Broken Rules: A Stand Alone Romance Page 3
“Miss, you shouldn’t be in here!”
A pang sliced Damien’s heart when the girl’s arms slipped away. She scurried to her feet. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted and without a glance at Damien, she nearly sprinted for the door.
He didn’t blame her. Nuns made normal people nervous.
“I’m assuming that was an innocent meeting,” Sister Maria said pointedly to him after the girl had left.
He didn’t look up as a flood of heat warmed his cheeks. “I’m ten,” he said simply. “And I’m pretty sure that girl is younger than me, so I wouldn’t worry.”
“Still, you're supposed to be resting,” she scolded.
He lifted his shoulders. “I feel fine.”
She came to his bedside and felt his forehead. Before the girl had hugged him, one of the sister’s hands checking for a fever was the closest thing to affection he’d ever known.
“You do feel cooler. If you want to join the others, you can. The public-school children are still here. You may take part in the ice cream social.”
His eyes brightened. Normally, he would have faked a stomach ache to keep from having to join the other kids, but now, he couldn’t wait. He would be able to see her again.
The nun pulled back his covers, but he’d been so distracted by the idea of getting to join the others, that he didn’t move his hand out of sight fast enough.
“What do you have in your hand?”
He clenched his fingers, refusing to reveal his prize.
“Damien, you will show me.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You will open your hand, or I will bring you down to Mother Helen’s office so that you can show her.”
He tightened his fist around his treasure, but there was no denying that he was caught. Heart pounding, he slowly uncurled his fingers, revealing a delicate silver bracelet.
“Where did you get that?”
He pressed his lips tightly together and kept his gaze locked on the ground.
“Does this belong to that girl?”
Still, he said nothing.
“Stand up,” she said sternly. “To the cafeteria.”
He had stolen it, but only because he wanted something to remember her by.
Now, she would hate him.
He stood there, wishing—just as he had done so many times before— that he would just fade away into nothing.
“Come along, Damien,” Sister Maria commanded.
He followed her from the dormitory, down the hallway to the cafeteria, which was packed with more kids than he had ever seen, all greedily eating ice cream sundaes, piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles.
He held his breath, hoping the girl was in the bathroom, but moments later, she was standing in front of him.
“I’m sorry, miss,” Sister Maria said to her. “But I’m afraid, Damien took something that belongs to you.”
He glanced up at her and met her gaze before shame stole his courage, forcing his gaze back to the ground.
“I’m sorry, Sister, but you’re mistaken,” he heard the little girl say.
He froze. His breath stopped. Slowly, he looked up, and once again, met her warm, turquoise gaze. She reached out her hand, dangling the bangle from her fingertips. “I gave it to him,” she said softly.
He extended his hand and uncurled his clenched fingers. The cool silver filled his palm. Her fingertips grazed his skin, and, once more, the contact felt so warm and deep, it was as if she touched his very heart.
Damien forced his thoughts back to the present as he parked his van on the side of the narrow road that ran along an old wharf and got out. A warm breeze rushed off the river. He closed his eyes, letting the air caress his face as he pictured the beautiful woman with chin-length blonde curls who had just stared down the barrel of a gun at him.
What a sight she’d been, her tousled hair, firm thighs. A smile played about his lips as he continued to picture her.
She could threaten his life anytime.
But then his smile faded when he remembered the blind fear in her eyes.
If he had ever dared hope to see her again, he never would have imagined an occasion with SWAT gear, guns, and high-end robbery—a far cry from their first meeting surrounded by orphans and nuns.
But now what?
“Now nothing,” he said out loud before turning his back to the river and walking toward the crumbling brick building he temporarily called home. He couldn’t try to see her again. It was too dangerous. He would just have to be satisfied with the glimpse he’d had that night.
His phone dinged. Without even looking at the text he knew it was about the job he didn’t just pull off. But at that moment, he didn’t care. The job could wait.
“Damn it!” he stopped walking, resisting the urge to head back toward his van. He clenched his hands into tight fists. She was so close. All he wanted to do was see her again, hold her, make sure she was all right.
But he couldn’t. He was no good for her.
She deserved a nice guy with a normal life and a legitimate profession. If he had even a shred of decency in his soul, he would put this night out of his mind...
But how could he forget about her now when he’d never been able to since they first met seventeen years ago?
Expelling a long breath, he hung his head back and looked up at the stars. Again, he saw her, lying beneath the thick blanket that he had tucked around her, staring up at him with wide, beautiful eyes. Trusting eyes.
“Enough,” he admonished himself, dropping his gaze to the dull ground.
At best, he would break her heart. At worst...
He shook his head, not wanting to consider what the worst would be.
Reaching for his phone, he read the new text.
Done?
No, he typed.
When?
When I decide.
Chapter Four
The Cove was packed. Music pulsed around Savannah as she reached for the bottom-shelf rum. She tipped the bottle for a four-count, then slung it back in the rack before she turned and grabbed the fountain gun, filling the rest of the glass with soda.
“Seven dollars,” she said to the guy whose eyes were positioned south of her own.
He scowled, meeting her gaze. “Last time it was six.”
