definite progress. Gabe mentally congratulated himself.

“Does that mean you’ll go?”

“No.”

“You can’t spend all your time locked in your room. You should get out and have some fun.”

“I don’t have time for fun.”

“Everyone has time for fun.”

“Oh, yeah, everyone has time for fun,” she said, her eyes sharpening, her voice snapping, and Gabe wasn’t sure exactly who “everyone” was, but he was definitely glad that it wasn’t him, because judging by the daggers in her eyes, Tessa Hart was nursing a grudge the size of Brooklyn.

“It’s exactly what you need. Take a break. Let yourself go for a night. You get too focused sometimes, Tess, and you miss out.”

“You think I miss out?”

“On lots,” he said, no longer sure what they were talking about, but she wasn’t mad anymore, she wasn’t sad anymore, and that was progress.

She twisted a lock of hair in her fingers. “There’ll be people there? Fun people?”

“Yeah, tons.”

Her eyes sparked. “I think you’re right. It’s time to move forward, and a party with fun people is the perfect way to start.”

Ah, success. It was a sweet thing. Gabe gave her a friendly smile and watched as she went to get changed, the bounce back in her step.

It was a mere ten minutes later when she emerged from her room decked out in a miniskirt, a sheer blouse over a camisole and heels.

He looked once. He looked twice, and then his vision started to blur. Mother Teresa had left the building, and the woman that was left was…Tessa.

His roommate.

Small, supple and increasingly bedable.

Aw, no.

From out of the dregs of his imagination burst pictures and, even worse, full-motion videos. And from those images burst forth a hard-on that was excruciatingly painful—and it wasn’t even nine o’clock.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Good,” he answered, because if he told her what he really thought, he was absolutely sure some personal boundaries would be violated.

He was used to her in jeans, a Prime T-shirt, and an absence of makeup. But, gawd, tonight she was smokin’ and ready for anything. There was a do-me flicker in her eyes that threatened to knock him flat on his ass.

Gabe nodded stupidly and went to guide her toward the door, but that would involve touching her. He knew—even crazed and unthinking as he currently was—that was a bad idea. His hand dropped and he waited for her to open the apartment door.

A drop of sweat beaded on the back of his neck.

Hell.

THE PARTY WAS ON the thirty-seventh floor, hosted by one Jonathan Wilder, who worked in advertising sales and seemed to know the world. The apartment was packed and loud, and Gabe could see Tessa’s eyes light up like a slot machine when she entered.

Trouble, and he spotted it right off the bat. He knew Tessa. He knew that tilt in her chin, that kick in her walk. When she got like that at the bar, a drink would end up right over some jerk’s head.

Those sorts of safe and familiar thoughts pulled him back into a place where his Johnson didn’t hurt quite so much and where that skirt didn’t look quite so…easy.

Okay, he’d play bouncer tonight. He knew that role. He’d watch her back—not her ass, only her back—and keep her out of trouble.

However, tonight trouble was her middle name. She launched into a tequila shot contest with Stevie Tagglioli, and Gabe waited, thinking she was going to splash some tequila all over Stevie, but she didn’t. She kept drinking…and touching…and drinking…and there was more touching. Eventually Gabe insinuated himself between the two, accidentally elbowing Stevie in the gut.

“Hey, Steve? Meet my new roommate, Tessa Hart.”

“We’re not involved,” said Tessa, downing another shot.

Gabe laughed. “She’s such a tease. Come on, babe. Let’s move along while you can still walk.”

Little Stevie was enthralled, spending more time staring at the thin silk of her shirt rather than her face. Prick.

Tessa’s fingers bit into Gabe’s arm. “Leave me alone,” she huffed.

“You’re in a mood, and I don’t know why, and you don’t have to tell me why because you want your space, but if you do something that you’ll regret with somebody in this building that you’re going to see every day, then you’re going to experience history’s longest hangover.”

She pulled him aside, her eyes lit with some weird fire, ready to combust. “I’m merely trying to have some fun. Isn’t that what you said? It’ll be fun? I think that’s an exact quote. Well maybe I want to have some fun.”

She was mad at him?

Gabe swore and let go of her arm as if it burned. He couldn’t reason with her, he wasn’t going to try. “Fine. Your life. Your mistake.”

And so it went on. Gabe watched from the sidelines, glaring when the females approached him. Tessa was the only one that drew his eyes. She drank shots, she flirted with every single male in the room—not one man left unflirted with, except for Gabe, of course, because she was shooting him death stares every few minutes. He stood, waiting for the crash, but that would be a long time coming because, truly, there were few people who could drink Gabe under the table, but Tessa was one. She had the tolerance of a T. rex. In fact, when faced with the mighty beast, she’d probably drink Godzilla under the table, too.

So he watched her, silently seething, seeing a completely new side to this woman. She’d pulled her hair back, exposing those killer cheekbones and a long, slender neck, and she’d put on red lipstick. Hooker-red lipstick—which, of course, looked like sex. Goddamn.

He didn’t want to notice the full, red, glistening lips, didn’t want to notice how long her legs were in heels, didn’t want to notice how her nipples stood at attention under the flimsy silk, but she’d been right earlier.

It was hell. His mood got more foul, his cock got more hard, and when she started dancing on the coffee table, Gabe was pretty much at the end of his rope.

“We’re going—now,” he said, watching her hips sway, like a hypnotizing cobra, twisting, begging him to follow.

“Go home, Gabe,” she said, raising her arms up over her head. A goddess reaching for the heavens, which only angered him even more because, dammit, he did not think poetry.

“Without you? No. This isn’t like you, Tess.”

That stopped the sway of her hips. Thank you, God.

“How do you know? Do you know the real me?”

“Yes,” he replied, lifting her down. His hands lingered for a moment too long, but she didn’t notice.

“Maybe I’ve changed.”

“Not over the period of four hours.” He grabbed her hand and pulled. She pulled back.

“I want to stay with Stevie.”

And that was it. Gabe didn’t care anymore. Stevie was the world’s biggest jerk and loser, and once he got his fangs into Tessa, he wouldn’t let go. Gabe picked up Tessa and threw her over his shoulder. She’d be furious, but she’d thank him in the morning.

The nasty jab between the shoulder blades indicated otherwise, but Gabe didn’t even blink. He was willing to earn a purple heart for this one.

“Sorry. We had a bad fight. Go on, ignore us. Get some more of that spinach dip. It’s really good,” Gabe said encouragingly, shouldering his way through the crowd with Tessa beating on his back.

She didn’t seem to remember that Gabe was used to dealing with drunk and disorderlies. But then, Gabe didn’t usually cup their asses in such a familiar manner, either.

“Put me down, Gabe O’Sullivan.”

“When I get you home, Miss Hart, and not before.”

He almost let her down in the elevator, but she tried to run, so he hefted her back on his shoulder. God, the woman needed to gain weight.

“Gabe, I really hate you for this.”

“In the morning, if you still hate me—which is a big if— I’ll apologize. You’ll probably be thanking me, and I’ll let you grovel in gratitude for a while, but right now you’ve had too much to drink—”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Then it’s even worse, Tess. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The doors opened, and she slid down his body, slow and seductive. She probably didn’t mean it to be that way, but his cock jumped just the same. Tessa shot him a look—not an invitation but coy and aware.

She knew.

So maybe it was time to stop playing games. Gabe trapped her outside the elevator against the wall, her lean body tight to his. He could feel every inch of her. The fluttering pulse, the tight nipples, the soft hips. She drew in a breath, soft and shaky, and the air burned. His hands itched to go lower, to explore and discover this new and marvelously arousing Tessa. But Gabe was still hanging on to the last edges of his control. His body wasn’t happy, but his body would get over it.

“Inside. Now,” he said, unlocking his apartment door. This time she didn’t argue and went inside, but he knew from the tight set of her shoulders that she wasn’t happy either.

Once in the apartment, he shut the door with a bang and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“It’s late,” he said because he needed to be alone. Needed to have her out of his sight. He needed to reclaim the image of Tessa from before. Hopefully it was still there, embedded somewhere deep in his brain.

“I’m not a kid,” she answered, pushing her hair back from her face, and—God help him—gawky and angular had turned exotic.

“Then stop acting like one,” he snapped, not leaving her alone as he had planned.

“You’re not my father,” she blurted, hands on hips—lean hips that he could still feel against his chest.

“I’m your friend, your boss and currently your roommate,” he answered, mainly to remind himself of those key facts.

She walked toward the dining room table, away from the sensible safety of her bedroom. His gaze locked on her hips, tracking the sway with lethal intent. Stupidly he followed after her.

“Some friend, Gabe. I bet you wouldn’t do this if Cain was hitting on some woman.”

“No, Cain outweighs me by fifty pounds.” Humor—another excellent way to defuse tense situations. He could feel the sweat on his brow, the rapid pulse vibrating under his skin. He stood frozen, needing her to break into a grin, or whap him on the arm.

But the room fell eerily quiet, and he waited, watching the rise and fall of her breasts, not moving, just waiting.

Eventually she moved, her breath coming out in a rush, and she came toward him, jamming a finger into his chest, which was completely the wrong thing to do. Completely. She shouldn’t touch him. Not now.

“Do you want to know what’s bothering me? I haven’t had sex in four years. Tonight I wanted to have sex.”

Four years? His already pained heart stopped completely, before kicking in again. He shouldn’t have been happy about this bit of information, but his cock was.

Oh, it was thrilled.

“You want to have sex? Good. I want to have sex, too. We’ll have sex. Together.” It wasn’t the most sterling moment in his life, but as the words came out, he didn’t regret them. He wanted Tessa, he wanted to touch her, taste her, sink deep into her.

And Miss Frisky Pants, with the need to hit on every man in his building, looked him dead in the eye and said, “No.” The word was carefully enunciated, clearly spoken, with no room for misunderstanding, but Gabe was four years past no. He moved closer, skin brushing against skin. He could smell her perfume mixed with her desire, and it burned inside him.

“What’s wrong, Tessa? I’m not good enough?”

She put a hand to his chest to push him back, but the touch was soft and so tempting. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t get all stupid on me now, Gabe.”

He pressed into her and her body pressed back.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warned.

He didn’t listen. He backed her completely into the table. There was always a moment in a poker game when the bluff becomes a need, when rational logic exits the brain and all that’s left is the game itself.

Her mouth was inches away. Full and waiting…

“If you kiss me, I’m going to scream,” she whispered.

He took her mouth with a hunger that he had never known before. Her mouth was so soft, so perfect. And, oh, the taste of her. There was the bite of lime, the mint of toothpaste and…her. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and he felt her fingers dig into his arm.

“I’m sorry, Tessa,” he said, and it was the last rational thing out of his mouth.

4

GABE. GABE. GABE.

It was Gabe who was kissing her, eating her alive, making her feel and—worst of all—making her want. Tessa wanted to kill him for it.

Tessa pushed against him—hard—because she couldn’t want Gabe. Not now. She’d done that in the past, her dreams-can-come-true phase, but this time nobody—no man—would interfere. She had a plan. A career. An apartment. After that, yes. But now? No way in hell.

And especially not with Gabe.

In the world of men she trusted, there was only one, and he was currently kissing her as if he were about to have sex with her.

Gabe.

Tessa stood there, frozen, so many variations of no forming on her lips, but then his mouth fastened on her breast through the thin silk material and all thoughts of trust flew out the window. He sucked there, driving all doubts from her mind. Her head listed back, her knees weak because the sensations inside her were stealing the life from her.

The man swore, then pushed aside the straps of her top, and the cool night air blew across bare skin. His mouth was hard and brutal, but she didn’t care. He was pulling, sucking, arousing, awakening, until her whole being shifted down to the piercing ache between her thighs.

Sweet mercy, she thought. Over and over again, Tessa focused on the pleasure, the sweet, merciful pleasure, because this was new, exquisitely new. So she closed her eyes, pretending this was some dark, handsome stranger who was making her burn. With her eyes closed, she could pretend this man wasn’t Gabe.

Her hands braced against the table, because she didn’t dare touch him. That much she knew. Better to stay frozen, unfeeling, than for him to guess what rash thoughts were pounding inside her brain. But then one of his hands moved lower, diving to the apex of her thighs. Tessa wanted to clamp them together, to keep her secret safe, but her body had a will of its own.

Shamelessly her thighs parted, his fingers shoving damp panties aside, and her body shook as he pushed one finger inside her.

One traitorous, decadent finger.

Oohhh…

She heard his sigh, a man finding victory.

The next few moments were a blur of skin, pleasure and erotic dreams. Her back braced against the table, and then he was there, filling her up with something much more dangerous—himself.

At first there was pain—four years was a long time—and he was big, hard and throbbing with life. Tessa didn’t want to find pleasure, she wanted to keep Gabe locked in a different place, but there wasn’t a choice because right now she could think of nothing but this. The smell of his body, the sharp bunch of his muscles as he moved, the sound of her sophist ideals being exterminated one spine-melting thrust at a time.

Her eyes stayed firmly shut, her fingers clenched at her side, only her muscles betraying her. Each time he drove into her, her thighs clenched tighter and tighter, automatically pulling him home.

His breathing matched hers, fast, strained, two people rapidly losing their precarious hold on sanity. For Tessa, sanity was overrated. Better to reimagine his face into a shadow. Better to cast his mouth—that talented mouth—into one that was sensual, hard and unforgiving. Her image of her dream lover settled deep in her mind, and her body shook as that fantasy man took her over and over.

Never before had it been like this, so physical, so animal, so…fascinating. He thrust hard and deep, and she whimpered.

Immediately he stopped.

“Tess?” She heard the ache in his voice, the pain, the guilt. He pulled out of her fast, but her body wasn’t done. She needed this, she needed release, she needed to come.

“Please,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please,” she tried again, her mouth dry, but she desperately needed to find that place again. It’d been so long….

“You get dressed. I’ll leave you alone.” He sounded so lonely, so sad, and her heart lurched. At first in pain and then in something more savage. She wasn’t going to let him leave. Not until she finished. Tonight this was all about her. After four years, she had earned this one night.

“No. Must finish,” she managed, low and pleading.

“Tessa?”

“Finish,” she said, and this time there was a snap in her voice. A command. This was about her. About taking control. One step at a time.

Tessa waited, half expecting him to leave her decimated and desperate. Then she felt his body move, heard his breath catch, and she knew that he would cure this lonely ache inside her.

“I’ll make this right,” he said, picking her up in strong arms, which helped fuel the fantasy-man image. Gabe wasn’t a carrier, he was a goofball without a serious bone in his body. The wide chest underneath her head? That belonged to someone else.

With those thoughts, she kept her eyes screwed shut, determined to keep his face from her mind. She heard the rustle of clothes, felt his hands gentle as he undressed her, and then his mouth was on hers—soft and seductive. She sighed a little, settling into the kiss, and strong hands stroked her, exploring and discovering her pleasures.

Denny had never been so attentive, so careful, and Tessa’s mind began to soar. She was floating, high as a cloud, where the world existed only for her delight. He was hers, existing only to please her. His mouth tarried at her breast, and her back arched up, wanting to keep him close, but the merciless mouth moved lower, pressing soft, pliant kisses against her skin, her belly. Lower he moved, settling between her legs, and her heart raced because the pulse at her core was aching now, dripping with need. His lips swept the inside of her thighs, the stubble at his jaw rasping against her flesh. Wickedly he teased her, his tongue moving close, so close, so close, and she squirmed to lead his mouth where she craved.

His hands locked on her hips, and she fought to free herself, to feel him against her lips, but he continued—slow, steady, heartless. She moaned, her hands fisted against the mattress, until…

Until…

Heaven.

Slowly his tongue moved inside her, playing her at his leisure. She cried out, and his mouth turned. He captured her inner lips, sucking and pulling, hard and insistent, until she was begging, pleading because this pressure was killing her.

Frantically Tessa clawed at his shoulders, finally daring to touch him because she wanted much more than teasing. She wanted him to fill this emptiness inside her.

The dark stranger laughed, not cruelly but so knowing, and then he slid into her. Tessa sighed because this was what she needed, what her body craved. He thrust slow and deep, reaching farther and farther, as if they had all night, as if they had forever.

Still her eyes were closed, and he didn’t seem to mind. Without her sight, her other senses took over, the sounds of the late-night city noise, the barges on the river, the far-off wail of a siren and the sound of breathing. Air pulling in and out. Life.

Her mouth ached to taste him, to taste the salt that she could smell on his skin. But that would be touching. That wouldn’t be wise in Tessa’s world. If she touched him again, she would know this man who was filling her, this man who was teaching her what pleasure could mean. And she couldn’t have that because she desperately needed someone she could trust.

So she listened…and floated…and felt. Mercy, she felt. There were a thousand nerve strings inside her, stretching, pulling, threatening to break, and with each thrust the strings pulled tighter.

Tessa wanted more. “Faster,” she said in a whisper. But he heard. She heard him rise over her, bringing her hips higher, and he began to move faster, pushing inside her, the strings pulling tighter and tighter.

Her body arched, taut, and she twisted with each powerful stroke because she could feel it coming closer. She could see it, the streaking lights that shone behind her lids. Harder and harder he went, this dark man she didn’t want to know, touching her, taking her deeper and deeper into his world.

Higher she went….

Higher…

Higher…

And there.

Tessa came on a sigh, felt his body jerk. And then he held her close, cradling her to him. Her eyes stayed shut. Keeping his image far from her mind.

“TESSA?” GABE STUDIED HER peaceful smile, trying to figure out what part of the movie he had missed.

“Ssshhhhhh,” she answered in a sleepy voice. “No names. Two strangers.”

What the hell? Okay, he’d either traumatized her or screwed her into a break with reality, neither of which seemed viable.

“Tess?”

“No names,” she muttered.

Nope, not that either, Gabe. “Miss?” he asked, trying to come up with some anonymous yet personal mode of address.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

She smiled again. “I’m lovely. I feel lovely.”

That didn’t sound bad. “You’re not hurt?”

“I think I’m going to hurt in the morning,” she said, her eyes still closed, and he wished that she’d open them, look at him, so that he would know she was okay. “Can we do that again?” she asked, her voice dreamy.

“I don’t know,” stated Gabe, the first and only time in his life that he’d ever said no to a naked female. And Tessa was marvelously naked. Her skin was smooth, and lightly tanned, like pale scotch on a summer’s night. Her breasts were firm, exactly fitting…

No, no, no…

He didn’t need to be thinking about Tessa’s firm breasts with nipples the color of…

Gabe shook his head.

“Let’s do it again,” she repeated, sending a new rush of blood to his cock.

“I can’t,” he lied.

“You must,” she ordered, and he heard it again, that trace of Napoleon-like command in her voice. Where the hell had that come from?

“This is a bad idea, Te—miss,” he said, but his no-conscience hard-on was ready and waiting, not really caring about personal boundaries or morning-after complications. And Gabe, at his heart, was merely a man.

“You must,” she said.

Gabe, the weak-hearted coward that he was, obeyed.

