by Ann Bruce
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
A Naughty Noelle
ISBN 9781419913655
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
A Naughty Noelle Copyright © 2007 Ann Bruce
Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication December 2007
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
A Naughty Noelle
Ann Bruce
Trademark Acknowledgments
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Bergdorf Goodman: Neiman-Marcus Group, Inc.
Bloomingdale’s: Federated Department Stores, Inc.
Burberry: Burberry Limited Corporation
Dumpster: Dempster Brothers, Inc.
Lord & Taylor: May Department Stores Company
Macy’s: Macy’s Department Stores, Inc.
Muppets: Muppets Studio, LLC
Rangers: Madison Square Garden Corporation
Saks Fifth Avenue: Saks & Company
Salvation Army: The Salvation Army Corporation
Chapter One
December 23
Big, fat snowflakes drifted down from a gray, cloud-covered sky. Barely five o’clock and the sun had already settled for the night. The air was cold enough that the fluffy bits of ice didn’t melt when they landed on Noelle Mason’s unprotected head. Not that she noticed. Her eyes were staring dead ahead as she put one foot in front of the other, her footsteps sure and steady despite her lack of attention. Her ungloved hands were fisted and buried inside the pockets of her black woolen pea coat. A long red scarf was wrapped loosely around her neck, keeping her skin warm from an external chill she couldn’t feel but knew was real.
The scene she’d witnessed earlier dominated her thoughts, mercilessly replaying in an endless loop, leaving room for nothing else.
A naked blonde with generous curves, on her knees, fellating the man who’d professed to love her, Noelle, and only her.
God, she was such an idiot. No wonder Gil had tried so hard to persuade her to stay in Calgary for Christmas. Spend it with your family, sweetheart. I’m just going to work straight through to New Year’s.
Ri-i-ight.
She’d endured a four-and-a-half-hour flight to surprise him because she hadn’t wanted her workaholic fiancé to spend the holidays alone. Well, he’d apparently had the same idea. When she’d burst into the bedroom, it had actually taken Gil a good ten seconds to realize she’d been standing in the doorway, frozen in shock. Gil had choked out her name, his voice comically high-pitched. The blonde, too engrossed with what she was doing, hadn’t looked up.
With only escape in mind, Noelle had backed out of the room, raced down the stairs and burst through the front door, leaving behind her suitcase.
Now, she numbly wondered if there was anything in the suitcase she wouldn’t be able to do without. There was nothing in there that couldn’t be replaced. They were just—
The scarf suddenly tightened around her throat, cutting off her air and sharply jerking her sideways into an alley with head-spinning speed. Noelle was too stunned to do more than mentally berate herself for walking the streets of New York aimlessly after sundown and grapple with her scarf, desperately trying to loosen it.
It loosened, but before she could drag in a lungful of air, a large hand clamped over the lower half of her face. A thin, wiry body that smelled as if it hadn’t known the touch of water in weeks flattened her against a rough brick wall. Noelle struggled, trying to twist her body this way and that, realized her hands were trapped between their bodies and only struggled harder. She tried to bring her knee up to bury it in his groin and couldn’t. Something glinted in the darkness and she screamed. The scream, however, was only inside her head as the knife came closer.
But it never reached her. Noelle saw shock widen beady eyes just before her assailant went flying backward and she was free. She slid down the wall as her legs collapsed beneath her. Gasping heavily for breath, one hand pressed just below her left breast as if trying to keep her pounding heart from jumping right through her ribcage and the other desperately clutching her shoulder bag, Noelle sat on her haunches, knees on the ground, and stared dumbly at the scene unfolding before her.
Her attacker was now the victim. Her rescuer repeatedly smashed his fist into his victim’s face before jerking him upright as easily as one would a doll and slamming him into the brick wall. The limp body sort of bounced against the bricks, but a choked, anguished gasp filled the alley when her savior brought his knee up and ground it against her assailant’s groin. She looked past one broad shoulder to see the dirt-matted head loll lifelessly to one side. Her rescuer stepped back and released his iron grip on her attacker. The body fell to the ground and was quiet.
Her rescuer turned around. Dark, shaggy hair, equally dark eyes, olive-toned skin, lean cheeks and jaw covered in days-old stubble. Noelle flashed back to her second-grade field trip to the zoo where she’d been unwillingly mesmerized by a sleek, predatory jaguar. If the man before her hadn’t just rescued her, she would’ve crossed the street to avoid him.
“Miss?”
Noelle blinked, snapped back to the present and noticed the outstretched hand. She swallowed and gingerly placed her small hand in the much bigger one. Large, warm, callused. Comforting. He gently pulled her up. Noelle found herself eye-to-chest and took a quick step back, coming up against brick. She had to tip her head back to look at his face.
“How are you feeling?”
