by Beth Yarnall
Mi scooted to the edge of the booth, swung her legs over the edge and stood up. “Yes, thank you everything’s fine. Billy here, gave me an envelope from a secret admirer and my boyfriend—” She motioned toward Lucas. “—got a little jealous. He wants to know who his competition is. Not that he has any.” Mi flashed Lucas a smile that made it clear he had no rival. “Sorry for the commotion.”
“He’s got tables waiting,” the manager informed them before walking away with a warning glare.
When the manager was out of earshot, Mi put a hand on Billy’s shoulder and leaned in. “I’m sorry to cause you trouble, but we need your help. Can you tell me about the man who gave you the envelope?”
Billy cast Lucas a wary glance and straightened in his chair. “Sure.” His voice came out unsteady. He cleared his throat. “He had black hair with some gray.”
“Okay, that’s good. What else?” Mi asked.
“Dark eyes. Kind of small and close together. He was a little taller than me so maybe five-ten, five-eleven?”
Mi nodded in encouragement.
“And a scar. Right here.” Billy drew a line on his face over his left eye from hairline to eyebrow.
“Is this the guy?” Lucas asked, holding up his cell phone for Billy to see.
Billy bobbed his head. “That looks like him, but he didn’t have beard.”
“Who is it?” Mi tried to peer around to see the phone screen.
Lucas turned the phone so only he could see it and looked at the face of a convicted murderer.
Doyle Gann.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lucas dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table. “Thank you for your help. The police are going to want to talk to you about what you saw.”
Billy put up his hands. “No, man. No police.”
Lucas peeled off another hundred. “What’s your full name and cell number?”
The kid had the nerve to eye the bundle in Lucas’s hand a little too covetously.
“Don’t push your luck and I won’t tell your manager that you’re undercharging the customers and pocketing the difference.”
The kid rattled off his info as Lucas punched it into his phone.
“Let’s go,” he said to Mi. “Nice meeting you, Lucy.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.” Lucy hugged Mi and he could hear her whisper as if she were speaking in his own ear instead of Mi’s. “You need a take-charge man like him in your life, sweetie. Think about it.”
As Lucas and Mi set off toward the exit, a cell phone rang behind them. Lucas turned back to the kid. “Just checking. Take my calls. Don’t make me find you.”
He tucked Mi into his side with an arm around her as they made their way through the restaurant. He grunted in satisfaction at the feel of Mi fisting the back of his shirt in her small hand, holding on tight as he propelled them toward the exit.
Putting Mi a little behind him, Lucas scanned the now darkened street. Sunset had cooled the air, but the pavement retained the heat of the day like hearthstones after a fire. A flimsy breeze greeted them as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, joining the other pedestrians out for a night stroll. Senses on high alert, Lucas moved quickly. He hoisted Mi up, basically carrying her at his side on the short walk to his truck. He clicked the car locks off and lifted Mi in and over the center console. He didn’t register the flash of pink lace her hiked up skirt had exposed until they were several blocks away.
“It was Doyle Gann, wasn’t it?” Mi asked a short time later, her voice calm.
She’d held it together, going along with him without asking questions. But now he could see the strain in the brief glimpses he caught of her face in the strobe effect of the streetlights.
He wasn’t going to hide the facts from her. She needed to know what she was up against. He knew she could handle it. “Yes.”
She didn’t speak for a few moments so he checked on her. She was working that lip again, but her head was up, her shoulders back.
She angled her body toward his. “What do you think is in the envelope?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“He’s not going to get to you, Mi.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he’d have to go through me.”
She nodded as if accepting his boast as fact. Satisfaction swelled within him. She trusted him. He reached across the console and took her hand in his. A comfortable silence drifted over them like a blanket, each of them immersed in their own thoughts.
Checking his mirrors frequently, Lucas took a round about way back to his apartment. He drove past the parking garage twice from two different directions before clicking the door open and rolling the truck into his assigned parking space.