THEY MADE LOVE another three times during the night because Tessa had four lost years to make up for. Four times in all, once for each year of her life that she’d given up. Her dark stranger never asked her questions again, words were rarely used at all—a fact that she was grateful for.

She wasn’t going to dwell on who was next to her, wasn’t going to delve into that never-never land where man dreams were supposed to come true but they instead ended up tattooed in permanent red ink. Instead she was going to focus on this pleasure, this sex, this dark stranger who could make her body ache. As long as she didn’t think about who he was, her heart—and her own Tessa dreams—were safe.

Finally, when the morning sun was creeping through the window, she fell asleep, curled up next to him, feeling the dusting of chest hair tickling her back, feeling his flaccid sex settling comfortably between her thighs, feeling his lips soft against her neck.

Tessa smiled and fell into a sated, dreamless sleep.

THE PHONE RANG, hellishly loud, and Gabe reached out a hand, searching for it.

“Did you see her naked yet?”

Instantly Gabe was wide-awake. The word naked did that to a guilty man.

“What?” he asked, focusing on Sean’s voice, keeping his attentions far away from the trim, tight body that was currently curled into his Johnson as if she owned it. Which she did.

Gabe sprang out of bed.

“Did you see her naked yet?” Sean repeated. “Daniel put money on one night, but I knew you were too honorable to do anything more than sneak a long look when she came out of the shower. So? Listen, bro, I could use the inside track on this one. The Mets’ losing streak is killing my discretionary income, and I was counting on something to bail me out. Any fever looks last night?”

“What’s a fever look?” asked Gabe, already knowing the answer.

“I know you don’t get ’em like I do, but it’s the sloe-eyed thing that women do when they want to test out your equipment. So…Tessa giving you the sloe-eyes?”

Gabe turned his back to the bed, not wanting to know if Tessa was giving him the sloe-eyes, at least not while he was on the phone with his brother. “Nothing. I went to a party last night. Fell asleep. Get your mind out of the gutter.” He heard a soft moan, and his mind, still in the gutter, turned to see the naked female in his bed.

The tight, trim body stirred under the covers, a tousled head of honey-brown hair starting to emerge. Gabe pushed her head back down before she forgot she was wearing no clothes.

“Sucks,” answered Sean, master of the crude yet precisely effective come-back. “Better luck next—”

“What do you want?” interrupted Gabe, searching for his shorts and finding them hung over the lamp. While pulling them on, he kept one eye glued to the dark head, waiting for signs of life—or anger, whichever came first.

“I wanted to talk to you about the building permit for the renovations….”

One green eye opened, widened in horror, nothing even close to sloe-eyed fever.

“’Bye, Sean. We’ll talk later,” Gabe finished, quickly slamming down the phone.

Tessa bolted upright, clutching the blanket like a lifeline.

“Tessa?” he asked carefully, fully prepared for a five-alarm tongue-lashing on the proper respect for personal boundaries.

Gradually the alarm in her eyes dimmed.

“I’m fine,” she answered, dodging his gaze.

Gabe heaved a glorious sigh of relief and began pulling on his jeans. He had screwed up royally last night, he knew it, but this moment of forgiveness—nay, acceptance—really did his heart good. “I can bunk with Daniel if you want—if it’ll make you feel better.”

It was a generous, unselfish offer, designed to give her some level of comfort and security. An assurance that as tempting as her bones were, Gabe had the necessary self-control to modify his behavior and not jump them—again.

She licked her lips, a nervous gesture, which really shouldn’t have turned him on, but did anyway.

“I’m not kicking you out of your own apartment,” she answered, immediately sensing the nobleness of his offer. “There’s lots of room here.”

Gabe stroked his chin, then realized he needed to shave. But first it was time for The Talk. Reestablish the ground rules she so desperately needed. Who would have guessed that little Tessa could be such a demon princess in bed? Gabe shook off the momentary lapse. “Tessa, we’re friends—”

Quickly she interrupted, obviously sensing where the conversation was headed. “Don’t worry about that. Can you turn around?” she asked primly.

Gabe nodded, obediently turning the other way. Not that she realized that the window reflection provided a crystal-clear vision of tawny flesh.

Gabe wisely opted not to tell her.

AFTER GABE LEFT TO set up the bar, Tessa showered, dressed, and then sat cross-legged on the floor contemplating the ramifications of last nights encounter with the dark stranger, which she categorized under “Erotic Fantasy” rather than “Sex With a Man that She Really Needed to Trust Because So Few Men Understood Her Desire for Independence After Denny Had Upended Her Life, and Gabe Was One of the Only Ones Who Treated Her Well.”

Before she let herself go gaga over the dark stranger, her first priority was moving out—muy pronto. One thing about sunlight: it shined a glaring laser beam on all the weaknesses that she was currently experiencing in her life. The D on her accounting test. Denny-gate—the scandalous turnabout on all his previously sacred vows of never wanting family and a life with a ball and chain. The apartment in Hudson Towers, just waiting for the occupancy of a mature, independent woman who could survive New York on her own. Most thrilling, the purple hickey on her stomach, which looked so much more decadent than the letters D-E-N-N-Y on her butt. And lastly but not leastly, the well-used ache between her legs.

Who knew the dark stranger was so…knowing in the mysteries of female sexuality? Tessa grinned. It was an experience well worth repeating. However, now wasn’t the time to drift from her life purpose. She pulled out her laptop and scoured the online listings for roommates wanted. When she found anything remotely suitable, she dashed off a response, before finally posting an ad of her own.

Eventually the calling of the listings took over, and Tessa did what she always did when she needed to escape: she browsed through the apartment rentals section, seeing what was what, all the while lamenting the high rents. So, a girl could dream. However, dreams were meaningless without the financial capital to achieve them, so she pulled out her accounting book and tried to study. For three hours she sat there, studying, but none of the concepts seemed to hold her attention.

The principles of accrued depreciation were losing out to the principles of last night. She could still feel his hands on her skin, hear the rush of his breath and smell the musky desire in the air. And the way he touched her down below…wow. Pretty soon her body was flushed all over again.

The book sat in front of her, the page on depreciation unturned, and the beginnings of a plan formed in her mind. Maybe there was a way to have it all. If she moved out, put the necessary distance between them, then maybe she could have her independence and her mystery lover, too. A nighttime diversion in the shadows to experience more of that expanding-of-her-life stuff, with none of the glaring laser beams of daylight to worry about. It just might work. Her decision made, she went back to studying because, yes, she had a real career to prepare for.

When her watch said five, she knew it was time to go earn a living, so she tugged on her T-shirt and jeans and took the subway in to work.

Tuesday nights were traditionally slow, a mix of old-time regulars and the spring-fever crowds who showed up early and clocked out early, as well.

Gabe was behind the bar, pulling a beer for Charlie, who had worked as a union boss since before the Eisenhower administration. Next to Charlie was Lloyd, who had worked as an ironworker for nearly sixty years before retiring five years ago. Next to Lloyd was EC, a tall stick of a man who had worked as an engineer for MTA for sixty years in order to keep his two ex-wives in blue fox furs. And finally there was Syd, a retired police detective who, at fifty-one, was the young one in the bunch. They all had been coming to Prime for longer than Tessa had worked there, longer than even Gabe.

Gabe.

He shouldn’t look any different from yesterday, because men don’t suddenly morph overnight, but everything about him was sharper, bigger, harder, possibly because she remembered in minute detail exactly what he felt like when he was on top of her.

Determined to act as if she wasn’t puddling giddiness on the inside, Tessa smoothed out her perpetually wrinkled T-shirt. Then casually she smiled and waved at them all, and Charlie patted the empty bar stool next to him.

“Tessa, come around and keep an old man company for a while. You know this ticker is going to give out any minute, and I want to die happy with a beautiful woman at my side.”

Tessa was used to Charlie’s banter and settled next to him. “Your eyesight is going bad, Charlie. Nobody’s called me beautiful since—actually, never.”

“We take a vote,” he announced. “Democracy in action. All who think Tessa is beautiful raise your hand.”

“Will it get me a whiskey on the house?” asked Lloyd, but he raised his hand anyway. Three other hands rose, and EC glared at Gabe, who eventually raised his hand, too, carefully not looking in Tessa’s direction and—jeez, was he blushing?

Lloyd laughed, a loud burst of noise that was half joy and half bronchitis. “See there. Never argue with a man who wants to pay you a compliment.”

“Well, thank you then. I think you’re only warming up for tonight. Who’s the lucky lady, gents?”

Charlie coughed, pushing at creaky silver spectacles. “There is one.”

Tessa looked at him because it was easier to flirt with the regulars than to do casual conversation with Gabe. She could feel his eyes on her, careful, watching, and she didn’t dare look at him. Charlie was the perfect diversion. She balanced her chin on her palm. “Tell me all about it.”

He took a long drink of beer, gathering his courage before speaking. “There was a woman in here Tuesday last. Sure enough, she looked familiar to me, but when you’re pushing eighty, a man has a lot of women in his past. She was my age and walked like the queen, but I felt this stirring, an old song playing in my head. She came in with what must have been her granddaughter. Young blonde with wide blue eyes. Either one of you remember their names? Driving me crazy trying to recall. Damned Alzheimer’s.

“Carrie tells me I’m starting to lose my memory, but I keep denying it. I mean, how many seniors do you know that can remember the last home game of the Brooklyn Dodgers or MacArthur’s ticker-tape parade in ’51? That was when New York meant something. That was history. Like the days when Paddy O’Sullivan refused to sell a whiskey to Spiro T. because Paddy didn’t like his politics.” Charlie sighed, lifting his beer to his mouth. “Those were the days.”

Gabe smiled, shook his head. “Sorry, Charlie. Wish I could help you out.”

“Well, buy me another beer to help me forget your transgression. Maybe they’ll come in tonight. I wore my best tie.” He looked down at the open-collar shirt. “Oops. Guess I forgot that, too.”

Tessa laughed. “You look mighty handsome, Charlie. Was the girl in a yellow sundress?”

Charlie snapped his fingers. “There you go! Remember her name?”

Tessa gave him an easy grin. “No, but I really liked the dress.” She looked up at the clock, casually dodging Gabe’s eye. “Gotta start busting my butt, Charlie. Boss is a real nutjob about punching the clock.”

Then Tessa shot said boss a sweet smile and went about her job as if nothing had ever happened at all.

5

GABE CHATTED WITH THE codgers who had been regulars when Uncle Patrick was alive and would probably be regulars until they died. Considering how much Gabe had learned about old NewYork, he hoped that wasn’t anytime soon, because he had yet to hear the long-promised story about the night EC saw the Blue Shirts lose to the Canadiens in Madison Square Garden in, as EC so poignantly described it, “the heartbreaker of the century.”

However, tonight he kept a careful eye on Tessa, making sure that the status quo had been restored. Everything seemed right, but as the night wore on, he found himself less concerned with the status quo and more concerned with the eye-candy job of watching her.

At first it was big, general things that he’d overlooked about her before. Her long fingers twisting the cap off a beer in one graceful slide. The way her body moved so easily in soft, faded jeans. The sound of her laugh when Lloyd tossed out a bad joke. Over time, his focus narrowed and the smaller details began to emerge. The way she curled her lower lip in when she was shaking a martini, the way she brushed the hair from her face, the way her green eyes worked the customers, always friendly, capable, always the best friend behind the bar.

One thing about Tessa—she was an original. And people knew it when they talked to her. She never said much about herself, only listening. Always listening.

At half past seven a college baseball team pounded in fresh from a hard-won victory—judging by the dirt-stained jerseys. Tessa didn’t blink an eye. Instead she filled twenty-seven orders, including nine Long Island Iced Teas. As she worked, she twirled the glasses in the air, flirted with them all, easy and friendly, but they sucked it up like flies to honey. Gabe shook his head in amazement, still watching, though, if only to make sure everybody stayed in line.

Underneath the shell there was something fragile. Last night Gabe had broken something inside her and he wasn’t sure what. That sort of responsibility didn’t sit well with an Irish Catholic who prided himself on doing the right thing.

The time flew until it was nearly nine and Daniel came in to prepare the night deposit. Daniel was the antithesis of Sean, quiet, reserved and always alone. Although only four years older than Gabe, Daniel had lived through nightmares that Gabe could never imagine.

Daniel had been married for only five months when his new wife had been killed in the North Tower. She and Daniel both worked for an accounting firm there, and Daniel had been getting coffee for her from the Starbucks that was a few blocks north. He had been running late. Michelle had been at work precisely on time.

The aftershocks of 9/11 had been hard on the family—their mother had been alive then—but Daniel never fell apart. His whole life he had never said much, but he did change. Now he watched the world with grave eyes, never missing the details. While Gabe could joke with Sean, Gabe was always nervous about Daniel, never knowing exactly what to say or not to say. It was a bad feeling for a bartender. It was hell for a brother.

“No winner on the pool?” he asked Gabe, his gaze resting on Tessa. Gabe drew in a tense breath because he’d been hoping to avoid the subject of the bet. Actually, he was hoping that everyone would forget about it, but with such a large pot that seemed doubtful.

“What pool?” asked Lloyd.

“Never mind,” said Tessa quickly, a little too quickly—noticed Gabe, not daring to look in her direction.

Daniel looked at Gabe, looked at Tessa, eyes assessing, then he shrugged. “Did Sean call you this morning?”

In that moment Gabe knew he’d drawn a reprieve. “Yeah, but he hung up before he told me anything.”

“Somebody’s been asking questions about your license.”

“What license?”

“Liquor.”

Gabe swore. “I thought computers were supposed to make our lives better. Instead people don’t take responsibility for shit and the screwups get shuffled from one department to another.”

Daniel cut him off. “Don’t worry. Sean said he knew a girl in the planning department who had a sister who works in beverage control. He’ll get it squared away, but it might hold up the building permit for the place next door for a few weeks.”

“I really can’t afford to sit on empty real estate for a few weeks, you know? Why does everything take so freaking long?”

“What’s with you?”

“Patience is overrated, Daniel.”

Lloyd laughed, then coughed and then lifted his glass. “But a good man’s credit isn’t. Can you pour me another scotch and water, Gabe?”

IT WAS TWENTY MINUTES after closing and the bar was empty. The regulars had left with a chorus of goodbyes, and Daniel had carted off a night deposit that would help offset the cost of the renovations for the space next door. Assuming there was going to be a space next door.

Tessa poured the leftover ice into the sink and began scrubbing down the stainless-steel countertop. She worked quietly, leaving him alone, but he could hear her thinking. Normally the problem with the building permit was something he’d confide in her, but normal didn’t feel right anymore. Sex could do that to two people.

Finally, she laid down her rag. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” snapped Gabe. She stared, silently calling him a liar, and he sighed. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You’re ready to get started next door, aren’t you?”

Yeah, he was more than ready. As soon as he’d seen the place go up for sale, he’d swooped in for the buy, killing his finances in the process, but it’d be worth it. When Gabe committed, he was in it for the long haul, and the restoration would be perfect. “I can start on some of it myself. Nobody will know.”

“You should get Daniel to help,” said Tessa.

“He’s got enough to think about without having to share in my responsibilities, as well.”

“He’s part owner.”

“‘The silent part’ is what he always says.”

“I can help,” she offered. “Dad was pretty handy around the house, and I’ve been known to perform electrical work for food.”

Here was Tessa, no place to live, struggling to find a real career, and she wanted to help. “Thanks, but don’t worry about it.”

Quietly Tessa went back to work, and Gabe closed off the taps. Another few minutes passed before she spoke again.

“You didn’t say anything to Daniel, did you? One day. He called it. He should have won the pool.”

Yes, Daniel should have won the pool. Yes, the world should know what a weakhearted bastard Gabe was, but Gabe wasn’t ready to admit that yet. “Do you really want me to say something, Tessa? Let the pool go. In a few days everybody will forget about it, they’ll be betting on horse races, and then I’ll get Sean to refund the money.”

“I don’t like being dishonest.” She pulled a hand through her hair, her breasts lifting with the movement. Gabe didn’t want to notice, but he did.

“It’s better if everybody knows?”

She met his eyes, and Gabe felt a stirring in his gut, a stirring of blood that would only mean trouble, especially for her. “Did you hate last night?” she asked.

Here it was, nearly one in the morning, and Tessa wanted to talk. Now.

Outside, the late-night streets were quiet and still. Inside, Gabe felt as though there were an impending nuclear explosion. Okay, fine, she wanted to talk? He would talk. “It’s biologically impossible for a man to hate or regret sex. Everything else is within the realm of possibility. But sex? No.”

“Oh,” she said and went back to wiping the counter, which even a moron could see was already spotless.

So the time for talking was now over. Gabe should feel happy. She could work. He could work, so he scanned over the inventory behind the three bars, counting stock for the next day, but the numbers started running together in his head.

Finally he stopped counting. “What does ‘oh’ mean?”

“Just ‘oh.’”

She sounded miffed, slightly defensive and hurt. The miffed he could handle, the defensive was completely normal, but the hurt was like a hot poker against his heart. So the time for talking was not over. “Tessa?”

She put down her rag. “I liked it,” she said, which came out like a confession rather than a compliment.

Gabe chose to ignore that important point and smiled. “I know.”

“At least once I got to the part where I could separate you from the other man.”

Gabe blinked. “What other man?”

She worked her mouth, struggling to explain, but eventually she got there. “You know, the not-you other man. Anyway, once I got over that hump, figuratively speaking, it was great. I didn’t know it could be like that.”

This time she gave him a half smile. Almost shy. And right then, it didn’t matter if it was one in the morning and he’d had three hours of sleep. Right at the moment Gabe could have scaled the George Washington Bridge single-handedly.

“Gabe?”

“What?” he asked, starting to like this conversation. Gabe wasn’t nearly the horndog that Sean was. Gabe worked too hard and didn’t worry a lot about sex. There was usually a willing female when his body got too tense. Yet this time it was Tessa and things were different. Last night had been different. He’d wanted to please her, wanted to make her scream.

Gabe had never thought about lust that way, never felt the hard kick inside him. But last night some switch had flipped on inside him, and now that he had gotten used to the sudden atomic surges in his cock, gotten used to the low-grade hum in his brain, he wasn’t ready to flip the switch back off again.

Weakling.

“Could we keep pretending?” Tessa asked.

“Pretending what?” he asked, wondering what pretending had to do with sex.

She waved a hand, searching for words. “Pretending that you’re…somebody else. For instance, a mysterious stranger who I don’t know and who never tells me his name.”

Ah, the male ego. Such a powerful force, so easily annihilated. Gabe looked at her, wondering what strategic move he’d done wrong last night, because it was obvious that while he’d been thinking screaming, she’d been thinking somebody else.

“I’m not sure I like that game.” Which was more polite than Hell, no.

“You liked it fine last night,” she reminded him.

“I didn’t know that’s the game we were playing last night. Hell, Tessa, I didn’t even know we were playing a game. I don’t know. I don’t think you’re ready. It’s only been four years—” Jeez “—you need to ease back into things. You shouldn’t have to pretend,” he said. Especially with me, he thought, keeping quiet on that one.