His query brought everything rushing back to her as the cushioning shock dissipated. Her legs were shaky, as shaky as her wobbling insides, and she felt as if she was about to topple in her heeled boots. Her rescuer’s eyes darkened with worry as he reached out and steadied her, those hands cupping her slender shoulders, holding her upright. He made an incoherent sound in his throat and closed the small distance between them. Noelle, tight from tension hop-scotching over her nerves, instinctively, gratefully, clutched at the stranger’s waist through his leather jacket and buried her face in the wide chest.
Tears would’ve probably made her feel better, but they wouldn’t come. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Just seconds ago she had been systematically cataloguing the man who had come to her aid. Now she was clinging to him as if he was a lifeline and taking comfort in the hand that stroked her hair and the senseless words that she couldn’t make out but found soothing nonetheless. And he was so warm, so solid. She wanted some of that warmth to seep into her. Maybe then she would cease this useless trembling.
“Hey, can you let me go for two seconds?” he asked, voice low and just a bit rough. “I want to secure the SOB before he wakes up.”
Noelle nodded. But that was all she did. Seconds ticked by and she still retained her hold on him. She heard and felt a low rumble in his chest as he chuckled. The sound was rusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. A small smile lifted her lips, but her facial muscles were too tight
to hold it steady for longer than a moment. Noelle forcibly unclenched her jaw and released her grip. She splayed her hands on his chest and had to push herself away from him. Deprived of his warmth, Noelle’s arms wrapped about herself.
The stranger didn’t move from her. Instead, he tipped her chin up and searched her face. “Are you going to be all right?”
Throat too tight to force words through, Noelle just nodded. Her smile was unconvincing at best, but she gave another small nod of her head at the question in his eyes. He nodded once and turned to the task at hand. Noelle watched, unblinking, as he dragged the unconscious body over to a Dumpster, removed the man’s belt and secured both wrists to the Dumpster with it. Crude but effective.
He turned back to her and his brows arrowed down in concern. “Hey.” He covered the short distance between them and pulled her back against his chest. Noelle went without a whimper. “It’s okay. He can’t hurt you now.”
“I-I know,” she stuttered, words muffled a little by his chest. “I j-just can’t seem t-to stop shaking.”
“It’s the adrenaline,” he explained, large hands rubbing lightly over her tense back and shoulders. Even through the thick layer of her coat, she thought she could feel the warmth of his skin. “Once it’s out of your system, you’ll stop shaking.”
“Uh-huh.” Noelle wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to. All she knew was that the large, solid male body she had her arms wrapped around was the only thing holding her up, and if anyone else targeted her, they would have to go through him first. It was a comforting thought. That and his body heat eased some of her shaking. Noelle sighed.
“Better?”
Was it her imagination or was there a trace of amusement in his voice?
“I’m okay now, I think,” she said softly, but she didn’t release him, a total stranger. But he had come to her rescue, so it was okay to cling to him shamelessly, right?
He chuckled, a deep sound that sent tremors of a different kind skimming down Noelle’s spine. “I don’t mind standing here all night, but you should go somewhere safer.”
She inhaled deeply and found something more than just comfort in his warm, clean male scent. No lingering cologne or trace of an aftershave, just male and soap.
Somehow, from somewhere, she scraped together enough of her strength to slowly drop her arms and step back. “I… Thank you.” That seemed inadequate, but what else could she say?
He nodded once, eyes locked on hers, as if afraid of a relapse. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Noelle shook her head. “No. I think I’m all right.” Then her gaze moved to the unconscious form secured to the Dumpster. “What about him?”
Her rescuer arched a brow. “You want me to get him medical attention?”
“Well, shouldn’t we at least call the police… Oh!” She had a flash of insight. “Are you with the NYPD?”
His hesitation was so momentary that it almost slipped by her.
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you get a cab, go home and try to forget this happened.” It was more of an order than a suggestion. Maybe it was the return of her courage, but something made Noelle persist.
“Shouldn’t I give a statement to the police or something?”
“Or something,” he said. “Which means go home and let me take care of this.”
Without waiting for her response, he took her by the arm and pulled her with him from the alley and back onto the relatively well-lit sidewalk. Almost instantly, like a magician snapping his fingers, a taxi materialized in front of them. He opened the back door and deposited her on the cracked vinyl seat. Noelle quickly tucked her legs inside the cab for fear he would close the door on them.
He almost did. Then he leaned down until they were eye to eye. “Take care.”
Noelle watched until he disappeared down the street.
He hadn’t even given her his name.
Disappointment flared through her.
“Where to, miss?” The driver’s Bronx-flavored voice called her from her thoughts.
Where to? Well, her rescuer had told her to go home, but she couldn’t do that. Home was twenty-five hundred miles away. And she sure as hell wasn’t going back to Gil’s.
A hotel. She needed a hotel because she was in no shape to fly back to Calgary tonight.
Her gaze fell to her hands. They trembled faintly.
