BENEATH THE SILK

by Wendy Rosnau

  He held up the eggs. "What do you think?"

  Sunni blinked out of her fog, blamed her reckless thoughts on her lack of food and asked, "Who's Margo?"

  "She's my ex-partner's wife. She cooks, but not happily. When Ry invites me over, I usually do the cooking. Sit down. I'll bring the eggs." Gladly, Sunni thought, and took a chair. He placed the platter of eggs and bacon in the middle of the table, then a stack of toast. Seconds later he covered the chair across from her, his masculine scent greeting her once more.

  She eyed the crispy strips, the too-fluffy eggs. She never ate bacon on Monday, but right now she would eat the leg off the chair she was sitting on if she thought it would chase away the dizziness that had suddenly sent her head spinning

  The tingling sensation in her lips clinched it, and Sunni touched her swollen lower lip, knowing that she'd just been given another warning that she needed food as quickly as possible.

  "Still hurt?"

  "What?" She glanced at him, then snatched up a piece of bacon and munched it down in two bits. "No. Yes … I mean, yes, a little."

  "You pulled away."

  "You vampired my lip."

  He was in the process of shoving scrambled eggs onto his plate when his hand stilled and he cocked his bead and grinned at her. "Vampired? Is that a word?"

  "I don't care if it is or not. It's what you did." Sunni took two more strips of bacon and then inhaled a piece of toast. She would have refilled her empty juice glass, but she didn't think she could reach the fridge without falling on her face—her knees felt suddenly weak.

  When she focused on him again, he smiled. A sexy smile that showed off his pretty teeth—polished pearls in a sea of dark whiskers. Yes, he had great teeth. Amazing, since he was also a smoker. She knew this because he'd had a cigarette between his lips practically every time she'd seen him over the past four days—except for this morning.

  She served herself a mound of eggs. "You didn't have to do it … bite me."

  "I didn't plan to." He shrugged, dug his fork into his eggs. "Hi, Sis, long time no see. After a line like that, it seemed natural for a brother to kiss his sister." He looked up. "You're not going to hold it against me, are you? I didn't enjoy it."

  She knew damn well why his grin had grown, and exactly what she'd felt sandwiched against his hard body. Unless he owned a pet rock, he'd been more than a little amused by the time he had set her down inside her apartment.

  "Just another dirty job, right? But then you're good with down-and-dirty, ah … Ace? Isn't that what you said?"

  "See, you really are as smart as you look."

  Sunni patiently waited for the food to chase away the common symptoms of a diabetic off her schedule.

  "Like my cooking, do you?"

  Sunni looked down at her empty plate, her mouth a little too full to answer without sharing her eggs. She nodded. Swallowed. "Tell me why my father didn't call to tell me you were coming. You never did say."

  "After Williams called, and you didn't, he thought something might be wrong. Suddenly coming in waving a flag didn't seem too smart. Not until we knew what we were up against." He popped a piece of bacon into his mouth and chewed. "The other thing need to know, something your father didn't want me to mention, is that he's been hospitalized. One of his ulcers is acting up."

  "He's in the hospital?"

  "You knew he had ulcers, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you know it's happened before. It's not too serious, just inconvenient right now. If you want to call him, go ahead. Only I wasn't supposed to tell you he was in the hospital. But I figure you're smart, Sis. Lying seems like a waste of time for both of us. And you're a big girl, right? Dancing around the truth just wastes time."

  "You're sure he's all right?"

  "In a week or two he'll be back at it. I guarantee it."

  Sunni knew her father's ulcer condition was aggravated by stress. She had to ask. "Did his ulcer flare up after Detective Williams called him?"

  "I wish I could say no, but it happened a few hours later."

  "How long have you worked with my father?"

  "Three years."

  "But you grew up here?"

  "That's right."

  "Why did you leave?"

  "For a change of scenery."

  Sunni didn't know if he was telling the truth this time—he'd set his jaw—but asking too many personal questions could prompt him to do the same. Yes, she'd heard his little sermon about honesty, but she wasn't the confessing type. Feeling stronger, no longer weak or dizzy, she stood and took her ditty plate to the sink.

  "It's not a good idea to eat so fast. Bad for the digestive system. And if you're ulcer material like your father, you should watch what you eat."

  What was had was eating over an hour late when your body required a rigid schedule to function like a normal person's. But Sunni wasn't about to surrender her secret. "I'm in a hurry. I don't want to be late for work," she reasoned.

  "Does it matter? Mary opens up, anyway. The store runs whether you're there or not."

  That he knew her manager's name or Mary's capabilities didn't surprise Sunni. This man had already proved he was resourceful.

  "Tell me why Williams is so sure you killed Milo Tandi. What's supposed to be your motive?"

  Sunni began to put the kitchen back in order. "Lover's quarrel."

