Shaken And Stirred

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.

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