One More Night with You

by Lisa Marie Perry

  Yesterday when she’d touched him, pain and mixed-up feelings had prevailed over all else. Today she needed passion to be victorious.

  Focusing on them and not on what or who was on the other side of the window, Joey watched the muscles in his arm leap as his hand curved underneath her short skirt, and was only mildly aware of traffic and pedestrians and polka music.

  Parting her legs, she gasped at the impression of his erection against her ass. Give and take was what they did. Giving, she pressed into him and got a hoarse moan in return. Taking, she accepted the invasion of his fingers beneath her thong.

  He didn’t test her with one before introducing the other—just twisted two in, withdrew, then went in deeper. Each thrust of his fingers inside her and brush of his palm to her clit was a shock to her entire anatomy.

  I shouldn’t watch, she chastised herself. But then, why not watch? They were Zaf and Joey again, together again, and it was a miracle.

  Even if time and violence had irrevocably changed them.

  Owning this, she looked at the glass. She was a horny, wild mess. And Zaf was just as horny, wild and messy.

  Clutching the arm that supported her, she watched herself ride his fingers until an orgasm brought her up high then dropped her down fast.

  Euphoria made Joey dizzy, drunk, but she owned that, too. Unable to apologize or feel shame, she could only catch her breath and wear a tremulous little smile as people who’d paused in rapt voyeurism now scattered and someone stomping across the sidewalk behind them condemned them: “People banging on the street. This is exactly why it’s called Sin City!”

  When Zaf let her go, she pulled him back for a kiss. Indulging, she sucked in the taste of his skin. It was too soon to say goodbye to this…to the one thing that had always been right between them. “Come home with me.”

  Chapter 6

  “Your house smells like a party.”

  Zaf meant the words to cut away some of the tension in Joey’s living room, but she hadn’t heard him.

  Or she was ignoring him.

  Standing stock-still in the open foyer, her skin pale and her eyes angry, she’d retreated.

  She wasn’t the same woman who surrendered to him on an overcrowded street. The heat, the submission that had set his blood on simmer, was gone.

  Now he was cold, and he was pissed off that while she was in his arms, an intruder was in her house. If he could roll reality back a couple of hours to when they were close, connected, damn it, he would.

  Then he might have a chance in Hades of sparing her the shock of coming home to find her place so altered.

  Nothing was missing, but she insisted so many small things had been touched—mail removed from the box on the curb and filed in the quirky little holder on the entryway table…the mismatched sofa pillows neatened…dishes retrieved from the dishwasher and stacked on the counter…a pile of lingerie transferred from the coffee table to a laundry basket.

  It was a message sent, that the “top-rated” security company’s decal and rudimentary configuration were as deterring as the welcome mat on the porch.

  Zaf hadn’t made matters better by asking the fatal question, “Are you sure this isn’t how you left it?”

  “When have I ever been known to organize my mail in alphabetical order?” she’d cried. “Of course I’m sure. And before you ask, no, I don’t usually receive visits from obsessive-compulsive cleaning fairies.”

  “I just needed to be certain.” Before I pay that bastard DiGorgio a visit of my own.

  Then and there he would’ve staked his life that Gian DiGorgio, a tyrannical man as greedy for control as he was for money, had given Joey’s home a personal touch. But when she’d moved into the next room and reemerged holding a piece of paper with a tissue, his gut instinct had been confirmed.

  “I took my gun out of storage to clean it,” she’d said. “This was sitting on top of the box.”

  A note, with two words written in careful print. “Be careful.”

  Taking off, Joey had burst past him and out the door, her cane stabbing the ground. He’d followed, taking no chances on leaving her alone, and had watched her cut across the lawn to a neighbor who’d been unbuckling a couple of jabbering children from an SUV.

  “Aggie?” she’d asked. “Hey, did you notice anyone in front of my place today?”

