by Sandra Cox
Bella’s eyes sparkled. “Machiavellian. A woman after my own heart.”
Shifting her hips on the hard wood bench, Sabina returned to their former subject. “If someone was playing a game of chance with that overhead light, they’re a very sick person.”
The women looked at each other, each knowing what the others were thinking.
“Victoria,” Sabina replied, through stiff lips, her entire face feeling frozen.
“Looks like its possible, shug,” Bella said, her snapping eyes belying her composure. She leaned forward, her breasts pushing against the crimson red V of her dress. “Now the next interesting question. What was Adam Morelly doing there at the precise moment that ole chandelier fell?”
Feeling the kick of alcohol and a pleasant buzz, Sabina responded. “I know the answer to that one. He told me, ‘It appears I’m saving your life’. For a moment, I thought he’d come to hear me sing then realized it was because his uncle owns the club.” Her heart sagged along with her chin but she lifted her head and pasted a smile on her face.
The women stared at her.
Bella smiled. “Have another drink, shug.”
“Haven’t finished this one. But I believe I will. We’ve a lot of catching up to do. I only saw you two for a few minutes this afternoon when you got in. I’m surprised Jack and Hank let you come without them.” Taking a deep breath, Sabina tried to focus on the here and now. Not the mental picture of lying on the floor with her head caved in.
Maureen, who’d been slouched against the back of the booth, straightened. “Let us?”
Sabina laughed. “You know what I mean. As in, they can’t get along without you.”
“Someone has to run the ranches. And no way would Bella and I have missed your opening. Just call it a girls’ getaway.”
“It was good of you.” Sabina touched Maureen’s arm. “I know you two hate to be parted from your men.”
“It will be especially hard on Maureen not having anyone to model her slinky little patches of cloth and string she calls underwear for.” Bella winked.
“Oh yeah? Well at least nobody’s found my underwear in the loft. I’m assuming it’s yours. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing bordello red.”
“Not your color, shug,” Bella responded not fazed in the least.
“And try to remember Hank’s not a young man. If you two keep at it at this rate, he’s going to have a heart attack.”
“His heart and all his other vital parts are in perfect working order. Thank you very much.”
“If you two are trying to distract me, you’ve succeeded,” Sabina laughed.
Bella leaned forward and studied Sabina. “I think we’d better head back to the room. Your eyes are crossing.”
Sabina blinked at her.
Maureen and Bella hauled her out of the booth and steered her toward the elevator.
“I’m all right, really,” she protested.
“I know you are, shug, just reaction,” Bella soothed.
As Sabina pressed the elevator button, she bit her lips together, fighting to still the tremors in her hands. “Thank you both for coming to the opening,” she said as they shuffled into the elevator.
“Wild horses couldn’t have kept us away,” Bella assured her. She patted her hair as she studied her reflection in the gleaming silver interior.
The elevator settled on the fifth floor and the doors glided open. The women stepped out and walked the few steps down the hall to Sabina’s suite.
Sabina inserted her room card. “Thanks for everything.”
“Well just come in and have a quick look around,” Maureen said, pushing the door open.
“That really isn’t necessary,” Sabina protested.
“Of course it’s not,” Maureen agreed and walked inside, Bella on her heels. They did a quick check of the suite.
Bella went to the bedroom and looked under the bed.
When they were both satisfied there were no intruders, Bella and Maureen said their good nights.
“Remember we’re right next door. We can be here in seconds,” Maureen said from the doorway.
Sabina walked to her chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans. Reaching in the pocket, she drew out her amulet and put it on her arm. Power surged through her. “I’ll be just fine.”
* * * * *
She’d waited months to get the three of them together so that one of them would die while the other two watched, helpless, just as she’d been helpless to save her father. Too bad that good-looking Italian had decided to go all macho and throw himself in harm’s way to save the singer. Ooh, she loved tough men. Desire coiled in the pit of her stomach. She just might have to get a piece of that.