Mi turned her body toward him, her focus on their joined hands. “Lucy was right. Cal did pick the right man to protect me. Thank you.”
He could just make out her features in the dim yellow light of the underground garage. She looked so earnest in her gratitude that it pricked his temper. He didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted her, panting and writhing beneath him, screaming his name. She could thank him for that.
He reached for her none too gently, pulling her as close as the console allowed. She let him, tipping her head back to look up at him. He froze, lost in the look in her eyes. She wanted him. The knowledge stunned him. Lowering his mouth to hers, he maintained eye contact, allowing her that small chance to back out. She met him half way, reaching to bring him closer. And then they were kissing. He fought to keep it light. Fought hard.
She sighed into the kiss, threading her fingers into his hair, and the fight became a battle. He wanted to crush her to him, devour her. She climbed over the console into his lap, straddling him. Gripping her ass, he pulled her down against his erection. She wiggled, grinding into him, and he nearly lost it. Nearly ripped at her clothes to get inside her. He slipped a hand under her skirt, up her bare thigh, and pressed his thumb to her. Jesus, she was wet. For him. He could smell her, hot and ready. He reached for her panties with both hands. Allowing him, she arched back and leaned into the horn. Startled, Mi jumped and accidentally hit the horn again.
She collapsed against his chest, laughing. “I feel like a teenager about to get busted.”
His heart thundered like the boom of a howitzer, half lust and half scared shitless. He was a fucking idiot. They were totally exposed. He had to get Mi out of here and into the safety of the apartment.
Wrapping his arms around her, he brought her close, marveling at the feel of her body against his. God, she was so small, so perfect. He breathed in her perfume mixed with the scent of her arousal. Jesus. He needed her upstairs safe… and naked. Now.
With regret he untangled her fingers from his hair and kissed her palms, one then the other. “We need to get you inside,” he murmured in her ear. She shivered. Jesus.
It took everything in him to lift her off of him and onto the center console. He needed both of his hands. Pulling his gun from his waistband, he put up a hand for her to stay put. She nodded, hugging herself. He opened the car door and climbed out, scanning the garage for movement. He knew no one had followed them in. Assured they were alone in the garage, he motioned for her to climb out of the truck and had to give her a hand down.
They hustled into the building, his senses amped. As they reached the lobby, he tucked his gun away. They rode up to his apartment in silence. Mi seemed absorbed in the changing floor numbers. She had some red marks on her neck and chest, razor burn. He liked his mark on her. Her hair was messy and a couple buttons on her shirt had popped open to reveal a pink bra that matched her panties. She looked tumbled. He’d have given anything right then to find out what she looked like completely satisfied… by him.
The doors whooshed open to the entryway of his apartment. Taking her hand, he backed into the apartment, pulling her along with him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was amazing, sexy as hell, and he wanted her with a hunger that nearly
snapped his control. She leaned back and let him drag her off the elevator with a shy smile. Thank God she was smiling and not running from the wolfish grin he hoped promised her pleasure.
She came to a stuttering stop just over the threshold. Her look of surprise made him spin. He shoved her quickly behind him.
He couldn’t fucking believe it. “What the hell are you doing here, Vanessa?”
His ex-fiancée stood in the middle of his living room with a box propped on her hip. She’d let her auburn hair grow nearly to her waist. Her breasts strained against the fabric of her wrap dress. Everything about her was fuller, lusher than he remembered. And she didn’t do a damn thing for him. Huh.
“I came to return some things I had of yours.” She offered up the box. “And to… talk.” She pushed out her lower lip and tilted her head in that way that normally would have had him panting at her side.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” He folded his arms over his chest.
Mi stepped out from behind him. “I think I’ll just go to my room.”
“Stay.” He gave Vanessa a hard look from head to toe, looking for what he didn’t know. Realization hit with the shock of diving into an ice-cold ocean. He felt nothing for her. The immense power she’d had over him was gone, leaving behind nothing but a thin film of disgust. “She’s leaving.”