  The woman’s gaze had stalled on him, taking a moment to strip him and get her fill, then she said, “The kids had activities all over the city, so I’ve been in and out of the house chauffeuring them around. Oh, but hang on.” Aggie had sent her kids inside and continued. “They forgot their floaties for the pool, so we doubled back not too long ago. I saw a car idling across the street. Can’t say how long it’d been there. It was black, very expensive-looking, kind of like the one in your driveway.”

  “Can you give me more details? Make? Model? License plate, maybe? What about the driver?”

  “Well, no, none of that. I’ve never seen a car like that in my life. And on a single-mom income I didn’t want to look too closely because I’d end up totally jelly that I can’t afford it.” Concern had crossed Aggie’s face, but it had given way to something crackling and sexual as she looked to Zaf. “Seriously, I cannot express how frustrating it is to want something the second you see it, and know it can’t be yours.”

  “If everyone can keep their eyes open—”

  “Definitely. I’ll email the POA and we’ll get a neighborhood watch alert sent to the loop. Now that school’s out, we need to be especially watchful.” Aggie added cheerfully, “And when are we going to catch up, anyway, Joey? Looks like you’re living the dream, with the sexy car and the even sexier guy.”

  Joey had seemed thrown off guard by the woman’s comment. “Oh—the car’s something I’m trying out, and this is Zaf. We used to work together.”

  “Mmm. Guess you deserve the perks. I’m not tough enough to be a crime-fighter.”

  “You’re a mom, Aggie. You’re plenty tough.”

  And the women who took on the duties of both—they were damn tough. But he’d kept the thought to himself.

  When he and Joey had returned to her house, he’d gotten a hold of a security specialist who owed him a solid and was able to disable the vulnerable system and install a wireless one.

  Now they were alone and Joey refused to sit down or touch anything.

  “It smells like sweets in here,” he said, coming into the foyer and trying again to reach her to some degree. “Like a bakery.”

  “I bake.” Finally, a response.

  “Oh, yeah? You didn’t when I knew you.”

  Joey had blanched further, as though tighter security had done absolutely nothing to restore her sense of safety. “There was quite a bit of downtime, with post-op and PT. I didn’t want to take it easy, so I found something to keep me busy and help me handle stress.” For the first time in several minutes, she moved. Standing in a tense position for so long must’ve stiffened her hip joint because a halting stride brought her into the kitchen. “The other night I made key-lime tartlets. It smells like I just pulled them from the oven.”

  “I would’ve guessed cake. Would’ve been wrong.”

  “Well.” She went to the counter, reached for a stool but, as though DiGorgio was sitting on it, she drew back. “Well, maybe I’ll make cake tonight. Yellow cake. Marshmallow buttercream frosting. That’d be good, right?”

  “Cake tonight. Yeah, that’d be fine with me. If that’s what you want?”

  She shook her head. “When did it become about what I want?”

  “Jo—”

  “Zaf, I swear you don’t want to discount what I’m saying right now. I can’t remember the last time my life has been completely under my control. I obey and make concessions to please people, and when I don’t, I feel guilty. DiGorgio has been in my house—my home, Zaf, my kitchen and my bedroom—and why? Because he wanted to run corruption in this city and I got in his way.”

  “He won’t touch you.” />
  “You can’t promise me that. He’s openly intimidating me.”

  “Want to call the cops, put something on record?”

  “And report that someone came here, tidied up and left a be careful note on a strongbox where I keep my weapon? We have nothing concrete to attach this to DiGorgio. Our only witness is a person who loosely remembers seeing an expensive black car across the street. All that’s going to be is paperwork the PD doesn’t want to be bothered with.”

  “What about your cop, Parker?”

  “I’d rather not plant any ideas in his head that I’m fabricating reasons to reel him back into my life. He’s not my own personal protector. You are.”

  “You told your neighbor Aggie that we used to work together. I thought our story put us in a closer relationship than ex-coworkers.”

  Joey rubbed her eyes. “I was thrown off. Damn it, it’s strange to call you my boyfriend.”

  “I don’t remember you having difficulty taking on a cover before.”