Chapter Two
Adam sat his scotch glass on the marble fireplace mantel. He leaned against it and looked around. His uncle’s study reeked of cigar smoke and money. A beautiful red and blue oriental rug covered the floor. The dark gleaming bookcases reflected the image of expensive leather-bound books with gold lettered titles. A boat being tossed by savage waves hung over the fireplace and an Isabelle Tremaine painting of a rearing white stallion adorned the wall behind the huge desk. It was a man’s room, masculine like its owner.
In the gleaming wood-paneled study, Johnny Morelly sat behind his huge mahogany desk. “And you’re sure it wasn’t an accident?”
“Oh, it was made to look like one, the outside wires were frayed but Lewis, the club manager, swears he had everything checked out last week. I believe him. The man’s a natural worrier. He’s like a mother hen who misplaced a chick. Always fussing around the club to make sure everything is in perfect working order, no safety issues, no bookkeeping errors.” Adam shrugged.
Johnny leaned back in his chair causing the soft black leather to sigh. “Do you think our competitor Joe Santos had anything to do with it? Joe controls most of the action in Charlotte.”
Adam shook his head. “Too subtle for Joe, his men break kneecaps.”
“My men have broken their share of kneecaps.”
Adam grinned. “That was in the old days. You’ve grown with the times. Plus you’ve gone legit.” His voice casual, his eyes hooded, he searched his uncle’s features.
Johnny burst out laughing, a deep belly laugh and gave his nephew a dismissive wave. “Gottcha. You don’t have to worry about that, boy. Okay, occasionally a favor’s called in and like the godfather, I have to respect it but I don’t dabble in anything that’s not legitimate these days. Though that don’t mean I don’t have to bring pressure to bear on occasion,” he added.
The tensed muscles in Adam’s body relaxed. He smiled at his uncle.
His uncle got up, gave him an affectionate hug then went and sat back down. “Don’t turn on the charm for me, boy. I know that smile of yours has women falling into your bed but it doesn’t do a thing for me.”
“I’m glad to hear that Uncle Johnny.” He winked at his uncle. “Actually, what I was thinking was that I’m the muscle you use these days.”
“Yes but of the legal variety. You’ve earned every penny of that fancy Princeton law degree I paid for. Not that you can’t hold your own against any of the muscle. I hear you can be pretty persuasive in that area as well.”
Adam studied his manicured hands. No one would ever guess beneath the yuppie exterior was a street-smart brat. “I don’t fight unless it’s absolutely necessary. Ruins the image,” he said lightly and took a sip of his scotch letting the golden beverage roll down his throat and ease any lingering tension.
“Or when someone maligns your uncle,” Johnny said shrewdly.
Adam looked at his uncle. “We’re family.” And no one—but no one—messes with my family. His mother had died when he was ten years old. He’d roamed the streets for two years before his uncle tracked him down and took him in. He owed Johnny pure and simple.
Going back to their original conversation he said, “I intend to find out who’s responsible for fraying that overhead light.” His hand tighten
ed on his glass. Anger, as wild as a storm, surged through him as he thought of Sabina’s near escape. He forced himself to relax. His uncle missed very little and he was unsure how much he wanted to tell him.
As if he read his thoughts, Johnny leaned forward in his chair. “I’m sure you will. Have you bedded her yet?”
Adam tamped down a spurt of annoyance. “And who might that be, Uncle?”
“Always the gentleman. That’s good,” Johnny nodded his approval. “The singer. Who else?”
“Any number of women I would think,” Adam drawled, arching an eyebrow.
Johnny burst out laughing, his voice filled with approval. “Spoken like a true Morelly.”
“I am a Morelly.”
His uncle nodded, his expression sobering. “Yes, you are. I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own son. You know I plan to leave you the business when I’m gone.”
Adam bit back a sigh. “Uncle Johnny, we’ve been over this. Leave the business to Gina. She’s your daughter. Not that I’m not honored but I like what I do.”