Her cheeks were flushed, not with anger but embarrassment, and Gabe couldn’t figure out why this game thing was so important to her, but he was willing to try and understand. For Tessa, he would trudge onward to comprehend the great unknown that was the female brain.

“It’s difficult for me because we’re friends, and I don’t want to mess with that, but I liked last night. I really liked last night and I think if I thought of you as someone else other than you—my friend—then it’d be easier. Does that make sense?”

Gabe considered it. “No.”

She frowned in frustration and then tried again. “A healthy fantasy life should be part of every woman’s innate sexuality,” she told him, sounding like something on a TV talk show. Maybe that’s where this was coming from? Maybe Tessa had decided to start living again and she thought Gabe was safe.

That should have been a comforting thought.

Gabe was uncomforted.

He leaned one hip against the bar, not sure what to say.

Tessa reached out a hand, touched him on the arm. One touch that felt like a brand. “Please.”

“You’re sure about this?”

Tessa shot him a cocky smile, the one she always used right before torching her Flaming Lemon Drop shooter. “Oh, yeah.”

She sounded so confident, so capable, so…turned on. Maybe he’d misjudged last night. Maybe there was no reason for all his guilt. And then her body shifted, drawing his eyes. The scent of her, of Tessa, filled his mind until he couldn’t think. His blood heated, and right then Gabe really didn’t care about cleaning up or closing down. He needed to kiss that cocky mouth. Needed to touch her again.

He pulled her close and molded her to him, feeling the vulnerability, feeling the rightness of it. He looked down at her face, the eyes so carefully closed, but he didn’t worry about that. He needed to take that mouth again.

And it was exactly like last night. That same blaze ignited inside him. Her mouth was soft, so teasingly soft, and it opened easily for him, as if it was his own private stock. His hands traced over her, finding the places that he already knew. Gabe’s body, his cock, his hands, his mouth, already knew the game—and couldn’t wait.

Tonight she wrapped her arms around him, touching him in ways that she hadn’t last night. Her hand reached down, cupped him through his jeans, and he nearly shot off right there.

He wasn’t like this, he kept reminding himself. He didn’t lose it like Sean. But, damn, he was inches away from losing it now. He wanted to take her there, in the bar, with the lights shining from overhead, and he knew he needed to get control.

Her uncontrollable hand reached for the button at his fly, and he stopped worrying about the damned protocol. Desperately Gabe fumbled for the light switch, sighing with relief when darkness fell, only the dim glow of the city shining in from the front windows.

No one would know. No one would know but Tessa and Gabe.

He stopped her hand before she got farther because he was close to bursting—and they hadn’t even started. Not yet.

Purposefully Gabe grabbed her hand, walked her around the bar and then sat her up on the bar stool. Not satisfied with the situation, he eased off her shirt and bra, finding the soft skin that he was rapidly developing a taste for. Now the situation was looking up.

Tonight Tessa was bolder with him, running her hands under his shirt, removing the soft cotton, leaving them skin to skin. He wrapped her jean-clad legs around his waist, his body seeking home, eager to find the moist honey that Gabe knew was waiting there.

Tessa grinded against him with painful friction, and his body jerked, impatient with the layers between them.

One way to fix that. He wrenched down her zipper, his hands already reaching beneath the tight material, underneath the damp fabric, finding the warm pulsing piece of her that he wanted to own.

Tessa moaned in his mouth, and he hauled her off the stool, stripping her jeans in one easy pull. The lean legs wrapped around him, and he set his erection free. With shaking fingers, he sheathed himself and then slammed into her core.

He swallowed her cry with his kiss, tasting the tang of lemon, the softness that was Tessa. And because she liked to prove him wrong, her hips surged against him, and the firelust began all over again.

Five times he moved inside her, but the angle was wrong. Not enough. Not deep enough. Not enough of her. Frustrated, he swore and lifted her onto the bar, following on top of her. This time when he drove into her, he heard her answering sounds, music to his mind.

Suddenly, strong legs wound tightly around his waist. That was what he loved most about being inside her, this urgent desire to have him closer and closer until their bodies fit together like one.

Her hand fisted against his back, and he could feel the hunger that was raging inside her.

“I like the dark,” she whispered, her lips tasting his neck. “I love the dark.”

“Tessa,” he said but then stopped. Gabe wasn’t used to talking, wasn’t used to the games that women and men played. He’d always been obsessed with Prime, but this…a man could develop a new obsession.

“No names,” she whispered and then twisted in a neat little turn, climbing on top.

The dim light hit her body, her skin shimmering in the shadows, her breasts glistening with moisture, and his heart all but stopped. Her head fell to one side, her neck so long, so smooth, and his heart started beating again, hammering against his chest. He felt it then, desire, fear and the absolute certainty that he had crossed over some imaginary line, a point where there was no going back. Ever.

Tessa rode him, bucked against him, her hands skimming over his skin, and Gabe knew he was close. He grabbed her hips tight, plunged inside her, pistoning back and forth, wanting to pull her over the edge, wanting to watch her face as she came. Soon her mouth fell slack, her body tensed and, with a long cry, she climaxed, pulling him in after her.

IN THE DARKNESS, SO many things could stay hidden. Tessa felt his body beneath hers, marveled at the strength there, imagined the long hours that had made him that way.

He was her pool boy, her landscaper, her repairman and her delivery man, all wrapped up into one neat package of her ideal lover. That knowledge she could accept, letting the fantasy weave over her, keeping her mind free to explore, to enjoy and, best of all, to savor. As long as he was nothing more than a fantasy, she could look at him with a lover’s eyes. Tessa could still make love to him, and all she had to do was pretend. Not a problem.

She rose and dressed, watching the play of the muscles in his chest, his butt as he put on his clothes. The lines of his body were so hard and fluid, like a sculpture but alive and burning with heat.

“Tessa,” he started and then stopped, and she was grateful that he understood, that he never questioned why their relationship must stay in the dark. But there were so many places to go, so many other places that lovers could meet in secret.

“I think we should meet at a movie next time,” she told him, daring to propose something new. “In the afternoon, when nobody’s there, in the back row.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice unsure. “Are you still playing the game?”

She laid a finger on his lips, pressed a kiss against his chest. “Ssshhh. Think. Fantasize. So many things to do in the dark. Tomorrow. Meet me tomorrow afternoon.”

Her heart raced, pumping with excitement at the idea of seeing her lover again so soon. He reached for her, kissed her with passion, eagerness, devotion, and soon she could feel the decision inside him.

“All right.”

WHEN GABE FLIPPED ON the bar lights, he expected to find Tessa still caught up in the last throes of passion. Instead she was unaffected, her face smiling, with none of the husky thrill that he’d heard in her voice earlier.

Inside, Gabe knew perfectly well that something was screwed, but his body still hummed from being surrounded by her, and for the moment he could convince himself that everything was fine.

They closed up together, Tessa whistling a Donna Summer song as she finished, and then he walked with her to the subway, back to the apartment they both shared. Once inside, he looked at her curiously, wanting to hold her again but not daring to ask.

She gave him a careless smile and waved before shutting her bedroom door. “See you in the morning.”

Gabe contemplated the closed door, contemplated his aching cock and decided on a shower.

Cold.

THE CHIRPING SOUND OF Tessa’s cell woke Gabe bright and early on Wednesday morning. He didn’t intend to eavesdrop on his roommate’s conversation, but she certainly wasn’t making an effort to hide her words, talking loudly, and then his ears perked up at four of them two-bedroom, one-bath.

The more he listened, the guiltier he felt, but not so guilty that he would stop. She made noises of general agreement, tossed out some numbers and in general seemed happy as a clam.

Gabe frowned.

When she wandered into the living room, he was already waiting for her. “Phone call?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, a stupid answer that didn’t help him at all.

“Oh. Making plans for tonight?” he asked, trying again. “Remember, you’re supposed to work. It’s my poker night.”

“No plans,” she said breezily.

“What was it then?” he asked, which sounded so pathetically obvious, but, okay, lately he seemed to be losing his usual subtle touch.

“My potential new roommate,” she replied, beaming at him.

Roommate? What the hell? Now, sure, they were only on day two of the Great Roommate Experiment, but in Gabe’s world, things were good. “A new roommate? What the heck is that about?”

“I told you that I’d be out of your hair as soon as I could.”

Yes, that had been the plan before they were sleeping together. “That’s really fast. What do you know about this person?”

“Well, Dad, funny you should ask, but I think you’d approve. He owns a bakery in the East Village, has a dog named Butch and is subleasing a fab two-bed, one-bath convertible in Hamilton Heights. It’s no Hudson Towers, is slightly more modern than I like, but on the plus side, there’s lot of square footage, the rent is good and he sounds reasonable.”

“A guy?” he repeated stupidly.

Tessa folded her arms across her chest. “Since I’m currently living with a male, I decided I should expand my horizons.”

“I thought you weren’t going to live with a guy.”

“Do you have a penis, Gabe?”

Gabe let that remark slide. “He’s a stranger.”

“You were my friend,” she said, possibly a jab below the belt but the truth nonetheless.

“That’s low, Tessa. I’m still your friend,” he told her, letting the truth wash off his back like a duck. Sleeping with someone and being friends with them were not mutually exclusive. Except with Tessa, a little voice reminded him. Gabe told the little voice to shut up.

“I can’t live with someone who doesn’t respect my personal boundaries,” she answered. “I can’t live with someone without having boundaries, and if we’re having sex, the boundaries don’t work.”

Now she wanted to talk about personal boundaries? He had thought they’d gotten past that about the sixth time he’d seen her naked. And now she was contemplating moving in with a complete stranger who, for all she knew could be a serial killer? Something was totally wrong in this picture, and he kept his temper, choosing his words carefully but still pissed. “I respect your personal boundaries. For God’s sake, I’m the only freaking person who’s going to respect your personal boundaries. Did you notice who left your toothbrush untouched on the sink this morning? That was me. And did you see who saved the last bit of milk for you even though I can’t drink my coffee without it? Me again.”

“I didn’t know I was an inconvenience,” she mumbled, and there was something in her green eyes. Pain. He recognized it. And, yes, he was a jerk.

Gawd.

Gabe collapsed into his favorite chair, wondering why it seemed as if they were suddenly speaking in different languages. Was sex really such a friendship killer? This is Tessa, the little voice reminded him. Gabe tried again. “I don’t want you to think you have to move out. It’s not bad with you here, honestly. Actually, it’s nice having someone else around.” It was the truth.

The pain faded from her eyes—thankfully. But Tessa still didn’t look convinced.

“This is temporary, Gabe. We always said it was temporary. Don’t try changing things on me. I don’t like change that I don’t initiate, I don’t handle it well and in general it freaks me out. I don’t like being freaked out. Let me look at the apartment. I may hate it,” she added, which he knew was supposed to make him feel better.

“Okay,” he agreed, still not feeling better.

“I’ll see you at the movie,” she added, and he stared after her, trying to comprehend all that was her but not. The movie was probably a bad idea, but nothing in the world could keep him away.

THE THEATER WAS DARK when she arrived. She’d worn a skirt, new high heels, and wickedly enough, no panties. She found him waiting for her in the last row. They’d picked a deathly dull foreign movie six weeks into its run, so the place was empty except for Tessa.

And Xavier.

Last night she had started to think of him as Xavier when she’d lain alone in bed and remembered their stolen moments together. She couldn’t call him by his real name, so she’d picked another name. A name so far from who he was that she never worried about confusing the two.

Tessa picked a seat that was one down from him, wanting to feel as if they were strangers. It was more fun if they were strangers.

Today he wore a baseball cap which hid his face from her, everything except for the full curve of his mouth, which she would recognize across a crowded room, across a packed stadium and most thrillingly, when it touched her lips.

She smiled at the floor, adjusting her skirt across her knees, not wanting to act too forward, but she wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to casual affairs hidden in secret.

His fingers rested on the armrest, inching toward her bare legs, her skirt, yet she was an inch out of his reach. She saw his frown and smiled. He slid down one seat, the cushions so close she could smell him, feel him, his arm hot against her own.

When the lights dimmed, the commercials played, meaningless words, because she was only aware of him. His fingers drifted closer, so close that if she moved only one small centimeter, they would be touching. Music blared through the speakers, causing her to jump, and in that moment his hand captured her thigh, hot and purposeful. She longed to clamp her legs together, but then he would know her weakness. Still, it wasn’t long before the fingers moved. Sliding innocently back and forth along the bare skin of her thigh.

The air was chilled, and she liked his comforting touch, but then the cunning fingers moved beneath her skirt, sliding closer to her heat. This time she did clamp her thighs closed. She heard his laugh, soft, and the fingers returned, gently pleading, seeking entrance to the secret place she denied him.

Tessa hesitated, unsure, but the fingers were so warm, so comforting, and so finally she slid her thighs apart, only a bit. But it was enough.

Xavier found her warmth easily, stroking her, making her squirm in her seat. Each time he moved across her lips, her muscles gripped him here, and she slid down in her seat, wanting to feel more of this wickedness. He laughed again, took his finger in his mouth and licked.

Tessa groaned and he laughed again. Low, because he knew what this was doing to her. This time he took her in his lap, and she could feel his hardness against her rear. While she sat, the movie began to play—and so did Xavier.

Now, without any barrier to her, he stroked her at his leisure, his fingers pushing inside her, playing with her tortured flesh.

Tessa squirmed again, feeling naked and exposed, but he didn’t release her. Instead his arms surrounded her, his erection pushing against her, harder, firmer, and she liked that part. Liked that she could control him, as well.

She slid her thighs farther apart to give him free rein and to more brazenly slide against him. She did, twice, feeling his thickness prod beneath her, before his arms stilled her. She fidgeted in his lap, expressing her displeasure, and felt his answering jerk of flesh. This time it was she who laughed.

“You like that?” he asked, his lips against her ear. Then he whispered more words, his fingers curling inside her, using his hands to make good on his urgent promises.

Tessa felt a sudden moan rise up inside her, forgetting the game for a moment. She wanted more; her whole body shook with it. She wanted more than his hands and she reached down between them, grasping him in a crude gesture that communicated much more than words.

He didn’t need her to ask twice. She felt his hand working his pants and heard the crinkle of a foil wrapper. She sat there, waiting, waiting, waiting, until silently, easily, he repositioned her on his lap, sliding deep inside.

This time Tessa did moan, louder than she’d intended, because this was sweet relief, filling her up. Slowly he lifted her, then she slid back down on his slick flesh, slick because of her. It was an odd feeling of being empty, then slowly possessed by someone else, his body so deeply embedded inside her.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, and he kissed her neck. Such a small, simple kiss, not the passionate kiss of her fantasy lover but the kiss of someone else, a kiss that would jolt a woman right out of her fantasy. Tessa half rose in his lap, the fantasy over, and he didn’t understand. He thought she was still playing the game.

He held her tight against the chair back in front of them, entering her from behind, and she knew who was there. She could feel the tightness in her chest, she could feel him, taste him, smell him.

This is Gabe.

Again and again he pushed inside her, bearing down on all the barriers that she had built up around her. He filled her so completely, so totally, and she couldn’t fight this. Her body couldn’t fight it. Even more dangerously, her mind couldn’t fight it either. Pleasure, exquisite pleasure, overwhelmed her, pleasure so exquisite that it hurt, white-hot and splitting her in two. Again and again he moved, and she wanted to scream. In satisfaction and in fury. But Tessa couldn’t. She’d kept the sound inside her for too long. Finally she came, soundlessly.

A long, long moment passed and she could feel him still inside her, feel his arms around her, and she knew. It would be so easy with Gabe. So easy to believe that with him she didn’t need to worry about a thing in her life. No apartment, no career. Just one man and a woman, alone.

Then he pulled out of her, his arms disappeared, and Tessa hurriedly tidied her skirt, her fingers silently skimming over the tatooed letters on her backside.

There were things to do, an apartment to find, a career to prepare for.

Quickly Tessa left before she did something stupid for the second time in her life.

6

FORTY MINUTES LATER, Tessa had changed into blue jeans and a ragged T-shirt and then went to talk to a man about an apartment. The Hamilton Heights building had been built in the seventies, and had central AC, but the place itself had no character, no soul. Samuel was a nice enough man, with a well-trained English bulldog, and he needed a renter now, but he wasn’t roommate material. Not really.

Pathetically enough, her standards had changed. Sex with Gabe had done that to her. Weakened her.

Tessa told Samuel that she was allergic to dogs and left him and his bulldog, wishing them both good luck.

Her next stop was crosstown to West End Avenue. Hudson Towers.

Tessa needed the visual reminder, the tangible piece of real estate that represented what she knew she was capable of achieving. At eighteen, she’d been so full of dreams before she’d met Denny, and then Denny became her life and her dream—but man dreams weren’t going to pay her rent. No way would she let Gabe become Denny redux.

Get a life, she told herself and then promptly remembered she was working to get a life, which was why she was standing her at the exterior of Hudson Towers instead of going to Accounting class. Tessa might have poor decision-making skills, but at least she was self-aware enough to know it.

On that note, she grabbed a coffee and sat inside a bus shelter, watching the tenants as they entered and left the building. Power suits and biking shorts. Smart sundresses and yoga pants. These were people who knew what they wanted in life and how to get it.

Tessa took in her own crummy T-shirt and wondered what key piece was missing from her DNA. Recently she’d been sidetracked from her goals, but all she needed to do was regain her focus. Regain her independence. Maybe she wasn’t as tough as her brother, but deep inside she was a Hart and she could do this. She knew she could.

For some time she sat there, staring, visualizing, sucking in life and letting the neighborhood genes seep into her spirit. This was her dream, and nobody—nobody—was going to distract her from it. Eventually she rose from the bench, a new resolve firmly in place, and headed off for work.

Tonight it was she and Lindy behind the bar, which was always fun. Tessa liked Lindy, who knew more dirty jokes than most Vegas comedians and always smiled no matter the tip. Lindy had come from Trenton, but had a Malibu tan and short, bleached-blond hair to match. Plus, she was multitalented, able to not only waitress but bartend, as well.

“Busy?” asked Tessa, automatically reaching underneath the counter to start refilling the stock of bar napkins and coasters.

“Slow as Peter’s salami-hiding skills—and just as rewarding.”

Tessa was never sure if Peter was real, or only a figment of Lindy’s imagination, not that it really mattered. Lindy’s stories were always full of “Peter this” and “Peter that.”

“You need to get yourself a real man,” answered Tessa.

Lindy smiled. “I have a real man. I call him my vibrator.”

Tessa laughed, checking the inventory against the par sheet and counting her till. As always, things balanced exactly. As the Wednesday night happy-hour crowd began to appear, Tessa got busy pouring drinks, telling jokes and listening to the trials and tribulations of a world that simply needed a drink.