  “This isn’t just another assignment. It’s the two of us pretending to be who we used to be. We were together for two years, but you and I haven’t seen each other in five. In all that time, I have tried to forget we loved each other.”

  Tell the lie. Protect her. You’re here to protect her, nothing more.

  “Josephine…” Say it. Say it to protect her. “I didn’t love you.”

  Hell, it burned to watch emptiness flood her eyes. But it had to be done. Love was like a baby’s lullaby, soothing them as it weakened their instincts. He couldn’t let it happen again. She wouldn’t be tempted to believe they could recapture love if she thought they’d never had it to begin with.

  “You said the words, Zaf. I heard them.”

  “When you were down. You were shot. Bleeding. I needed to keep you focused on something. I said what I did to engage you.”

  “But we were into each other. It felt real.”

  “It was sex. Friendship, too. But those things, they’re not love. Have you loved every man you’ve slept with?”

  “No. But I thought—”

  A head shake interrupted her. “It wasn’t what you thought. You’re capable of that. I’m not.”

  Oh, God, he wished that were true. The damning truth was he might’ve loved her from the second he met her in Mexico, and it had taken time for him to let himself realize it. He cursed himself for not leaving her in the past where she belonged, but right now, in her kitchen with lies and screwups tugging them apart, he loved her.

  As she glowered at him as if he was the vilest bastard to have ever walked this earth, he was sure she wouldn’t form some attachment that might be impossible to break when the time came for him to walk out of her life again.

  Because, as much as it seared the place inside him that should’ve housed his heart, he couldn’t stay.

  “You cared about me, Zaf,” she persisted.

  “Yeah. As a friend, somebody on my unit, somebody I liked having in my bed.”

  “Great talk, then,” she said crisply. “This place is too quiet. A man gets access to my house and now it’s a tomb? No, not okay. I’m putting the TV on.”

  He knew she was storing the hurt away. She would process it later and there would be tears. He hated being the reason for them.

  Noise swirled through the air but didn’t overtake the friction. She came back into the kitchen with the Samuel Adams Light he’d brought in from his truck.

  It was the beer he carted to her door last night, intending to sweep the premises and hash out a plan, but she’d evaded him, and DiGorgio had gained entry before Zaf could find her again.

  Trust was an integral component of a mission. They both knew it. Love complicated things and made them careless.

  “Dios.” Joey yanked on a card that had been pinned to the refrigerator with a sunflower magnet.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s from my parents. An invitation to the Esposito and de la Peña family reunion.” She opened the card, kissed it and closed it.

  “Sounds like a big deal.”

  “It is. Their parties are legendary. My parents’ families were rivals, believe it or not. When my mother and father got married, the bad blood started to go away. Thirty-six years later and they’re hosting family reunions together.” She set the invitation on the counter and reached for a packet of Jelly Belly. “I’m not going, but it’s a beautiful card.”

  Zaf’s hand ventured forward, and when she didn’t slap it away he picked up the invitation. Second week of August at the Yellow Hawk Ranch in June Creek, Texas.

  Chewing the candy, she spied him quietly. Then, “If DiGorgio or one of his men were in this room, stacking dishes on this counter, then they probably saw the invitation. And I’m mad as hell about it.”

  “Call your parents. Warn them to be vigilant.”

  Not that they exactly needed the warning. They were nothing if not vigilant…

  “They’re going to go crazy worrying. Mamá will insist that I come down to Texas where I’ll be safe with the family. That’s her way. And then Papá will agree with her and I’ll lose my mind.”

  “It’s what you do for family,” he said. “They’ll do what’s necessary to protect you, Jo.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she said on a sigh.

  Her family was not a typical hovering group. Anita Esposito de la Peña wasn’t an ordinary mother hen.

  But to reveal to Joey what he knew would be not just counterproductive; it’d obliterate what he’d come to Las Vegas to accomplish.

  “You remind me of them—of the family,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s why I got hooked on you the way I did. Y’all have that ‘family first, family only’ mentality.”

