by Shayla Black
Mark shut his eyes, breaking the connection with Nicki, and withdrew from her warm, clinging body. She gasped, but he didn't turn back as he went to deposit the condom in the trash.
In the next room, with a wall separating them, he leaned into it, his forehead against the cool plaster, and drew in a shaky breath. What the hell was he going to do?
On the other side of the wall, he heard Nicki shifting, rising.
Then she appeared in the entrance to the kitchen, and he straightened to meet her.
"Another hit-and-run, huh?" She crossed her arms over her bare breasts.
"What do you want, Nicki? Like you said last time, it wasn't as if we made any commitments before we hit the sheets. We have great sex."
"And that's all it is?"
"What else do we have?"
Pain lanced Nicki's face, tightening her mouth. "I'd love to say something smart ass, like 'thanks for an interesting evening,' but I won't. You told me not to lie to myself earlier. Take your own damn advice."
She turned away and headed to his foyer before pivoting back suddenly. "God, I'd love to know what that bitch did to you. I got the message that it's none of my business. Fine. She screwed up your life once. Ask yourself if you're going to let her do it forever."
His stomach plummeted to his toes. "What the hell are you talking about? It was just sex."
Nicki raised the black wing of her brow. "If that's true, then remember that when you're coming, and don't tell me you love me."
After finally finding sleep at five in the morning, the last thing Nicki needed was to be back up at nine to meet Uncle Pietro's plane.
Clutching her cup of piping hot Starbucks, she loitered in the baggage claim, clutching her aching head.
She did her best to ignore her aching heart.
No, she wouldn't think about Mark. Again. It would only upset her more. Still ... Was there any chance that the declaration of love he'd shouted during his climax had been true--even a little?
It didn't matter. She shouldn't want it to be true. She wasn't looking for the lasting bond that came with love. But when he'd said it ... she couldn't deny her heart had leapt in response.
After she'd reminded Mark what he'd said last night, he denied saying it, turned a sickly shade of white, and apologized. Apologized, of all things! Clearly, he didn't recall saying it. Nicki supposed that was his way of saying it wasn't true.
God, why hadn't he just stabbed her in the chest? It would have been more humane than the way he'd cut her heart out with his words.
And her pain only told Nicki that she cared far more about Mark than was wise.
Whatever that woman had done to Mark had been painful, deep, and lasting. Even if, by chance, he did feel anything for Nicki, he'd bury the feeling and deny it until the end of time.
Whatever they'd had was over.
Having major sex with a hunk who could make guys posing in calendars envious and was beyond stellar in bed was fabulous, yes. He could make her smile, laugh. He never failed to make her feel sexy, to steal her self-control and replace it with his will. And she loved all of that. Right up until the climax was over, when he realized they were getting too close and he withdrew both physically and emotionally. Completely.
Girls' Night Out was not just time-consuming but mentally demanding. She couldn't afford to divert time to healing Mark ... if he could even be healed.
Though Vegas was a betting town, Nicki wouldn't lay down money that he could be. Whatever he'd let slip in a moment of passion, whatever he might feel, he'd spend all his formidable will burying.
Tears stung her eyes. "What's the matter with you, huh?"
Nicki blinked away her tears, then glared at her uncle, who looked so polished in his gray double-breasted suit, despite the early hour, that it set her teeth on edge.
"Some of us run a business that doesn't close until two in the morning. Being at the airport a few hours later doesn't put me in a good mood."
"No one made you get up. Blade had my flight information. I was expecting him."
"Well, you got me instead. I wanted to talk to you. Alone."
"Nicki," he chided with a sigh. "I barely got here, you know."
"Yeah, you've been off having a great time in Italy, but you left without giving me key pieces of information, like the fact you'd told Blade he could be my accountant."
"You need help, Nicki." He patted his slick salt-and-pepper hair. "You can't do it all, and math was never your thing."
"I never said I could do it all or that I was good at math, but I am capable of hiring someone to do my accounting."