A woman in a suit came up to Tessa, ordered a low-carb wheatgrass martini and waited for the drink, eyeing the pictures on the wall behind the bar. The customer’s focus was caught on one particular picture, and Tessa, idly playing the “who’s she eyeballing?” game, accidentally upended the martini glass, drenching the woman in vodka.

“Oh, God!” Tessa exclaimed, reaching for a towel. It’d been over three years since she’d spilled a drink on a customer. Tessa was getting clumsy—a bartender’s curse.

Thankfully there was a good-natured smile on the woman’s perfectly lipsticked mouth. “Don’t worry about it. I needed to get the suit dry-cleaned anyway.”

“It’s a great suit,” Tessa said honestly. “I’ll take care of the dry cleaning.”

“Get over it. I am.”

And immediately Tessa liked her. The woman introduced herself as Marisa Beckworth, who had had a bad day and had come in for a quick pick-me-up after work.

“Where do you work?”

“Cocoran.”

Tessa put down the shaker. “You guys are the best,” Tessa stated, trying not to gush but failing.

“You’re not in real estate, are you?” asked Marisa, being impressively polite considering that Tessa had just drenched her.

“No, I’m studying to be an accountant.”

“Oh.”

“But I am looking for an apartment right now.”

“I could help you out,” offered Marisa, smoothly pulling out her card.

“To be honest, I know where I want to live, only I have to figure out how to get in there.”

“The Dakota?”

Tessa laughed. “Do I look delusional? No, Hudson Towers, on West End.”

Marisa nodded. “That’s a great building, but the waiting list is a mile long and the rumor is that it’s headed for co-op.”

There was always something. “The thing is, it’s not like I want to live there forever. I just want to live by myself for a while, and my choices in this city are currently limited to Hudson Towers and, yes, Hudson Towers.”

“Manhattan. I understand completely. Do you ever watch the obituaries?”

“Not like I should.”

“Who has the time, right? I bet you spend all your waking hours here. So what’s it like working in a bar? I always thought that’d be cool.” She leaned in a bit. “And I heard the bartenders in this place are hot.”

Tessa coughed because she got this a lot. Women who came in alone were notoriously hoping to live out their favorite fantasy—with a good-looking, well-built bartender—and who was she to throw stones? “Saturday night is the night you want to come in. They all work on Saturdays.”

“Single?”

“Yes,” answered Tessa, withholding the impulse to lie or doctor the truth in some way.

“Which one is that?” asked Marisa, pointing to the picture of Gabe standing next to one of the Knicks cheerleaders.

“That’s Gabe. He’s the main owner.” Tessa then went down the line of photos, needing to point out that Prime had more than one gorgeous bartender on the payroll. “That’s his brother Sean next to the mayor’s wife. And that’s their older brother Daniel ducking out underneath the bar. He doesn’t enjoy having his picture taken.”

“I like that one,” answered Marisa, pointing to Gabe as if she were picking steaks at the butcher.

“He’s nice enough,” said Tessa, keeping her head down, her eyes glued to the bar.

“Does he have a girlfriend?” continued Marisa, still full of questions, still firmly fixated on Gabe.

“No.” Tessa tried not to look encouraging. “He runs the bar and doesn’t have a lot of time for relationships.”

“Oh.” The woman sighed with heavy regret. Yeah, get over it, sister. “Still, he’s hot. How much time do you really need to have a relationship?”

“Not a lot, apparently.”

“Are you friends with him?”

“A little,” Tessa replied, neglecting to mention the key facts that she lived with him and was currently sleeping with him, as well. Neither fact would greatly enhance her tip.

“I’ve got a deal for you. I’ll get you into Hudson Towers, you get me a date with your boss.”

Marisa, unlike Tessa, was obviously a woman of razor focus and single-minded determination. As luck would have it, object of said razor focus was Gabe, a man whom Tessa didn’t want to think she had designs on, yet that cold jab of unease in her stomach called her the world’s biggest liar.

“Oh, I don’t have that much pull.”

Which was the exact moment that Syd chose to enter the conversation.

“Sure she does,” he said, nodding in his grizzled-cop manner. One eye squinted knowingly. “Gabe listens to her.”

Tessa shook her head at Marisa. “Not really.”

“And they’re living together, too.”

Tessa closed her eyes, wondering what part of “to protect and to serve” the NYPD detective failed to grasp. When she opened her eyes again, she had a perky smile firmly pasted on her face. “Not that way. I’m between roommates at the moment.”

“Am I poaching on someone else’s reserves?” asked Marisa, wearing a smile on her face that was neither perky nor embarrassed. Tessa felt a momentary pang of envy at such polished composure.

“Oh, no,” answered Tessa. “Consider him unpoached. I know Gabe too well to be interested.” She turned to Syd and glared meaningfully. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Give me a bourbon since you’re not going to let a man have any fun.”

Tessa handed him his drink and then waited until he was firmly out of earshot. It was time for Tessa Hart to grow up and stop deluding herself that men were going to take care of her forever. If she wanted something out of life, she was going to have to make choices. This time, unlike seven years ago, she was going to choose what was best for her.

“You really think you could get me into Hudson Towers?”

Marisa looked at her with palpable relief. “They do not call me St. Marisa for nothing.”

Tessa took a deep breath. Yes, she loved sleeping with Gabe, but that was meaningless sex—two strangers satisfying a biological urge, nothing more. Tessa needed to remember the personal boundaries, and Marisa was the perfect person to put the boundaries up exactly where they needed to be. Then Tessa could get back on the way to independence and grow some female cojones that had been sorely lacking up to this pitiful juncture in her life.

“I can get you a date with Gabe,” she stated firmly, then waited for the obligatory clap of thunder from the heavens or for seven plagues to descend upon Manhattan or for Tessa to be hit by a bus that would suddenly drive through the shadowy plate-glass window. Instead the only thing she got was a pinched nerve in the heart.

Marisa held out a hand over the bar, not sensing the miraculous absence of disaster, nor Tessa’s tellingly aching heart. “Tessa, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. For that,” she said, pointing to the picture on the wall, “I’ll waive my usual commission when you’re settled at Hudson Towers.”

Tessa smiled tightly, then pointed to Marisa’s alcohol-stained suit jacket. “For that, I’ll waive the tab.”

THE O’SULLIVAN POKER NIGHT was a tradition that first started when Sean needed money to buy his first Harley-Davidson at the age of nineteen. Gabe, who was underage at the time, had welcomed the opportunity to skim off his older brother’s beer supply and happily joined in. Daniel, who was an accountant and, ergo, usually took them to the cleaners, saw poker night as the chance to teach his younger brothers fiscal responsibility. But, alas, the lessons were usually unlearned, and Daniel—regretfully—ended up with boatloads of cash.

Gabe liked the quality family time, time spent arguing over rules and in general persecuting his older siblings in whatever way he could. Being the youngest of three boys was tough, and he’d understood a long time ago that if he played fair, he’d lose.

Tonight the beer was flowing and the cards were coming his way. Queens and aces, two pairs and a full house. Daniel seemed to be nursing a run of bad luck, and Sean…well, Sean always lost. Cain was the fourth hand, and he was a tough competitor with a face about as telling as a brick wall. After a couple of hours’ play, Gabe was already ahead by a cool hundred.

“Are you sure you’re not cheating,” asked Sean after losing his three deuces to Gabe’s inside straight.

“I don’t have to cheat to beat you, Sean. Face it, you suck. This is the main reason you couldn’t buy your Harley until after you got your law degree.”

Sean didn’t look convinced. “Why don’t you empty your pockets?”

Gabe would have been insulted if it wasn’t a routine they’d acted out for nearly four years.

Daniel, who didn’t see the value of family traditions the way that Gabe did, sighed, long and loud.

Cain drummed his chips on the table.

Gabe grinned smugly. “Sure,” he told his brother, and pulled out the empty jeans pockets. “Feeling better, counselor? You still suck.”

“Boys,” interrupted Daniel. “Stop.”

Gabe fell silent because Daniel didn’t interrupt often.

Gabe passed the deck to Cain, who shuffled and then dealt Gabe a pair of eights, an ace, a two and a five.

Sean looked at his cards, then grinned. He slid out two chips, and then glanced at Gabe. “So tell me about Tessa. How’s that working out for you? Getting laid?”

Gabe stared grimly at the cards, keeping his face devoid of anything but extreme interest in poker. “It’s Tessa, Sean. Get your mind out of the sewer.”

“Not sure if I could handle a woman staring over my shoulder. Got to crimp a man’s style—assuming he has a style, of course.”

Gabe shot him a bite-me look, and Cain stacked his chips into two neat piles. “Are you two going to fight? Because if you are, I want to know so I can keep my money separate.”

“They won’t fight,” answered Daniel.

“I could,” snapped Gabe. “Two years ago, you were down, begging for mercy—remember?”

Cain laughed. “Yes, Gabe, we all remember.”

“Go ahead, laugh away. I’m the baby here, and I’ll take my victories where they come.”

Sean grunted, matching Cain’s raise and upping it by another ten. Somebody had some sweet cards. “The only reason I let you get that punch in is because Anna Del Toro was watching, and I felt sorry for you in front of your girl. You are my baby brother.”

“So how are you and Tessa getting along?” asked Daniel, casually upping Sean’s bet with a rare smile.

“She’s usually not here,” Gabe said, looking with more doubt at his pair of eights. If Daniel was actually smiling, he was holding something serious.

Cain snickered. “Hard for a man to win a bar pool if you two are never in the same room.”

Sean took two cards and didn’t try to hide the gleam in his eyes. “Gabe’s not getting any. He’s too tense. Real shame, too. If you thought about anything but the bar, you’d be a lot happier. Balance. That’s what you need. That, and one good night of ball-blasting sex. You’re not that bad-looking, and if you worked at it, you’d have women falling all over you. And, by the way, I’ve got my money on day thirty-one, so if you want to do something really nice for your big brother, arrange a nice romantic dinner for her and maybe a bubble bath.”

Gabe rubbed his thumb against the corner of his ace, seriously contemplating the idea of a romantic dinner and a bubble bath with Tessa. It actually wasn’t a dumb thought: lathering her up with suds, soaping up the sleek back, the tight thighs.

“Hello? Gabe?” Sean interrupted the momentary fantasy and then shot Daniel a knowing look. “Told you he was suffering. The only person who’s going to win the bet is Tessa.”

Cain’s mouth edged into a small smile. “Tried and struck out?” he asked—and this was from Cain, who usually sided with Gabe. “Sucks, man.”

Gabe glared at the two of hearts, trying to will it into another, more worthy card. For instance, another ace. “Contrary to my other, more lecherous brother, I do have a moral conscience.”

Sean leaned back in his chair and laughed. “It’s a right guaranteed in the Constitution. Life, liberty and the pursuit of—”

“Can we talk about something else?” interrupted Gabe. “Like, for instance, the building permit? Did you find out anything more?”

“Amanda’s out of the office until Tuesday next, and I can’t get a straight answer out of the old man that’s manning the desk while she’s gone.”

“But there’s no problem with my license, right?”

Sean cracked his knuckles. “Nothing I can’t handle, Gabe. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Does that mean you’ll help me with the work on the expansion while I’m waiting on the permit?”

“No,” said Sean, completely without guilt. “But I will help you hire a new bartender to fill said space.”

Gabe looked at Daniel in frustration, and Daniel shrugged. No help there. “I’m folding,” Gabe announced because he wasn’t getting anywhere in cards or logic. Better to quit while he was ahead.

They played in silence until it was nearly midnight, and Gabe kept a close eye on the clock. Tessa would be closing up with Lindy soon, and Gabe wanted to know if her apartment hunting had been successful. Besides that, he didn’t feel right about her taking the subway home alone. Tessa would probably hit him if she knew what he was thinking, but Sean was right about one thing: Gabe had a Lancelot complex. And if there was ever a damsel in distress, it was Tessa.

He looked around the table, noticing the pile of money that was now sitting in front of Cain. All right, so he hadn’t made his quota. He’d make up for it next week. Then he scrunched up his pain and rubbed two fingers over his temple.

“Can’t handle losing?” asked Cain.

“I’ve been fighting a headache all day. Probably hay fever or something. Listen, I hate to fold up early, but, hell, my head is about to explode.”

Gabe gathered up the cards, and Daniel handled the financials. In the end, Gabe was ahead by twenty. Not a bad night’s work.

“Same time next week?” asked Cain, pocketing two hundred with a satisfied smile.

“At my place,” Sean spoke up.

“Right,” agreed Gabe, keeping his head low and headache-looking.

“Why don’t you lie down?” suggested Sean. “We know the way out.”

Gabe felt a momentary pang of guilt because Sean did actually look concerned, but this was for a good cause. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to make sure that a helpless female got home safely? After all, the streets of New York could be really mean—assuming that you didn’t count the FBI reports that said that New York was the safest big city on the planet. But Gabe wasn’t a big one for trusting the government stats. Governments lied, and then where would Tessa be? Walking alone on the mean streets of Manhattan.

He managed a weak smile, and then they were gone. Gabe waited another five minutes and then pulled on his boots. Time to get Tessa home.

Gabe remembered the moments in the theater this afternoon, the taste of her neck, the curve of her bare ass and the exquisite cock-raising feeling of being encased in everything that was perfect.

Yeah, this roommate thing wasn’t bad at all.

THE NIGHT WASN’T A total loss. Tessa had made over a hundred in tips, and once she had gotten over the initial melancholy of her decision to set up Marisa with Gabe, a peace had come over her. In fact, even Lindy noticed her new attitude when they were cleaning up.

She popped the ice cream into the bar freezer and then stared pointedly at Tessa. “Why are you so pale? Are you getting sick or something?”

“I’m not pale, I feel calm. Collected. I’ve got a new take-charge attitude, a plan to get into my own place.”

“You still look pale,” repeated Lindy, shaking her head, and Tessa could feel the melancholy returning.

“To the unknowing eye, perhaps.”

With Lindy still looking doubtful, Tessa visualized coming into her perfect apartment surrounded by successful, financially independent colleagues who had made their way in life. As opposed to the pitiful imagery of Tessa dropping out of school, shacking up with Gabe for a couple of years. And then he’d decide he needed a new, improved model, probably someone who had a viable career, and then Tessa would be pushing thirty and still trying to support herself on a bartender’s tips. Hudson Towers was looking better and better by the minute.

“So what’s the new take-charge attitude from?”

“Taking the hard course, forging ahead with the right decision and following my dreams.”

“And this decision has to do with what?”

“The woman that came in here earlier—the one I drenched in vodka? She’s going to help me get into Hudson Towers.”

“Hudson Towers? All that because you spilled a drink on her? Man, I wish I had your luck. Instead I get stuck with seventeen-year-olds with bad fake IDs who threaten lawsuits and then tell me that the terrorists have won if I report it. Tell me, what does terrorism have to do with underage drinking? I don’t get the connection.”

Tessa laughed. “What do you want, Lindy?”

“The perfect full-throated orgasm.”

“I mean really.”

Lindy looked askance. “I meant really.”

“What about Peter?”

Lindy rolled one shoulder forward. “He’s only in my mind.”

Tessa, who was on a first name basis with the idea of fantasy lovers, nodded with approval. “Sometimes it’s better when they’re only in your mind.”

“As opposed to being only in your vagina?”

Tessa told herself she would not blush, she would not blush, she would not blush.

She blushed.

“Want to spill any secrets?” asked Lindy.

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope.”

“Glad somebody is getting something around here.” Lindy looked toward the front. “And speak of the devil.”

“Hey,” answered Gabe, smoothly walking in the door as if he owned the place. Which he did.

Tessa looked at Lindy wide-eyed, terrified and willing thoughts of Hudson Towers back into her feeble brain. “Don’t you dare.”

Lindy winked. “Not daring at all.” Then she waved at Gabe as if everything was right with the world. “Hey, boss.”

Gabe headed downstairs, and Lindy finished polishing the beer taps. A moment later she put her hands on her hips, took a long look around and then sighed happily. “I’m off.”

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” said Tessa, not sure she wanted to be alone with Gabe. Actually, she desperately wanted to be alone with Gabe, her weakened flesh already crying to be alone with Gabe. And with Lindy gone? She was toast. Weakened-flesh toast.

“Good night, Tess. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Lindy added, waving and disappearing into the night.

Leaving Tessa alone. With Gabe.

Actually, she thought, looking around the empty bar. It wasn’t so bad. With Gabe downstairs, he was out of visual range, out of touching range, out of kissing range and out of tasting range.

Of course, he took that exact moment to appear. Tessa jumped.

“How did it go with the apartment today?” he asked, a completely casual, logical conversation starter.

“I didn’t take it.”

“Too small?” he asked, acting completely innocent, completely polite and completely casual.

Tessa stared at him suspiciously. “No, it was huge.”

“So what was the problem, Tess?” he prodded, not so innocent anymore, not so polite anymore and—aha—not so carefree anymore, either.

“He has a dog,” she answered truthfully.

“You don’t like dogs?” he asked.

“They’re messy and smelly.”

“Right, I didn’t know you felt that way. I like cats.”

Tessa nodded, picked up a rag and stared rescrubbing the bar sink. A sink could never get too clean. “Yes, yes, I do. Give me a cat any day. Much more suited to apartment living.”

“Oh.” He stood there, watching her work. “Tessa?” he started, and she could read the soul-searching curiosity in his eyes.

“How was poker night?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject because if there was any soul-searching to be done, it wasn’t about to be her soul under the microscope.

Gabe, never obtuse, took the hint. “Lost a bundle. Was doing good at the start, but then Cain came in for the win and started getting the hot hands.”

“Sorry.”

“Was the place busy tonight? The receipts look good.”

“Drenched a customer in vodka,” Tessa admitted, happy to be talking about work. Talking about work was good.

Gabe frowned. “He wasn’t getting too friendly, was he?”

“It was a she. And, no, it was only me being clumsy.”

“You’re never clumsy.”

Maybe she wasn’t clumsy with her hands, but sometimes Tessa was clumsy with her life. “There’s a first for everything. Her name was Marisa and she’s a Realtor,” she started, deciding that now was as good a time as any to fulfill her commitment to set up Marisa with Gabe.

“I bet you two had a lot to talk about. Actually, did you ever think about real estate, Tessa? I think you’d be good at it.”

She looked at him and was easily diverted from her match-making goal by the much more interesting idea of pursuing a career in real estate. But sales?

However, Gabe looked serious. As if he wasn’t joking. As if he thought she could do it. “I think I’d be really bad at it.”

“Is that a joke?” he asked.

“No. I can’t do sales.”

“But when you know what you’re doing, it’s not like selling, more like…I don’t know…finding people and matching them to what they want—and that you could do. Definitely.”

“I don’t know, Gabe,” she started, because she had already decided on a career path and, okay, a D on an accounting test wasn’t the most promising of signs, but if she kept changing her path, who knew where she’d end up? Probably a chain-smoker at forty-seven, still tending bar, with a tattoo on her arm that said Mother to match the D-E-N-N-Y that was still tattooed on her butt.

