“Will you please take one of our jackets or…” Banks starts, raking a hand down his face.
“Or allow one of us to keep you warm?” Tobias finishes for him, visibly enjoying the proceedings. “Is that where you were headed with your suggestion, mate?”
“Not in the way you made it sound,” Banks clips.
A shiver passes through me, so powerful that my teeth actually chatter.
They take another collective step, all of them annoyed at each other for having the same idea. Or compulsion. Or whatever is happening. I put up my hand to stop the advance of the man closest to me, which happens to be Hercules. The palm of my hand connects with the middle of his chest and the worn cotton of his hoodie. The thick muscle beneath that leaps under my touch.
My breath catches.
For the first time, I notice the white logo on the right pec.
Local 401. That’s the same union I came to Roosevelt Island to investigate. At least, 401 union boss Jameson Crouch’s connection to Deputy Mayor Alexander. The two men I saw shaking hands from the pizza parlor. But based on the five minutes I’ve spent in this guy’s acquaintance, he is probably not involved in any behind-the-scenes corruption. What kind of corruption? I’m still working on that. More than likely, though, Hercules is on the island to work on the housing development that’s under construction at the hands of 401.
He could know something useful, though.
This man might be able to give me rare insight into my investigation. Or help me. If I want the managing editor at the Times to take me seriously, I have to bring her a story. I’ve been trying to piece together this bombshell piece for weeks and today, I most likely had my suspicions confirmed. Deputy Mayor is the mole who has been feeding harmful information to Crouch, giving him ammunition for his feud with the mayor. But even after seeing them together today—and on friendly terms—I still only have smoke and mirrors. A theory.
And a sandwich cart with wheels.
A cart that I push through the corridors of the Times, serving hoagies to the real reporters. I don’t want to do it anymore.
I want to be a writer and I don’t want to quit halfway this time.
Before I think better of it, I curl my fist in the front of Hercules’s sweatshirt and pull him forward, not missing the lump that moves up and down in his throat.
“You haven’t told us your name yet,” I say quietly, caught off guard by the invisible feather that drags along the lowest regions of my belly.
He takes a deep breath while his eyes trace the part of my hair. “Gabe Gatlin.”
“Gabe.” My lord, his voice is deep. “I’m Elise.” Suddenly, I’m second guessing my intention to finesse information out of this giant, but it’s too late to turn back now because my breasts meet his chest. “You’ll keep me warm?”
His swallow is loud in my ear, his arms coming up around me, locking me close to his powerful bulk. “Yes, please.”
Chapter Two
It’s very silent now that Gabe’s arms are around me.
Silent except for the loud rapping of his heartbeat near my ear.
I’m not going to lie, I forget my ulterior motive for several long moments, the ample heat of his big body sinking into mine and ceasing my shivers. He smells like a construction site—sawdust and paint and coffee—and somehow I know that going forward, I will always associate those smells with warmth and comfort. I’m almost cross-eyed at the sudden rush of heat to my bones and before I can stop myself, I melt against him a little, seeking more.
I don’t even get annoyed when he sniffs my head.
“She…Elise…asked us what we’re doing on the island,” Banks says briskly after a full minute. It’s impossible not to notice the deeper resonance to his tone. It’s either resigned due to my choice of Gabe for warmth…or irritated. Or both. “Would anyone like to share with the class?”
“I came for some routine acupuncture,” Tobias says, followed by a brief sniff.
Lie. I’m pretty good at determining when someone isn’t telling the truth. It’s what led me to the field of reporting. And that subtle hitch in his tone has my eyes flying open. When did I close them? Actually, am I drooling on this guy’s sweatshirt? Not quite, but I’m close. “You came all the way out here for acupuncture? Why couldn’t you see an acupuncturist in Manhattan?”
A beat passes. “Mine is more of a specialist.”
I’m leaning sideways to look at Tobias now, beside Gabe’s shoulder. “You said it was routine.”