"Blade was supposed to find out if you can afford a new accountant."
"I managed to pay Marcy before--before she ..."
Nicki bit her lip, unable to go on. Marcy had been her friend. They'd been opposites in personality, but always on the same side in business. Her death had been a huge shock. And on top of her ragged emotions, thanks to Mark, Nicki was having a hard time staying collected.
She cleared her throat. "Look, I don't think Blade is qualified. I can hire someone temporarily to get it into shape, then take it over myself."
"Blade is a smart guy. He'll fix your books and keep them up. You stick to meeting and greeting people. And looking pretty. You're good at that."
His patronizing attitude ripped the thin thread of her temper. "Damn it, I own most of this business. You can't tell me who to hire! Why don't you--"
Pietro grabbed her arm and squeezed, not hard, but enough to get her attention. "Keep your voice down. We don't need all the nice people at the airport to know we're fighting, right?"
It pissed her off, but he had a point. She nodded.
"Good. Now, listen up. I own thirty percent of your club. Unless you can pay me back in cash today, close your mouth. Blade is your accountant, because I said so. End of conversation."
Mark leaned down to serve three thirty-something women their drinks when he saw Zack zip through the club, race behind the bar, and launch himself through the doors and up the stairs leading to Nicki's office.
Whoa! That was beyond unusual. Zack never left the backstage area unless he was onstage himself. Something was definitely wrong.
Besides you blurting to Nicki that you love her? He still couldn't fathom why he'd apparently done such a thing.
Pushing the thought away, Mark absently took the ladies' money and smiled. He glanced upstairs, through the obscured glass. Sure enough, Zack was talking rapidly, gesticulating all over the place. Nicki was pacing. Not a good sign.
Maybe this was his chance.
For what? the voice in the back of his head asked.
He had to get back in Nicki's good graces since he still had a case to solve. It was a no-brainer to say he'd screwed up by professing his love, then insisting it was just sex. She was still pissed. Hell, if he'd told Nicki she was cheap and easy, he couldn't have made things worse.
Wincing, Mark deposited his tray with Leon behind the bar, eased behind the counter, and headed for Nicki's office. Halfway up the stairs, he stopped.
He'd never allowed himself to indulge in denial before--not when his mother had died three days before his fifteenth birthday, not when he discovered he had cancer at twenty, not when Kerry had told him about Tiffany's perfidy. He would not start now.
Clenching his hands into fists, Mark stopped on the stairs, short of Nicki's office. The truth ... Knowing she was furious with him didn't make his top-ten list of happy events. But seeing the pain that had darkened her eyes when she'd left his apartment completely naked this morning made him feel just like that snake in the grass she accused him of being.
What he still didn't understand, though, was why she'd acted upset. Why pretend that his lack of feelings for her mattered? Did she need to keep him occupied so that her lover could continue committing crimes? Or maybe she simply needed an alibi and he would do.
Was there any chance she was upset because she actually cared about him?
Stupi
d, wishful thinking. Nicki was a case; she couldn't be a woman to him.
Now if he could only keep that straight in his head the next time she came near him ...
"Do you see now why it won't work?" Zack's voice drifted down the stairs.
"You're right. He could never change in time."
"Never. And then we'd be short one person for the finale."
Nicki sighed and began pacing again. "Why tonight?"
Mark trudged up the stairs and hovered at the threshold of Nicki's office. He didn't know exactly why he was here, only that he felt compelled to be. If he could win her back, keep his personal feelings out of this case, maybe he could solve it and be out of here before he got any more addicted to Nicki.
"What's wrong?" he asked her. "I saw Zack run through the club like he was on fire."
Zack rolled his eyes. "Fire would be easier. This is a real disaster!"
Turning to glare at Zack, Nicki barked, "No drama. I'm good at creating my own without yours, too."
"What is the drama about?" Mark asked again.
