One Wicked Night

by Avril Ashton

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  Chapter Two

  * * * *

  Seattle, Washington. Two and a half months later...

  "About time you showed up."

  Justice Alexandre strode into his friend Maysin's living room like he hadn't a care in the world. “You didn't say when to come, so...” He dropped onto the couch.

  "Yeah, alright.” Seated in the chair opposite, naked from the waist up, Maysin looked at him with bloodshot eyes. The curved scar running from his left cheek to his jaw line stood out gray in contrast to his dark skin. His wavy hair hung in a limp mess past his shoulders.

  "You look like crap,” Justice said. He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

  "And I feel like it, too.” Maysin grimaced.

  "Tell me what's going on."

  Maysin sighed and leaned toward him. “You know I wouldn't have called if I didn't need you."

  He nodded. Maysin was more than his de facto brother, he was his partner in crime. Literally. When he called, Justice came, albeit two hours later. “I know that, so talk."

  "A client called in last minute with a job, wants it done ASAP."

  "I'm on vacay, remember?” And seriously thinking about hanging up his chrome SIG. Killing assholes and criminals wasn't as rewarding as it used to be. “Why don't you do it?"

  "I told you, J, you're the talent. I'm the pimp who gets fifty percent. Besides...” Maysin glanced away. “It's in New York."

  "Oh.” Though born and raised in New York, Maysin moved to Seattle years ago and never, ever, traveled back to the Big Apple. Justice had no idea why, but he'd learned a long time ago not to question it.

  "Yeah. I tried the other guys, but everyone's either booked or out of the country. You're my last resort.” Maysin pointed to a closed yellow folder on the glass coffee table between them. “No preferences, just get it done. All the info is in there and the money's already in your account. Call if you need me."

  Justice eyed the info, but didn't pick it up. “What's going on with you? Still mourning Harper Royce's engagement?” In the process of gathering information on a local gangster, Maysin had fallen in love with the lawyer whose home they'd bugged and stolen from. Harper didn't even know he existed. Then three weeks ago, she announced her engagement to the Seattle District Attorney. Maysin remained in a funk ever since.

  Maysin shook his head and stood. “I'm not discussing this with you right now. Go do your thing.” He stalked into his bedroom and slammed the door.

  Unbelievable. First Niko, now Maysin. Love. That one word brought more pain than anything else. His friends could keep that shit to themselves. He sure as hell wasn't going out like that. Grabbing the folder off the table, he got to his feet.

  Back at his house on the outskirts of Seattle, Justice set the unopened folder on the nightstand in his bedroom and poured himself a shot of whiskey. He downed it in one swallow, then poured another. Sitting on the edge of the bed, folder in hand, he prepared to study up on his next job.

  He took a sip of the whiskey and opened the folder. The face staring back at him made him sputter. His throat constricted, sending the whiskey down the wrong way, and making his eyes water as he choked. Standing, he squeezed them shut. Unheeded, the folder fluttered to the floor.

  Maybe he was seeing things. Her face remained burned into his brain. After the night they'd had, he saw her everywhere he went. Kneeling, he picked up the scattered contents of the folder from the burgundy carpet and spread everything out on the bed. There she was again.

  Yellow sand surrounded her on the beach as she stared off into the distance, her left hand shading her eyes from the sun. Her hair framed her heart-shaped face, while the white bikini she wore covered almost nothing. A thin, gold chain circled her hips and her feet were bare.

  For weeks she haunted him. He'd wanted to look for her so many times and each time had to talk himself out of it, and now here she was. He looked at the sheet of paper holding all of her information.

  Myka Prentiss.

  The name sounded as exotic as the woman herself. Curly, midnight black hair hung to the middle of her back. That image came more from his memory than the pictures in front of him. Her eyes were hazel with a hint of a slant, and her smooth skin was the color of brown sugar.

  And tasted just as sweet.

  "Myka,” he whispered her name in the quiet of the room. His body heated as he remembered. He looked at her address.

