by Cara Summers
“From my perspective, you did handle it. Very well. I’m not shot, and Laurel and Hardy are out for the count.”
He’d taken her arm to draw her with him toward the club. It was only then that he saw they’d attracted an audience. From the looks of it, most of the bar crowd had poured into the street including Virgil, the tall, bronze-skinned man who’d managed Pleasures since Jonah had opened it.
The fat guy he’d nicknamed Hardy was on his hands and knees, shaking his head like a dog. When they reached him, Cilla planted one of her shoes right under his nose where he could see it. “Don’t even think of getting up unless you want me to kick you again.”
He collapsed onto his stomach.
“Boss,” Virgil said. “You all right?”
“Fine. You’d better call the police. Ms. Michaels and I seem to have been the victims of an attempted mugging.”
“I already called 9-1-1, and so did several of our customers.”
Even as sirens sounded in the distance, Jonah noted that Cilla had crouched down to secure the fat guy’s hands behind his back. When she’d finished, there was a spattering of applause from the people who’d gathered. Ignoring it, she retrieved the first man’s gun, then secured the man Jonah had knocked out.
Jonah turned to Virgil. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you stay here and keep everyone away from the crime scene until the police arrive?”
Jonah saw the questions in his manager’s eyes. He also read concern, but all Virgil said was, “Sure thing, but I don’t think these guys are going anywhere.”
“No.” He glanced back as Cilla walked toward him. The sound of sirens grew closer. “I’ll try to reassure our guests. You can send the police to me when they arrive.”
When Cilla reached him, she put her arm through his and kissed him on the cheek. “You sure know how to show a girl an exciting time.” Then she turned to beam a smile at the small crowd of onlookers. “I’m pretty lucky.”
There was more murmuring and nods of agreement. One woman said, “I think he’s the lucky one. The only other place I’ve seen a kick like that was when I saw the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall.”
There were more nods and a few laughs as his customers began to move back into the club.
“I’m going to offer everyone a round of free drinks, but you’ve already diminished the tension level considerably,” he murmured as they followed the group.
“You can thank me by trusting me more the next time,” she hissed.
Jonah laughed as he drew her into Pleasures.
AN HOUR LATER, JONAH sat in his office watching Cilla pace back and forth in front of his desk, talking on the phone to Gabe. Making her report.
The policemen had questioned them separately, and the one who was in charge, Detective Finelli, seemed to know Cilla. Which reminded Jonah very forcibly that he knew very little about her—only what Gabe had told him at the party. Her name was Priscilla Michaels, but she went by Cilla, and Gabe thought the world of her.
Oh, he’d been tempted to run a thorough background check on her, but satisfying curiosity could lead a man into deep trouble. Finding out more about her could have complicated his decision to keep his distance.
The name Priscilla intrigued him because it didn’t fit the woman he’d spent the night with in Denver. Cilla suited her better. It also fit the woman he’d met at the airport and the one who’d turned into his arms out on the street. For an instant when she’d put her hands on his face and pulled his head down to hers, he could have sworn the cement beneath his feet had shifted as if it were beach sand. And all he’d been able to think of was her.
Oh, she was a very dangerous woman. And like it or not, he was learning more about her with each moment that passed. Problem was, the more he discovered, the more curious and fascinated he became. She was good at what she did. She’d not only smoothly maneuvered him earlier into accepting her escort back to Pleasures, but once the police had left, she’d managed to get a call into Gabe before he had.
And the woman who paced in front of him right now was a sharp right turn from the woman who’d met him at the airport earlier or the woman who’d kicked the gun out of that thug’s hand. Ever since she’d entered Pleasures, it was as if she’d had a to-do list and she’d been checking off items one by one. Quick, efficient, focused.
It occurred to him that he was dealing with two sides of the same woman. He recalled his first reaction to her given name. But Priscilla fit the woman he was watching now to a T.
She paused in her pacing to fist a hand on her hip and summarize for Gabe what Detective Finelli had assured them before he’d left. The police would do everything they could do—question Fatso and Skinny, put out an all-points bulletin on the van.
“The two men have lawyered up, so they won’t be questioned until the morning when their public defenders are assigned,” Cilla said to Gabe as she started to pace again. “But my friend Joe Finelli says he’ll talk to his captain and get permission for me to observe the interviews.”
Her friend Joe Finelli? Jonah recalled what he’d seen of the interaction between the detective and Cilla. Finelli was a good ten years her senior. Had they dated? Been lovers?
And the fact that his mind instantly jumped to those questions reminded him why he’d decided to avoid Cilla Michaels. He didn’t want that kind of involvement.
Deliberately he looked past her to the open door of his office. The evening was winding down. By the time the police cars had pulled away, he could see that every thing had returned to normal in his club. The bar was still busy, and the jazz band on the basement level would switch to dance music in another half hour.
Virgil would handle closing. What Jonah needed was some quiet time in his apartment to try to figure out what in hell was going on. There was something in the wording of the note that was still pulling at the edge of his mind.
“Joe recommended that he continue with private security,” Cilla was saying.