"We're short a dancer. Ricky is still out with the stomach flu, and Josh reported this afternoon ... but he can't do it. He's not well yet."
Wrinkling his nose, Zack shuddered. "He tossed his cookies backstage twice. I had to send him home when everyone else nearly got sick."
"Which leaves us short an act for the evening and minus a performer for the finale."
Zack was looking at him expectantly. Nicki wasn't looking at him at all.
Silence descended, heavy and awkward. Sweat broke out all over Mark. Chest, back, neck--everything turned damp in an instant, then chilled. Tension claimed his back, rippled through his arms. He knew what they wanted.
"He's ready," Zack finally said to Nicki.
"He's not. Not mentally," she argued.
"Sweetie, the show must go on!"
She sighed, and with it, her shoulders and face fell. He'd never seen Nicki look defeated. Angry, annoyed, spitting mad, even hurt, yes. Never defeated. Her expression twisted the knife she'd already somehow managed to lodge in his gut.
Mark grabbed her hand, cursing himself. Why couldn't he be an asshole? Why did her concerns matter?
"Why is it a disaster?"
Nicki shook her head, looking a heartbeat away from tearing her hair out. "It's Memorial Day weekend, and the place is packed. My uncle is here watching everything like a greedy jerk waiting for a rich relative to die. A single screwup, and he's going to lord it over me and demand I pay him back his thirty percent, pronto."
"Would he do that?"
Her laugh was mirthless. "He already did once this morning. It's his way of ensuring I run the business to his satisfaction."
Mark already disliked the man he'd never met. One thing he knew about Nicki: This club was important to her. For her uncle--a member of her own family--to come in suddenly, put pressure on her, and tell her how to run her show ... The guy sounded like a class-A bastard.
"I'll do it."
At his words, she blinked. Her gaze sharpened, then a smile broke out on her face. "Really? Will you be all right?"
God, he was a sucker. He'd love to tell himself that agreeing to this was just a ploy to win back her trust. But he'd only be lying.
"I'll be fine."
"Thank you." She kissed his cheek, still beaming at him like he was a superhero.
Mark sank into her smile, knowing he'd consented to a night of utter torture just to see it.
As Zack had insisted, the show was going on, all right. Women cheered, drinks flowed, all the guys made enormous tips.
But Mark was the undisputed star.
Gritting her teeth, Nicki watched from behind the bar as he held court on the second stage. The line of women waiting to see him stretched nearly to the back of the club. Patiently, he smiled, flirted, posed for pictures, flexed various muscles as requested. And kissed. He didn't give tongue baths the way some of the guys did, thank God. But more than one of the locals slid business cards and cocktail napkins with scrawled phone numbers his way. Each time, he flashed his dimples and nodded as if he were flattered.
Nicki wanted to vomit. Wondering if he'd call any of them only intensified her nausea.
A bride-to-be, wearing a "veil" of condoms approached, egged on by friends who gave her a not-so-subtle nudge in Mark's direction. With a gentle yet still sexy smile, he cradled the woman's head in his big hands and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He lingered, a heartbeat, two.
Unable to watch more, Nicki turned away.
"He's very popular," Lucia said, joining her in the comer, near the second stage.
"At least I was right about that."
"But you were wrong about something else?"
Nicki turned a tired smile to her half-sister. "I can't watch him with other women. I never imagined it would bother me. It's supposed to be business." She frowned. "It's crazy. He's not mine. But it's like someone's pouring acid on my heart when I see him flirt and smile and--"
"And kiss other women. Is that it?"
Nodding, Nicki smiled bitterly. "I knew I couldn't handle a fling with him without being distracted. I just can't sleep with someone without caring. He doesn't owe me anything, and he's free to see anyone he wants."
"And it's killing you."
Nicki wanted to lie. She really, really wanted to. "I almost think I'd rather someone put a gun to my head than be forced to watch this again."
Lucia cocked her head, her auburn hair flowing across her shoulders. "Do you love him?"