She glared at him. “Added tax for looking at my tits all night.”
Over the last couple weeks, the thin, lanky man had become a regular, showing up almost every night. Everything about him skeeved her out, the way he looked at her, and spoke to her. He seemed like the kind of guy that would slow his car down in front of a high school to watch the girl’s field hockey team practice in their short skirts.
“What’s wrong tonight, baby doll? You can tell Steve.”
She shuddered. “You didn’t just say that.” Before he could answer, she turned away. Skeevy Stevie was just too much for her to handle at the moment.
“Savannah!”
She turned, looking expectantly at Heather, the new hostess, who was beckoning Savannah to the other side of the bar with a frantic hand.
“What now?” she groaned. The night was turning out to be a total shit-show. “Is the kitchen still backed up? I told you to slow down the seating. Just because a table is open, doesn’t mean the kitchen can handle the order.”
“No, it’s not that; I promise my pacing is better. It’s Brandi.”
Savannah ducked under the bar. “What’s wrong with Brandi? Is she not coming in? Laura already called out; Brandi has to come in!”
“She’s here, although she probably should’ve called out.” Heather paused, her brows drawn. “Jason broke up with her.”
“Shit!” Savannah glanced at the full bar. If only Roger, her usual bar-mate on weekend nights, worked Mondays. He could have handled the bar on his own. She signaled to one of the bussers. “Pull one of the bartenders from upstairs to cover down here.” Then she turned to Heather. “Where is she?”
“In the bathroom.”
Hastening to keep up with Savannah’s quick pace, Heather answered, “Tears but stoic tears, not the sloppy, uncontrollable kind.”
Savannah took a deep breath. “That’s a good start.”
She swung open the bathroom door and spotted Brandi sitting on the sink, her head bowed. “Hi darlin’.”
Brandi looked up. Flooded, golden-brown eyes locked with Savannah’s. Brandi’s complexion under normal circumstances was porcelain-white and flawless, but tonight her face had a ruddy appearance and was streaked with tears.
Savannah crossed the room and pulled her friend close, wrapping her in a warm embrace. After a few moments of back-patting and gentle rocking, Savannah pulled away slightly. “I’d say I’m sorry, Brandi, but I’m not. Jason didn’t deserve you.”
She sniffled. “I’ve dated better.”
“Yeah, but darlin’, to be honest, that’s not saying much.”
Brandi bristled at Savannah’s bluntness. “Like you’re one to talk. Roman was no hero.”
“I fully admit to my bad judgment over Roman...and every other guy I’ve ever dated.” Savannah straightened, taking on her best power poise—legs spread, arms akimbo. “Listen, you and me, we can’t keep dating these assholes. We’ve got to find nice guys.”
“Nice guys,” Brandi said brightly, swiping at her wet cheeks. “Wouldn’t that be a change.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait, aren’t nice guys the ones that sweat when they try to ask you out and learn how to dress from their mothers?”
Savannah shook her head. “That’s just a myth; probably made up by the same asshole who spread the myth that bad boys can be redeemed by the love of a good woman.” Savannah clasped her friend’s hands. “We are good women. Smart, hardworking, good for a laugh, kind, loyal. We deserve to be treated with respect.”
Brandi pulled away, sniffed, and threw her shoulders back, tossing her long black braid over her shoulder. “You’re right, Savvy! From now on, only nice guys.” A moment later, her shoulders drooped back down. “But for tonight, can I just hate all men?”
Savannah smiled. “Whatever you have to do to get through this shift.”
Brandi tied her apron around her waist, checked her makeup in the mirror and turned to face Savannah. “Done. Let’s get out there.”
“That’s my girl,” Savannah said approvingly.
While Brandi crossed the busy dining room, heading toward the back of the house, Savannah hurried in the opposite direction.
The night had barely begun and there was already a line out the door. Heather stood at the hostess stand, scribbling on the wait sheet and handing out buzzers.
Taking a deep breath, Savannah entered the first floor bar.
Having spotted her coming, Bryan, a Cove lifer who was forty and a hardworking family man, hastened from behind the bar. Sweat beaded his brow. He raked his hand through his short salt and pepper hair. “Upstairs is slammed with the wait. Lauren’s gotta be dying up there by herself.”
“Thanks for coming down.”
“Miss you.” He kissed her on the cheek as he passed but then stopped and looked back. “Hey, what’s up with the skeevy guy?”
Savannah groaned. “I was hoping he’d be gone when I got back.”
“Excuse me,” a woman with straightened, bleached hair, who was sitting on the far side of the bar, called out while waving her empty pint glass in the air.
Skeevy Stevie forgotten, Bryan rushed away while Savannah hurried back behind the bar.
Still waving her empty glass, the woman scowled at her. “We ordered like twenty minutes ago. Where’s our appetizer?”
“Give her a break,” the guy at her side said.
Savannah smiled at her would-be defender, but then his eyes trailed over her like she was the plate of long-awaited nachos.
Rolling her eyes, Savannah turned and poured the woman another light beer and hurried over to the service bar—the waitress’s tickets were getting backed up.
“Five frozen mudslides!”