“What’s the safest apartment building in the city?” asked Gabe.

“The Lucerne,” she answered, ripping her mind off the creepy image of a Mother tattoo.

“I’m looking for a building. Pets, walk-up, in Battery Park, and I don’t want to pay too much. Where should I start?”

“Liberty Manor,” she said automatically, and Gabe gave her one of those annoying I-told-you-so looks.

Slowly it dawned on her that, yes, Gabe was correct. “You think I could do it? I wouldn’t, uh, scare people?” she asked, mentally comparing her wine-stained T-shirt to Marisa’s unwrinkled suit.

“Certainly you could do it. But don’t quit your night job. I’m not ready to lose my best bartender.”

Tessa tossed her rag in his direction. “You’re the best bartender here, Gabe.”

“I can’t put myself in the competition. Wouldn’t be fair.”

He smiled at her then, looking at Tessa as if she could do anything. And she wanted to believe that.

“Slacker,” she teased.

“Speaking of slacker, do you know if they delivered the wood next door?”

“Lindy didn’t say anything, but…”

He cocked his head toward the street. “Come on, we’ll check it out. You’re not in a hurry to get home, are you?”

Home. He said it so easily, and she bought into this whole I-can-live-there-forever fantasy so easily. Still, she shook her head, drifting along, not willing to correct him. “No, I had a cup of coffee at eleven.”

“Jeez, you’re never getting any sleep tonight.”

They walked outside and around the corner to the empty space next door. The early-summer wind was perfect and a soft rain was just starting to fall. Tessa lifted her face to the warm water, feeling herself come alive.

The old bodega had stood vacant for all of two weeks before Gabe had jumped all over it. The truth was, the crowds at Prime did usually bump over capacity, and buying the old space back had been a smart idea. Of course, Gabe was good that way. Making a plan, executing and then seeing it through to success. He didn’t wait for anything, or let anything get in his way.

While Tessa watched, he used his keys to lift the grate and then unlock the door.

“We’ll have power tomorrow if the gods at Con Ed are agreeable, but tonight darkness rules,” he said, as the glass door creaked open.

Tessa followed him through, curious to see the guts of the place now that it was empty. In the darkness there wasn’t a lot to see, but even so, she could sense his enthusiasm.

“S’all right,” she told him, picking her way around the spools of electrical cable and the mess of tools scattered throughout the place. She stumbled over a power cord, and he caught her arm.

“I’ve got it,” she said and quickly pulled her arm free.

“Sure,” he answered, his voice cooling a degree.

Then she noticed the presence of most of telltale cans of Dr Pepper. Gabe was the only person in New York she knew who drank Dr Pepper.

She shook her head, cutting through the dim light to see him standing there, so absolutely sure he could do anything. “And you’re going to do this in your spare time?”

“Sure. You can ace accounting, and I can pull a rabbit out of a white Russian.”

“You shouldn’t believe your own press. Besides, I got a D on my exam last week.”

He took a step closer, and she could feel the waves of sympathy emanating from him. Not the pity look—she hated that. “Do you want me to help you study?”

“Accounting?” she asked skeptically.

“Maybe not, but Daniel would if you asked.”

“I hate accounting,” she said in a quiet voice, sitting down on the electrical spool, confessing the secret that she’d come to realize recently.

He sat down next to her, not touching but exuding that bulk of warming comfort that was fast becoming as necessary to her as water. “Maybe you’re chasing the wrong career,” he offered gently.

“At some point in time I have to pick one, Gabe. You’ve known what you’ve wanted to do since you were sixteen. Not all of us are that lucky.”

“Six.”

“What?”

“Actually, I’ve known what I wanted to do since I was six. Other kids were out playing Starsky and Hutch, me and Sean were inventing drinks and lighting them on fire.”

Tessa felt the smile curving her lips. “You’re lucky you didn’t burn the place down.”

“I knew where the fire extinguishers were.”

She envied him that sense of belonging, the peace of knowing his future, missing out on the whole what-are-you-going-to-do-with-the-rest-of-your-life? stress. “You really think I could get into real estate?”

“I really think you ought to try if you really want to.” His voice had changed, gotten deeper, huskier, and she knew—absolutely knew—that he was bone-stirringly close because her Gabe-challenged nerve endings quivered in response.

In the darkness, she didn’t see him move as much as felt it. His hand cupped the back of her neck, unerringly leading her toward his mouth, and—sweet mercy—she wasn’t about to pull away.

The tender draw of his lips on hers was something new, not the hot sweat of passion that they’d found before. She tried to conjure up her security blanket of fantasy images. Desperately seeking a handsome stranger who could coax screaming orgasms from her or the dark loner who didn’t want anything from her but a single night of sex. But she was losing focus on these men. She wasn’t interested in fantasy anymore.

She wanted Gabe.

And if Tessa kept her eye on the sex only, not letting her heart get involved, not getting distracted from her goals, she could have her cake and eat it, too.

Sex. That’s all she had to focus on. The sex. And it wasn’t difficult because, well, she knew about sex with Gabe and, best of all, she loved the sex with Gabe.

Unfortunately, Gabe wasn’t in on her plan. His kiss was no promise of raw sex but a promise of something else. Tessa grew bold, shifting in his lap, trying to turn the kiss back into sex, but Gabe seemed unusually determined now.

When she pushed her hand down between them, working to cup his erection, he took her hand quite firmly and placed it behind her back. When she gently bit his lower lip, pulling it between her teeth, he laughed.

Gabe leaned into her, and she could feel the hammering of his heartbeat against hers. The pulse of the heart wasn’t what she needed to concentrate on, she needed to focus on the pulse between her thighs. The pulse between his thighs.

Tessa pushed her hips closer, not so subtly telling him what she wanted.

His lips nuzzled the side of her neck, coaxing a moan from her. “Do you know who I am, Tess?”

The words were so husky, so pressing, so seductive, and she could hear his name echoing in her head, but she wasn’t going to do this. She already had one man’s name tattooed on her skin, a burning reminder of how far she still had to go until she could take care of herself. It was important that she keep the distance between them until it was time. Until she had built a life of her own. She trusted Gabe with pretty much everything but not the future. She trusted no man with her future.

Did she know who he was? “No,” she lied.

He laughed again, low, and this time one hand curved under her shirt, palming one breast, feeling the rise of her nipples, the swell of her flesh.

She arched into him, pushing her skin more firmly in his hand, needing the hot touch. He lifted her shirt, replacing his hand with his mouth, biting gently.

The ache between her thighs pounded now, and she could feel her resolve melting. Anything—anything—to fill the ache inside her.

“Do you know who I am, Tessa?”

“No,” she snapped, the knot of frustration winding tighter and tighter. And the desire, too. Always the desire.

This time his wayward hand went farther, unzipping her jeans, sliding down, lower, until one finger stroked against her core. Tessa cried out because this teasing wasn’t enough.

“Who am I, Tessa?” he asked, his voice rough, but still so familiar.

“No,” she answered because she needed the defenses between them. The one tiny wall remaining was all that was keeping her from falling down on her knees and giving up everything that she wanted.

Quietly, in the darkness, he removed his hands from her, zipped up her jeans and adjusted her shirt.

Tessa sat on the wooden spool, her body still shaking and tense, waiting for him to return.

“Please,” she started, needing him to finish, needing him inside her.

Needing Gabe.

She felt his gaze in the shadows, could nearly touch the cold snap of his anger. And his voice, when it sounded, was crystal clear.

“No.”

7

GABE MET SEAN FOR racquetball on Friday morning. Playing racquetball with Sean was usually a pain in the ass, but in the end Gabe had agreed because he had to talk to somebody about Tessa. Slowly, quietly, painfully, Gabe was going insane.

The challenge here was that Gabe would have to talk about Tessa in a way that Sean wouldn’t know Gabe was talking about Tessa, but Gabe figured he could handle that. He had to.

All due to this damned need of hers to pretend that Gabe wasn’t Gabe.

Yes, at first he’d thought it was hot. Every guy likes to think that his girl has an active fantasy life.

But every time? That sad truth wears a man down.

So on Friday morning he was stuck in Sean’s high-end athletic club, which was filled with white-collar alpha males needing to assert their masculine superiority in a twenty-by-twenty room with no windows.

Gabe dressed in cutoffs and an FDNY Engine 31 T-shirt, which was his token effort to assert masculine superiority. He took in Sean’s tennis whites, and arched a mocking eyebrow. “I think I should call you Mortimer or Preston or something equally nerdy.”

Sean shook his head and pointed to the court. “Hello, my name is Sean O’Sullivan. You mock my clothes. Prepare to die.”

Gabe followed him inside, slammed the door closed. Next he lifted his racquet, gave a cursory bow to his opponent—and then, the war was on.

Gabe took the first game fifteen to eleven. Sean came back, perfecting his killer smash, and took the second game fifteen to seven.

By the third game they were both sweating like pigs, and the game had regressed to a primitive slog to the death. Never let it be said that an O’Sullivan wasn’t competitive. One long hour later Sean took the match fifteen to thirteen. Gabe didn’t mind because this felt good. Relaxed. Powerful. And his mind was completely Tessa-free.

Progress, definitely progress.

Besides, he’d whip his brother’s ass the next time. There was always a next time.

They showered, changed, and Sean bought a drink for Gabe at the juice bar. Gabe ducked his head low in case anybody recognized him. He had a reputation to uphold, and sipping soy juice at some Nancy-boy health bar wasn’t part of it.

Only for Tessa—and she would never know the depths he had sunk to in order to keep this Twilight Zone of a relationship alive.

When the bartender shoved the glass of OJ in Gabe’s direction, Gabe sniffed and then raised his glass. “To my brother, who has fallen far, far from the esteemed ideals that the O’Sullivan name has stood for through four generations. Juice? Juice? What is this?”

“I think it’s important to maintain a healthy lifestyle. Alcohol can be dangerous,” Sean said, pushing back the hair from his eyes, trying to weasel his way into respectability.

“Sean, our family’s fortune was made on the ill-gotten gains of illegal alcohol. O’Sullivan’s started as a speakeasy. You can run to a career in the law, but you can’t hide.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t go straight.”

Gabe downed the juice in one gulp. “Are you sure we’re related? You’re the brown-eyed kid. Why brown? Did you ever think about that, Sean?”

“Why are you here?” asked Sean, sipping demurely at his carrot juice.

Carrot juice? Gabe sighed, wanting to avoid this, but he couldn’t. This was important. And if he had to humiliate himself in front of his lesser-respected brother, then so be it. “I need to talk to you about a woman. You are still interested in women, aren’t you?”

Sean laughed and appeared relieved by the change of subject, the flicker of humanity coming back into his eyes. “Desperate, aren’t you? Coming to the master.”

“Don’t rub it in, this is hard enough. I can’t talk to Daniel, because I can’t handle talking to Daniel about sex. That’d be cruel. I’m not cruel.”

Sean tugged at the cuffs of his Brooks Brothers shirt and studied Gabe like a scientist. “So we’re actually having sex with this female? Are you sure this isn’t a case of lusting from afar?”

At that moment Gabe wished he had a tie. Something silky, probably with a designer label. Preferably long enough that he could loop it around his brother’s neck and then pull. Tightly. He smiled at the thought.

“No, it’s not lusting from afar. But it would be a lot easier.”

“That’s just sad, Gabe.”

“Yes, yes, it is.” He took a deep breath and pitched his voice low, finally admitting the unsavory truth. “She likes to pretend, Sean.”

“Pretend what?”

“Pretend that I’m not me.”

Sean stroked his chin. “I see. So she’s so revolted by you that she has to pretend you’re someone else.”

“That’s not it,” Gabe snapped and saw heads turn with curiosity. He scowled back.

“It looks like it. Why else would she need to pretend? Unless you can’t satisfy her, of course.”

“Of course I can satisfy her,” answered Gabe through gritted teeth.

“On the basis of the facts as presented before me, I’m thinking that answer is a big no.”

“Screw you, Sean.”

Sean lifted his hands. “Okay, okay. All joking aside, I can see you’re in need of guidance. Did you ever think about ditching her?”

The bartender came over, clearing the glasses. “Another round of juice?”

“Not in this lifetime,” said Gabe. He glared at his brother, feeling uncomfortable. “Hell, a man needs a BlackBerry and a cellphone in order to fit in here. Next time, we’re playing wall ball the old-fashioned way—out in the alley.”

“Sure, if it makes you feel better. But I’ll still whip your ass. Now, getting back to the sex girl—which is much more interesting than how I can wipe the floor with you—why don’t you ditch her? You’re not the obsessive-compulsive type.”

“I can’t ditch her,” answered Gabe, sounding obsessively compulsive.

“Why? Every woman can be ditched for the right reasons.”

“I like her. I’m not going to stop seeing her.”

A big guy in sweats plopped down next to Sean and started talking, completely butting into a personal conversation. Gabe sat for a few minutes while Sean chatted legal gibberish with the other dude until Gabe cleared his throat.

“Do you mind?” he asked Sean.

Sean turned to the other guy. “My little brother. He needs help. Sorry.”

The man held out his hand. “You’re Daniel? I’m Frankie Ryder. How you doing?”

“No, I’m Gabe,” he responded, shaking the meaty paw but shooting meaningful “hurry-up” glances to Sean.

Frankie turned to Sean. “I didn’t know you had two brothers.”

“I’m the brother he keeps hidden up in the attic.”

“Gabe, you don’t have to be rude.” Sean looked at Frankie. “He’s a little edgy. It’s a sex thing.”

“Excuse me?” Gabe coughed.

Frankie blushed around the gills and then sat up. “I’ll see you back at the office, Sean.”

“Sure thing,” said Sean with a happy wave.

“Did you need to drag this out in the open?”

“No, but it seemed like the fun thing to do. And stop acting like you’re the only man in the world who’s ever suffered from blue balls. Do you know that ninety-nine-point-seven-three percent of men’s frustrations come from sex issues? If I didn’t tell Frankie, he’d figure it out. One of the best estate lawyers this side of hell. Great guy.”

“I’m sure Frankie’s great, but can we get back to my problems?”

“Ah, so now you do want to admit you have a problem? Which is an important step because, yes, you do—a giant one. Why do you think she has to pretend?” asked Sean, using his courtroom cross-examination voice, but Gabe was too wound up to care.

Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? Gabe had thought long and hard about why, but he couldn’t come up with anything. “I don’t know why. There doesn’t have to be a why. Why why? I don’t want to think about why.”

“Why goes to motive, Gabe.”

“This isn’t a court case. I’m talking sex. Just sex.”

“But don’t you want to know her why?”

“No, I only want to fix it.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Can’t? What does that mean?”

“What if she can never accept you for who you are or for what you are? Maybe she has issues with dating a bartender? Maybe, for instance, she’s always wanted a more cerebral man. Like me.”

“It’s not that.”

“So you do know the why.”

“I don’t care about the why.”

“Then there’s your problem. She has a why, you don’t care about the why and she wants you to care about the why. Elementary, Gabe, elementary. You just have to understand the female psyche.”

Gabe looked around the club, seeing it through the red haze of his rage. “This is pointless. I shouldn’t have talked to you.”

“Why don’t you talk to Tessa?”

Gabe pretended he wasn’t affected, but, okay, his heart stopped for a second. “What? What do you mean?”

Sean looked completely casual. “Tessa. A female point of view, who conveniently happens to be your roommate, as well. Maybe she can explain the why.”

Gabe hid his sigh of relief. “I’m not sure that Tessa is the right person to talk to.”

“Why?” asked Sean, his eyes narrowed—and suspicious.

Quickly Gabe backed off. “You’re right. I’ll talk to Tessa. I bet she’ll know exactly what to do.”

Sean grinned. “See? Look how smart your older brother is.”

People didn’t realize how difficult it was being the youngest of three brothers. People didn’t give Gabe enough credit for putting up with bullshit like this.

However, Gabe rose above all the crap that Sean dished out. He was the bigger man. “You’re lucky this time, Sean. Next time, I’m going to smash your candy ass into the floor.”

“Empty threats, nothing more. Because it’s obvious that I’m the lover in the family, baby brother, as well as the fighter.”

Gabe eyed the silk tie around his brother’s neck, considered the very real presence of witnesses, and opted to spare Sean’s life. But only because Sean was wrong. Gabe was the lover in the family.

Sean signaled the bartender, and he came over holding the glasses in his hand completely wrong. Poser.

“Another round of juice.”

“Just the check. Sean’s paying.” Gabe slapped his brother on the back. “Thanks, bro.”

Then he left this godforsaken establishment before its wholesome aura started to rub off on him.

Carrot juice? Jeez.

TESSA SPENT THURSDAY afternoon looking at apartments and meeting potential roommates. Some people might call it boring, Tessa considered it depressing. She’d met Stella, a longtime bartender at 87 Park, who was a fifty-three-year-old with platinum blond hair and a rose tattoo on her arm and, best of all, she smoked like a chimney. Tessa mentally did the math. Fifty-three minus twenty-six was twenty-seven. Tessa had twenty-seven years before she ended up like Stella—not that there was anything wrong with that.

But Tessa wanted more.

After Stella there’d been Barry, who was twenty-two, and just starting in the MBA program at Columbia. After ten minutes in the shadow of his type-A personality, Tessa knew she would turn suicidal.

After Barry, there’d been Karen, who was an aspiring Broadway dancer. Everything was fine until Tessa had met Karen’s fiancé, Chaz, who’d slapped Tessa on the butt immediately after meeting her, and then started talking threesomes when Karen went to answer her phone. Tessa hadn’t waited for Karen to get back.

Next Tessa had gone up to Washington Heights, crossed over to the Bronx and then gone south to Bensonhurst. She’d seen studios, one-bedrooms and lofts—and exactly zero that she wanted to live in. The studios were like living in a closet. The first one-bedroom she’d seen had a view over the sanitation facility, the second was directly over the subway, shaking ominously every ten to twelve minutes. And the loft was not even in the same area code of her price range.

All in all, it was true: in the naked city, there was only one building that provided good value and adequate security.

Hudson Towers. Someday maybe the New York real estate market would go bust—possibly Tessa’s great-great-grandchildren would see it—but not anytime before.

For a second she considered moving, moving back to Florida, giving up, telegraphing to the world that, yes, it was true, Tessa couldn’t survive on her own.

Only one second did she consider this defeatist mentality.

No way. No way in hell.

Marisa wouldn’t give up. Marisa would take the deal and not lose any sleep.

That was the thing about people like Marisa. They were connected, knew people who knew people and made it their business to make sure they were always collecting more people.

Marisa wanted to add Tessa to her collection and she wanted to add Gabe, as well. Quid pro quo. The world ran on quid pro quo.

The answer was simple.

Tessa would get her apartment, she’d help out Marisa, and she’d get over this Gabe thing. It was a sexual crush, nothing more. She’d been too long without a man and he’d been the first guy in four years, so it was completely natural that she was a little overheated.

But passion didn’t last. Not like real estate.