Joe. Her use of the detective’s first name triggered a quick surge of impatience. Not jealousy. Because that was ridiculous. And the impatience was with himself.
Because he didn’t want to go to his apartment and think about what had happened by himself. He wanted to talk about it with Cilla Michaels. And perhaps with Priscilla, too.
He watched her stride across the width of his office again and wondered if the woman ever stood still. There was such energy radiating off her. She’d been lightning fast outside the club—both physically and mentally. The kick had come out of nowhere. The poor sucker hadn’t been expecting it.
And she’d brought those same elements of energy and surprise to her lovemaking, as well. He vividly recalled the speed of those clever hands as they’d moved over his skin exploring, exploiting—until the flood of razor-sharp sensations had left him helpless to do anything but want more.
“Sure I can set up a security detail.” Cilla paused at his desk to pull a small notebook and pen out of her purse. “We’ll want to give him 24/7 protection, two men each shift.”
Jonah took a deep breath and brought his focus back to her. He wasn’t helpless. This time it was more than a surge of impatience he felt. Sitting on the sidelines and letting others decide his fate had never been his strong suit. He’d run away from three foster homes before the judge tired of seeing his face and sent him to Father Mike at the St. Francis Center for Boys.
At the time Father Mike had a reputation in the Denver area for being able to handle “bad” or “problem” boys. Jonah figured he’d been both. And if it hadn’t been for the center and the fact that he’d met Nash and Gabe there, he wouldn’t be where he was today.
“I’ll handle it,” Cilla said.
Studying her, Jonah leaned back in his chair. He was used to handling his own affairs or handpicking the people he chose to delegate them to. And whenever he could, he chose people he knew and trusted. Virgil had been like a big brother to him in the first foster home he was sent to. Before he’d opened Pleasures
, he’d tracked Virgil down and hired him to manage the club. When he’d opened his sports bar, Interludes, he’d offered the manager’s position to Carmen D’Annunzio, a woman who’d volunteered at the St. Francis Center when her boys were in their early teens.
But he hadn’t chosen Cilla Michaels. He’d decided not to choose her, hadn’t he? She sat on the edge of his desk, her cell phone tucked beneath her ear as she scribbled. “I think we can cover it for now.”
We meaning who? He definitely didn’t like hearing the plans being made as if he were…what? A client whose life she’d just saved?
Jonah frowned. That was exactly the case, wasn’t it? If Cilla Michaels hadn’t met him at the airport and pressured him into accepting her escort, he might very well be lying on the sidewalk outside just as Laurel and Hardy had been doing when the police arrived. In fact, he might have a bullet hole in him.
His frown deepened. That scenario didn’t jibe with the note that had been delivered to him. If someone wanted to gun him down on the street, why warn him about it first? And why bother counting down the nights until Christmas? Unless the two incidents weren’t connected.
That was something he wanted to talk to her about. Priscilla would have a theory. He was sure of it.
And then there was Cilla.
She strode away from his desk and put her hand on her hip again. The red coat was shoved back, giving him a good view of those remarkable legs. And he remembered exactly how it had felt when they’d been wrapped around him.
It could happen again. Something primal, something that went beyond desire, sparked to life inside of him. In seconds, he could move to the door, lock it and take her against it just as he had in that hotel room in Denver. Seconds and he could have his mouth on hers. God, he wanted that. He wanted to taste her again—that sweet, tart flavor that grew more complex each time he feasted on it. He wanted to touch her again, to push the hem of that dress up those long, silky legs. Seconds. It would take only seconds to sheath himself and push aside whatever lacy barrier was left between them. Then he would fill her. She would surround him.
The image in his mind triggered sensations so vivid that he could almost feel her closing around him as he thrust into her. Seconds, he thought again. Seconds and he could turn the fantasy in his mind into reality. The temptation to do just that was so powerful, Jonah had to grip the arms of the chair tight.
This was why he’d stayed away for nearly a month, he reminded himself. And this was why he should keep his distance now.
“No, we haven’t talked about it yet, but I’m sure he’ll agree that private security is the way to go,” Cilla said. When she shot him a questioning look, Jonah merely returned a bland one.
He wasn’t a fool. Until he could figure out what was going on, he was going to take precautions. A bodyguard wouldn’t be a bad idea.
“I can free up David Santos and Mark Gibbons,” Cilla said. “They’re very good, and I can still handle our other clients.”
Jonah refocused his attention on what she was saying.
She slid him a sideways glance. “Great. I’ll let him know.”
Let him know? Annoyance sizzled through him. Mostly at himself. All evening, he’d let her call the shots. She’d convinced him to let her follow him to Pleasures, then she’d maneuvered him into that little macho man/poor helpless female scenario when the two thugs had approached. And she’d been the one who’d reported everything to Gabe. Now if he’d heard right, she intended to step back and assign two other men to guard him.
That wasn’t her decision to make. He was about to stretch out his hand and demand to talk to Gabe when she closed her cell and faced him across the desk.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“Indeed we do.” Jonah kept his gaze on Cilla for one long moment before he rose and said, “Before you tell me what you and Gabe have decided, let me introduce you to Pleasures.”