Why couldn’t people just drink beer? Beer was easy.
“Damn it.” She swore under her breath while scooping ice into the industrial blender.
“A mudslide sounds good. I’ll take one.”
She shuddered at the sound of Steve’s voice behind her. “Coming up,” she gritted out, resisting the urge to grab the gun and chase him out of the bar with a powerful stream of soda water.
She couldn’t wait for the night to be over.
“Savannah?”
She jerked around to the side bar entrance where Wally, the head chef, was standing. His whites were already grease spattered, and his sandy-blond hair was covered by a red bandana.
“What?” she snapped, erasing the smile from his boyishly handsome face.
He threw his hands up. “Don’t shoot. I’m just here to tell you to eighty-six the special. We’re out of salmon.” When he walked away, she heard him mutter ‘what the hell is up with her’, which she knew she deserved.
She never lost her cool, no matter how intense the rush or dysfunctional the night. But at that moment, she was only adding to the evening’s chaos. Completely distracted, she was snapping at the staff and forgetting orders.
Still, if anyone knew what had happened to her the night before, they wouldn’t hold her moodiness against her.
What had actually happened?
Once again, she sifted through her memories of the previous night.
Terror. Confusion...and something else, a feeling she couldn’t quite name.
She tried to keep her mind fixed on the criminal act—she’d been the victim of a break in...well...sort of...but invariably, her thoughts drifted to the way the intruder had tried to soothe her and make light of the moment. When he had held her, he did so tenderly, gently laying her down on the bed. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his gloved hand grazing her cheek.
“Enough,” she snapped out loud.
What was wrong with her? She should be terrified of him, not ridiculously turned on. Who the hell got turned on by armed robbery? Savannah freaking Honey, that’s who!
And after the emboldened speech she had given Brandi earlier about swearing off bad boys, now she caught herself thinking about a man who was potentially the baddest boy of all—an actual criminal, mask and all. Usually, the men she dated hid behind falsely-sincere smiles, not actual balaclavas.
But, there was something about him, something almost...comforting, something—
“What the hell,” she exclaimed, catching herself again.
He was a criminal!
Determined to put him out of her mind, once and for all, she focused on the frozen drinks she was making. For at least another few nights, the restaurant was her responsibility. She had to get a grip.
Another hour passed when, finally, there was a lull in the orders.
“Cover for me,” she said to her bar-back, Sam—a gangly senior in high school with red hair and a smattering of orange freckles across his nose—who was stocking the beer cooler. Too young to serve alcohol, she told him to offer free soda, if someone came in. “This will only take a minute,” she said before ducking beneath the service counter and hastening across the main dining area into the kitchen.
Leaning under the heat lamps, she said to Wally’s back as he manned the meat-laden grill, “Sorry I’ve been in such a foul mood today.”
Wally turned, spatula in one hand and a set of tongs in the other. His whites looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. He bent down to see her under the lamps. His furrowed brow disappeared, replaced by what she knew to be a heartfelt smile. Setting the tongs down, he reached out, squeezing her offered hand. “Forgiven. Now, can you fix Brandi so she’s not coming back here to ream us out every ten minutes?”
Savannah lifted her shoulders. “Not much I can do about that—she hates all men right now.”
“Oh, we know. She’s made that clear on several occasions tonight.
” Wally turned his head, looking down the line. “Hey guys, what was the last insult from Brandi.”
A heavy-set, short man in his late thirties stood at the fry station, scratching his dimpled chin thoughtfully. “I think she said that our balls were all the size of peanuts.”
“No,” Wally chimed in. “That was earlier. I think the last one was that she hoped we all died penniless and alone.”
“Oh God,” Savannah groaned. “Sorry guys, but I’m afraid you’re just going to have to ride out the night.”
A slow sideways smile curved Wally’s lips. “Come on, Savvy. We’re all nice guys back here. We don’t deserve this.”
Savannah rolled her eyes. Then she set her hands on her hips. “How many innocent Cove hearts have you broken?” She scowled at the other cooks, all insatiable flirts with dirty thoughts that seldom went unexpressed. “The only nice guy I see back here is William.”
William looked up from the salad station and gave her a slight smile before returning his attention to his work.
“Please, Savvy,” Wally beseeched, once more plying her with a smile. “No one can manage Brandi like you.”
She sighed. “Fine. Let me think.” Chewing her lip, she considered her options. Then, it came to her. “William, come here.”
“What’s up, boss?” the young man said, coming out from behind the line. He was tall and slim. There was nothing rugged, overtly sexy, or even notable about his looks. He would never make a woman’s mouth drop open when he walked into a room. But he was handsome enough, and his eyes were a lovely shade of blue.
“You’ve got plans tonight?”
He shook his head.
“Good. The next time Brandi comes back here, ask her out.”
William’s baby blues flashed wide. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“But...but...” he stuttered. “She’ll never go out with me.”
Savannah smiled at William, remembering Brandi’s earlier comments about nice guys being nervous and sweaty when they asked her out. Savannah had told her that was just a myth, but as evidenced by the sudden sheen on William’s forehead, Savannah realized that she may have been mistaken.