There wasn’t anything I could say to help him. I knew that from experience. There were times when no words could negate the feelings of helplessness, complete lack of control over one’s own fate—or the fate of others. I felt it every single time I looked into the eyes of the dead and dying, witnessing their fear and pain and knowing there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. But I knew what had helped Nicky the night he’d been slipping away with his guts held in only by his dead wife’s cashmere shawl.
Without a word, I slid across the space between us. He didn’t even seem to notice I was beside him until I pried the bottle of Scotch from his fingers and leaned forward to set it down on the coffee table. His eyes followed my movements, and as I came back toward him, he took my hand and pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms loosely around my waist.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my heart from racing. It meant nothing, I knew. He merely needed a warm body to hold, another person to share in his sorrow. And I was there. That was all it was. I knew that. And yet sitting there on his lap with his arms around me, looking into his eyes, I felt that little tug in the center of my chest and thought—just for a split second—that Nicky felt it, too.
“You know,” he said, his tone a little dazed as if surprised to find me on his lap, “I wasn’t lying when I said it was a long time since I’d had a woman in my arms. Jules and I—”
“Nicky,” I interrupted, squeezing my eyes shut, not giving a damn about him and Juliet, or anything else for that matter. “It’s okay. I need this, too.”
“I think I’m shit-faced.”
I laughed a little. “I know you’re shit-faced.”
He chuckled in response. “Well, as long as we’re both clear on that, come here.” He pulled me close then, tucking me under his chin, his hands smoothing along the fluffy pink chenille of the bathrobe. Then his arms tightened around me, pressing me closer. And when I slipped my arms around his neck, he buried his face in my shoulder, clinging to me in what I guessed was a rare moment of vulnerability.
I held him close, smoothing his hair. “It’s all right,” I whispered, the words of reassurance as much for me as they were for him. “Everything will be okay now. I’ve got you. . . .”
At some point, we fell asleep together there on his sofa, arms around one another, finding in that embrace the solace we both needed. And at least for the rest of that night the nightmares were kept at bay.
“Just humor me.”
Nicky was dressed now in black jeans and a black T-shirt that showed off a little too clearly the bulge of his biceps as he sat on the edge of Juliet’s bed, forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped, while he watched me rummage through Juliet’s things looking for something to wear besides workout clothes.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I called over my shoulder, digging through the dresser drawers and finding lots of shorty-shorts that were so not going to cut it. I wasn’t about to go traipsing around Chicago in the middle of February with my ass hanging out. Check that. I wasn’t going to go traipsing around Chicago at any time of year with my ass hanging out.
“I wake up and find you curled up in my arms,” Nicky drawled, “and you mean to tell me nothing happened? I didn’t even kiss you or anything?”
“Nope,” I said, somehow managing it without adding a disappointed sigh. I could feel his pointed stare at my back and turned around to face him, leaning against the dresser and crossing my arms. “All we did was talk. I swear.”
“I remember the talking part, doll. I just want to make sure I didn’t drink so much that I missed anything else. It’s bad enough I missed out on the hours when I was sleeping.”
Flushing, and wishing like hell that I had more to report, I turned back to my search, jerking open another drawer and quickly rifling through it.
“I can’t believe I didn’t even try to kiss you,” he mused.
I clamped down on my back teeth to keep from screaming. “Try.”
Obviously not picking up on my irritation, he continued to mull it over aloud. “I mean, you were sitting there in that little pink bathrobe looking so adorable—”
Adorable? Perfect.
“—what with the cute little curls . . .”
Cute? Cute?!? Fucking curls.
“I really didn’t even try to put the moves on you?”
“Okay,” I said, so beyond tired of talking about how he hadn’t kissed me, “this isn’t going to work. I’m going to need to go back to my apartment and find something to wear before we do anything else.”
He frowned. “You sure that’s a good idea? What about dragging Nate or a priest along?”
“Going to have to risk it,” I insisted. “I’m just not going to find what I need here.” And at this point I’d rather face off against a hundred angry phantoms than continue this particular line of conversation. . . .
“There’s gotta be something you can wear.”
“Let’s face it, Nicky,” I said, “I’m five foot four and have cleavage. I’m not exactly the supermodel material your wife was.”
His even gaze met mine. “You are to me.”
My breath caught in my chest as I blinked at him, wondering if he was joking, but there was no sign of humor lurking in his eyes. “Thanks,” I finally managed softly.
He gave me a tight nod, then stood and put his hands on his hips. He dropped his eyes to the carpet for a moment, then finally looked back up at me from under those long dark lashes of his, devastating me all over again. “Listen, I really am sorry about last night,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t usually drink like that. Seriously, if I made a total ass of myself—”
“You didn’t,” I interrupted with a laugh. “You were a perfect gentleman.” Damn it all. . . .
For a split second he looked as disappointed as I felt, but then he gave a nod. “All right, then. So, whaddaya say we get outta here? I’ll buy you something to eat on the way to your apartment.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And coffee? My coffee habit’s almost as bad as Red’s, you know.”
He inclined his head in agreement. “Coffee it is.”
I gave him a terse, satisfied nod and started for the door, but he grabbed my arm as I passed. “Trish . . .” he began, his expression oddly tortured. Then his face cleared and he winked at me, giving one of my curls a playful tug, but the smile that came next was a little sad. “You know, it’ll be strange not having to sneak into your apartment anymore now that the jig is up.”
I laughed, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood a little. “Yeah, well, Spider, I’m sure you can find some other unsuspecting gal’s apartment to break into. I hear Sleeping Beauty just moved into a new high-rise—might be a challenge.”
“Ah, but you’ve got it all wrong,” he said, casually draping his arm around my shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and leading me from the room. “The challenge was never the building but the gal inside.”
I sent a sidelong glance his way, a tentative little spark of hope springing to life in the center of my chest.
Chapter Seven
Nicky never left my side the entire time I was in my apartment, his eyes constantly darting around, watching for even a ripple of movement in the air that might signal an attack. I quickly changed clothes and threw together a bag to take with me, then gathered up Sasha’s food and bowl. Last was my laptop and what I could salvage of the various notebooks strewn all over the living room.