The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

“That’s not what Jackie said.”

  Not only was he beautiful to look at, but he was obstinate as well.

  “She lied.”

  Margot refused to believe that Jackie would lie to her. They were best friends. Best friends didn’t lie to each other. She felt sure it was written in the best friend code book somewhere.

  He picked up his bag and headed for Jackie’s office. “I’m her guest, just like you are, and I’m dog tired. I’m going to bed. And just so you’re not shocked again, I sleep naked . . . without any covers. Just like you do.”

  “I do not sleep naked. I’m a mother.”

  He turned back to her. “Yes you do. I saw you in bed, remember?”

  She could feel the blush wash over her face. “That was different.”

  She’d taken a shower, washed out her underwear, then realized she had nothing to wear to bed and by that time, she had been too exhausted to try to find something of Jackie’s. Of course she never dreamed a man would burst into her bedroom.

  His gaze slipped down her body then back to her eyes. He grinned. “So, you usually sleep in bunny gear?”

  She wanted to come across strong, despite her ridiculous clothes. “Yes, it’s my favorite bedtime outfit. My kids love it.”

  “I don’t see any kids around, so if you’ll excuse me . . . ”

  He turned and walked into the next room, closed the glass door, put his bag down, faced her and unzipped his pants.

  Margot seriously considered standing her ground to show him just how un-shocked she could be until he dropped his pants and she caught a glimpse of the obvious bulge under his dark blue briefs.

  She abruptly turned on her heels and almost ran down the hallway to Jackie’s bedroom thinking how bad they’d both been, and scolded herself for her dirty thoughts, as she wished with everything that was in her that he’d slide right back into bed with her. Because this time she wouldn’t even think about scaring him away.

  Everything He Never Wanted: Chapter Three

  Breakfast was Antonio’s favorite meal of the day, and scrambled eggs were his specialty. He loved everything about breakfast, especially after the night he’d had fighting his moral code not to walk down that hallway after Margot. There was something about her that caused him to want to be really bad. He’d thought about her all night long, alone in her bed, and wondered if she had taken off those silly stretch pants and top.

  He knew it was wrong, knew he should be focusing on whether or not Margot was telling him the truth and on why Jackie had left and where had she really gone, anyway? But instead he decided to wait a while longer and let the agency he’d hired do all the leg work.

  He’d called them earlier, spoke to Jim Sutton, gave him all the facts as he knew them, and told Jim to contact him if he had any new information. With that task done, until he heard otherwise, he would go with the flow. Jackie had told her best friend she’d return in a few days, and if he knew anything about women, which wasn’t much, he knew they didn’t screw over their best friends. Of that he was sure . . . at least sure enough to put the entire matter of his stolen book on hold awhile.

  However, he was sleeping in Jackie’s apartment and Margot was her best friend. Women had a code about that, and he knew Margot would never break it, nor would he want her to. Hell, he even had a code about that. He felt a little guilty that he’d lied about staying at Jackie’s all week. In reality, he’d booked a suite at the Ritz Carlton, but now that he’d met Margot--and Jackie had disappeared--he wanted to stay right there.

  Still . . .

  “You cook?” Margot asked as she walked into the kitchen carrying a backpack, completely dressed for the day, looking more tantalizing than she had last night. She leaned the backpack next to the front door and her long ginger-colored hair fell around her face, caressing her shoulders. She wore a cream colored sweater and tight jeans with high black boots. She looked good enough to . . .

  “Yes. I’m a master at eggs. How do you like ‘em?”

  “Hmm, a master, huh? My absolute favorite is a veggie omelet with a thick layer of melted cheese.”

  “Comin’ right up, ma’am.”

  “I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since the plane ride yesterday afternoon. And I’d do almost anything for a cup of black tea.”

  “Anything?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  She giggled. “I said almost anything.”

  “Ah, I didn’t catch the operative word.”

  “Do I have to get my gun out again?”

  “I thought you didn’t really own one.”

