Off Limits

  I get in my little BMW 335i--a high school graduation present from my parents--and put my seatbelt on. I check my phone before heading out. Todd sent me three more texts while I was in Lincoln's condo.

  U don't mean that. U still need me.

  U need to call me. Now!

  Why r u ignoring me?

  Reading the last text, I feel an icy shiver go up my spine. Todd is sounding a little unhinged and I'm afraid I might find a dead rabbit in my stew pot when I get home. Gosh, Fatal Attraction was an awesomely creepy movie. I hope that it isn't turning into a real life event for me.

  Turning the car on, I look in my rear view and side mirrors. Putting the car in reverse, I start to back out. At the same time, my phone rings and I can see on the screen that it's Danny calling. Keeping one hand on the wheel, I grab the phone and answer it, still backing out of my parking spot.

  I barely get the words out, "Hi Danny" when I hear a sickening crunch of metal and my car jolts to a stop.

  "Shit!" I yell.

  "Are you okay?" Danny asks.

  "No," I wail. "I just hit something. I'll call you back."

  Looking in my rear view mirror, I can't see anything. I throw my phone down and jump out of my car. Rounding the back corner, I am horrified to see a motorcycle lying on the ground with its driver laying a few feet away. I immediately take in that he appears to be okay as he's getting up from the ground.

  My heart is thundering in my chest as the crashing realization that I could have just killed a person sinks into me. My legs start to wobble and my head spins.

  "Fuck, lady. Don't you watch where you're going?"

  I look at the man who is standing up now and looking down at his bike. He takes his helmet off and throws it to the ground in anger.

  I vaguely notice that he glares at me but it's like he's in slow motion. He sounds like he's in a tunnel and his voice is getting fainter when he says, "Hey...are you okay?"

  His words say he is concerned but I still have barely enough of my wits to discern his tone of voice says he's still very pissed.

  I try to answer him but I can't make my voice work. Then I realize my legs are giving way and I see the ground rushing up to meet me. Before I can hit though, the angry man is there, catching me in his arms. I'm vaguely aware that he picks me up and walks over to a grassy area adjacent to the parking lot where he lays me down very gently.

  I can feel him put his palm to my cheek, and he taps it lightly. For some reason, I notice he has what looks like a paper towel duct taped to his finger.

  Weird.

  The guy stands up and walks away. I start to sit up and before I know it, he's back squatting down beside me. He hands me a bottle of water. "Here, drink this. I had it in my saddle bag."

  I take a few sips, and immediately start feeling better. I look back again at the man, and it's like I'm seeing him for the first time.

  My mouth goes dry and my skin prickles with awareness. He is unbelievably gorgeous. Almost super model perfection, but with a hint of danger and darkness. His hair is long, coming to rest right above his shoulders. It's a dark, brown color with glints of warm, golden highlights running throughout. His eyes are the color of spring ferns and framed by lashes so thick, I'm briefly jealous. His face is perfection. He has perfectly slashed brows, and a perfectly straight nose, and a perfectly square jaw.

  He must have been cut from butter is my first thought. Or marble. Or buttery marble.

  Best of all, he has at least a week's worth of dark stubble on his face, which makes him look menacing and sexy all at the same time. I take in with appreciation the tight fit of his Harley Davidson t-shirt and dark jeans, showcasing a lean and well-muscled body. He is the exact opposite of any man I have ever thought of dating, and my mother would consider him the Anti-Christ on just his dark looks alone.

  I feel dowdy next to him and my hand subconsciously comes up to smooth my hair.

  "Are you injured, Lady?"

  I'm dumbfounded looking at him. I'm sure he probably thinks I swallowed my tongue in the accident but I have just been blindsided, by what I believe to be, the most physically splendid specimen of a man I have ever seen.

  Seriously.

  "Maybe I should call an ambulance," he says.

  "Emily."

  His eyebrows cinch together in confusion. "Excuse me?"

  "My name's not Lady...it's Emily."

  He gives me an exasperated look and I swear I hear him grumble, "I don't have time for this shit."

