L
uc’s family was lovely.
Really
lovely.
As in…Ava hadn’t even known families could be like that. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she told him that the Simses were not the Sunday family dinner types. She doubted they would be even if they lived in the same state.
But the Morettis? The Morettis were everything family should be. The bustling mother. The mouthy grandma. The overbearing yet warm patriarch. The squabbling yet protective siblings. Granted, there’d been that tense moment when it had become rather abundantly clear that Tony Moretti wasn’t keen on the press. And Ava was almost positive the family was keeping something from Luc.
Still, by the time she’d left, stuffed with delicious tiramisu, Ava hadn’t been thinking of them as a reporter thinks of a story subject. Even Tony had hugged her. Insisted she come back.
It had been…nice.
“So,” Luc said, raising his voice just slightly to be heard over the roar of the ferry motor. They were at the back of the boat, Staten Island behind them, as they headed back to Manhattan.
Back to reality.
“So,” she repeated, shivering slightly. The day had been gorgeous and warm, but it wasn’t summer yet. Without the sun, there was a definite nip in the air.
Luc noticed. “I wish I had a coat.”
“I’m glad you don’t. I’d have to start thinking of you as a nice guy.”
He turned, leaning his side against the rail as he faced her. “Still not convinced, huh?”
“Jury’s still out. Half the time you’re buying me flowers and holding my hand, the other you’re jumping down my throat.”
His mouth quirked in the corner. “What can I say, Sims? You’ve got a way about you.”
“Meaning?”
He glanced out at the water. “Meaning I don’t know quite whether to kiss you or strangle you.”
The first one.
The thought popped unbidden into her mind, and she tried to shove it away. Kissing Luc would be a bad idea. A wonderful idea. But also, really, really bad.
The tension seemed to crackle between them in the night air, and Ava racked her brain for a way to diffuse whatever was between them.
Not that whatever between them even had a name. Or if it
did
have a name, it seemed to change every two minutes.
“So, your grandma’s a hoot,” she said, steering them toward safer territory.
Luc smiled. “She likes you. Be flattered, because the last girl that one of us brought around to dinner ended up getting an inquisition about her rather obvious boob job. Nonna wanted to know if the implants could double as a flotation device in the case of a water landing.”
Ava snorted. “I think I’m safe there. When I was helping her clear the dessert plates, she informed me that she knew some excellent push-up bra brands to recommend.”
Ava realized her mistake when Luc’s gaze dropped, and her nipples tightened in response. She didn’t think he could notice…she had her cardigan wrapped across her chest to block out the cold, but from the way his gaze heated, it was clear she wasn’t the only one affected.
“Sorry about Nonna,” he said. Was it her imagination, or was his voice a little more gruff than before? “Her sense of boundaries is nonexistent.”
“I liked her,” Ava said, meaning it. “I mean, she’s not exactly the warm, maternal figure I associate with Italian families. That’s more your mom’s thing, and I love her too. But Nonna beats to her own drum. I only hope I can be that spunky when I’m her age.”
Luc snorted. “Somehow I doubt that will be a problem. I can’t picture you as sweet and docile at
any
age.”
Ava gave a little smile as she rubbed her hands over her upper arms. “Sweet’s never really part of my job description, but luckily we journalist types tend to get a free pass.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “See, when journalists are pushy, we get labeled as tenacious. Which is a good thing. If
non
-journalists do the same thing, they’re merely obnoxious.”
“Oh, I dunno. I think the ‘obnoxious’ label fits just fine.”
Ava pressed her lips together and glanced down at her sandals.
It stung a little.
It shouldn’t; Luc Moretti had every reason to think that she was obnoxious.
It was just…she’d hoped—
thought
—maybe things were changing. The way he’d reached out his hand when she’d faltered there in the hallway at his parents’ home; it had been sweet.
And then he’d stuck close by her side all night, even sitting next to her at dinner, carefully steering his family away from topics that he could tell made her uncomfortable.
And actually, that instinct he seemed to have for sensing when Ava was nervous or uncomfortable was the weirdest part of the entire evening. The man seemed to read her better than anyone; even Beth and Mihail.
Which was why it burned a little that he still thought she was annoying. It told her that his kindness at dinner was a fluke. Just a generic, nice-guy gesture. It hadn’t been about
her
.
Why was she surprised? Ava had never been the kind of girl that brought out the tender side of guys.
Ava turned her head slightly so she wouldn’t have to look at him, her ponytail whipping against her cheek as she took in the beauty of the Statue of Liberty at night.
She took a deep breath, reminded herself that she didn’t need a man like Officer Moretti to validate her existence. She was smart and successful, and was well on her way to achieving career heights that other people only dreamed of…
Only that thought process didn’t feel quite right, so she focused instead on the looming Statue of Liberty as they passed it. Luc had been right when he’d said that it never got old, living in the backyard of national monuments like this one.