“Miss?”
The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “I need a drink.”
Sergio Ramirez brushed the snow off his hair as he stepped inside the Italian restaurant that everyone in law enforcement knew was a front for the Manetti crime family. However, since knowing and having concrete proof were two very different things, no one could do anything about it. Besides, keeping the status quo meant they could occasionally keep the place under surveillance and see who came and went.
The restaurant was cozy and the rich smells tantalizing. It served surprisingly good food. After all, the chefs were genuine Italians. Like most nights, the place was mainly empty. A man and a woman were seated by the window and two slickly dressed men sat at a table in the back. The couple were tourists, he decided, noting the folded map on their table. The people in this neighborhood weren’t stupid. Complacent, wary, fearful, but not stupid.
The kitchen door swung open and a graying, heavyset man in a white shirt and dark trousers emerged. Seeing the new arrival, Tony Luongo opened his arms in welcome.
“My boy, it’s been almost a week. My wife’s been wondering where you’ve been.”
Sergio allowed himself a faint smile. “Around.” He glanced back at the kitchen door. “Where is Rosario?”
Tony shrugged. “She did not feel so well this morning. I told her to stay home.” Grinning, he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “But I’m the better cook. What would you like? Cannelloni? Spaghetti? Risotto?” His tone turned coaxing. “I have fresh mussels and scallops today.”
Sergio held up a hand and shook his head. “Nothing, thanks. Just here to meet Jack and Donnie.”
The other man’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure? It won’t take long.”
It took three more reassurances from Sergio before Tony left him alone and turned his attention to the young couple by the window.
One of the men at the back table, the one with his back to the wall and facing the entrance, waved Sergio over. Unzipping his jacket, Sergio crossed the room but didn’t pull out a chair when he reached the table.
“Jack,” he said, nodding at the man who was smart enough to keep his back protected and his eye on the door. He tipped his head at Jack Manetti’s younger brother, who was still working on cannelloni filled with ricotta cheese. “Donnie.”
Jack kicked out an empty chair and gestured with a hand cradling a glass of red wine. “We got time,” he said. “Sit down. Have something to eat.”
Sergio sat but declined the offer of food. “I’m good. Had something before I came.”
The older Manetti cocked a brow. “You knew you were coming here but ate first?” He shook his dark head. “My aunt’s going to be hurt when I tell her.”
Sergio shrugged, an affable smile on his face. “I love the food here, but I can’t eat it more than once a week. Not if I want to live past forty.”
Both Manettis chuckled.
Jack took a swallow of the wine. “We’ll wait for Donnie to finish, then we can go.”
“Sounds good,” Sergio said, wishing his gun was in his hand instead of the holster at his waist. But he was calm, his body relaxed, despite knowing he was going to be taken one step deeper into the Manetti family and their operations. Or perhaps it was because of that knowledge, since a single misstep on his part would end up with his bloated body being fished from the Hudson.
They talked about the Rangers’ chances for hoisting Lord Stanley in the spring while Donnie finished his cannelloni and Jack polished off the remaining wine. None of the men, however, got up until the couple by the window paid
for their meal and left. After Tony closed and locked the front door behind the couple, wood scraped on wood as the three men simultaneously pushed their chairs back from the table and rose. The Manetti brothers dwarfed Sergio, both in height and weight. With each new situation, self-preservation had him constantly planning how to injure them enough to escape when he was around them.
With Donnie and Tony behind him, Sergio followed Jack into the kitchen. In that tiny, crowded space, Jack turned to Sergio. “You know the drill.”
Sergio lifted his arms and allowed the younger Manetti to pat him down. They wouldn’t find a wire on him because there wasn’t one to be found. When Donnie reached for his gun, Sergio’s hand snaked out and caught the other man’s wrist. He gave it a warning squeeze.
“Your gun stays with Uncle Tony,” Jack explained. “Or you don’t go any farther.”
Shit. His brain worked furiously.
“You guys don’t trust me?” Sergio asked calmly.
Jack shrugged. “We don’t trust anybody, my friend. No weapons beyond this point. That’s the rule.”
Sergio silently cursed again. He’d worked too fucking long and too fucking hard to blow this chance to find out who was in bed with the Manettis. After tonight, he would have three big names to include in his report.
“Does the rule apply to you and Donnie?”
There was an infinitesimal pause. “You don’t trust us?”
Sergio’s smile was little more than the baring of teeth.
Jack laughed, but he reached inside his jacket, withdrew his semiautomatic pistol and handed it over to Tony. Despite his screaming instincts, Sergio followed suit after Donnie did the same.
Jack pushed open a side door and Sergio followed. They went down a short corridor and through another door that led to a small anteroom. The restaurant itself took up only six hundred square feet, but the building that housed it was significantly larger. People who didn’t know better assumed the rest of the space was used for storage, if they gave it any thought at all.