  I take another sip of water and I'm feeling much, much better now. The fact that I was so petrified I could have killed someone and then almost fainted has completely left my mind. I'm just sitting here enjoying this magically, hot man in front of me.

  He stands up and glares down at me. "Do you think you can stand up?"

  I nod my head, expecting him to gallantly hold his hand out to me. It doesn't come and after a few seconds, I realize it's never going to come. So I push myself up from the ground, brushing blades of grass from the seat of my jeans.

  "I'm assuming you're okay?" he asks.

  I nod my head. "Yeah. It just freaked me out when I thought I had killed you. I've never fainted before."

  "You didn't faint," he snaps. "You just got a little wobbly."

  Okay. What was this asshole's problem?

  "You think I'm an asshole? You just ran me and my bike over."

  Oh, crap. Did I voice that asshole comment out loud? Apparently, my brain is a little more addled than I thought.

  I take a deep breath and then I start rambling...like an idiot. "I'm really sorry. I was distracted. I'm getting these crazy, stalker messages from my ex-boyfriend, and I'm afraid there may be a dead rabbit in a pot when I get back to my apartment. And then I got a call from my sister-in-law, but I know that's no excuse. I thought I had looked. I'll pay for the repairs. Are you injured?"

  He's looking at me as if I was an alien. He shakes his head and sighs. "Let's go see what the damage is."

  I follow him back over to our vehicles. My back bumper is crumpled in but his bike is a mess. It's dented all over and the front wheel is turned at a weird angle.

  I can't think of anything to say, so I offer lamely, "It's a beautiful motorcycle."

  He looks at me incredulously. "It was a beautiful motorcycle, you mean."

  "Yes, that's what I mean," I respond politely. I feel like such a tool.

  "Look, just give me your insurance information and we won't even bother to call the cops."

  What? No! He cannot have my insurance information. You see, I've had a little problem with speeding tickets back in Boston along with two other wrecks, that technically were my fault but I could push some blame too on the other drivers if I was that type of person. Which I'm not...anymore. If I get any more insurance points, I can probably kiss my license goodbye.

  "No. We can't put it on the insurance," I say adamantly. "I'll pay you for the damage myself."

  He smirks at me and it makes me want to slap his face.

  No, kiss his face.

  Wait...definitely slap his face.

  "Lady, do you know how much that motorcycle costs? There's no way you can afford it out of your pocket, and I don't care how much designer clothing or expensive jewelry you wear."

  "For the second time, my name isn't Lady. It's Emily," I grit out. "And for your information, you have no clue what I can and can't afford."

  "Do you have about $10,000 you can cough up?" he asks. "Because that's what it's going to cost in materials and labor. The front axle is completely destroyed."

  Ten-freakin-thousand-dollars? Oh shit, I was in trouble. There is no way I can come up with that amount at one time. My parents let me draw two thousand dollars a month from my trust fund if I need it but he would have to agree to accept payments.

  I put on my most conciliatory face. "Look...I am really, really sorry I did this. But I cannot put this on my insurance. I'll lose my car if I do."

  "And this is my problem how?
" he taunts.

  "It's not. I'm just asking you for a little understanding. I can pay you in installments. Two thousand dollars a month until we are square." I end on a pleading tone but I can't help it. I have no room for pride here.

  I watch fascinated as he runs a hand through the hair on top of his head, pulling the long locks back and holding them there. His hair is long enough he could put it in a short ponytail if he wanted. With his hair pulled back, his face is thrown into stark relief, so that his sculpted cheekbones say, "BAM" to me. The angels were definitely singing on the day this guy was created.

  I wait with baited breath.

  He finally releases the hold on his hair and it gracefully glides back around his face. I wonder if it's as soft as it looks.

  "Fine. But I need your information so you can't welsh on me."

  As if. "Fine, whatever."

  I pull my wallet out and he copies down my license information. I give him my phone number, and he gives me his.

  "What's your name?" I ask, so I can program it in my phone.

  "Nix."

  "Nix what?"

  "Just Nix...that's all you need to know."

  This man is infuriating. Hot, but infuriating. "Then how can I make a check out to you if I don't know your last name?"