Hell,
nothing
about New York was old to Ava. And not just because of what it represented. She knew her family thought she was here because it was the very center of the broadcast journalism world, but it was more than that to Ava. This city was about self-discovery and making something of one’s self.
Ava’s parents only saw one side of New York—the one that represented fame and Park Avenue penthouses and glossy galas. But there was another side of New York too. With its honking cabdrivers and pushy pedestrians, and filthy subways and occasional rats, New York could be dirty and gritty and mean.
But at least it was honest. New Yorkers liked their dirty side. Relished it, even.
In New York, nobody pretended to be a hero.
Well, nobody except the man standing beside her.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked, turning her head to find him watching her.
“Do what?”
“Jump in the river after that little girl…give your coat to a homeless guy.”
He ran a hand over his face, and she was surprised to see that he looked…tired.
“Who’s asking?” he asked.
“Sorry?”
“Ava the reporter?” He turned to face her again. “Or Ava the human being?”
“Would you stop with that?” she snapped. “I’m tired of this hot and cold crap. You don’t get to say asshole things and then apologize, only to repeat the whole thing all over again. Either you’re a nice guy or a jerk. Pick one.”
Their gazes clashed for several seconds before he finally looked away.
Ava huffed out a sigh. “You know, I’m finding it increasingly hard to believe your family’s claim that you’re a regular heartthrob.”
“They exaggerate.”
“So you don’t…how did your grandmother put it…go through women faster than she goes through her hemorrhoid medicine?”
Luc gave a small smile. “No.”
“That day at the diner, you made it sound like you didn’t date much. Your family made it seem differently.”
“Why so interested, Sims?”
“Why so reluctant, Moretti?”
“Maybe I don’t want my relationship history showing up on the six o’clock news.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a wave. “The
America’s Hero
special will likely air at eight. Gotta make sure everyone’s home from work and the dishes are put away so the housewives can swoon over your handsome face.”
At some point in their conversation, he’d inched closer, and now he nudged her shoulder with his. “It
is
handsome, huh?”
“It’s okay,” she said grudgingly. “You’re not nearly as good looking as your brothers.”
“Considering that we grew up with people assuming that there had to be twins or triplets somewhere in the mix, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“But you’re the only one with blue eyes.”
He winked. “Noticed that, did ya?”
Crap.
“It’s just unusual for such a solidly Italian family. Or am I stereotyping?”
“Blue eyes aren’t as common as brown, but it happens. And I’m not the only one to have them. Elena’s are blue too.”
Oh.
Whoops
.
While Ava had liked Elena very much, Ava couldn’t say she’d noticed her eye color. It was hard to pay attention to the women in the room when there was so much male eye candy.
And the Morettis really were an exceptionally attractive family.
But Luc, with his strong jaw, sparkling blue eyes, and lean strength?
He belonged on a movie poster.
The crowning jewel of the family.
Orrrrr
…maybe she was biased.
“It’s a pain, huh?” he said, interrupting her thoughts.
“What’s a pain?”
“Being attracted to someone you’re determined to dislike.”
Her mouth went dry at his husky tone. “You speaking from experience, Officer?”
His answer was to drop his gaze to her mouth, and Ava swore she felt butterflies. Ava Sims did not
do
butterflies.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she blurted out. “About why you jumped into the river.”
Luc tipped his head back and laughed, and Ava went all fluttery at the sight of his Adam’s apple.
Get a grip, Sims.
“You and I do a lot of that, have you noticed? Dodging each other’s questions? Answering with other questions?”
“Part of the reporter thing, I guess.”
“Answer my question, Sims. You attracted to me?”
He moved in, then, not quite touching her, but somehow pinning her against the railing using body heat alone. Ava kept her eyes locked on his chin even as her pulse flipped into overdrive.
Luc touched a knuckle to her cheek. “I think the woman behind the reporter is pulled to me. Just like the man behind the cop is drawn to you.”
He was going to kiss her. She could tell by the firm command of his voice, the positioning of his body.
She wanted it.
Oh, how she wanted it.
She wanted to wind her arms around him, arch her back into him, wanted to absorb all of his heat and goodness.
But it was that last part that gave her pause.
People weren’t good.
This man may have the wool pulled over the eyes of his family and half of New York City, but Ava wasn’t about to get pulled into his vortex.
At least until she saw the side of him that
wasn’t
so shiny.
Most women
liked
the early stages of a relationship because the men hid their dirty laundry.
Ava hated it.
She wouldn’t be kissing Luc Moretti any time soon. Not until he showed her the real Luc.
Ava sidestepped; she patted his arm. “The Statue of Liberty really does get you all sappy and romantic, doesn’t it?”
The light went out of his eyes, his head tipping back just slightly as he watched her with a narrowed gaze. And the slight twist of his lips told her he wasn’t done with her yet.
Fine.
She wasn’t done with him either.
