• • •
From the entrance, Mira glanced across the street while she collected cover and released her pent-up a breath. After two hours, he was gone. She blew on her fleece-covered hands, desperate to generate some warmth. Fatigue assaulted her mind, and she huddled inside the huge down jacket. Her emotions always rode closer to the surface when she was exhausted. Crankiness boiled full-tilt in the pit of her stomach, and with each passing hour, she longed for the end of her shift and an escape from the pre-holiday craze.
“Ciao, piccola.” A deep male voice, vaguely accented, brushed over her. Money was thrust under her nose. Mira reached for the bill, her gaze ticking upward to lock with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Mesmerizing eyes. Probing eyes. Recognition dawned. Shit! Her pseudo-stalker continued to study her, expectant.
Up close, the guy was taller than she’d expected — at least six and a half feet if she judged by the enormous bouncer at her side. The bulky winter clothes did nothing to disguise the breadth of his shoulders, and the heavy material cleaved to his brawny arms testified to the power contained therein. A loose, easy smile spread across the planes of his tan face, revealing even white teeth behind lips full of sensual promise. It was the smile of a man used to getting whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The casual ease of an alpha predator at the top of his game.
Mira’s mouth went arid. An odd flutter tickled through the pit of her stomach, making her squirm. Fight or flight. Flight was the normal, reasonable response in this situation, but the last twelve years had changed her. Now Mira fought. She snapped the money from the guy’s long fingers, flashed him a don’t-fuck-with-me glare, and jerked her head toward the club entrance. The guy had the nerve to wink at her before he disappeared. Mira battled the urge to kick him in the shin.
Her imaginary Bitchy Meter clicked another notch closer to the red zone as fatigue threatened to obliterate her defenses. Mira’s thoughts raced faster than a customized Corvette. So what if the guy was gorgeous, his smoky voice an invitation to climb aboard the Got Sex train? Who cared if his mussed-sheets smile curled her toes inside her steel-toed boots? And what difference did it make if he might be big enough, strong enough to fight her most vile demons?
A tap on the shoulder made her thoughts jump the rails. Another bouncer came out to relieve her. Mira headed into the warm indoors with a bone-weary sigh. Her numb fingers fumbled to undue the zipper on her parka and her cheeks tingled beneath the hot air blowing down from the ceiling vents. She hung her coat on the hook behind the bar and straightened her shirt then attempted to tame her feral mane.
“Hey, Mira,” Bebe called over the pounding music. “Can you go downstairs and get some more rum? We’re almost out with these drink specials.”
Mira gave a reluctant nod and yanked the keys off the wall. She trudged to the far end of the area and unlocked the basement stockroom. As she stuffed the key ring into her back pocket, Mira’s gaze hooked once more with the man uppermost in her recent thoughts. There he sat, draped in a corner booth, longneck in hand, observing her with undisguised interest. The damn flutter blossomed anew.
Mira turned away and slammed the door behind her, clicking on the lights before starting down the rickety stairs. Get through tonight then a whole blessed week off. I’ll make it, dammit!
She punched an inflatable bottle of beer out of the way and finished her trek to the dank basement and pulled the chain on the bare bulb above. Silencing her futile wish to burrow into her nice warm bed and sleep for days, Mira rummaged through the plethora of filthy containers, searching for a damn crate of rum.
A skitter of claws echoed from behind, and Mira whirled toward the sound. She squinted into the dark, but spotted nothing. She returned to the crates only to hear a distant, off-key whistle issue from the far corner. The tune dissolved into one etched on her mind and her heart rate skyrocketed. It was the melody she heard every time she slept. A sinister chuckle near her ear had her leaping for the exit. The lights flickered. The smell of sulfur overwhelmed. Mira charged for the stairs and the lights went out. Pitch black hell. The nightmare had arrived.
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Seal of Surrender Page 19