  Brooklyn, New York.

  What was she doing in Toronto two months ago?

  His thumb caressed her picture as Justice pondered his dilemma. He'd wanted to find his mystery woman and here she was. Her name and address was his for the knowing. Except someone had put a hit on Myka Prentiss and he was the one expected to carry it out. Justice stilled for a moment, then grabbed his overnight bag.

  * * * *

  Brooklyn, N.Y, three days later...

  Heaven.

  Sweet, blissful heaven.

  "Umm...” Myka moaned in pleasure. She lay flat on her stomach on a massage table in the backroom of her upscale boutique, while a Swedish woman with masculine hands kneaded her shoulders and massaged her back.

  "Damn, Freya,” she groaned. “That feels good, I can't remember the last time I—” Actually she could remember the last she felt this good. Two months, one week, three days, sixteen hours and five minutes. But who's counting? Not her, that's for damn sure.

  "All finished.” Freya draped Myka's hips with a towel.

  Myka looked over her shoulder. “Thanks, Freya, see you next week."

  With a nod, Freya scooped up her supplies and left.

  Myka lay prone on the table, too relaxed to move. She was sliding into sleep when her assistant Stefan swooped into the room.

  "Boss Lady, you good?"

  "Well, I was.” She raised her head and glared at him.

  His way-too-feminine lips curved. “No time to lie about. You have the fundraising dinner with your dad, remember?"

  She rolled her eyes. “Hand me my robe, will you?"

  He unhooked the black robe from the back of the door, tossed it to her, then turned his back. Myka turned over and hopped off the table, donning the silk robe. Lately black had become her favorite color.

  "You can turn around now,” she told Stefan. Her hand went to her hair. “Can you help me with my pins?"

  She sat at the edge of the massage table as he stepped up to her side and began pulling pins from her tresses.

  "You know he just wants to parade me around to his powerful friends."

  Stefan grunted. “And find you a husband, preferably one who can bankroll his campaign."

  Myka forced a laugh. She hadn't told him what she'd overheard in the hotel room in Toronto. She was still too ashamed. “Like any of those stiffs can hold my attention for two seconds.” She closed her eyes and sighed, Stefan's fingers did wonders on her scalp.

  "Honey, you never know, there might be someone in that bunch you can mold into your own dark image."

  "I doubt it. Those people are too set in their old ways. Kind of like my father."

  "Have I told you how much I love your hair?” Stefan gathered her hair at her nape, then let it drop down her back.

  "A million times a day,” she said. “Hey, what are you doing later?"

  "Nothing, really. Christian's cooking so I might stop to rent some movies and that's about it.” Stefan and his partner Christian, a public school teacher, had been together almost ten years and they were still going strong.

  "Well then, why are you still here?” she chided. “Get going."

  He laughed and walked out the room, only to reappear a few moments later. “There's a man here to see you."

  She looked up from applying lotion to her legs. “Who?"

  "He didn't give his name, but he sure is fine."

  "Really? What's he look like?"

  "Chocolate.” Stefan licked his lips.

  She could almost make out a line of dr
ool on the front of his pink Oxford sweater. “Get your mind out of the gutter, you've got a man at home.” She threw a towel at him.

  "I can still look."

  She harrumphed and pulled on a teeny black thong.

  Stefan sniffed and raised a dark eyebrow.

  "Hey, you never know.” She shrugged and tightened the belt on her robe. “Describe the man."

  Stefan's brown eyes went dreamy. He rubbed his palms on the front of his gray slacks. “Umm, in one word—sex. He looks kinda like that actor, you know, Lance Gross?"

  Myka stopped and stared at Stefan, eyes wide. She opened her mouth, but no words came out as she staggered against the massage table.

  Stefan rushed over.

  "What is it? What's wrong?"

  She bent at the waist and put her head between her knees.

  Stefan knelt.

  "I can't breathe."

  "Myka, what's wrong? Talk to me."

  She straightened and gulped air into her lungs as she grabbed his hand. “It's him."

