Dirty Filthy Boy (Chicago Outlaws #1) Read online

  I breathe in that male scent of his, and a ripple of heat races across my skin. Wanting, so much. But I can't give in to my hunger for this man. "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "I have a job, responsibilities, bills I have to pay. Going to bed with you will jeopardize much of what I want from life. If Mr. Bartlett finds out I slept with you, at the very least he would take me off your assignment. Probably send me to interview the dog catcher at the pound. I can't ruin my entire future for a fling with the Outlaws' quarterback."

  "MacKenna. You're special. Very special." He curls one of those big hands of his around the nape of my neck and leans down to kiss my throat, my jaw, my cheek. Something hot streaks within me, and I tremble. Who knew I had this much need inside of me? And it's all for this man because Oliver, gorgeous as he is, does nothing for me.

  "You want me," he whispers in my ear, nips the lobe.

  I'm in trouble. Big, big trouble. I dig deep inside and fight off the insidious voice that tells me to go for it. "Any woman would want you, Ty. I mean, look at you."

  Six foot five of hard muscle, green, hungry eyes, never mind the erection he's sporting. He's a lethal combination, able to seduce a woman with a single glance. But I can't allow myself to fall for him.

  "Desiring you is not enough."

  His eyes flash with anger as he steps back, dropping his hands to his side, fisting them at the ends. "You're denying me, denying your own need for the sake of your fucking job?"

  "It's my future, Ty. Can't you see that?"

  He gestures to the space around us. "Nobody here but you and me. No one has to know."

  "Things have a way of coming out. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to return to the ballroom, find Mar and leave." The excitement's gone from this evening. I want to go home, stick my head under my pillow, and forget about Ty Mathews. If that's possible.

  He shakes his head as if he can't believe what I'm saying, but he reaches for his clothes and slowly dresses. "Fine. If that's what you want."

  "It is."

  In total silence, we walk back the same corridor, ride the same elevator as before. When we arrive at the ballroom, neither Mar nor Oliver are anywhere to be found. Neither is her purse. I ask the people at the table, acquaintances and employees of Oliver, if they've seen my friend. No one has seen hair nor hide of them since they took to the dance floor. Darn.

  "Can you call her?" Ty asks.

  I shake my head. "I have her cell. Her purse was too tiny to hold it."

  "Maybe he took her home."

  "I don't think so. He's so not her type." Mar's type is an environmental tree hugger, not a billionaire businessman.

  "I meant her home."

  Mar wouldn't like for him to know where she lives. If anything, she probably ditched him and took a cab home. She knew I was with Ty and more than likely thought I would spend the night with him. Wish I knew she was safe and sound. Maybe she headed back to my apartment. She was supposed to spend the night, and she has a set of keys to my place. I bet that's it. Better return home and make sure. If she's not there and I don't hear from her by tomorrow, I'll run over to her place.

  "Yeah. You're probably right. Well, thank you for the interview." I stick out my hand to shake his. If anybody's listening, and they are, they would hopefully think we were together for professional reasons, and not anything else.

  "How are you getting home?" He doesn't let go of my hand.

  "Taxi." The same way Mar and I arrived.

  "I'm leaving. I can drop you home."

  "I thought the Outlaws provided transportation for the players."

  "They do. I'll have the driver take you home before he drops me off at my house."

  "Oh. There's really no need, Mr. Mathews."

  "Please. It's dangerous out there. I couldn't sleep easy without knowing you made it back home in one piece."

  A couple of people at the table nod in agreement. I sigh. If I make a big deal out of his offer, it'll be worse than if I simply accept it. Then they'll really suspect something. "Thank you. That's very generous of you."

  "You're welcome. Let's go get your coat."

  The ride home is uncomfortable to say the least. I don't say much. Neither does he. What can I say? I want you but I don't want to have sex with you. Just being seen with him is a problem. Those pictures that were taken? They'll show up in a paper somewhere. And I'll get chewed out by Mr Bartlett. Again. No. Other than in a professional setting, I can't be seen with him any more.