  “Never trust what a woman says in the heat of battle.”

  He thought about his stolen book and Jackie in his bed. “Don’t I know it.” Then he hesitated for a moment and said, “Wait. Does that mean you really do own a gun?”

  “I’ll never tell.” Then she giggled again.

  He held his hands up. “I’ll behave, I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  It seemed to be all said in jest, but so far both these women were causing him more grief than a man ought to feel. “There’s an electric kettle on the counter all ready to go, and an assortment of loose tea up in the cupboard.”

  “I had no idea Jackie was a tea drinker. When we were teens, she practically lived on coffee and diet soda.”

  “London will do that to a person. If you like tea, you have to go to High Tea while you’re here.”

  “I’ve heard of it, but have never been.”

  “It’s nirvana for a tea drinker. We’ll go this afternoon. That is if you don’t have anything else planned.”

  Margot shrugged, and gazed down at the floor. “I don’t know if we should . . .”

  He finished cooking the eggs, adding a mixture of cheeses, some finely chopped tomatoes and a few black olives. When the cheese had melted he plated his creation along with two fruit scones, some clotted cream, and an assortment of fresh berries he’d picked up at a local Marks & Spencer earlier that morning.

  “If we should what? Have a nice time? Get to know one another? Hang out?”

  “Exactly. Jackie’s my best friend, and you two are . . . connected. It’s just not right. I decided to get a room. I’m all packed and I found a room at the Holiday Inn that’s not too far from here. One stop on the Tube, if I can ever figure it out.”

  Antonio had a strong feeling that the cost of a room in London during the book fair might be a little too pricey for Margot, especially with the unfavorable exchange rate on the dollar. This was not an option he wanted her to take. It just didn’t seem right. Besides, he didn’t want her out of his sight. He needed her where he could watch her, despite his not wanting to believe either woman had anything menacing going on.

  He set the plates down on the small round table in the kitchen, while she poured herself a cup of tea in one of Jackie’s excessive accumulation of fancy tea cups. She chose a delicate china cup and saucer with pink roses cascading down the side of the cup, a symbol, no doubt, of Margot’s innocence. She may try to come across well-seasoned and tough, but Antonio’s gut told him she was all bluster.

  “I can’t let you do that.” He sat at the table in front of his plate, placed the white paper napkin on his lap and waited for her to sit across from him. When she did, he said, “It’s a beautiful day, which doesn’t happen very often in April in London, so let’s take advantage of it. Have you ever been to London before?”

  “No, but Jackie wants to take me around. And I need to check into my room.”

  “That can wait until later. You said Jackie won’t be home for another two or three days. What are you supposed to do in the meantime? Stay inside and wait for her return when all of London is out there calling to you?”

  She took a bite of her eggs, then another and another. “Okay, you win. These are the absolute best eggs I’ve ever tasted. What’s in them?”

  “If you allow me to show you a bit of London, I’ll tell you my secret.”

  She laughed. “That’s not fair.”

&
nbsp; “Who ever said I was fair?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Good to know.”

  He put his fork down on his plate, and looked into her smoking hot eyes. On a hunch, he said, “How would you like to stand in a room encircled by the works of Degas, Van Gogh, Cezanne, and Monet?”

  “I love the impressionists. Studied them in college for a semester. I’ve never been able to see much of their work in person. I would absolutely love to see that room.”

  “How about if I take you? Today. In about an hour. We can play tourists and hop on one of those sightseeing buses, buy gaudy souvenirs, take lots of pictures and eat pork pies.”

  “Pork pies? That sounds awful.”

  “You’d be surprised.” He took a bite of the omelet. Superb as usual. He liked the fact that whenever he put his heart into a task, he always achieved his goal. Something his dad taught him and his mom had reinforced while he was growing up. All his siblings were the same way. If they took something on, they never gave up until they mastered the task at hand.

  Today he would be mastering Margot James and he wouldn’t give up until he knew everything about her.