  Stefan stared at her like she'd lost her everlovin’ mind. “Him who?"

  "The guy in Toronto, the one night stand,” she whispered. “He found me!"

  "What do you mean—"

  Their attention snapped to the backroom door as a quick knock sounded. The man guilty of haunting her dreams for the past couple months stood in her doorway.

  Her heart banged against her ribs. He was once again cloaked in black—leather jacket, shirt with jeans and laced up boots. Only the gold frames on his dark glasses deviated.

  Her body shook with tremors, but was it from fear or something else? She couldn't tell.

  Stefan looked from her to the newcomer. “This must be the infamous—"

  "Mr. Dark,” she whispered. Her hands tightened on the edge of the table. His steady, confident stride brought him closer as he stalked her. She expected him to pounce at any second.

  "Myka."

  Her name was a caress from his deep, rough voice. Branding her, making her his.

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  Chapter Three

  * * * *

  Myka's mouth opened and closed twice before she spoke with any semblance of calm. “Wha-what are you doing here?” The words shook and rattled anyway.

  Mr. Dark jerked his chin at Stefan, who stood with his mouth open, gaze riveted on their guest.

  "Stef."

  Stefan dragged his attention back to her. “Hmm?"

  Despite the situation, her lips threatened to curve into a smile. “Christian's waiting."

  Her friend folded his arms. “Well, it's been ten years. He can certainly wait another hour or—"

  Their visitor chuckled.

  "No, he can't. Stef, I need you to leave, now."

  "Fine.” He shuffled out the door and closed it behind him. “But I'm not leaving, I'll be out front,” he yelled back through to them.

  They were alone, her and Mr. Dark. He hadn't moved, remaining only a couple steps away. His presence pulled at her, teased her. Memories of their time together flooded back, causing goosebumps to form on her skin. She ignored them. This man was a stranger who shouldn't know her name, especially when she still didn't know his.

  "I don't know who you are.” The words came out softer than she intended.

  He drew closer until their chests touched. Her mouth opened on a gasp, but she snapped it shut. His scent—cigar smoke and him—wrapped her in a familiar embrace.

  She stepped back, but he came forward.

  "Myka."

  At the sound of her name on his lips, shivers raced down her spine. “Don't say my name,” she whispered in a broken plea.

  "Why not?” His peppermint-scented breath tickled her forehead. She stayed silent and he lifted her chin with a finger. Her clit pulsed in remembered reverence.

  "I don't know yours.” She licked her lips and stared up at her reflection in his sunglasses. “I don't who you are."

  His hand moved as if in slow motion. The sunglasses disappeared and she was left staring into the dark eyes of the man who'd made her scream in sexual agony. Who she begged to never stop. Her knees buckled. Blindly, she reached out for support, her stiff fingers closing around the front of his shirt. His warm hand closed over hers, steadying her.

  "My name's Justice Alexandre."

  "Justice.” She liked the way his name tasted on her tongue.

  He inhaled sharply, nostrils flared.

  "How did you find me, Justice?"

  "I have excellent resources.” The left side of his mouth lifted.

  "Do you know who I am?"

  He grinned. “Myka Prentiss, daughter of Senator Roger Prentiss. Who, incidentally, is running for a second term."

  "What do you want then? Have you come to blackmail me with what happened between us? Do you want money?” She tried to pull away from him, but he held tighter to her hand. Please let him be a good-for-nothing. While not ideal, it might help her ignore what was happening with her body at his nearness.

  "No, that's not why I'm here. I wouldn't do that to you.” His jaw tightened. “Did someone do that to you, Myka?"

  "No,” she muttered, “but there's a first time for everything.” At least, that's what the Senator always preached. “Tell me why you're here, please.” She added force behind her words, “I need to know."

  "Is there somewhere else we can go to talk?” He looked around the room. “We need privacy.” His face, softened somewhat before, went back to being hard and unforgiving.