A
vie, how’s the story coming along?”
Ava glanced up to see her boss, Brent Davis, taking an uninvited seat on the edge of her desk where she’d been solidly in the zone while Googling the Morettis.
She moved her coffee mug out of the way of his leg, careful not to let her hand touch his leg, even though she was fairly certain he’d placed himself too close on purpose.
It was so grossly cliché, the aging media boss chasing after the young skirts in the office, but Davis seemed all too happy to play his part.
“Earth to Avie.” His knee bumped her arm.
Okay, that was another thing. Wasn’t the point of nicknames to shorten the original name? Ava and Avie were the same number of syllables, which meant her boss only utilized Avie to breed a familiarity that wasn’t there.
Still. He was the boss. And like him or not (she absolutely did not), he was a key part in her path to anchorwoman. Not that he was high enough on the food chain to make the final decision, but he was certainly a gatekeeper.
So even though she itched to tell him to get his bulging thigh out of her personal space, she smiled.
“Sorry, this story’s taking up all of my mental capacity.”
He smirked. “It should be. A three-hour prime-time special is no fluff piece. It’s the real deal. The rest of the girls are yapping behind your back.”
“Good to know,” she muttered. Though she wasn’t all that surprised. There was no such thing as real friendship at CBC. Mostly it ranged from two-faced, to backstabbing, to cutthroat.
“Hey, are you familiar with the name Shayna Johnson?” she asked, tapping her pencil against her notepad.
Brent Davis may be a lecher, but he was a good newsman. His memory for stories, no matter how small, was legendary.
He folded his arms across his beefy chest, blue eyes scrunching as he went into what she thought of as his thinking mode.
“Kidnapping case gone wrong?” he said.
“If by wrong, you mean she died, yeah,” Ava said, glancing at her notes. “And sadly, not all that unusual, especially in the rougher area of Harlem.”
He frowned. “Wasn’t that a couple years ago? What are you doing looking at a story that’s stale
and
common? You’re not chasing a cold case, are you?”
“No, they caught the bastard,” she said distractedly, her pencil tapping more quickly against the notepad. “He’s rotting in prison.”
“Ah. So no recent escape then.” He sounded disappointed and Ava game him a disgusted look.
Davis had the decency to look ashamed. “Right, right. Glad the perp’s still behind bars. Still not getting why we’re talking about this then. What am I missing?”
“Maybe nothing,” Ava said. But her pencil was moving at warp speed now. Her reporter instincts were buzzing.
Something wasn’t right.
She opened her mouth.
Shut it.
Opened it again.
“It’s just…something’s strange about it. The case was high profile for the entire week she was missing. The little girl was the daughter of a city councilman. But her death barely registered a blip on the local media scene. The story just said that the suspect had been apprehended, but sadly, authorities were too late to save Shayna.”
“And this is related to the Moretti story how?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she mused. “Give me time.”
Davis rolled his eyes, pushing off her desk. “Thanks for leading me down the rabbit hole for nothing.”
“Anytime,” she said sweetly, giving him a little finger wave as he waddled away.
After Davis was out of earshot, a permanently scowled forehead appeared over the wall, followed by shrewd blue eyes, then a long nose and sulky mouth with a red and yellow gummy worm hanging out the side.
“I’m dismayed you weren’t forthcoming with our boss,” Mihail said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Absolutely appalled.”
“How do you know I wasn’t telling the truth?”
His expression didn’t change as he chewed his gummy worm, watching her.
“Okay fine,” she said on a sigh, lowering her voice. “I
may
know more than I said.”
“And?”
Ava hesitated, then immediately felt guilty. She told Mihail
everything
. He was her sounding board, her partner, her ball-and-chain when she chased a story that simply wasn’t there.
The fact that she was hesitating showing him
this
meant that she might have deeper feelings for Luc Moretti than she thought.
And since that scared the crap out of her, she quickly unlocked her computer screen and gestured Mihail to come around to her side before she could change her mind.
Mihail grunted when he saw the masthead on the website she’d pulled up. “That website is trash. Beyond trash. It’s paparazzi bullshit.”
“I know, I know, but look,” she said, scrolling down to a post from two years ago.
“What am I looking at?”
She pointed at a police officer on the right.
“Recognize him?”
Mihail leaned in and squinted. “That Moretti? Sure. So he was there when shit went down. So what?”
Right.
So what?
Luc Moretti was a cop. There was nothing unusual about him being on the scene when a kidnapper in a high-profile case was arrested.
It was nothing, and yet…
Why was there so little about the resolution to this story?
Ava suddenly remembered her first reaction upon meeting Luc that day in his captain’s office. She’d thought then that something had been off, but then she’d gotten so wrapped up in, well, him, that she’d gone and forgotten all about it.
But her reporter instincts were buzzing now, and they’d never led her astray before. And Ava loved the thrill of a good story. Particularly one people didn’t want told.