Falling For Rachel. Nora RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
“You know, I don’t need you to hold on to me. I’ve been walking on my own for some time.”
He pushed open a heavy swinging door that led to the kitchen. “I like holding on to you.”
Rachel got the impression of gleaming stainless steel and white porcelain, the heavy scent of frying potatoes and grilling meat, before her attention was absorbed by an enormous man. He was dressed all in white, and his full apron was splattered and stained. Because he towered over Zack, Rachel estimated him at halfway to seven feet and a good three-fifty. If he’d played football, he would have been the entire defensive line.
His face was shiny from the kitchen heat, and the color of india ink. There was a scar running from one coal-black eye down to his massive chin. His hamlike hands were delicately building a club sandwich.
“Rio, this is Rachel Stanislaski, Nick’s lawyer.”
“How-de-do.” She caught the musical cadence of the West Indies in his voice. “Got that boy washing dishes like a champ. Only broke him five or six all night.”
Standing at a huge double sink, up to the elbows in soapy water, Nick turned his head and scowled. “If you call cleaning up someone else’s slop a job, you can just—”
“Now don’t you be using that language around this lady here.” Rio picked up a cleaver and brought it down with a thwack to cut the sandwich in two, then four. “My mama always said nothing like washing dishes to give a body plenty of time for searching the soul. You keep washing and searching, boy.”
Nick would have liked to have said more. Oh, he’d have loved to. But it was hard to argue with a seven-foot man holding a meat cleaver. He went back to muttering.
Rio smiled, and noted that Rachel was eyeing the sandwich. “How ’bout I fix you some hot meal? You can eat after you finish your business.”
“Oh, I…” Her mouth was watering. “I really should get home.”
“Zack, he’s going to see you home after you’re done. It’s too late for a woman to go walking the streets by herself.”
“I don’t need—”
“Dish her up some of your chili, Rio,” Zack suggested as he pulled Rachel toward a set of stairs. “This won’t take long.”
Rachel found herself trapped, hip to hip with him in a narrow staircase. He smelled of the sea, she realized, of that salty, slightly electric scent that meant a storm was brewing beyond the horizon. “It’s very kind of you to offer, Muldoon, but I don’t need a meal, or an escort.”
“You’ll get both, need them or not.” He turned, effectively trapping her against the wall. It felt good to have his body brush hers. As good as he’d imagined it would. “I never argue with Rio. I met him in Jamaica about six years ago—in a little bar tussle. I watched him pick up a two-hundred-pound man and toss him through a wall. Now, Rio’s mostly a peaceful sort of man, but if you get him riled, there’s no telling what he might do.” Zack lifted a hand and wound a lock of Rachel’s hair around his finger. “Your hair’s wet.”
She slapped his hand away and tried to pretend her heart wasn’t slamming in her throat. “It’s raining.”
“Yeah. I can smell it on you. You sure are something to look at, Rachel.”
She couldn’t move forward, couldn’t move back, so she did the only thing open to her. She bristled like a cornered cat. “You’re in my way, Muldoon. My advice is to move your butt and save the Irish charm for someone who’ll appreciate it.”
“In a minute. Was that Russian you yelled after your brother today?”
“Ukrainian,” she said between her teeth.
“Ukrainian.” He considered that, and her. “I never made it to the Soviet Union.”
She lifted a brow. “Neither have I. Now can we save this discussion until after I’ve seen the living arrangements?”
“All right.” He started up the steps again, his hand on the small of her back. “It’s not much, but I can guarantee it’s a large step up from the dump Nick was living in. I don’t know why he—” He cut himself off and shrugged. “Well, it’s done.”
Rachel had a feeling it was just beginning.
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