  “I get the impression you’ve been to London before, and you’ve already done all these things. Why would you want to do them again?”

  “Because I haven’t done them with you.”

  A devious little smile spread across her beautiful face and at once Antonio knew that mastering this beguiling woman might lead to his downfall . . . remembering her naked body lying across the bed, softly lit by moonlight . . . he was willing to take the risk.

  * * *

  Margot had sent a text to Jackie telling her that Antonio had arrived, thinking Jackie should know the situation and hoping it might spur her to return sooner. But instead, Jackie’s text only compounded Margot’s frustration: great! pls entertain him. way 2 busy. must stay in paris 2 more days. sorry. ☹

  That was all Margot had needed to cause her to want to leave.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t get very far with her conviction. Not after she saw Antonio preparing breakfast and then offering to show her London. A man hadn’t offered to cook for her or show her a good time in . . . well, ever. Her ex couldn’t make toast without burning it, and him taking her to an art museum would be like promising to take her to the moon.

  How could she possibly refuse?

  So, there she was, sitting up top on an open-air bus, the sun warming the cool breeze that slipped over her face, listening to Antonio tell her all about London. No need for headphones with canned info on the sights. Antonio could describe what they were seeing with much more flair, and simply hearing that deep husky voice of his mixed with the sights and sounds of the city made her flesh tingle with excitement.

  “Let’s get off here,” Antonio said as he held out his hand for her once he slid off their bench seat.

  Without thinking she took his hand, and instantly knew it wasn’t a good idea. A burning heat swept through her. He had ignited something that she was powerless to snuff out. As soon as she slid across the seat, she let go.

  He turned to her, smiled as if he’d felt it too, but never said a word about it.

  Their day began with St. Paul’s Cathedral, where they climbed the endless spiral staircase up to the dome. The intricately painted ceiling depicted various aspects of the life of St. Paul and seemed impossible to create. Antonio told her how it nearly killed James Thornhill, the artist. When they reached the top and stepped outside, the incredible view of London brought tears to Margot’s eyes. Never had she experienced something so breathtaking. She wanted to linger right there for the rest of the day, but Antonio had other plans.

  They stopped in to see Sotheby’s diamond collection which took Margot’s breath away. There was one ring in particular that she fell in love with.

  “That’s magnificent,” she told him as she gazed at the rose-shaped, diamond encrusted ring.

  Antonio glanced down into the case as the diamonds caught the light and splashed their dazing glow across his face. “Wow, that’s beautiful.”

  “It must be worth a fortune.”

  “When a man is in love, there’s nothing too expensive for his woman.”

  “I like that. Did you just make that up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I try.”

  He had her giggling, but if he truly meant what he’d said, she knew why any woman would be his.

  The next stop was The National Gallery, and somehow without much warning, after walking through room after room of dark Renaissance paintings, Antonio once again took her hand and led her into room forty-two, where her beloved impressionist surrounded her with light.

  Emotion bubbled up in Margot and she could no more hold back the tears of joy at seeing all the artists she’d come to love than a child could stop asking questions. Their original works were all in one room: Degas, Monet, Matisse, Van Gogh, and Cezanne. Artists she loved and thought she would never be able to see with her own eyes were right in front of her, embracing her with their magnificence, their rebellion, their sense of freedom.

  She studied each painting, noting the texture of the paint up close, then pulling back and enjoying the entire scope of the painting until she felt part of the work, as if she’d been there with each artist as he created his masterpiece. They each captured her imagination in their own unique way and she wanted to wallow in their presence until she felt completely satiated. The sensations she felt standing directly in front of their work, as they had once stood in front of each canvas decades ago with nothing more than a total immersion of their vision, their dream had her dizzy with excitement and passion for their work.

  She turned to Antonio who stood next to her the entire time, his own eyes moist with emotion, still holding her hand in his as they gazed at Van Gogh’s A Wheatfield, with Cypresses, painted in 1889, a year before his supposed suicide. Margot never bought into the notion that he killed himself . . . the gun was never found.