  He asks the driver to wait while he escorts me to my apartment. We walk down the hall, not touching. I just want to curl up on my bed, put a pillow over my head and forget about tonight. But it's not to be. When we arrive at my front door, we find it ajar.

  I take a step to widen the opening, but he pulls me back. "Don't."

  Sliding in front of me, he pushes the door, and it slides open with a slight creak.

  The TV lies broken on the floor, its innards strewn helter skelter on the beige rug. Somebody slashed the sofa, it's great big chunks of stuffing tossed around the room. There's broken glass everywhere. "Oh, God. What if Mar was in there? She was supposed to spend the night."

  Before he can stop me, I rush in with him hard on my heels. The bedroom's no better than the living room. If anything, it's worse, because the things in here are more personal. The bed, just like the sofa, has been slashed. My clothes ripped out of their hangers, some torn to pieces. I doubt I'll find something whole in this mess. But there's no sign of Marigold. Did she come back to the apartment?

  "Marigold." I cry out. "What if she walked in while they were tearing apart the place?"

  "That didn't happen. Oliver would have been with her. He would have called the police."

  I hang on to his words with every bit of hope I can muster. "You think so?"

  "I do. He never would have allowed her to come up alone. He probably took her home. Can you call her there?"

  "She doesn't have a landline. Only her cell."

  He steps close to me, hugs me to him. "She's safe, MacKenna. If you don't hear from her by tomorrow, I'll drive you to her place."

  If I have anything to say about it, he won't be driving me anywhere. But I'm so devastated by the evil destruction of my apartment, I can't fight that battle right now.

  Ty grabs his phone, dials 911. "I'd like to report a breaking and entering." After he hangs up, he contacts the driver, lets him know what happened and asks him to sit tight. "We should wait in the hallway for the police."

  "Fine." Nothing much I can do inside my place, other than stare at the devastation.

  Fifteen minutes later, two members of the Chicago police department arrive—a cop and a detective. To their credit, neither makes a big deal out of Ty, but proceed in a professional manner. The detective jots down my information, while the cop trudges through the place taking notes. Not much later, the forensic investigators show up. They proceed to dust for fingerprints and take pictures. Like the other two, they're fast and efficient. Within an hour, they're done.

  Before they leave, the detective gives me a phone number and a case number to provide to my insurance company when I file a claim. Except for my laptop, my goods don't amount to more than two thousand dollars or so. So I'd never taken out insurance on my personal belongings. But now I wish I had. How am I going to replace the little I have when I can barely afford rent?

  "One more question, Ms. Perkins," the detective says, his pen hovering over his notebook. "The attack seems personal. Anybody you know have a personal grudge against you?"

  The worm comes to mind, but surely he wouldn't go to this much trouble. "No."

  "Do you have somewhere to stay tonight? I can contact the American Red Cross, if you don't."

  Before I can say anything, Ty interrupts. "She's got a place. She's coming home with me."

  "Very well. Do you want to get anything from your apartment tonight? I'll need to put a 'Police Line Do Not Cross' tape across the door. You won't be able to enter wi
thout giving us a call."

  "Oh, okay."

  "Come on," Ty says. "I'll help you."

  In my bedroom closet, I find a suitcase that doesn't appear to have too much damage as well as Mar's overnight bag. I quickly go through my things. Whatever is whole, I stuff in the bag, along with the toiletries in the bathroom. It barely takes fifteen minutes to pack.

  When I drag the bag, I quickly realize it's got a couple of wheels missing. And that's enough for a tear to slip down my cheek.

  Ty puts his good arm around me. "It'll be okay, MacKenna. You'll see."

  "Yeah," I swipe at the silly tears.

  He gently takes my bag from me and leads the way. I grab Mar's overnight and follow him to the hallway where the detective is waiting.

  "All done."

  "Yeah."

  "Okay." The cop proceeds to fix the crime scene tape across the door. There's so much of it, nobody can cross it without a noticeable tear. Not that it will stop anyone intent on breaking in. "If you want to get back into your apartment, please call us ahead of time. We'll need to remove the tape."

  "I will. Thanks. You've been very thorough." And very kind.

