New York Nights. Kathleen O'Reilly

tense, waiting for him to return.

      “Please,” she started, needing him to finish, needing him inside her.

      Needing Gabe.

      She felt his gaze in the shadows, could nearly touch the cold snap of his anger. And his voice, when it sounded, was crystal clear.

      “No.”

       7

      GABE MET SEAN FOR racquetball on Friday morning. Playing racquetball with Sean was usually a pain in the ass, but in the end Gabe had agreed because he had to talk to somebody about Tessa. Slowly, quietly, painfully, Gabe was going insane.

      The challenge here was that Gabe would have to talk about Tessa in a way that Sean wouldn’t know Gabe was talking about Tessa, but Gabe figured he could handle that. He had to.

      All due to this damned need of hers to pretend that Gabe wasn’t Gabe.

      Yes, at first he’d thought it was hot. Every guy likes to think that his girl has an active fantasy life.

      But every time? That sad truth wears a man down.

      So on Friday morning he was stuck in Sean’s high-end athletic club, which was filled with white-collar alpha males needing to assert their masculine superiority in a twenty-by-twenty room with no windows.

      Gabe dressed in cutoffs and an FDNY Engine 31 T-shirt, which was his token effort to assert masculine superiority. He took in Sean’s tennis whites, and arched a mocking eyebrow. “I think I should call you Mortimer or Preston or something equally nerdy.”

      Sean shook his head and pointed to the court. “Hello, my name is Sean O’Sullivan. You mock my clothes. Prepare to die.”

      Gabe followed him inside, slammed the door closed. Next he lifted his racquet, gave a cursory bow to his opponent—and then, the war was on.

      Gabe took the first game fifteen to eleven. Sean came back, perfecting his killer smash, and took the second game fifteen to seven.

      By the third game they were both sweating like pigs, and the game had regressed to a primitive slog to the death. Never let it be said that an O’Sullivan wasn’t competitive. One long hour later Sean took the match fifteen to thirteen. Gabe didn’t mind because this felt good. Relaxed. Powerful. And his mind was completely Tessa-free.

      Progress, definitely progress.

      Besides, he’d whip his brother’s ass the next time. There was always a next time.

      They showered, changed, and Sean bought a drink for Gabe at the juice bar. Gabe ducked his head low in case anybody recognized him. He had a reputation to uphold, and sipping soy juice at some Nancy-boy health bar wasn’t part of it.

      Only for Tessa—and she would never know the depths he had sunk to in order to keep this Twilight Zone of a relationship alive.

      When the bartender shoved the glass of OJ in Gabe’s direction, Gabe sniffed and then raised his glass. “To my brother, who has fallen far, far from the esteemed ideals that the O’Sullivan name has stood for through four generations. Juice? Juice? What is this?”

      “I think it’s important to maintain a healthy lifestyle. Alcohol can be dangerous,” Sean said, pushing back the hair from his eyes, trying to weasel his way into respectability.

      “Sean, our family’s fortune was made on the ill-gotten gains of illegal alcohol. O’Sullivan’s started as a speakeasy. You can run to a career in the law, but you can’t hide.”

      “That doesn’t mean we can’t go straight.”

      Gabe downed the juice in one gulp. “Are you sure we’re related? You’re the brown-eyed kid. Why brown? Did you ever think about that, Sean?”

      “Why are you here?” asked Sean, sipping demurely at his carrot juice.

      Carrot juice? Gabe sighed, wanting to avoid this, but he couldn’t. This was important. And if he had to humiliate himself in front of his lesser-respected brother, then so be it. “I need to talk to you about a woman. You are still interested in women, aren’t you?”

      Sean laughed and appeared relieved by the change of subject, the flicker of humanity coming back into his eyes. “Desperate, aren’t you? Coming to the master.”

      “Don’t rub it in, this is hard enough. I can’t talk to Daniel, because I can’t handle talking to Daniel about sex. That’d be cruel. I’m not cruel.”

      Sean tugged at the cuffs of his Brooks Brothers shirt and studied Gabe like a scientist. “So we’re actually having sex with this female? Are you sure this isn’t a case of lusting from afar?”

      At that moment Gabe wished he had a tie. Something silky, probably with a designer label. Preferably long enough that he could loop it around his brother’s neck and then pull. Tightly. He smiled at the thought.

      “No, it’s not lusting from afar. But it would be a lot easier.”

      “That’s just sad, Gabe.”

      “Yes, yes, it is.” He took a deep breath and pitched his voice low, finally admitting the unsavory truth. “She likes to pretend, Sean.”

      “Pretend what?”

      “Pretend that I’m not me.”

      Sean stroked his chin. “I see. So she’s so revolted by you that she has to pretend you’re someone else.”

      “That’s not it,” Gabe snapped and saw heads turn with curiosity. He scowled back.

      “It looks like it. Why else would she need to pretend? Unless you can’t satisfy her, of course.”

      “Of course I can satisfy her,” answered Gabe through gritted teeth.

      “On the basis of the facts as presented before me, I’m thinking that answer is a big no.”

      “Screw you, Sean.”

      Sean lifted his hands. “Okay, okay. All joking aside, I can see you’re in need of guidance. Did you ever think about ditching her?”

      The bartender came over, clearing the glasses. “Another round of juice?”

      “Not in this lifetime,” said Gabe. He glared at his brother, feeling uncomfortable. “Hell, a man needs a BlackBerry and a cellphone in order to fit in here. Next time, we’re playing wall ball the old-fashioned way—out in the alley.”

      “Sure, if it makes you feel better. But I’ll still whip your ass. Now, getting back to the sex girl—which is much more interesting than how I can wipe the floor with you—why don’t you ditch her? You’re not the obsessive-compulsive type.”

      “I can’t ditch her,” answered Gabe, sounding obsessively compulsive.

      “Why? Every woman can be ditched for the right reasons.”

      “I like her. I’m not going to stop seeing her.”

      A big guy in sweats plopped down next to Sean and started talking, completely butting into a personal conversation. Gabe sat for a few minutes while Sean chatted legal gibberish with the other dude until Gabe cleared his throat.

      “Do you mind?” he asked Sean.

      Sean turned to the other guy. “My little brother. He needs help. Sorry.”

      The man held out his hand. “You’re Daniel? I’m Frankie Ryder. How you doing?”

      “No, I’m Gabe,” he responded, shaking the meaty paw but shooting meaningful “hurry-up” glances to Sean.

      Frankie turned to Sean. “I didn’t know you had two brothers.”

      “I’m the brother he keeps hidden up in the attic.”

      “Gabe, you don’t have to be rude.” Sean looked at Frankie. “He’s