She risked another peek at Mark. Head thrown back, he laughed as a forty-ish woman cupped his ass and said something undoubtedly naughty. Apparently he'd gotten over his stage fright, because he looked like he was having the time of his life.
"Unfortunately, I think I do. And what crappy irony that I'm the one to give the commitment-phobic hottie what probably amounts to his dream job. Here's an endless string of women willing to screw him so he never has to worry about anyone getting too close. He and his adoring public ought to have a great future."
"It's not like you to just give up."
"Look at him." She gestured Mark's way. "He couldn't look more pleased if someone told him he'd won the Megabucks Jackpot. There's no way I'll get him to quit."
There were other obstacles to a future together, namely, her lack of time to devote to a relationship and the ice encasing his heart that made the likelihood of him having any lasting relationship with her on par with meeting an alien life-form tomorrow.
Lucia smiled like the cat who ate the cream. "Don't be so hasty. If you really want him, I think I might have an idea or two you'll find interesting . . ."
Chapter 10
Waiting for Mark to answer her summons on Wednesday afternoon, Nicki figured she was about to take brazen to a whole new level.
Before she had time to think about everything that could go wrong and lose what little bit of lunch Lucia had forced down her, Mark appeared. He ducked to enter her office. His shoulders strained against a green T-shirt that made his guarded, sooty-lashed hazel eyes look mesmerizing. The jeans that fit snug in all the right places only distracted her more.
"You wanted to see me?" His voice rumbled across her senses.
"Thanks for coming in. Have a seat."
Mark glanced around and found the rarely used office chair Marcy had once procured for her. It sat in front of the computer that her former accountant had insisted she have. Nicki had barely learned how to turn it on. After Marcy's death, she hadn't even tried. He folded his length into the chair that looked two sizes too small for him and looked at her expectantly.
More than anything, Nicki wished she had any idea what Mark was thinking, feeling. Did he miss her? Would he laugh at her suggestion? It had seemed so plausible coming from sensible Lucia. As she'd mulled it over last night, her wicked mind had clutched on to the idea like a child with a new toy. She'd become very fond of the new concept ... until now.
"What's up?" he asked int
o her silence, looking anything but relaxed.
Having no idea where to begin, Nicki took the roundabout route. "Sunday night went well. How did you feel about performing onstage?"
He snorted. "I made a fortune. Who knew there was so much money in this?"
Or so many women. He forgot to add that part. But then, he likely wouldn't say that to her face. Nicki's heart fell. She chewed on her bottom lip, considering her next tactic.
"So you want to keep performing?"
Mark shrugged. "I was surprised when Josh and Ricky came back that you didn't put me into the show so it would be fully staffed again."
Nicki did her best not to wince. He'd noticed that. Of course, only a fool wouldn't, and Mark wasn't a fool.
"I wanted to talk to you about it first. A few days ago, you confessed to stage fright." Right before you stripped me bare, rocked my world, and told me you loved me. Did you
mean any of it? Nicki cleared her throat, trying to clear her head. "When you performed on Sunday, did you feel nervous or awkward?"
Mark frowned. "Did I look like it?"
"No," Nicki was forced to admit. "You looked great."
"I did my best."
Oh, he had, all right. He'd scored a hit onstage. Nicki couldn't help but wonder if he'd scored afterward as well, given the volume of phone numbers and propositions he'd received.
"You were everything I'd want a dancer to be."
"Why do I sense 'but' coming up? Out with it, Nicki"
She drew in a steadying breath. Fine. He wanted the truth; he was going to get it. "But I want to talk to you about doing something else for me, instead."
Nicki waited, trying to decipher his facial expressions. No luck. Given Mark's success as a dancer, she expected he would protest. Surely he would. All the money, all the women, even if he didn't care for attention, had to be a lure.
Rather than spewing an expletive, Mark merely cocked his head. "Really?"
"I need a dancer, and I know that's why I hired you. But I also need an accountant."