  "No problem. That's our job. Have you called your landlord?"

  "Not yet."

  "You might want to do so right away. At the very least, he'll need to provide you with a new door."

  "I'll call him."

  "Goodnight."

  As he walks away, we silently follow, with Ty dragging the crummy suitcase with his good arm.

  "I don't want you to worry. We'll figure things out. Okay?"

  'We' aren't going to figure anything out. I'll deal with whatever needs to be dealt with. Just not tonight.

  Chapter 14

  Ty

  ON THE DRIVE HOME, she doesn't say a word. She's got to be hurting. Burglary is not only a robbery of your things, but a theft of your soul. But she doesn't cry.

  "My whole life was in that laptop."

  "Did you store the data somewhere?"

  "Yes. My files are backed up daily. I'll be able to retrieve everything. But whoever stole it has all my personal data. I feel . . ."

  "Violated."

  "Yes."

  "We can go shopping for a new one in the morning. And you can transfer your files. We'll put a GPS locator on it. If it disappears again, you'll know exactly where it is."

  She hitches up a shoulder. "No need to do that. The laptop belongs to The Windy City Chronicle. They'll provide a replacement."

  When we come to a red light, I glance at her. She's fighting off the tears, but her lip chewing gives away her state of mind. I engulf her small hand in mine and squeeze. "Okay. But if you need one before they can replace it, I have one I never use."

  Her head swivels toward me. "You have? Why don't you use it?"

  "The Chicago Outlaws gave it to me, but it doesn't have all the bells and whistles I like."

  "Such as?"

  "A first rate gaming video card and lightning speed ram."

  A small smile fights to make an appearance. "Boys and their toys."

  "Hey, don't knock it. I play Madden Football on the thing. It's taught me a thing or two about the game."

  She snorts. "Yeah. Right!"

  Happy her mood has lightened, I turn the conversation toward her friend.

  "You and Marigold don't seem much alike."

  "We're not. We're into different things, and she's much more of a free spirit than I am. But somehow we became fast friends."

  "What do you mean free spirit?"

  "Mar dated a lot of guys in college, and I mean a lot. Hooked up with a bunch of them. She doesn't believe in tying herself to one man. She views marriage as a form of financial and social bondage. Not a surprise, given she grew up in a commune in California. Her parents never married."

  "But you're not like that, are you?"

  "Far from it. I was born and raised in Iowa by parents who believe marriage is sacred and the ultimate outcome of two people who love each other. Needless to say, they do not approve of pre-marital sex." She sighs. "Sometimes I wish I could be more like Mar. I hate being Miss Goody Two Shoes."

  I reach over and squeeze her hand again. "I like you the way you are." My phone rings. Caller ID identifies the individual as a flunkie from the Chicago Outlaws, the one in charge of checking on the players. The team wants to confirm I'm tucked in for the night at the hotel. I turn to MacKenna. "Sorry. I have to take this."

  "Sure."

  Letting go of her hand, I click my phone. "Mathews." With the speaker function on, MacKenna can hear every word.

  "Just calling in with your pickup time. Your driver will pick you up tomorrow morning at nine."

  "I'm on my way home. Don't worry. I used the car service."

  Dead silence at the other end. "Okay, but I'll have to let them know." Them being the Chicago Outlaws' management.

  "Do what you have to do." I click off. Honestly, sometimes they treat us like children who can't wipe our own asses.

  "Are you in trouble with your team?"

  Probably. The Chicago Outlaws want us to stay at the hotel after every event, so I'm bound to get flack from them. But I couldn't leave MacKenna in that apartment, and going back to the hotel was not an option. So I'll just need to deal with whatever they hit me with. Probably a penalty of some kind. "Me? No."

  "You sure?"

  "Positive. Look, we won't be home for half an hour at least. Try and get some rest." Last thing I want is for her to worry about me. She's got enough to worry about in her own life.

  "Okay." I sense more than see her darting a worried glance at me. But she does as I say, and closes her eyes.

  When I curl my arm around her and tuck her against me, she doesn't protest but snuggles against my side. It's the most peace I've enjoyed in a long time.