  “I don’t know how to thank you for bringing me here,” Margot told Antonio as she led him out of the room.

  He turned to her, a smirk on his face. “Yes you do.”

  And at once the spell was broken. Reality came charging in. He was just like her ex-husband. Nothing mattered but sex. She was simply another Elliana, the babysitter in the playhouse. If that was what Antonio wanted, well, maybe she’d just pretend to go along with it. Could she? After all, it wasn’t as if she wasn’t attracted to him.

  She’d thought he’d be different, and at the very least, take the time to have a brief conversation about the masters of impressionism.

  But no.

  He simply wanted his pound of flesh. She needed to accept that. And maybe this once-in-a-lifetime fling might be exactly what she needed. .

  She took in a breath and let it out. “Sure, if that’s what you need.”

  He beamed like a little boy with a pop gun as he swung her towards the doorway.

  “This is so great! We don’t have much time to get there. We have to hurry.”

  She wondered what drove a man to be so blatant about getting the next girl in the sack, but then she’d never been in a situation like this before. This was all new to her: she being the other woman. She decided to play along.

  “I can hardly wait!” She tried to sound as sexy as she could without showing how she truly felt . . . reluctant and unprepared.

  “Look at you, all excited. I took the liberty of making a reservation for us hoping you’d want to end your day with me.”

  At least he planned to do the deed in a hotel room instead of Jackie’s apartment. That showed he still had a thread of decency. He wasn’t all bad. Good. She’d focus on that.

  “Yes, a hotel would be much better.”

  “Actually, a high end department store is the best place.”

  She stopped walking and let go of his hand. “What?”

  “I don’t know what you heard or read about in a travel book, but F
ortnum and Mason serves the best High Tea in London. Even the Queen thinks so.”

  Her brain wasn’t catching what he’d just said. “Tea? You’re taking me to High Tea?”

  “What did you think?”

  “I just assumed . . .”

  He shook a finger at her. “And you think I’m bad.”

  Margot couldn’t help but grin as she grabbed his arm with both hands and tugged. “Well then, Mr. Entertainment, lead me to your den of tea. I can’t wait.”

  And they hustled out of the museum, while Margot wondered if she’d completely misjudged this man.

  Everything He Never Wanted: Chapter Four

  For the next two hours Margot and Antonio feasted on delicate finger sandwiches, fruit scones, clotted cream, berry preserves, various tea cakes, an amazing chocolate cake and tea that was so delicate and fragrant Margot couldn’t seem to get enough. They’d made polite conversation all through the High Tea experience, chatting about the food mostly, but now Antonio had turned serious. Grilling her for facts. He suddenly needed to know all about her and decided now was the perfect time as light piano music surrounded them in this setting of fine china, white linen and bright light.

  “So, tell me, what do you do in Fallbrook, California?” He sat back and pierced right through her with his determined gaze.

  “I own a combination book store and coffee shop. If it wasn’t for the coffee shop I would’ve had to close my doors last year. Digital books are killing me. It’s too bad because I really love my business and it provided me and my kids a comfortable life. Now that my kids are grown, I’m rethinking my career path. What do you do?”

  “Before we get to me, tell me more about this ‘rethinking your career path.’”

  He caught Margot by surprise. Maybe it was the three pots of tea or the clotted cream or seeing all her favorite artists in one room. Whatever it was, for the first time in far too many years, she felt comfortable with a man and was beginning to trust him.

  “Well, I know this might sound crazy, and maybe I’m too old to start a new career, but ever since I was a little girl I’ve had these stories floating around in my head. They were stories about families, and love, and death, and about struggle and poverty and working your way up against all odds. I’m drawn to characters who find their own path out of the darkness, of being terrified about where they’re going, but going anyway. I suppose it comes from my grandfather who came to America from Austria when he was nineteen with nothing more than an idea. He worked hard and made a life for himself and his family.”