No, her apartment was her future. The men would have to wait their turn because Tessa was going to get her own place, pay her own bills, buy her own furniture and possibly get a cat.

Friday afternoon was her accounting class, so she went and listened to Professor Lewis drone on about tangible operational assets and intangible operational assets, which helped cement her own operational decision.

Gabe was right. Accounting was a mistake. She’d just picked a career out of the phone book instead of trying to figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. However, to be fair, she’d never had to pick out a career before, and who knew there was a right way and a wrong way to do it?

Well, lesson learned. Considering she had to execute an alternate career plan, like, yesterday she was going to talk to Marisa ASAP. Immediately after class she pulled out the Realtor’s wrinkled card and punched the numbers on her cell.

“Marisa—Tessa. The bartender from Prime? How you doing?”

“Good. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Wow, you work fast.”

Unfortunately Marisa wasn’t interested in Tessa’s life decision. No, she wanted to talk about men in general, Gabe in particular.

Shoot.

“Actually, I want to talk to you about something else. Can you meet me for a drink? Or dinner—I don’t care. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“About Gabe?”

“Yeah,” answered Tessa. “Yeah.”

“Sounds great. I’ll meet you at that new bar on the corner of Bleecker and Grover.”

Tessa knew the place. Chrome, black, cute little colored lights, yet pretentious and expensive, with watered-down drinks. Okay, fine, whatever.

Forty-five minutes later Tessa changed into her best pair of black jeans and dashed into Century 21 to buy a dressier shirt. Attire was something she’d never worried about before, but now appearances mattered. The golden, glittery top looked great in the dressing room, but the frumpy haircut? Tessa glared at her own reflection in the mirror and sighed. She could fix clothes, but hair couldn’t be fixed in ten minutes. Actually, it could, but even Tessa knew that getting a haircut in ten minutes or less was a really bad idea. She’d done that once when she was seventeen. Not doing that again. Later, when she had the time, she would fix the hair thing.

When she got to the club, she scoured the room for Marisa, finally spotting her near the back, dressed exquisitely in some neatly pressed olive-green suit that brought out the highlights in Marisa’s exquisitely styled hair.

Marisa, to her credit, looked over Tessa’s new, improved wardrobe and didn’t say a word.

No, the first words out of her mouth were, “Did you talk to him?”

Tessa, whose last conversation with Gabe had consisted of very little communication, having more to do with groping and grabbing, elected to spin the truth. “The time wasn’t exactly right.”

Marisa looked disappointed.

Tessa realized that disappointment wasn’t how you approached the sole person who could help you on this new career in real estate. “But there’ll be more chances,” she added, throwing in an optimistic smile.

Marisa perked up nicely. “I checked into Hudson Towers for you. I know a guy who knows a guy who has an aunt who’s about to move into assisted living. Her place is going up for sublet in another three weeks. I gave him your name, and he was excited to avoid the whole finding-a-new-renter nonsense. How’s that for results?”

Holy moley. In another three weeks she’d have her ideal place. Solo. Marisa was faster than most cabdrivers Tessa had ridden with. “Really? You’re not just yanking my chain, are you?”

“Cross my heart,” promised Marisa.

Tessa ordered a drink from the waitress, choosing to stick to a diet soda. Better to maintain a clear head tonight. After all, this was business. Marisa, not knowing that tonight was business, ordered a Tom Collins.

“When did you decide to go into apartment rentals?” Tessa asked after the waitress deposited their drinks.

Marisa tossed back the hair from her face in one very confident, self-assured flick. “I futzed around after college, trying to design an interesting career around a degree in liberal arts, and then I realized that this city lived and breathed real estate. I didn’t have to teach English if the possibility gave me hives. I could do something more exciting, and financially a lot more rewarding.”

A degree. Bummer. But Tessa wasn’t discouraged yet. “But somebody wouldn’t have to have a degree, would they?”

Marisa shook her head. “Oh, no. We have this one kid in the office who’s fifteen, and even though legally he can’t act as an agent, he’s as good as a walking database of New York City apartments. When he turns eighteen, he’ll be earning a fortune.”

“Wow. Fifteen,” murmured Tessa, shamed by a mere fifteen year old with more business sense than her. “I want to go into real estate, Marisa. I know more about the apartments in this city than anybody, even your fifteen-year-old whiz kid.” There. She’d done it. She’d actually tried to sell herself.

“Really?” asked Marisa, which was better than Get out of my face, bitch, you’re bothering me.

Tessa was mildly encouraged. “Sure, test me.”

And for the next half hour Marisa did. Tessa knocked off the answers one by one, not hesitating, her confidence growing by leaps and bounds.

Eventually Marisa sat back in her chair, arms crossed across her chest. And there was approval on her face. Actual Tessa approval. “You do know your stuff. You think you can handle the exam?”

“With flying colors,” answered Tessa, getting cockier by the millisecond, so close to Hudson Towers she could taste it.

“There’s a weeklong course that you’ll have to take. And then pass the exam. But, yeah, I’d vouch for you.”

And, yes, success. Tessa was in.

“Thank you for all your help.”

Marisa smiled graciously. “Not a problem. You’re helping me out, too,” she reminded Tessa.

“I can’t believe you have problems meeting men.” Because Tessa could see the guys in the club checking out Marisa.

“I’m tired of stuffy Manhattan studs who think every woman must fall down at their feet and perform full-throated fellatio within thirty seconds of the first meet and greet. I’d rather find someone who can respect me. What I like about bartenders is that they seem to respect females. It’s a very therapeutic profession.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that,” Tessa replied.

Marisa leaned her chin on her palm. “Tell me about Gabe.”

Gabe? Did they really have to talk about Gabe? Yes, apparently they did.

Tessa, not quite willing to give up yet, looked around wildly, her eyes resting on the surfer boy who was tending to the bar. “What about this guy? He looks sensitive, almost poetic. I bet he’d love to go out with you.”

“Nah. We dated a few months ago and I broke up with him. I think he was still hung up on his ex-girlfriend or something. You know, it’s very hard for men to break free from repressed memories.”

Oh, man. Marisa was about forty thousand steps ahead of Tessa in the relationship world. “What about the bartenders at Club X? I knew this one bartender there—we played against them in softball last year—and he was fabulous. The most perfect set of abs you’ve ever seen.”

“Mario?”

“Oh.” Tessa’s face fell. “You know him.”

“Yeah,” answered Marisa. “We didn’t go out, though. He’s got a bad track record of date-’n’-dump. I don’t need that.”

“You really know your bartenders, don’t you?” said Tessa, trying to get used to the very real possibility of Marisa dating Gabe. He would be impressed with Marisa. She was confident, successful, nice, well put together and she really liked her bartenders.

“A woman can’t be too careful in this city.”

“No,” Tessa chimed in. Quickly she ordered a shot of tequila, deciding that the vision of Gabe and Marisa was best seen through alcohol-tinted glasses. “A woman can’t.”

The waitress brought two shooters and Tessa clinked her glass with Marisa’s. “To my hookup with Hudson Towers.”

Marisa grinned. “To my hookup with Gabe O’Sullivan.”

The pale liquid should have been hemlock. But as Marisa had said, a woman couldn’t be too careful in this city.

Tessa launched the tequila down her throat. Time to get off the Gabe train while she still could. It’d be too easy to fall back into the same depend-on-a-man trap and get sidetracked from learning to take care of herself. Tessa had dreams, and it was time to start fulfilling them. It was time to either put up or shut up. Either Tessa could take care of herself or else she was going to end up like Stella or with a boyfriend like Chaz who would want to sleep with Tessa’s friends—all at the same time.

No way. Not Tessa. She was going to do this.

No more sex. No more sex at all.

WHEN GABE CAME HOME at two in the morning, Tessa was sacked out on the couch, his old throw cuddled in her arms. The TV was tuned to MSNBC, which gave him a short pause, but he turned it off anyway.

A book was tucked underneath the throw—“New York State Real Estate Requirements”—and he noticed Tessa’s accounting book lying suspiciously next to the trash. There was a new wind blowing, and Tessa wasn’t wasting any time.

Gabe watched her sleep, then shook his head. Damned if he’d leave her on the couch all night, so he gathered her up in his arms, happy when she curled into his chest as though she belonged there.

Carefully he carried her to her bed, wishing she’d picked out something nicer than the futon. If he didn’t think she’d have a heart attack, he’d move her into his room, but Tessa had her whole personal-boundaries issues, and he was going to respect them.

Actually, Gabe wanted to see Tessa make it. For four years he’d watched her press forward, her forehead worried into one long line that even BOTOX couldn’t fix, but she kept going on, roommate after roommate, roadblock after roadblock, never asking for help, never complaining. The little bartender that could—that was her.

Gabe gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, smoothing the lines of worry away.

She was complicated, irrational, skittish…and completely irresistible.

So it’d be complicated. So what? Gabe gave her a long look and then snuck out, closing the door behind him.

Yeah, he’d respect her personal boundaries, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t seduce her personal boundaries right out of the equation.

In fact, it’d be his pleasure.

DANIEL O’SULLIVAN WASN’T a man to complain, but by the time he interviewed the fifth of Sean’s candidates for the new bartender position he decided to forget tradition and raise holy hell.

The blonde was cheerful, flirty, and didn’t know whiskey from vodka. However, she did have breasts that torpedoed out from here to eternity.

Daniel sighed, told the woman to have a nice day, and then went downstairs to the office. This was Prime, not Hooters, and he’d be damned if he would spend a perfectly good Saturday afternoon wasting his time, although, to be fair, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do than waste his time. Daniel had become very good at wasting time.

Meanwhile, Sean was sitting at the desk playing solitaire on the bar’s computer. Wasting time seemed to be an O’Sullivan family trait.

“What are are you doing?”

Sean turned and quickly clicked over to a spreadsheet. “What do you think? She’s great, isn’t she?”

Daniel could feel the start of a world-class headache.

“Stop coming up with candidates to interview, will you? This isn’t your own personal casting couch.”

“You could make it yours. It’d probably improve your disposition.” Sadly, Sean was completely serious.

“That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it, Sean?”

“It’s not my fault I’m a people person. I bet you didn’t know that lately people have been coming to me for advice, and I’ve discovered a new talent. Giving personal advice. You know, people come to me as a lawyer all the time. Why not come to me as a personal advisor? The best part? I don’t charge by the hour.”

“What idiot comes to you for personal advice?”

“Our younger brother is having sexual difficulties. But you wouldn’t notice, would you?”

“Gabe?” asked Daniel, too shocked to doubt the truth of the matter.

Sean nodded. “He’s having women problems.”

Gabe? Women? Hell, Daniel would be having women problems before Gabe. Gabe was grounded, levelheaded, knew what he wanted and didn’t waste anybody’s time. Gabe didn’t have problems, period. “I don’t believe you.”

“Ask him.”

“For real?” asked Daniel, only because Sean didn’t have the little gleam in his eyes that he got when he was lying.

“Yeah. Pitiful.”

Daniel listened as Sean filled him in on the details, until eventually his curiosity overcame the need to respect his brother’s privacy. “Who is she?”

“Some woman he picked up.”

“Did he say that?” asked Daniel, because Gabe didn’t pick up women. They tried to pick him up, and he always said no. Well, almost always. For the past four years Gabe had barely looked at women at all.

Except for one.

It had become something of an inside joke to Daniel, watching Gabe and Tessa together—and yet not. In some ways, Daniel was living vicariously through his younger brother, remembering what it felt like. That smile when she walked into the room, the easy comfort of knowing that there was always someone waiting for you at home.

There was never any overt sexual tension between Tessa and Gabe—they were too casual for that. It took a detail man to notice the way they got along so easily, knowing what the other one needed before asking, laughing at jokes that no one else got. And then there was the way Gabe protected Tessa, making sure the problem customers were never sitting at her bar. Looking out for her when she was shorthanded and in general making sure that Tessa didn’t hurt.

Daniel understood that. Understood the idea that there was only one woman created exactly, specifically for each man. Life was very precise, as was love.

Fate had decreed that they be together. Maybe it wasn’t fate, maybe it was God. Daniel believed in both.

Eight years ago Daniel had found Michelle, loved her to the exclusion of every other female on the planet—and in a single moment God took her away.

But Gabe still had his moment. He had an entire lifetime to celebrate the exact, specific woman who was created perfectly for him.

Daniel looked up at the betting pool. Saw the neatly written numbers and the names next to them and then laughed out loud.

“What’s so funny?” demanded Sean.

“You wouldn’t understand,” replied Daniel. Sean wouldn’t get it. For Sean, sex was the be-all and end-all to women.

And to prove Daniel’s point, Sean pulled out an application from the pile. “Whatever, but let’s talk bartenders for a moment, shall we? This is Leslie, and she’s got this long, long, dark hair, and the woman is ready, willing and completely bedworthy. I think she’d be great. Really.”

ON SATURDAY MORNING Tessa emerged from her bedroom in a Grateful Dead T-shirt that skimmed her knees.

Gabe looked up from the Post, not wanting to imagine what was under the T-shirt, and if he wasn’t going to imagine what was under there, he needed to make sure she couldn’t read it on his face.

“So how was last night?” he asked.

Tessa padded over to the cabinets, and pulled out a box of cereal, then seated herself at the table next to him. “Fun,” she answered, taking a handful of cereal and popping it into her mouth like candy.

“And class?”

She stopped crunching, and then swallowed. “Not fun. I’m quitting.”

And wasn’t that about time? “New plans?”

“Yeah. Real estate. I’ve been talking to a friend. There’s a class starting in the middle of next week. I’m signing up.”

“You have enough money to cover the cost?” Knowing Tessa, she’d live on ramen noodles and cereal before she’d take any help.

“Oh, yeah.” Her hand reached into the box again. “You should meet this girl. Marisa. The one who’s been helping me. She’s completely cool. I think you’d like her.”

“Probably not,” Gabe responded, not wanting to state out loud that his attention was currently occupied but wondering why Tessa couldn’t figure this out on her own. In terms of life issues, maybe she was directionally challenged, but she wasn’t dense. At least not usually.

She folded up the bag of cereal, her mouth fixed in a solemn line. “I’ve been thinking.”

Never good, but Gabe wasn’t worried. Quickly he directed the conversation to the one he wanted. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot to think about. A career change, a roommate search. I’m glad you’re thinking.” There, positive affirmations. The perfect way to get women to do what you wanted them to.

But when she met his eyes, he saw sadness there. Oh, this really wasn’t going to be good.

“I don’t think I can sleep with you anymore,” she said.

Aha, maybe not so bad. So she’d come to see the error of the strange relationship they had? “Actually, I’m glad you think that way. I want to change things around, too.”

“You do?”

Honesty. He’d avoided talking because he knew it would scare her, but since she’d brought it up…“Yeah. I don’t like this, Tessa. I want us to go out. We don’t have to tell anybody. I don’t think that’d be a good idea—it’s too soon, and people will interfere and get in the way. But I want us to be normal. Don’t get me wrong here, I love having sex with you, but it bugs me because I feel like I’m taking advantage of you because of you living here and working at the bar, and I don’t like that. As a rule, I don’t handle guilt well.”

Tessa frowned. “I don’t think you understand.”

Of course he understood. Out of the entire universe of people, Gabe was the only one who was practicing common sense. However, not the time. It couldn’t be possible that Sean was right. Maybe Tessa just wanted him to try and understand her.

“Then help me understand. What do I need to understand?” Gabe asked.

“I can’t sleep with you at all. I can’t go out with you. It’s getting in the way.”

Gabe put down the paper, now giving her his undivided attention. This conversation wasn’t nearly as easy as he’d thought it would be. “Getting in the way? It doesn’t have to get in the way. You need time to study—I can respect that. In fact, I think I’ve been awesome at trying to not get in your way.”

“I can’t do this,” she told him quietly.

“Why?” Gabe asked, really starting to hate that word.

“I don’t know why.”

“There’s got to be a why, Tessa. This is me. Gabe. You can tell me anything.” Damn, his voice sounded desperate. Gabe didn’t like desperate.

Tessa pulled back. He saw her pull back physically and knew she had pulled back emotionally, as well. “There is no why. I just decided that it’s not smart. There. Not smart. That’s my why. It’s time that I started being smart, Gabe.”

“You are smart,” he spoke up automatically.

“Not smart enough. If I were smarter, I would know people. I would have a career plan. I wouldn’t have to depend on my friends for my living quarters.”

Gabe opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn’t believe the nonsense that was coming out of her. It was as if she was turning into some completely new person, and Gabe didn’t like it. He wanted the old Tessa back.

“I’m more than your friend, Tessa.”

“No, Gabe. No, you’re not,” she said, the ultimate knife in the back.

He looked into her eyes, trying to read her mind, trying to see the things that he had always grasped so easily before. There was no freaking way that Gabe had misread this situation, and Tessa seemed ready to cry.

“You don’t mean that.”

She nodded, her lips pursed tightly together.

“You don’t want this?” Gabe asked, still waiting for her to tell him the truth. But they were good together. In fact, they were better than good together.

“I can’t want this,” she stated slowly, with a dignity that was usually lacking from her words.

Gabe rose up from the table, needing to stop looking at her. He wanted to hit out, yell, make her come to her senses, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything at all.

“Fine,” he answered and walked to his room, slamming the door.

Even if it hurt him.

He wanted to ignore her, pretend she didn’t exist, let the anger cool. But goddamn—

Tessa was his roommate.

Goddamn.

THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON was a milder form of hell for Tessa. She spent the afternoon locked in her room. Not that locks were necessary—Gabe wasn’t coming anywhere near her. Her feminine intuition told her that truth. Her feminine intuition, along with the raging chaos in Gabe’s eyes.

He left for the bar around two, slamming the door behind him, probably being polite and letting her know he was leaving.

Tessa immediately burst into tears.

And this from two people who weren’t, as a rule, emotional.

Okay, this hadn’t gone as she’d planned. Tessa had thought she could be mature and able to handle the ending of a relationship—using the term relationship loosely—without feeling as if the floor had been pulled out from underneath her.

Sadly Gabe was the foundation she’d built the last four years on, and now she knew that foundation was gone.

And where had that come from? For four years she’d worked her butt off to get her own place in New York. And now it was right within her grasp, but her priorities were getting all whacked. All because of sex with Gabe. Tessa wanted Gabe, but she wanted to have things the way they were—but she knew there was no going back. She’d known that from the first time he’d kissed her when that lightning bolt of awareness shot through her and made her open her eyes to feelings she had never wanted to admit. She depended on Gabe too much. He was her boss, her roommate and, most of all, her friend. But seeing a guy naked complicated things, and aching to have him inside you killed all that friendship stuff in a heartbeat.

Tessa sniffed away the last of her tears. Tears were for losers, and Tessa wasn’t a loser. She was a survivor and she could get through this, as well.

She showered and dressed for work, not thinking about the big hole in her chest. All she needed to do was pull on her big-girl panties because right now she had a job to do.