“Who are you?” Vanessa asked, running her gaze up and down Mi, clearly finding nothing but fault with what she saw. She’d always been a fucking snob.
“Get out,” Lucas repeated.
Vanessa set the box down on the hideous couch she’d picked out along with all the other crap in the apartment that she’d called cutting edge. “I’m Vanessa,” she said, crossing an arm across her body and propping her elbow in her hand. The pose did great things for her breasts, pushing them up and out. “Lucas’s fiancée.” Her finger rested just below her lower lip, purposefully drawing the eye there while giving her an air of superiority and showing off the engagement ring he’d given her. “And you are…?”
“None of your goddamned business,” he roared out of a combination of a fading hard on and ex-bitch-fiancée annoyance. “And you forgot the ex part of fiancée. I don’t know what you think you’re doing here—”
“Oh, Lucas.” She actually had the fucking nerve to look hurt.
Mi made a move past him. He reached for her, but she slipped away from him. The bedroom door closed behind her with a click that echoed in his brain like a gunshot.
He turned on Vanessa, his temper dangerously close to exploding. “Get the fuck out. Now.”
“Please listen. I made a mistake.” She sidled up next to him. Her smell curled around him, nauseating him. “I know that now.” She ran a finger down his neck, flattening her hand against his chest as she stroked her way down. “I miss you,” she whispered.
Nothing. Not a damn thing. She’d used her best tricks. And they did nothing for him. He lifted her hand off of him by the wrist. Keeping hold of her, he reached around and grabbed the box she’d brought. He pushed it at her and punched the elevator button. “You’re leaving and you’re never coming back. Give me your key.”
Shock, then anger flashed across her pretty face. “You can’t mean that.”
He gave her a get-real glare and held out his hand. “The key, Vanessa.”
“Please, Lucas. I’m sorry. I love you, baby. I made a mistake. I know that now. Please forgive me and I’ll forget all about her.” She tilted her head in the direction Mi had gone. “We were good together, remember?”
Oh, he remembered.
“Last chance,” he warned.
She’d worked up a tear and it slid down her cheek, catching at the corner of her mouth. Another tear fell, landing on the back of his hand still holding her wrist. She was a master at sorry. Too bad she hadn’t bothered to learn faithful and honest.
“I don’t want you, Vanessa. Now or ever. All I want from you is my key and for you to leave. And not come back.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She reached into her purse and pulled out the key card to his apartment. Waving in front of his face, she finally came around to the real reason for her visit. “How much will you give me for it?”
To her surprise, he snatched it cleanly. The elevator door whooshed open behind him. “Goodbye, Vanessa.” He moved her toward the open doors.
Always needing the final word, she played her last trick. Dropping the box at his feet, she twisted free from his grip. “You always were a cold son of a bitch. Is it any wonder I sought heat elsewhere?” She flicked a wrist toward the bedroom where Mi had escaped. “She will too. You’re a shark, cold and flat, taking bites out of people until there’s nothing left. The only reason I stayed as long as I did was your money.” She stepped into the elevator and jabbed a button. “But in the end, even that wasn’t enough.” The doors closed on her parting shot.
He stood there frozen, meeting his own gaze in the dull reflection of the doors. Cold. He’d heard that before. You don’t feel the way other people do, his mother had told him. Just like your grandfather. The man he’d been named after, the coldest son of a bitch who’d ever walked the earth. His ruthless business practices were legendary. Even now—three years after his death—the name Joaquin Lucas Vega struck fear in the business world. His brutal practice of stripping companies to their most profitable denominator had made him a millionaire many times over. He’d not thought twice about the destroyed lives he’d left in his wake.