  After we arrive home, I grab MacKenna's bag as well as Marigold's from the trunk of the town car. When we reach the kitchen, I pause to do the polite thing, "You want something to drink?"

  She shakes her head, "No, thanks. What I really need is a shower and sleep."

  "Then let me show you to your room." As we wander down the hallway to one of the guest rooms, I keep up my patter, hoping to make her feel welcomed. "Mi casa es su casa. Whatever you want, it's yours."

  Her lips curl into a sad smile which makes me want to embrace her and tell her everything is going to be fine. But, of course, I can't. She's made it clear how things stand between us.

  "Thank you, Ty. I'll get a hold of Mar tomorrow. Ask if I can move in with her. For a little while anyway."

  She's staying with me, but there's no sense discussing her future living arrangements. Not tonight when she's in shock. Tomorrow will be soon enough. "Why don't we talk it over in the morning. Things usually look brighter in the daylight."

  "Yes. You're right."

  I've never taken the time to buy much furniture for the other four bedrooms in the house, so the furnishings of the guest room are basic stuff—a bed and a night table. But it does have its own private bathroom. I point out the door. "You'll find fresh towels in there. I have a service that comes in once a week to clean and do laundry."

  I drop the bags by the foot of the bed. "If you need anything, all you have to do is ask."

  "I won't. Goodnight."

  "Goodnight."

  I head back to my room. After I shower, I pad naked to my bed, leaving the door to the hallway open. You know, in case she needs anything.

  Even from two doors away, her lavender-rose scent drifts into my room. God. Over the next hour, I punch my pillow, toss and turn over. I'll never get any sleep tonight. Maybe a snack or drink would help. I'm just about to head to the kitchen when she appears at my door.

  "Ty?"

  I sit up. "Anything wrong?"

  "I can't sleep."

  Me neither.

  "May I come in?"

  Hell, no. "Absolutely."

  She strolls to the bed wearing an oversized night shirt that falls t
o her knees, her glorious breasts bobbing with every step she takes.

  My cock goes on Def Con 3 status, ready for launch in 3-2-1. "Would you like some warm milk? Sometimes that helps." Well, aren't I being the Good Samaritan?

  She shakes her head. "No. It's just . . . I thought I heard something."

  Probably me, gnashing my teeth. "Everything's locked up tight. No one can break in. It's probably the house settling down."

  "I know, but . . . "

  "But?"

  "Every time I close my eyes, horrible thoughts pop into my head. If Oliver hadn't invited me to that event, I would have been home. Would I have been hurt? Would I even be alive right now?" The hitch in her voice tells me she's struggling to control her fear, but not quite succeeding.

  Fuck. I ache to comfort her, but not much I can do. She's pretty much erected a 'Keep Out' sign.

  "If it's not too much trouble, can I stay here? With you? I won't take up much room on your bed."

  What does she think I am? A eunuch? First is don't touch me. Now it's, can I crawl into bed with you? I scrub my face. But she seeks reassurance so I cram down all my nasty lust and focus on what she needs. "Sure. I'm not wearing pajamas, though, so you might want to stay on your side of the bed." That's as much of a warning as I'm going to give her.

  "Okay." She climbs on, taking only the smallest sliver of bed space. Sheesh. If she as much as breathes the wrong way, she'll roll right off and crash land on the floor.

  "You're going to fall, scoot over some."

  She moves an inch.

  "Oh, for Pete's sakes." With my good arm, I reach over and haul her to the center of the bed. Big mistake. Her breasts are front and center beneath me, with only flimsy cotton between me and those beauties. I've touched them, tasted them. And right now I can't find much of the gentleman within me. Digging deep, I roll over with a jerk. "Go to sleep, MacKenna."

  "Ty?"

  "What do you want now? You want me to sing you a lullaby? What?"

  "You've taken all the covers."

  "Here." Keeping one, I toss the rest to her. I sure as hell don't need them. I'm burning up.

  "Goodnight."

  Fat chance of that happening.

  I roll over, turn my back to her again. My dick's throbbing so hard, I can hardly breathe. A soft curse escapes me.