  He had thought Joey didn’t understand his quest to find the drug lord who’d held his cousin prisoner before murdering him. Ransoms had been paid, press conferences held, pleas for mercy broadcast across nations, but ultimately a young man who believed in the good in folks had lost his life.

  Zaf had failed Raphael, a college-bound Pakistani kid on track to become an environmental activist. During Raphael’s trip to the States, Zaf had been responsible for him but had accepted an undercover assignment midway through Raphael’s stay. He’d felt uneasy about leaving the kid.

  “I’m sending you up to Jersey, Raphael. Mom and Dad will keep your ass out of trouble.”

  “No, let me stay in Washington. It makes sense. I’m going to college here. I’m going to work here, too.”

  While Zaf was gone, his cousin had joined a counterterrorism group and ended up a target then a victim.

  From the moment Zaf had found out, he’d been on a hunt. He wanted to find the killer, isolate him and confront him face-to-face. He wanted to see justice firsthand—hand it down himself.

  Today he’d told Joey he had given up the vendetta. But that had been a lie in exchange for her trust.

  With trust came cooperation, and he needed both to keep her safe.

  “You don’t particularly like that detail about me,” he said to her, sitting on a stool.

  “Zaf, your cousin’s death ate you alive. It distorted your thinking. You hid it well when we were first together, but eventually everything you did was motivated by some master plan to avenge him. I was hurt because of it.”

  He wanted to avenge that, too. Which was why he couldn’t give up now.

  “Do you know how Raphael was killed? What they did to him?”

  She relented, her face pinched with pain. “I was informed.”

  Nodding, he twisted the silver ring on his middle finger. It was Raphael’s, left behind the day he’d been abducted. Zaf’s aunt had insisted he keep it. She’d never blamed him, but he blamed himself.

  Suddenly, Joey left the room. When she came back she was holding a key. “The spare from your badass locksmith.”

  “Asking me to stay?”

  “It’s the practical way to do this. People might wonder why my boyfriend’s shacking up in some undisc
losed hotel room. There’s a guest room and a hall bath. The master bedroom’s my sanctuary…but since some creeper did a walk-through today, that’s a moot point.”

  “I’m not here to invade your privacy. If I can stay out of your way, I will.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “How do you suggest I earn my keep?”

  She grinned impishly. “How about using your handyman skills to build me a shoe museum?”

  “A what?”

  “Shoe closet. A sanctuary for my footwear. I have a lot.”

  “Kind of odd request, but if you want it—”

  “No, forget it. I was being silly.”

  “I’m going to do it. For real.”

  Releasing his gun and emptying his pocket, he set everything on the counter. Phone, untraceable phone, wallet, money clip, cigarettes, key ring—

  “Whoa, whoa and whoa. I’m not a hard-ass by any means, but that’s a no-no in my home.” Joey was pointing to the cigarettes. “You never smoked.”

  “What baking does for you, smoking does for me—fills the downtime and eases the stress.”

  “Are we at an impasse? Suppose I want to kiss you? I don’t want to taste cigarettes.”

  “You thinking about kissing me?”

  “Um, no.” Joey’s rosy cheeks contradicted her words. “Eventually, we will kiss again. If we’re going forward with this boyfriend-girlfriend ruse, it ought to look authentic.”

  Zaf beckoned her to him, turning away from the counter to give her room to get close. Cupping her head, he brought her face to his and kissed her.

  The taste of jelly beans flooded his tongue and he smiled against her mouth. “So how was that?”

  “Really good. It’s been a while since anyone’s kissed me the way you do.”

  “What about that cop of yours?”

  “He’s an exceptional kisser and sometimes I miss that about him. But the relationship soured.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “Fell in love with me.”

  Zaf held himself still, searching her eyes. “Then what did you do?”

  “Unlike you, Zaf,” she said, “I can’t tell someone I love them if I don’t mean it. It was nice to have somebody, but Parker was ready to move forward and apparently, in some ways I’m stuck where you left me five years ago.”