“Women have no place in business. They should be home making babies or in a smoke-filled lounge singing.” His uncle grinned lasciviously then gave a dismissive wave of his hand, the diamond, just like Adam’s, catching the light and sparkling from his pinkie finger. “We’ll talk about this another time. Now tell me about the singer. Is she as beautiful as everyone says?”
More so. “She’s attractive enough in an unassuming way.” If you discount the power glowing on her skin. The thought startled him. Power did radiate from her. She was quiet yes but she carried herself with confidence, even authority.
His uncle studied him. “Have you met this woman before?”
“Why would you ask that?” he evaded.
“Answering a question with a question, you’re a good attorney.”
“It’s what you pay me so handsomely for.”
“You earn every penny. You’ve saved the business millions.” Johnny stroked his chin, already darkening with a five o’clock shadow though it was early afternoon. “Now why is it, I wonder that you wouldn’t want me to know that you’ve met this woman before. Perhaps on one of your trips to Italy?”
Adam ran his fingers restlessly through his hair. “It’s not a big deal. I met her at Maureen Wolfe’s wedding last year.”
Johnny straightened and his dark eyes, so like Adam’s, sharpened. “You met this woman at Maureen Wolfe’s wedding and you didn’t see fit to tell me?”
“I hardly mention every woman I meet to you, Uncle,” Adam said his voice dry, his expression bored.
“Too bad. In my old age I must live vicariously through younger, more hot-blooded men.”
Adam smiled dutifully. Johnny had a wife and three mistresses—his voracious sex drive was legend. “You’ll still be going strong in that area of your life when you reach one hundred.”
The answer pleased his uncle and he smiled. “You’re right. There was no need to mention her.” Though he was smiling, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tapped the desk with his fingers. “What is it you’re not telling me?”
Adam sighed. There was no keeping secrets from Uncle Johnny and he wasn’t even sure why he was so reluctant to mention it. “Maureen Wolfe and Isabella Tremaine-McHenry were there for opening night.”
His uncle straightened and he snapped out, “And you didn’t feel the need to tell me this.”
“It’s history now, Uncle. Victor Price is dead.”
If Johnny heard him, he gave no indication. “Was the beauteous Bella wearing the arm bracelet?”
“Yes.”
Johnny’s fingers click, click, clicked as he tapped them against the desk, staring into space. “So the singer is a friend of Bella Tremaine’s?”
“Yes.”
He leaned back in the chair and smiled. “I want you to cozy up to the singer, see what you can find out. From what you’ve said it should be no hardship right?” His uncle leered, raising his thick black eyebrows.
“No hardship at all.” But something inside him protested at the idea of spying on Sabina. Ruthlessly, he forced back his distaste. He owed his uncle too much. Besides it would be a good excuse to see her again. She was like an itch under his skin. Had been from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Something about her made him restless. But at some point the itch would be relieved. He’d bed her, an antiquated term his uncle used, and that would be that.
He pulled away from the fireplace. “With your permission, Uncle, I think I’ll head back to Charlotte now and see what I can find out.” The ice clinked as he took one last sip then set his glass on the marble mantel.
Johnny got up and walked around the huge desk, grabbed his nephew by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks. “Let me know what you find out.”
“Of course.”
Striding out of his uncle’s penthouse, he punched the elevator button. As the silver doors swung open, he nodded to the couple inside the elevator, his thoughts a million miles away. Or to be more accurate, about two hundred and forty-five miles away, as he remembered the previous night.
When Maureen Wolfe touched him, he’d felt a jolt and pain being drawn out of his body. Every time he’d ever seen Maureen or Isabella they’d been wearing those strange-looking bands on their forearms. Was there a connection? Victor Price had been frantic to get Isabella’s armband. Adam had never seen one on Sabina’s arm, though she usually wore long sleeves.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other his thoughts uneasy. He was a practical sort of fellow. He believed in things that he could see or touch. Surely, those armbands weren’t empowered in some way.