Lucas had inherited that coldness. He saw it in the way people reacted to him, giving him a wide berth, avoiding eye contact. Hell, Mi had been afraid of him when they’d met, flinching at his nearness. There’d been times since when he’d caught her watching him as though he were an off-leash junkyard dog. He’d seen her uncertainty, wanting to touch him, and yet half afraid she’d pull back a bloody stump.
He slammed the palm of his hand into his reflection, leaving a dent in the panel. Shaking out his hand, he turned away from those thoughts and the damage he’d done. Mi stood in the opening of the living room, the dark hall stretched out behind her. Her face reflected the turmoil inside him. She’d taken a reflexive step backward. Her body balanced between going back the way she’d come and moving into the room with him.
He faced her across the span of the room, feeling the new distance between them like a yawning gap with no bridge. He held down the panic and self-loathing and focused on her.
“Are you hungry? You never got to eat your dinner with Lucy.”
“I’m okay.”
He remained where he was, waiting for her to decide about him. “I’m sorry about Vanessa. I forgot she still had a key.” Even to his ears that sounded lame. “She’s gone.” State the fucking obvious. “Sure you’re not hungry? I am. My dinner hadn’t arrived when we left. We could order in.”
She took a couple of steps forward, but he didn’t dare twitch even a finger. “Actually, yes. I am. What are the options?”
“I have some take-out menus in a drawer in the kitchen.” He risked lifting a hand toward the kitchen. “I’ll get them and you can decide.” He waited for her nod to move slowly in the direction of the kitchen. “Would you like a drink?” he called over his shoulder as he reached the entry of the kitchen.
“Whatever you’re having,” she answered.
He rifled through the drawer, finding a fistful of menus. When he turned, she stood in the doorway, watching him with a wariness that made the space between his shoulder blades itch.
“There’s Italian. Chinese. Mexican.” She shook her head at the last suggestion, her face scrunching into a smile that was all eyes and no teeth.
He tried a laugh. “No, I guess not. There’s a deli around the corner that delivers.”
“That sounds good.” She held out her hand. “Can I see the menu?”
*****
They ate their submarine sandwiches and potato salad at the dining room table. The jagged metal and glass chandelier hung over them like a flail mid swing.
Mi flicked uncertain glances between it and Lucas, trying to decide which was the prickliest. Clearly Vanessa’s unexpected visit had shaken him. She wondered if he still had feelings for Vanessa. From his reaction she didn’t think so. But Vanessa had hurt him that much was clear. Mi was sure that whatever had happened between the two of them was Vanessa’s doing, not Lucas’s.
Poor Lucas. He’d been embarrassed that she’d witnessed his loss of control. She hadn’t been sure how to approach him afterward so she took her cue from him by pretending he hadn’t put a fist sized dent in his elevator door.
She was beginning to learn that Lucas often shut down or became angry in defense against emotion. Almost as though he could put his emotions into neat little compartments to deal with later… or not. That skill must have been an asset to him in the military. She looked up through her lashes at him, watching him systematically devour his dinner with the precision of an infantry drill.
“How’s your food?” he asked.
“Very good.” She looked down at the wrapper in front of her with nothing left on it but a blob of mayonnaise and a few shreds of lettuce. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“I called Detective Rolls about the incident at the restaurant.”
She nodded. The feeling of being hunted came back to her ten-fold. She clamped down on it, shoving it down deep with all of the other emotions she couldn’t allow. She wished she had Lucas’s skill in handling her emotions. Hers weren’t neat. They were a jumbled, tangled mess that bubbled and spat at the lid she tried to keep over them.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin, got up, and cleared the table. She watched his controlled movements in fascination. His restraint was incredible. She only pretended at control, just barely managing to keep it together. Knowing at any moment she could lose the battle and end up like her mother.
“Would you like a beer?” he asked.
“Only if you’ll have one with me,” she half joked.
He paused, looking down at her, his lips pressed into a deep frown. “I would. But after what happened today…” Something close to regret dug a furrow between his brows and he placed a hand on her cheek, stroking the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone. “I won’t take any chances with you.”