  "You don't," he says in a low, husky voice. "Bring me cash. Just call me when you have the first two thousand. I expect it within thirty days or else I'll come looking for you. And trust me...you don't want that to happen."

  A shiver involuntarily runs through me and I can't tell if I'm scared or turned on by the danger in his voice.

  And even though I'm pissed as hell that I've just blown $10,000 over my own stupidity, I can't help the fact that I'm looking forward to seeing this man again.

  CHAPTER 4

  Emily

  I knock on Danny and Ryan's door and wait for them to open it. I've finally gotten my heart rate under control after that terrifying but surreal experience with Nix.

  And what the hell kind of name is Nix anyway?

  The door is thrown open and Ryan is standing there. I throw my arms around his neck and he picks me up, swinging me around.

  "There's my baby sister," he says with overt fondness and I love it. I love how much our relationship has changed over the last few years. "How did the interview with Linc go?"

  Ryan drops me to the ground and I put my purse and keys on his foyer table. "It was fine. Lincoln's a nice guy. Got exactly what I needed."

  "Awesome. Well, come on into the kitchen. Danny is pulling stuff out of the oven right now."

  I follow Ryan back into the kitchen. Danny is bent over the oven, pulling out what looks like an amazing pork tenderloin. Ryan notices her position and immediately goes over to her. "Here, let me get that for you."

  Danny swats his hand away. "I can do it. I'm not an invalid you know."

  My eyes narrow as I watch Danny pull the pan out, her hands dwarfed by two huge oven mitts. Ryan stands nearby, holding his hands out as if she might fall.

  What. The. Hell?

  "What's going on with you two?" I demand.

  Both of them turn to look at me, guilty expressions on their faces. They look at each other then back at me. Neither of them says a word.

  "I repeat...what...is...going...on?" I punctuate every word with enough menace that they know I'm expecting a truthful answer.

  Ryan seems to have forgotten that Danny is holding a steaming pan of pork loin in her hand. "Um...well...um..."

  I turn to Danny and raise my eyebrows. She'll need to answer because Ryan has apparently been struck stupid.

  "That pan looks hot, Danny. Put it down."

  Danny turns and sets the roast on the counter top. She turns back to me and she has a little smirk on her face. She's hiding a secret but I can tell she wants to spill.

  "Okay, if you two don't tell me what's going on right this minute...I'm going to..."

  What am I going to do? What threat will work?

  Oh, I know.

  "I'm going to pick up the phone and call Mother. And I'll tell her that Danny cheated on you, Ryan, with a midget from the circus and you are going to have his midget baby. Then you, Ryan, can deal with the fallout."

  Danny busts out laughing and Ryan looks horrified. "You wouldn't," he accuses.

  "Would."

  Danny takes her oven mitts off and slaps them into Ryan's chest. "Get the rest of the vegetables out of the oven."

  I start jumping up and down like a kid at Christmas because she's getting ready to spill her guts I can tell. "Tell me, tell me, tell me," I implore. "I can keep a secret."

  Ryan pulls the veggies out and shuts the oven with his foot. After setting them down, he takes the mitts off and pulls Danny into his arms. He nestles her backside into him and wraps his arms around her stomach. Placing his lips on her head, they both look at me.

  "Think we should tell her?" he asks.

  Danny looks at me appraisingly. "I don't know. I'm not sure she could keep the secret."

  I pull my iPhone out of my pocket with flourish. "That's it...I'm calling Mother."

  Danny leaps out of Ryan's arms and grabs my phone away. "Fine, you brat. We'll tell you."

  Ryan pulls Danny back against his chest and nuzzles her neck. He then looks at me and he has the most joyful smile on his face. Tears are in his eyes. "We're pregnant."

  The most delicious, languid and comforting warmth spreads through me. It starts in my chest and seeps outward, touching every nerve in my body with a gentle caress. My breath catches as I watch Danny and Ryan watching me for my reaction.

  "HOLY CRAP!" I scream. I dash across the kitchen and throw my arms around both of them, sandwiching Danny in between me and Ryan. "I'm going to be an Aunt!"

  All three of us are now crying, and hugging, and laughing. I start hurtling questions, still with my arms wrapped around them.

