Sweet As Sin

37

Getting from my front door to the Escalades waiting on the street was like something out of a Schwarzenegger movie.

In the few minutes that had elapsed since Nico had shown up, more police vehicles had arrived, two news vans with satellite dishes had set up shop across the street, and what seemed like every neighbor within a fifty-mile radius had gathered, sensing blood. The scene was so bizarre, I wouldn’t have been surprised if psychotic assassin robots from the future leapt from the crowd, laser guns pointed at my head.

Not that I would have been able to see them. Grace, Chloe, and I all had jackets draped over our heads like burkas.

Or shrouds.

The jackets were Nico’s idea, one with which Grace wholeheartedly agreed. Talk about doing a one-eighty.

“I won’t be able to see where I’m going!”

My protest had been trounced by Grace’s logic, which, in typical fashion, trounced everything. “We’ll hold hands. Nico can lead. But the paparazzi won’t be able to see our faces, which is what they want. So, we win.”

Chloe said mournfully, “I see the headlines already. ‘Nico Nyx leads hidden harem from love den to limousines.’ I can only imagine what Miles will have to say about this.”

“I thought you and Officer Cox were going to be making beautiful blond babies,” I reminded her.

She’d visibly brightened at the mention of his name. But it was short-lived. As soon as Nico opened the front door, all hell broke loose.

Then we ran the gauntlet.

Nico’s grip on my hand was so tight it hurt. I could only see my feet, his feet, and the pavement. Oh—and a lot of other feet all around, from everyone crowding in so close.

Apparently the police had failed miserably at keeping the paparazzi contained across the street.

Worse than the feet was the shouting, which rose to a roar as we progressed from the yard to the Escalades. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Why are there so many of them?” Chloe screamed.

Good question. She was behind me, gripping my right hand as tightly as Nico held my left. Grace, ever stalwart, brought up the rear. The four of us stumbled through the crowd to the cars, getting bumped, shouted at, harassed. Camera shutters sounded like gunfire. I held my breath, heart pounding wildly, adrenaline pumping through my veins, until finally we made it to the car.

Barney had apparently had enough of tasering people, because he helped Chloe and Grace into one Escalade, and me into the other. The minute he slammed the door shut, I sank low into the seat and clicked the Lock button. Then I tried to remember how to breathe.

A moment later—it could have been seconds or minutes, I was so terrified I couldn’t tell—the driver door opened with a chirp of a remote, and Nico got in.

“Seat belt.”

His voice was so rough he might have been swallowing rocks. He shut the door and revved the engine. A siren barked three times, and we began to move. We crept along for a while, until the sound of the crowd faded and we picked up speed. We kept picking up speed, until we were moving so fast I got even more scared than I was before. I stayed quiet as long as I could, until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Are we being chased?”

Silence. The sound of Nico’s ragged breathing. Then, curtly, “No. Had an escort from the cops, but they dropped off a few blocks back.”

“So can I take this jacket off my head now?”

Nico exhaled hard. I peeked out from under the jacket. He had a death grip on the steering wheel. His hands were curled so tightly around it his knuckles showed white.

I took his nonanswer as a “yes.” I pulled the jacket off, but kept it on my lap just in case. My heartbeat was beginning to slow to pre-freakout levels, but I was still hungover, and not operating on all cylinders. I needed a shower, and about ten more hours of sleep.

“You got to my house really fast.”

Nico didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Not fast enough. You sure you’re okay?”

The mirrored aviators he wore reflected back harsh glints of sunlight over the dashboard and windshield. I closed my eyes, and rested a shaking hand on my forehead. “Other than feeling like death, I’m fine.”

I felt his sharp gaze examining me. “Birthday party hangover?”

I nodded. He reached out and took my hand, rubbing his thumb against mine. I heard his hard exhalation again, followed by a muttered curse.

I glanced at him. A muscle in his jaw flexed, over and over. He stomped on the gas, and we barreled through a yellow light, narrowly missing a Prius trying to make a left turn.

“I’m okay, Nico,” I reassured him softly, squeezing his hand. “Really. Just a little weirded out.” Hello, understatement of the year.

“Those fuckin’ jackals!” The words were snarled from between his clenched teeth. His pulse was pounding wildly in a vein in his neck. On impulse, I reached out and stroked it. He looked over at me, his jaw tight.

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

He cut his gaze back to the road. “Yeah, I’m a real knight in shinin’ armor.”

I realized he was as mad at himself as he was at the paparazzi. He really did think this whole thing was his fault. I suddenly felt very protective of him, and angry at them. But considering his mood, I didn’t want to say anything that could be misinterpreted as blame. So I just kept my tone soft and sweet.

“Okay, maybe not armor.” I glanced at his jean-clad thighs. “You’re my knight in shining denim.”