  "This is private enough.” He opened his mouth, but Florence + The Machine's Dog Days shut him up. Speak of the fucking devil and he appeared, or in this case, called. She grabbed her cell phone from the small table next to her. “Hello, Senator."

  "I told you not to call me that, Myka.” Her father's loud pitch made her eardrum throb. “Where are you? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.” Lateness, another one of her father's peeves where she was concerned.

  "I'm at the store,” she spoke with patience she didn't feel. Justice's hovering didn't help. “I'll be there in another half hour."

  "You and that damned store,” her father said viciously. “If you fuck this up for me, Myka, I will never forgive you."

  Her favorite sentence. It had been branded into her mind for as long as she could remember. She had an elephant's memory when it came to her father, yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't recall him ever telling her he loved her.

  "I expect to see you in twenty minutes.” He hung up with a loud click.

  She stared at the phone as her eyes burned. No matter how much she steeled herself against her father's cool treatment, he always got to her. The senator knew just how to make her feel worthless. A tear escaped and slid down her cheek.

  Justice grabbed her, pulled her into a tight hug. “I've got you,” he said into her hair. “I'm here."

  She pushed against his hold and stepped away from him. “Yes, you're here. But why? You haven't answered that question yet.” She wiped her eyes. “If you're looking for the girl from Toronto, I'm not her. I was playing a part. Now I'm home, everything's changed.” Or remained the same, depending on your point of view. She grabbed the red dress hanging from the hook on the door and untied the belt on her robe. The robe dropped to the floor as she slipped the dress over her head.

  "I don't think so.” Justice tugged the dress down her body, caressing her hips and stomach through the smooth material.

  She sucked in a breath and looked up into his hooded eyes. “You don't think so about what?"

  "I don't think you were playing a part.” He leaned down, brushing her lips with his. “I think that girl in the hotel room, the one who begged for me to fuck her hard and fast, is the real you. You just hide her well."

  "You don't know anything about me.” Moving away from him, she grabbed her purse from the hook over the door. Where did he get off?

  "Believe me, Myka, I know more than you know.” His words, spoken so close to her ear, m
ade her jump.

  "Whatever.” She slid her feet into the gold peep-toe pumps standing by the door. “Keep your riddles, I'm out."

  He grabbed her hand before she could reach for the doorknob. “Not yet."

  His hard body pressed hers into the closed door. Hypnotized, she stared up into his onyx eyes. Myka didn't remember him being so large, so hard, so everything. His fingers sank into her hair and pulled. Her neck arched, a needy moan escaped her parted lips.

  "We have things to discuss, you and I,” he whispered. “Important things, but right now nothing's as important as this.” He joined their lips in a bruising kiss.

  She whimpered and wrapped her arms around his waist. His tongue plunged inside her mouth, tasting her as she tasted him. Myka lapped at him greedily as he devoured her. Moisture slid out of her quaking pussy and soaked her panties. Her hips undulated, brushing against his straining cock.

  Justice inserted a knee between her thighs, pressing her sensitive core. She gasped into his mouth as a knock sounded on the door. She pushed at his solid chest until he released her.

  Myka tugged at her clothes with frozen fingers. “Yeah, Stef?"

  "The car service is outside, ready whenever you are."

  "Th-thanks. I'll be out in one minute.” She glanced at Justice. He leaned on the door with arms folded, watching her, his expression inscrutable. “I've got to go."

  "We're not done, Myka.” He motioned for her to exit before him. After a moment's hesitation, she walked past him and pulled the door open, almost bumping into Stefan. It was obvious her friend had been standing with an ear cupped to the door. She glared at him as she approached, causing him to step aside.

  "Um...” Stefan looked from her to Justice and back, questions in his eyes.

  She shook her head.

  "Ah, yeah, so I'll lock up. Have a good night.” How he managed to wave and give her the call-me sign at the same time she'd never know.

  Following close behind on her heels, Justice grunted. They didn't speak as she led him out the back entrance and into the parking lot where the black town car waited for her.