As the elevator slid to a stop, he stepped out, shaking his head. Don’t be an idiot, Morelly. Empowered, right. Still there’s something damn peculiar going on with those three women. And it bears watching.
He strode out of the eight-story brick building and headed for the parking garage where his ’63 cherry red convertible ’Vette was parked. Instead of opening the door, he leaped over it and into the seat, revving the engine, anxious to get back to Charlotte. From here on, he planned on sticking to Sabina Comti like a second skin whether she wanted him or not. Those women drew trouble like lakes drew swans.
He downshifted and roared out into traffic. So they draw trouble. So what? It’s not like it’s my problem. But the picture of the heavy overhead lighting system crushing Sabina’s slender frame had him white-knuckling the steering wheel. What if he hadn’t been there opening night? What if he hadn’t been standing backstage, drawn to that golden voice?
She would have died. The thought made him lightheaded.
The light turned red. He swung right just in front of the oncoming traffic. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out the attraction. She wasn’t an in-your-face knockout like Bella Tremaine-McHenry. Yet her features held an Old World mystical beauty and her body—just thinking about it made him shift uncomfortably in his seat, the leather groaning in a commiserating manner beneath him. She was slender yet buxom with a sheen of power to her skin.
The phrase made him blink. There it was again. Why did he associate the woman with power?
He gave a mental shrug. Who knew. And focused on her voice. She sang like an angel in the celestial choir. That is what had drawn him last night. He was surprised he hadn’t followed those golden notes out onto the stage as he crept closer and closer like a little boy trying to touch the sun.
Who was behind the death attempt? He’d never believed it was Johnny but still he was relieved at his uncle’s surprise. And Victor Price was dead.
But his daughter Victoria was very much alive.
He should never have left Sabina. Victoria Price was certifiable. Squinting in the bright glare from the sun, he gunned the motor and pulled onto I-85. He pushed on the gas and the ‘Vette leaped forward.
* * * * *
Using a high-powered telescope, she watched the women from across the street. At some point they would have to get i
n the car. Then she would arrange an accident. She shuddered in anticipation and delight.
Chapter Three
“I want you like I want no other woman.”
Adam Morelly’s eyes looked deep into hers. She threw back her head drowning in their gold-flecked depths. His mouth drew closer. Her gaze flickered over it, her own lips parted. His breath smelled like fresh peppermint. His lips were on the thin side, chiseled like a finely sculpted statue, delicious and oh-so kissable.
His hot gaze shifted from her mouth and traveled over her. Wherever his glance touched it scorched her. She’d swear her clothes would melt right off.
His warm hands rested on her shoulders.
“Darling,” she breathed.
The grip tightened and she was shaken. “Wake up, sugar.”
She blinked. Her erotic dream disintegrated like molecules exploding in the atmosphere. Yawning so wide it felt like her jaws would split, she sat up, the sheet falling to her waist.
Bella laughed. “Who would have thought such a proper little thing sleeps in the nude?”
Sabina reached for the white terry robe at the foot of her bed and put it on, her movements unhurried. “What are you doing here and how did you get in?”
Bella grinned and patted her hair. “The bus boy, darling.”
“I should have known.” Sabina smiled back then stretched. “So why did you say you were here? Not that I’m not always glad to see you,” she added.
Bella handed her a white porcelain mug and sat on the edge of the bed.
Sabina took the cup and buried her nose in it. Steam laced with the rich aromatic scent of fresh coffee filled her nostrils. “A woman who comes bearing coffee is more treasured than a man bearing diamonds.”
“Old Italian saying?” Bella inquired, crossing her legs and sipping her brew.
“New Italian saying. Just made it up this instant.” As her brain began to function she straightened. “Is something wrong? Did something happen to Adam?” Her eyes widened. Where in the world had that come from? The dream of course, she assured herself.