5
HE WALKED FOR OVER AN HOUR in an attempt to settle his rage. The wind blowing in from the Bay carried a fine, icy mist that stung his cheeks. In spite of the cold and the lateness of the hour, there were still some people walking along the Embarcadero, wandering to and from Fisherman’s Wharf.
Normally, he would have avoided the lights and the seasonal decorations, but tonight he would use them as reminders.
Of Elizabeth.
Of his loss.
Of his mission.
But in spite of the litany that he repeated in his mind, every time he thought of what had happened at Pleasures, his fury threatened to rise up like a tidal wave and consume him. At times, the red haze in front of his eyes nearly blinded him.
His plan, his perfect plan had been bungled! Even now, as he replayed the scene in his mind, the panic and anger bubbled up just as it had when he’d been parked down the street from the club.
He’d wanted to jump out of his car and scream.
But he’d controlled the urge. Even when he’d heard the gunshots, he hadn’t allowed the panic to take control. His first impulse had been to follow the van and confront his partner. But acting when he was still teetering on the brink of anger would have been a mistake.
Instead, he’d made himself wait until the crowd had gone back into Pleasures, then he’d pulled out of his space and driven down to Fisherman’s Wharf.
Just a little bit longer now, and he’d be fine. Something inside of him would settle and his mind would clear.
For two blocks, he concentrated on breathing in and breathing out. No one had seen him earlier. He was sure of that. Everyone had been watching what was going on in front of the club. But he shouldn’t have panicked.
That was inexcusable. Panic led to mistakes even when the anger was justified.
He’d explained the plan very carefully to his partner. It was a simple job.
No guns.
Fury erupted again. If they’d shot Jonah…
He bit back the scream that burned in his throat like acid and fisted his hands at his sides. It was his job to kill Jonah. His job. And it wasn’t time yet.
When the red haze threatened to blur his vision again, he stopped and drew in a deep breath. Then another.
Think. He had to think.
It wasn’t entirely his partner’s fault that the mission had failed. There was the woman.
She shouldn’t have been there. Jonah Stone wasn’t dating anyone. She didn’t work for him. And she’d spoiled everything.
He began to walk again. He’d find out who she was, and she’d pay dearly for disrupting his plan.
When he finally felt himself settle, he realized that he was standing in front of a restaurant. Through the windows, he saw people laughing and talking at the bar. For a moment, he was tempted to go in and order a drink. Then the door of the restaurant opened and he caught the sound of muted Christmas music.
No. He couldn’t go into a place where they were celebrating the season.
So he would return to his room to have that drink, and he would wait for his partner to report.
And he would plan his revenge on the woman.
AS JONAH LED HER AROUND on a brief tour of Pleasures, Cilla could tell he was seriously annoyed. The calm voice and the charming smile didn’t fool her.
She could understand what he must be feeling, sympathize with it. But what she admired was the way he kept his emotions tightly leashed. He’d never once interrupted her or tried to take her cell phone from her while she was reporting to Gabe. She doubted she could have been that patient.
He’d taken her on a brief tour of the jazz room in the basement and the private dining rooms on the second floor, but she couldn’t recall one detail. Each time his arm brushed against hers or he placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her up or down a staircase, she couldn’t help remembering that moment out on the street when he’d leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing hers, and the incredible heat that had exploded through her.
For that one instant, her mind had totally blanked. She’d forg
otten her plan, the danger he was in. There’d been only Jonah Stone. And the fierce desire that he alone could provoke had nearly consumed her.
He’d felt at least some of what she was feeling. His hands had tightened their grip on her waist and she’d seen the way those smoke-colored eyes had darkened until they were black as an abyss.
But he hadn’t kissed her. He’d maintained control. He’d kept his mind focused on the danger. What woman could resist thinking about what it might take to break that control?
Which was reason numero uno why she had to take herself off the case. Jonah Stone was in trouble. And the best way she could help him was to keep her distance. So she could think—about something besides jumping him.
That last option was totally off the plate since he was now officially a client. In her book, getting involved with a client led to disaster. It was a client in L.A. who’d expected side benefits as part of his security service that had led her to quit and move on.
But Jonah Stone was an entirely different problem. This time she was the one who might be tempted to offer side benefits. Even now she could feel the slow burning flame that she’d felt from the first time he’d gripped her hand at Gabe’s party. And she’d experienced how that flame could explode into a flash fire. Her aunt Nancy, who was a Catholic nun, used to talk about avoiding the occasion of sin. Cilla shot Jonah a sideways glance. For her that term summed up Jonah Stone.
And he was still in perfect control. There was no sign of what he had to be feeling. The man had gone through a lot today. Still, when they reached the bar, he smiled and exchanged a warm greeting with an older, handsome and fit-looking man who stepped into their path.
“That was a nasty piece of business out there on the street,” the man said.
Cilla remembered that he’d been one of the customers outside earlier. He was about Jonah’s height, darkhaired with gray at his temples. He reminded Cilla of a well-aging James Bond. She saw both concern and worry in the steel-colored eyes when they met hers. “Nice work.” Then he turned back to Jonah. “What can I do to help?”