At the bar, the regulars were lined up in front of Gabe, exactly as if everything were normal.

Tessa pasted her usual smile on her face because, yes, this was normal. Completely normal. She didn’t need to feel as if she’d been doused over the head with a bucket of ice.

Gabe flashed her a smile, not really so normal, more like “mad as hell, but we’ll pretend,” and Tessa looked down, concentrating on cutting lemons.

Thankfully the weather outside was sunny and fabulous, and so the crowds started pouring in early, which didn’t give her much time to dwell on her own misery. In fact, after a few hours, things did start to seem normal. When the tap went dry, Gabe was there to tap the new one for her. When a very forward slut-puppy began hitting on Gabe, Tessa sent Lindy over to rescue him by pretending to be his girlfriend. When Sean took an extended break with some redhead, Tessa filled in smoothly, covering two of the three bars without a misstep. It wasn’t the Paris Peace Accord, but it wasn’t World War III either. When Sean returned to the bar, slightly out of breath and flushed, Gabe didn’t even seem to mind.

Tessa had made it past depressed and was halfway to optimistic when Marisa breezed in, a vision in bright blue silk, turning all male heads in her path.

Except for Gabe’s.

Marisa shouldered through to find a seat in front of Tessa.

“How’s it going?”

“Busy,” answered Tessa, which she hoped would prevent long, extended Gabe-filled conversations.

“Were you able to talk to him? Should I go introduce myself? Do you think this dress is okay? Not too trashy? I wanted sexy but classy. This is sexy but classy, don’t you think?”

Tessa stared, unable to reconcile this babbling sinkhole of female insecurities with confident, self-assured Marisa. However, it did make her feel more comfortable with her own lack of confidence when it came to Gabe. Did he affect all women this way? Probably.

Tessa smiled at Marisa, somewhat vindicated. “You look great. Don’t worry. I started laying the groundwork for you, but let me go over and say a few more things, and then you sit at his bar for a while. Oh, and one thing—I didn’t tell him about the apartment at Hudson Towers. He never liked the place, and I don’t want to say anything. Let’s keep that part just between us. Okay?”

Marisa nodded. “Sure. You’ll talk to him now?”

Tessa nodded and wiped suddenly sweaty palms on her rag. She could do this. She could definitely do this. She tightened her smile, took a deep breath and went to see Gabe.

He was pouring a pitcher of beer and he looked up, surprised to see her.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Tessa nodded. “You remember me talking to you about Marisa, the Realtor who’s getting me into school?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking at her, confused.

Not that she could blame him. She knew everything that was going on and she still felt confused. “I think you should talk to her. Get to know her. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Leave it alone, Tessa. I’m not feeling friendly.” He sloshed the pitcher on the bar, which was a testament to how unfriendly he was currently feeling. Gabe didn’t slosh. Ever.

Tessa flashed Marisa a reassuring smile and turned back to Gabe.

“She’s very pretty. And she’s nice, too.”

“What is with you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, licking suddenly dry lips.

“You’re hell-bent on setting me up with her, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I like her and I like you, and I think you two would get along well,” replied Tessa. She wasn’t the world’s greatest actress, but man, she should really get an award for this…assuming she could walk away from Gabe without bursting into tears—again.

Gabe wasn’t buying it, wasn’t even close to buying it, but at least he had stopped asking why.

“Send her over. I’ll make sure she has a great time,” he snapped, which sounded more like a threat.

Tessa walked away because, yes, she was going to fall apart here, and there were over one hundred thirsty customers and they all needed her.

She squared her shoulders, tightened her stomach and swore to herself that as soon as she was alone she could fall apart. But not until then.

Tessa was getting stronger.

GABE FELT AS IF HE had walked onto the set of some fictional drama and he had no idea who was who and what his lines were supposed to be. All he knew was that Tessa was pretty damn insistent that he hook up with Miss Marisa What’s-her-name, irrespective of whether Gabe wanted the woman or not. The Realtor looked polished, confident, a Manhattan barracuda with teeth. Completely not his type. He liked his women…

Like Tessa.

That’s what he wanted. Somebody that was soft and comfortable, that didn’t care if they went out on Saturday night or stayed at home. Somebody that understood the rules of poker.

And, most of all, somebody that needed Gabe.

The way Tessa needed Gabe.

But, okay, she wanted to go down this pathway to disaster, then he’d walk down it, if only to show her how badly she was screwing up.

His smile was cruel.

Because Tessa was screwing up royally.

Marisa noticed Gabe looking in her direction and waved. Gabe motioned her over. A discreet dip of the head, nothing more and—zoom—she was at Gabe’s bar.

Gabe took a deep breath and then proceeded to charm Miss Marisa Whoever right out of her senses. And he did. He complimented her dress, told her how the blue set off the twinkle in her eyes. He created a new drink, rum, vodka, and lemonade—and christened it the Marisa, insisting that everyone try it.

Tessa glowered at that one.

Inside, Gabe was beaming.

Everything was going along swimmingly until Daniel pulled him aside.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked his big brother, looking irate. This from a man whose general demeanor was somewhere between extracalm and not exactly breathing.

“What?”

“Why are you messing with this other girl? This can’t be the woman you were talking to Sean about. Is it?”

“Sean told you?” snapped Gabe, glaring at his other brother and deciding he was going to kill Sean after all.

“Sean would tell the Pope if he got the chance. Why did you ever go to him for advice?”

“I didn’t want to talk to you about it.”

“Why?”

Gabe threw down his rag. “What is it with why? I don’t want to tell you why, so I’m not going to. Deal with it, Daniel.”

Daniel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, look, I’m sorry for interfering, but you can’t go messing up your life like this.”

And now Daniel was drinking the same Kool-Aid as Tessa? “Messing up my life? What the—Daniel, I’m talking to a customer, that’s it.”

“No, you’re doing the whole eye game with her, Gabe. It’s like visual sex—and in front of everybody. Did you ever think you might be hurting somebody by doing that?”

“Hurting who?”

“Somebody,” answered Daniel vaguely. Too vaguely.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are you doing it?”

Gabe was tired of being accused of being a jerk for no good reason. It was about time he defended himself, because nobody else around here would, that was for damned sure. “Tessa wants me to go out with her. She’s one of Tessa’s friends. Some Realtor chick.”

“Tessa?” Daniel stared over at Tessa, brows drawn together.

“Yes, Tessa. I’m doing her a favor,” explained Gabe self-righteously. If there was anybody that deserved a medal, it was him.

“Why does Tessa want you to go out with somebody else?”

At that, Gabe threw up his arms. “How the hell should I know? Ask her. I’m going back to work. This is a bar, not the O.C., thank you very much. I’m going back to work. Going back to work now. And if you figure anything out, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to understand. I don’t want to go boohoo. I just want to tend bar. Capisce?”

Daniel frowned but waved him away. “This is so wrong,” he muttered, and Gabe was ready to throw a punch, but he’d never hit Daniel on purpose, and tonight wasn’t the night to start. No, tonight he was going to pour drinks, flirt with the pretty lady and do exactly what Tessa wanted him to do.

Even if it hurt him.

TESSA WASN’T GOING TO watch. She wasn’t going to watch. She wasn’t going to watch. So then Lindy had to come by and tell her how Gabe was pulling a Sean with this new chick. And that it was completely weird because Gabe wasn’t like Sean, and the woman was okay, but she wasn’t that fabulous, but maybe she’d told him she could tongue him in the French-Bolivian way.

“What’s the French-Bolivian way?”

“I made it up, Tessa. You know, guys get really jacked up when you mention tongues. It’s like verbal Viagra or something. Considering the mental hard-on he’s got going over there, I’m thinking it has to be tongues.”

Tessa didn’t want to hear any more about tongues. “I’m going downstairs to smoke a cigarette.”

Lindy looked at her, confused. “You don’t smoke.”

So why did everybody have to be so literal tonight? “I’m going to learn,” she answered and then ran downstairs because she needed to get away, if only for a few minutes. Just long enough to pull herself together.

Once downstairs, she hid in the walk-in refrigerator, shivering in the cold, until a moment later when Daniel came in and sat next to her on a crate of limes. “You all right?” he asked as if it were completely normal to be sitting around in a refrigerator.

“Good. Of course, I’m good. No, I’m great,” Tessa replied.

“You don’t sound great.”

“Does anybody really know how great sounds? We all have varying degrees of great, and I’m tipping the scales here.”

He stayed silent for a minute, and she wondered why Daniel even cared about her well-being. He never was this sociable. Never. “Marisa is a friend of yours?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“She’s a looker.”

“And she’s nice, too,” said Tessa sweetly.

“That’s why you’re pushing her toward my brother?”

Tessa didn’t like the way Daniel was looking at her. As though he knew things, things that she didn’t want anybody to know. “She doesn’t have cooties, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

“Not asking. Merely trying to sort things out.”

“Nothing to sort out,” she said, forcing a laugh.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. If you’re thinking about the bet, don’t worry. I’m going to make Sean give everybody their money back. You won’t lose.” Technically Daniel should have won the first night. At one time, she would have insisted that he take the money, but now she didn’t care. When she had a real job, she’d pay him the three thousand out of her own pocket.

“I’m worried about Gabe, not the bet, Tessa.”

And, yes, he was worried about his brother, not the money. Wasn’t that what families did? Protect each other? Tessa wanted to tell him that Gabe didn’t need anybody worrying about him. He was unflappable, unsinkable, unassailable and every other able she could think of. Able. It was exactly the right word for Gabe. And Marisa. He and Marisa would get along fine. “Gabe’s great,” she muttered, crossing her arms across her chest, partially in defense and partially because the walk-in was freezing.

Daniel was unfazed. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“You do that, Daniel. Thanks.”

8

GABE DIDN’T COME HOME on Saturday night and Tessa pretended not to notice. What did she expect? Instead she studied the real estate book and plucked her eyebrows for the first time in her life. And because she didn’t want to face him when he did walk in the door, she changed for work and opted to spend Sunday afternoon in the park before heading to Prime.

Gabe wasn’t scheduled to work that night, and Tessa was almost relieved.

Almost.

The truth was, she loved working with Gabe. Daniel was nice, but he didn’t talk much. Sean was okay, but he didn’t let anybody get too close. And Gabe was…well, Gabe was Gabe.

When she tossed a bottle his way, he caught it. When she juggled three lemons, he juggled four. When he started a joke, she knew the punch line.

God, she missed that.

When she got in, the Thursday afternoon irregulars were sitting at the bar.

“About time you showed up, missy. My glass has been empty for a full—” Charlie checked his old windup watch “—eight seconds.”

“Why are you here on Sunday?”

“Lindy told me the yellow-sundress lady came here last Sunday. I want to find her. Wore my best tie.”

Tessa smiled with relief. She’d rather be spending time worrying about Charlie’s love life than Gabe’s. “You’re looking spiffy, Charlie. I don’t think that any woman could resist you with those—” Tessa took a good look “—dollar signs and Playboy logos running down your chest.”

Charlie shrugged what had once been extrawide shoulders. “When you’re my age, you don’t need a tie for much.”

Lloyd sniffed. “A man should always have appropriate attire.”

Tessa slapped her rag in his general direction. “Charlie’s a free spirit.”

EC nudged Charlie in the ribs. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

Sure enough, walking through the door were two young ladies—way too young for Charlie. But his eyes lit up. “That’s her, but where’s her grandmother?”

For a good ten minutes the men sat debating the wisdom of whether Charlie should talk to the granddaughter or not, and finally Tessa got miffed at all of them. No balls. Not a one.

Taking matters in hand, she approached the table where the two girls were sitting. “Can I get you something?” she asked, placing two bar napkins in front of them.

“Margarita on the rocks, no salt,” said the first one.

“Appletini,” said the second, and Tessa recognized her as the girl who wore the yellow sundress, although today she was in navy shorts and a classy tank top. “You’ve been in here before, right?”

“Yeah, I work down the street.”

“Weren’t you here with an older woman?” Tessa looked at the other girl. “No offense, of course, but I knew you were way too young.”

“That’s my great-aunt. She’s visiting from Kansas and she swore that she remembered being in this place a long time ago, but they called it something else. She made us stop that day.”

Tessa nodded, adopting her friendly tour-guide face. “That’s possible. Prime was O’Sullivan’s a lot of years ago. In fact, it was a speakeasy back during Prohibition. Your aunt has got a great memory. What’s her name?”

“Irene Langford. I’m Kristine Langford.”

Tessa leaned in low. “Listen, you see the group of old guys at the bar?” Kristine nodded. “One of them swears he knows your great-aunt. Maybe you could bring her in here sometime this week?”

“Really?” Kristine looked at the matched set of gray heads that were all turned in her direction. “That’s so sweet. But she’s not here anymore. She went back home.”

Tessa tried to look perky for Charlie, but inside she felt something tear. When you got to be Charlie’s age, opportunities were few and far between. “You expect her to visit again?”

“Doubt it. She’s terrified of flying. The doctor had to slip her a Valium to get her on the plane in the first place. But can I tell her his name?”

Tessa thought for a minute, looked at Charlie’s eager eyes, and nodded. “Charlie. Charlie Atwood.”

“Charlie?”

“Uh-huh, the one in the tie—but don’t hold it against him. I’ll buy him another one,” promised Tessa. “Let me get your drinks.”

Tessa went back behind the bar and was immediately bombarded with eighty million questions.

“What’s the woman’s name?”

“Irene Langford.”

“Langford? That doesn’t sound right.”

“Charlie, it’s been a long time. I bet she’s not who you think she is.”

He frowned. “That’s the problem. I can’t remember who I think she is. I only remember the face. And there was a song.”

“She’s in Kansas now.”

Charlie still didn’t get it. “She’ll be coming back?”

Tessa shook her head, hating to let the old guy down. He deserved better. “I don’t think so.”

Charlie stared into his mug until Lloyd tapped his glass to Charlie’s. “To lost loves, lost nights and lost chances. But may you never lose your beer.”

ON SUNDAY NIGHT GABE took out Marisa, just as Tessa wanted. He took her to 11 Madison for dinner and then some play that he didn’t really understand, but she’d been all fired up to go, and, fine, Gabe wasn’t up to disagreeing.

Marisa was nice enough, pretty enough, but man, the woman knew exactly what she wanted. When it came time to kiss her good-night or—God help him—something more serious, Gabe found himself dreading the whole ordeal.

This was one of the main reasons that he didn’t date. Trying to understand what women expected, what they didn’t expect, what they were saying, what they weren’t saying. Did they expect to have sex on the first date? Would they think he was a creep if he wanted to have sex with them after one date? These were questions that could boggle and confuse a man’s mind.

Still, he was going to do this. He was going to do this. Marisa looked up at him, smiled coyly, and he laid into her mouth.

Immediately she pulled back. “Okay, that was not good.”

Under other circumstances, Gabe would have been insulted, but he liked Marisa’s uncomfortable face because it proved that he’d been right and Tessa was wrong. And next time he saw her he was going to tell her that she shouldn’t be fixing him up with other women—even if they were nice.

“Sorry,” he said, noticing her confused expression. “My mind’s elsewhere.”

“Mine, too,” she admitted. “You want to come up?” she asked.

“I should go home,” he said, trying to figure out if “come up” was code for sex or not. And after that kiss there was no freaking way he was going near her for sex.

“I don’t mean to come up,” she said, adding suggestive emphasis. “I just thought you might want to talk for a few minutes.”

Gabe checked his watch. It was too early to show up at the apartment with his pride still intact. A man didn’t take getting dumped lightly, and who knew what Tessa’s reasons were, but the fact was Tessa had dumped him.

Gabe nodded because a man needed his pride. “Sure.”

They killed two hours discussing movies and arguing about whether chick flicks were a good thing or a bad thing. Marisa liked the Hamptons. Gabe liked the Jersey shore. Both agreed that subway fares were crazy expensive and the smoking ban in bars turned out to be all right after all.

They passed the time without incident when Gabe’s cell rang, and he looked down to see his brother’s cell number. He clicked the button. “Daniel?”

“Hello? Who’s this?” asked a voice that wasn’t Daniel’s.

“This is Gabe. Who is this?” Gabe asked.

“This is Vincent, the bartender at Champs. Listen, I think your brother needs some help getting home. I tried to call a cab for him, but he wouldn’t listen, and I’m not sure he knows where he’s going.”

“Daniel?” asked Gabe and then checked his watch. May twenty-fifth.

Damn.

While he’d been busy walking that tightwire that was Tessa, he’d forgotten about Daniel and Michelle’s anniversary.

“Where’s he at?” Gabe asked.

“We’re in Westchester.”

“Westchester? How’d he get up there?”

“Beats me. But he’s been knocking back double scotches for the last three hours.”

“He’s alone?”

“Deep in his cups.”

“I’m on my way.”

Gabe hung up and looked at Marisa. “Sorry. I’ve got a brother to rescue.”

“He’s in Westchester?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty smashed.”

“You need a ride?” she asked, and he gave her high marks for seeing the problem right off.

“You have a car?”

“Of course,” Marisa answered as if it was completely normal to keep a car in the city.

True, he didn’t want to have sex with her, but she was thoughtful and capable. Tessa had good taste in friends. “Are you sure you don’t mind? This won’t be pretty.”

“That’s all right, I don’t mind.”

And they ended up on the FDR, cruising out onto the Deegan, until she wheeled onto the exit for Scarsdale.

Marisa had a sweet little convertible and a heavy accelerator foot, but Gabe was happy for the rush. Daniel didn’t do this often, but when he did, Gabe was always there to bail him out.

The sports bar was on the main street in Scarsdale, a place with six TVs, flashing neon beer signs and bartenders dressed in striped referee uniforms that no man in his right mind would ever wear in a drinking establishment.

Hunched over said bar, blindingly drunk, was the O’Sullivan brother formerly known as “the sensible one.”

Gabe rushed forward. “Daniel?”

The bartender looked up in relief. “It was either you or the cops.”

“Does he come in here often?” asked Gabe.

“Never seen him before, but I’ve only been working here for a few weeks.”

Gabe paid the tab and gave the bartender a substantial tip. “Sorry.”

“He’s your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Kept talking about some woman.”

“Michelle?”

“No, he kept talking about Anastasia.”

Anastasia? Gabe shook his head, deciding the bartender was confused. “Doesn’t matter.”

He looked over at Marisa, who was watching the scene with interest. “You sure you want to do this?”

“It’s the most excitement I’ve had since a famous Grammy winner walked into the office, and I got to show him a SoHo loft that would have paid my rent for a year.”

With a quick smile, she took a shoulder, Gabe took the other one, and they carried Daniel toward the door.

“He doesn’t usually do this,” Gabe said, needing to defend Daniel.

“I’m not one to judge.”

“He lost his wife on 9/11,” he told her, not wanting to say too much, but he didn’t want Marisa thinking his brother was a lush, but Daniel kept things bottled inside, and when they came out, it was never pretty—and usually incoherent.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where are we headed?”