  How? When? Boy? Girl? Names?

  Danny finally pushes me back and I release my hold. I stand there--just grinning--and I don't think I've ever felt such happiness in my life. I behold my family...Ryan and Danny...and I hope that one day I can have what they have.

  ***

  Ryan's gone as he had an evening team meeting. Dinner was fantastic, made better by the wonderful news. I learned more about pregnancy than I ever knew was possible to learn in one sitting.

  Danny is only two months along and they are not telling anyone other than me at this point. They want to wait until she gets into her first trimester. I apologize--insincerely, of course--for making them tell me, but Danny admits that they were going to tell me tonight anyway. They felt that I was the one person in the world they wanted to know right now.

  That thought alone has me practically melting into a puddle of snotty goo.

  We talk about morning sickness, and baby clothes, and whether my niece or nephew will play the violin or hockey. Or both.

  We start spouting out names, giggling over the more ridiculous ones like Horowitz and Tangerine.

  Danny goes silent for a second and then she looks at me with solemn eyes. "We want you to be the baby's godmother, Emily."

  Ohhhh, I think, as I suck in a wisp of air through my teeth.

  "I don't know...are you sure...isn't a godmother supposed to be like a good role model or something?"

  All of my insecurities come gushing forth. I know I've tried to be a better person...a better woman. But I was rotten for so long. How could they entrust me with something so important?

  Danny grabs my hand and holds it to her heart. "Emily...I can't think of a better role model for my baby. You are a spectacularly wonderful person and I hope my child grows up to be just like you."

  Okay, here's the water works. I smile at her through tear soaked eyes, and then we are hugging each other. She cradles me to her chest, stroking my hair.

  "You are a marvel, Emily Burnham," she says softly.

  I pull away from her. "You're my role model, Danny. Always."

  The evening e
nds on a high note. Danny breaks out the wine to celebrate but because she's pregnant, I'm the only one drinking. I get a little bit drunk and Danny insists I stay the night.

  We start in on the baby names again, and I throw out, "What do you think about Nix?"

  "Nix?" she says, gently letting it roll off her tongue. "For a girl or a boy?"

  I shrug my shoulders. "I suppose it could be both, but if your kid is a boy, then Nix will stand for asshole for sure."

  "What in the world are you talking about?" she asks.

  I shrug my shoulders again and don't answer. I don't want to think about the amazingly perfect looking man I ran over today who turned out to be a world-class jerk. I'd rather keep my fantasies of him on the pleasurable side.

  CHAPTER 5

  Nix

  I pop the top off my beer and lean up against the wall. I'm watching the party in progress, always comfortable to observe and never to be drawn into conversation. I've always been, by nature, a quiet and introspective person. My time in the Marine Corps, doing deep reconnaissance missions for MARSOC had taught me well the virtues of patience and silence. Some of my time in Afghanistan had been sitting in the frigid mountains, watching the Taliban movement below and reporting it to Command. I could sit for hours at a time and stare at a single spot if I had to. And I had no problems being quiet about it. It was, after all, my nature.

  It's not that large, noisy crowds bother me. I like a good party as much as the next guy. As long as I can sit back, drink my beer and observe. And not be bothered. I'm just not overly fond of people in general.

  Tonight, my brother Linc has gone all out and thrown a whopper of a party. Almost his entire hockey team is here, along with a slew of beautiful women. Linc never has a hard time coming up with a throng of ladies to ogle. They are basically hockey groupies, accepting the invite with the hope of getting laid and possibly landing themselves a hockey husband. But the ratio of single Rangers to the hungry ladies is vastly disproportionate and I will be able to take one of them to bed if I want.

  For now, though, I'm just watching.

  Finishing off my beer, I head into the kitchen and throw the empty in the recycle bin. I pull a new beer out of the refrigerator and twist the cap off. I feel like getting shit faced tonight for some reason.

  Walking back into the living room, I resume my perch against the wall. Harley is mingling with the crowd. That dog will do anything for a scratch or soft word. And he is so fucking cute, he always gets it. I often wonder if there is something wrong with the fact that I like dogs more than I do people. All I know...Harley has never let me down.