“He’s got a place down in Battery Park.” He searched Daniel’s pocket for keys and found them—thank God—because he wasn’t up to explaining this to Tessa. Trying to explain it to the absolute stranger that was Marisa was bad enough.

It took some work, but they got him in the backseat, and Gabe climbed in next to him.

“He’s kind of sad.”

“Not sad,” muttered Daniel.

The car shot forward, and soon Gabe was sitting there in a strange woman’s car with a drunk brother who looked as if was going to wake up tomorrow and hopefully forget all of this. Gabe wasn’t up to reminding him, or correcting him, but he could feel Marisa’s curiosity in the darkness.

Finally Gabe broke the silence. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what not to say. I want to pretend like nothing ever happened, but that’s wrong, too.”

“Has he been to counseling?”

“Daniel? Uh, no.”

“Why not?” she asked calmly.

“He’s not the counseling type,” Gabe responded, because nobody in their right mind went to counseling, and the O’Sullivans were all in their right minds, at least most of the time.

“Oh,” she said, then went back to being quiet.

Gabe glanced at Daniel, noted the nodding head, and sighed. One of the most frustrating things was that Gabe could usually fix anything—personal problem, leaky faucet, clogged beer tap. But lately he was striking out left and right. First with Tessa, now with Daniel. For a man who prided himself on the ability to handle every problem thrown his way, this wasn’t good. “You think I should do something, don’t you? Take him to a shrink or read some books to figure out how to talk to my own brother.” Yeah, he sounded defensive. So what?

“I don’t know.”

They didn’t say anything more on the way to the building, but Gabe knew that Marisa didn’t approve of Gabe. Easy for her to make judgments when there was no right or wrong, no good or bad, just a man who had a hole where his heart used to be.

It wasn’t right.

Daniel’s building was down near Wall Street, within the shadow of where the towers had stood.

Marisa eased the car into a parking garage and Gabe looked at her in surprise. “You can drop us off. I can take it from here.”

Marisa claimed the ticket from the attendant and shrugged. “You might need some help, and it’s not like I have somewhere to be.”

Gabe gave her a long look and then waved it off. “Your choice.”

Daniel was incoherent in the back, so Gabe was grateful for the help, and they lugged Daniel upstairs to his apartment.

When they entered the apartment, Marisa looked around. “Nice place. One bedroom but roomy. And the view’s good.”

Gabe smiled, maneuvering Daniel out of his suit jacket. He was the only man Gabe knew who would get shit-faced in a jacket and tie. “You sound like Tessa. No wonder you two are friends.”

“She’s nice,” Marisa offered and then ran forward when Daniel started to tilt.

“Just remember to stay on her good side.” Gabe smiled slightly.

“I don’t think she has a bad side.”

“You don’t know her well enough.”

“You two are roommates?”

Gabe wheeled Daniel toward the bedroom. “It’s a temporary thing. She needed a place to live. I had space.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“She would do the same for me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think she would.”

With one finger pressed to his brother’s chest, he landed Daniel on the bed. Daniel was going to be out for a long, long time. Gabe looked at the clock, saw that it was three, and suppressed a yawn.

“You don’t have to sit up. I’ll take the first watch. I think your brother’s out for a few hours.” Marisa was fast becoming a saint in Gabe’s eyes.

“You don’t mind?”

“Nah. I’ll turn the television on.”

Gabe gave her a hard look. “I’m sorry about earlier. Too bad it didn’t work. I like you.”

Marisa looked at Daniel, looked at Gabe and then shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

GABE STAGGERED HOME ON Monday morning. Tessa hadn’t wanted to stay up, but she had. But when she heard the key in the lock, she dashed back to her room and pretended to be asleep. Not for long, though, because eventually her masochistic tendencies got the better of her. Tessa had to know.

She came out, rubbing her head, hoping he wouldn’t notice the coffeepot that was filled with fresh coffee.

Sadly Gabe didn’t look as if he was noticing much. His eyes were red, and his wrinkled shirt looked as if it had been pulled from the clothes hamper.

“How was the date?” asked Tessa, keeping her face casually interested, not wanting to read too much into appearances—telling as they were.

“Great,” answered Gabe.

“Great is good,” she said and then pulled out her box of cereal. “Want some?” she ased, holding out a handful—which, after he declined, she forced herself to eat. The cereal tasted like cardboard or that plastic food that restaurants kept out on display for decades at a time. Neither of which Tessa had an appetite for.

Gabe watched her for a minute and then shook his head. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“You going to see her again?” asked Tessa as she watched him walk down the hall. He looked so tired, so exhausted, and she knew exactly why he was so tired, and the rock in her gut knew exactly why he was so tired, too.

Then Gabe turned around, spearing her with a glance. “Do you want me to see her again?”

With those bloodshot eyes and a shirt that should have been burned, Tessa knew she had to tread carefully. “Do you like her?” she asked, which seemed noncommittal enough. If he said yes, then she’d know that her fling with Gabe had been nothing more than that. A fling.

“She’s nice enough,” he answered, completely noncommittal—but not a yes, either.

“Yeah,” agreed Tessa.

Gabe rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, she’s nice or, yeah, you want me to go out with her again?”

“Yeah, she’s nice.”

He squinted at her. “Did you change your eyebrows?”

Self-consciously she smoothed them back. “It’s called grooming.”

He nodded once. “It looks nice.” Then he stared at the door to his bedroom, then stared back at Tessa. Then he sighed. “Are you ever going to tell me why I’m jumping through all these hoops, Tessa?”

There was something so disarming about the look in those blue eyes. This was the man who probably knew her better than anyone in New York.

She owed him something; she owed him the truth. “Because you scare me,” she said, the words coming out in a rush.

The bloodshot eyes looked at her, confused, as though it wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “Why? I’m the most unscary person on the planet.”

And for Tessa, that exact unscariness was the reason he was so dangerous to her well-being. If he was as raunchy as Sean, or as serious as Daniel, she’d have her shields up, and it’d be easy to keep a relationship alive while chasing her career. But Gabe wasn’t like most men. Her shields had never even had a chance.

“I need time, Gabe. That’s all. I have things I have to do first. I have to learn to be on my own.”

“I’m tired of your rules, I’m tired of your guidelines. Damn, right now I’m tired.”

He did look tired, and she hated that she was doing this, but if she didn’t do it now, she never would. He didn’t know how weak she really was. She had to make sure she could make it on her own. She had to make sure with one hundred percent certainty that if she needed to support herself, she could. Nobody seemed to understand that but her.

She stared into his tired eyes and willed herself to be strong. “I’ve known you for four years. You’re the first person I met in New York. The first person who offered me a job, the first person who made sure I understood the difference between a local and an express train, the first person who explained to me how to cross against the light in order to not be run over by the eight thousand people crossing against the light from the opposite direction. There’s no one that I’ve ever depended on more, Gabe. Nobody. Not even Denny. I can’t depend on you like that.”

Gabe, who had taken care of himself for his entire life, shrugged easily. “Yes, you can.”

“I have to learn to depend on myself first.”

“Tessa you can do anything you want.” He ran a hand through his hair. Dark, silky hair that probably Marisa had touched the way Tessa longed to.

Now wasn’t the time to think about his hair, she reminded herself. “You’re right. I can do anything I want. But I have to actually do it. I can’t just want to do it. There’s a difference.”

He took that in, and she could see the wheels turning in his head. Finally he nodded. “How long are we talking about here? A month? Another four years?”

And now they were discussing schedules. Tessa, who was about five years off hers, felt the familiar panic rise up inside her. “I don’t know.”

Gabe frowned, not sensing her panic, probably because he never panicked. Never felt that urgency at three in the morning, when she stared up at the ceiling, thinking of what she should be doing with her life and how much of a failure she would be if she didn’t decide soon.

“Do you know where I was last night?” he asked.

“Yeah,” answered Tessa, not really wanting to have this conversation.

“No. No, you don’t. It was Daniel’s wedding anniversary last night. Do you know how many wedding anniversaries he and Michelle had?”

“No,” she said, not understanding what Daniel’s wife had to do with his date with Marisa.

“Not a single one. They were married exactly five months before she was killed and never had one anniversary. Do you know what my brother did last night, Tessa?”

“No.”

“He got drunk. Falling down drunk in some bar in Westchester that I don’t even know how he ended up at. Sometimes it’s their anniversary, sometimes it’s her birthday and sometimes it’s nothing at all. My brother had a total of ten months with Michelle, and that was it. All my life I’ve been surrounded by people whose time was up before it was supposed to be, and nobody knows what’ll happen. We could all go tomorrow and—poof—we never would have had a chance. So you can see why I’m not eager to sit on my hands while you move forward with your life. I don’t want to end up drunk in a sports bar in Westchester because you needed time.”

“I’m sorry,” answered Tessa. And she was. She hated that people had to hurt. She hated that Daniel was hurt—he didn’t deserve that. She hated that Gabe was hurt—he didn’t deserve it either. But Tessa couldn’t fix the problems of the world, she had to focus on fixing Tessa. She had to fix herself or she never would. And maybe it didn’t matter to Gabe, maybe it didn’t matter to Daniel, maybe it didn’t matter to anyone but Tessa, but this was her last shot and she knew it. There were other people who could start over at thirty or start over at forty, or start over at sixty-five, but Tessa had never started at all. At some point she had to get out of the gate, and the clock was ticking.

“It doesn’t matter to me if you’re who you want to be or who you are, Tessa. You’re you. That’s enough for me. Why don’t we go slow? You want to do your class. Stay here.”

“I don’t know that I can do that, Gabe,” she said, even though she knew she couldn’t. Gabe was a long stretch of pristine beach looking out over the ocean. The summer breeze blowing across your skin, warming you, making you drowsy and relaxed. Tessa remembered those long, lazy days by the water, hours passing as you did nothing but lay there catching rays.

He met her eyes. “Don’t make me wait too long, because patience is too close to failure for me.”

“I won’t,” she said, feeling the panic moving up her throat. Panic that tasted remarkably like cold cereal.

Tessa swallowed it down. Keeping away from Gabe was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she knew she didn’t have a choice, and maybe tomorrow she’d feel as if she’d conquered the world, but right now she felt like garbage.

So she smiled at him as if she’d just conquered the world. “Starts on Wednesday. Eight o’clock to five o’clock for ten straight days. I needed to talk to you about my schedule. I can’t be there until after five, when class is over. And then when I get my license, I think I should put in my two weeks notice at the bar. I’m going to make this work.”

“Sure,” he said, then gave her one last disappointed look. Their eyes locked, and she longed to take the easy way out, to run to him and ditch every damned goal she’d ever set for herself. It was just like before, when she was young and naive. However, this time she was older, wiser—and this time she was close to achieving what she wanted. So close. If he’d only give her the time to succeed. That was all she wanted. Time. And Gabe.

She sighed, a long, slow exhale of air because she needed to remember to breathe.

His gaze did move off her. Onto something new. “I’m going to bed.”

ON TUESDAY, TESSA HAD to turn in her application and fees for the real-estate class. As she got ready to leave, she messed with her hair for two hours in the bathroom. But even after two hours it still didn’t look any better. She pulled it back, she moussed it (that’d been a mistake), she wore a headband and then finally she combed it back down into her eyes, just the way she always wore it. But still she wasn’t satisfied. The thing about making over your life was that you wanted to do it in strappy heels and head-turning lipstick—and without a man’s name tattoed on your butt.

A trip to Sephora killed two nights’ worth of tips, but in exchange, she was now in possession of the handiwork of the devil.

Makeup.

Mascara, concealer, an eyelash curler, pressed powder, lip gloss, eye shadow, liner, foundation and four high-dollar tubes of lipstick. Tessa lined them up in a neat little row and studied them all carefully, taking note of what she was about to do.

Today she was moving one necessary step closer to the dark side, using tools designed to make women more appealing to men. Makeup was worn by women who lived with men, women who needed men to support them, women who needed male approval in order to feel fulfilled as a woman.

Women like Marisa.

Marisa, who was going to get her into Hudson Towers. There, Tessa felt her sense of resolve return.

Hudson Towers. A place to go home to after a hard day’s work, with no worries about tomorrow. She could look at the New York skyline and know that she had conquered them all.

That was power.

That was success.

Tessa smiled as though she were happy.

After utilizing the handiwork of the devil, she stared at herself in the mirror and decided that, yes, that devil was one smart dude. She looked awesome. Except for the hairstyle—or lack thereof.

Tomorrow she would get her tattoo removed. But then she pulled at the waist of her jeans, looked at the scarlet letters and decided that, no, she was going to keep it until she passed her real-estate exam. After that, the tattoo was gone. History. And her transformation would be complete.

As she went on the subway, she noticed the looks in men’s eyes, the envy from women, too. She turned in her application, paid the fees in cash, and said thank you to the lady at the desk as if she had the world at her feet.

The woman was polite and smiled, until the next lady showed up behind Tessa with strappy heels, head-turning lipstick and a killer hairstyle.

Tessa knew she didn’t have a choice. She was going to make over her life, her face, her feet and, yes, her hair. After that, she could have dessert. Namely on Gabe O’Sullivan à la mode.

She sped into a salon that she normally couldn’t afford, but this was for her career. She was changing her life, and the usual discount place wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

By the time she left, Francois had turned her into a veritable swan. And, sadly, because she needed to show it off, and Marisa wouldn’t understand, and her family was in Florida, she had no place to go but Prime.

Tessa hesitated outside the place, feeling nervous and foolish, but so what? She needed someone to tell her she looked good. She needed Gabe to tell her she looked good.

She pulled open the heavy door and walked in as if she owned the joint, which she didn’t.

Sean whistled and Charlie adjusted his glasses.

Gabe smiled.

Not wanting to tempt fate, she sat in front of Sean.

“I could have sex with you,” he said. “I just need to get that out in the open. Not that I want you to think I’m a shallow SOB whose head gets turned by a long neck and a great ass, but I can’t help who I am, and I believe in being honest and up front with women. So they know exactly what they’re getting. Besides a good time, I mean.”

“Thank you,” Tessa said primly.

It took thirty-three minutes for Gabe to approach her. She kept track. “You look good,” he said when Sean went off to get a phone number from some woman nearby.

“Thank you,” she said, basking in his warmth for only a little bit. She had always loved the beach.

“Ready for class?”

“I’ve been studying.”

“You don’t need to study for this. You can do apartment rentals and sales in your sleep.”

“Maybe. But the class isn’t about which buildings allow pets. I have to know contracts and finance and insurance and equal-opportunity laws.”

“You’ll still do fine. Any luck with the roommate situation? The phone’s been quiet.”

“I think I found a place. Should come open in about three weeks.”

“Really?”

“And I’ll be living single,” she said proudly.

“Very nice,” he said, but he didn’t look happy.

“Yeah. Finally. It’s only been twenty-six years.”

“You’ve got a lot to celebrate.”

“Yes, yes, I do. For the first time in my life I have something to celebrate. I’m going to head out now. Test out my new look on somebody else besides these losers.”

“That’s a good idea. Head over to the Carlyle. Classy place. Elegant. Like you.”

“I think I will. I’ve never been in there before.”

She could feel him watching her as she walked out the door.

Tessa smiled. Maybe it would be okay after all.

GABE LEFT SEAN IN CHARGE of closing, which was normally a recipe for disaster, but tonight he didn’t care. Tessa needed him and he knew it. She wasn’t a woman to go sit in bars alone like Marisa. She’d start talking to some used-car salesman from Omaha who was away from his wife for the first time in twenty years. And he’d want to get laid and he’d monopolize Tessa’s time for four hours until it was last call, and then she’d feel bad, but tell the guy no, and he would get all pissed off at her and yell, and Tessa didn’t need that kind of crap.

So Gabe took a quick shower, pulled out the black pants and shirt that he kept in the back of his closet for special nights and headed for the Carlyle.

He saw her immediately, sitting at the bar, a middle-aged toupee type sitting three seats away, giving her the eye.

Gabe sighed. When he was right, he was right.

He leaned against the wall, content to watch her for a while. There were women who took your breath away, and then there were women who were pure oxygen. That was Tessa.

Another lowlife hit on her, and she smiled politely, buying the loser a drink only because she felt sorry. Another lowlife came up, a little more forceful than the last, and her perfectly shaped brows curved downward, signaling a woman in need of rescuing.

Cue Gabe.

“Hi,” he said, taking the seat next to her.

Tessa looked up, her eyes startled, and she began to say something—probably no, but he wasn’t going to give her a chance. Gabe put a finger on her mouth. Tonight they’d do things her way. “No. We’ve never met.”

For a second she looked at him the way he’d dreamed she would look at him. Her green eyes were soft and filled with things that a used-car salesman from Omaha would never understand. Yes, there were definite advantages to doing things her way.

“Why are you drinking alone? A beautiful woman like you? You should have dozens of men buying you drinks, but instead you’re buying them all drinks. If you worked in a bar, you’d know this. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.”

“If wishes were horses…”

“Can I get you something to drink, Miss I-Can’t-Follow-the-Rules? Maybe some champagne? Or a cosmopolitan. You’re looking very cosmopolitan tonight.”

She shook her head. “No champagne. Diet soda, I think.”

“You must be a lightweight.”

“No, champagne sounds flat.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, wishing it were perfect. She should have perfect.

“Don’t be.”

“What are you celebrating?”

She tried to smile at him. “Being alone.”

“Bad breakup?”

“It hurt.”

Gabe told himself to be careful. With the look in her eyes, the tight curve of her lips, he could easily forget about taking things slow. But this one answer he had to know. “Any regrets?”

“Nah,” she said, slaying him with a single word. “It had to be done.”

“You want me to leave?”

Her gaze scanned his face, up and down, back and forth, as if he were a piece of art and not a living, breathing man—although he was currently not breathing.

Tessa licked her lips slowly, carefully, and he still didn’t breathe. “It makes me a weak person if I don’t want you to leave, and I don’t want to be weak, but I don’t want you to leave, either.”

Gabe took a breath. “I don’t think you’re weak.”

“I do,” she said, sounding so sad, so lonely, and he hated that wanting to be with him made her sad. It shouldn’t happen that way. He shouldn’t want to take advantage of it, but, goddamn, he couldn’t stop. How could he stop?

Silently Gabe got up, refusing to look at the heartbreak in her eyes. Tessa looked at him, startled, but didn’t keep him.

They’d both be better off if he left.

TESSA KNEW GABE HAD done the right thing. He was trying to give her the time she’d asked for. She waved over the bartender.

“I’ll take a tequila shot,” she ordered, which was her panacea for most everything in the world.

She looked around the bar, seeing the cartoons on the wall, the beautiful people who were laughing and living here.

She didn’t belong.

When Gabe sat next to her, she could pretend, and it was fun to pretend, but it was nothing more than pretend.

She rubbed a finger around the rim of the glass, tasting the tang of alcohol, and then Gabe returned.

He ordered a beer and didn’t say a word to her, but there was a key in front of him. Not a car key, not a key to the bar, not a key to all her problems, but a hotel room key.

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