  "He thinks you got into an argument after you tied him up?"

  "He did present that theory."

  "So you two were playing torture-me-please, got into a quarrel in the middle of your sex-fest, and you blew his head off."

  His visual description was followed by dead silence. Sunni bent over and started to load the dishwasher. "Another idea Detective Williams came up with was that we quarreled in the elevator three days earlier, and that I went to meet Milo that night intent on killing him. Premeditated murder. He seemed to like that idea best."

  "Do you know how your scarves got into that apartment?"

  The words were spoken too close. Sunni jerked upright and turned quickly, nearly colliding into his broad chest. Scrambling for something to say, she settled for "More coffee?"

  He took a step back and gazed at the empty china cup that looked ridiculously tiny in his big hand, then at the coffeemaker. Then her. "Do you have a straw? Maybe I could suck it out of the pot."

  Sunni didn't want to like this man or his dry humor, but she couldn't keep from smiling. "I didn't realize those cups were that small when I bought them."

  His eyes swept her body, and as she leaned against the counter, she decided to return the favor. Jackson Ward looked like his Sicilian mother in many ways—his prominent nose, his dark hair, dark complexion. But his electric green eyes didn't fit the mold. He had beautiful teeth. A rugged strong jaw.

  Full lips.

  Actually, she'd lied about him kissing like a camel—if you could call what they'd shared an actual kiss. His lips had been warm and softer than she'd expected them to be.

  The open vee of his shirt guaranteed that his chest was hairy, possibly clear to his waist. He'd eaten left-handed. His nails were clean and trimmed short. He'd used his napkin.

  And all this meant what?

  "Hey, Sis," he waved his hand in front of her eyes, "I asked you how you think your scarves got into that apartment?"

  Back on track, Sunni said, "I can't. My apartment has never been broken into."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Yes. I would know."

  "Would you? You have a lot of … scarves?"

  "Yes."

  "So a few missing wouldn't be obvious?"

  "I suppose not."

  "You identified the scarves. Why?"

  "Because they were mine. They have my initial on them. They're one-of-a-kinds."

  He drained his coffee cup in a single gulp, then shoved away from the counter and turned his cup upside down on the top rack of the dishwasher. "Who would know that?"

  Sunni stared at the cup for a couple of second
s. "I don't know."

  He cleared the table quickly, then began rinsing the dishes one by one and arranging them in the dishwasher. "Think."

  "My employees, I suppose."

  "Ever leave your scarves at the store? In your office?"

  "Yes, I suppose I have."

  "How about your keys to this apartment? Who has one?"

  "Edna has a key."

  "Only Edna?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you have an employee file on each of the women who work for you?"

  "Yes. But none of them would be capable of stealing."

  He stopped to look at her. "What about Elizabeth Carpenter? You said she worked for you, then quit. Sounds like she might have set you up to meet Milo that night at the Shedd."

  Sunni hadn't thought about that. "You think so?"

  "I'll check her out today." He glanced at his watch. "I should check on Mac, too."

  "Is Mac your dog?"

  "My partner."

  "The dog with mange is your partner?"

  "Mange?"

  "He's missing hair," she said, pointing out the obvious.

  "Those are battle scars."

  He rinsed out the sink, wiped it down with a paper towel and tossed it in the garbage. He must have taken her kitchen apart while she'd been in her bedroom to know where everything went, she thought.

  Suddenly he stepped forward, close enough for Sunni to get another solid whiff of his masculine scent. "Better put some ice on that." He reached up and touched her lower lip, his thumb carefully brushing over the puffy area where his teeth had split the skin. "Hurt much?"

  "It looks worse than it feels," she admitted.

  He dropped his hand. "Want to get even? Bite me back?"

  Sunni stared at his mouth as if considering his offer. "And you'd just stand there and take it?"

  "I would suffer through it, yeah. I don't say anything I don't mean … Sis. What about you? Can I believe what you say?"

  "About what?"

  "You promised me the use of your shower. That offer still stand?"

  "How long did you say you were without running water?"

  "Four days now. Five if we're counting today."

  Sunni hesitated, then finally nodded. "Yes, you can use my shower. Down the hall and to your right. Towels are—"

  "I'll find them."

  Sunni watched him saunter out of her kitchen. A minute later she heard him whistle. Knowing why he had been inclined to do so, she squeezed her eyes shut as she imagined him standing in her bathroom, his eyes assessing the naked lovers etched on her shower door. The phantom-lover idea was a bit over the top—another decorating liberty she'd taken.

  The walls in the bathroom she'd left white, opting to use color in the fixtures instead. She'd chosen decadent lavender, and used a deep shade of plum slate for the shower and flooring. The etched glass shower door had been custom made—the naked lovers entwined in a carnal embrace inspired by a private fantasy that kept her company most nights.

  She waited, listened for the second whistle. When it came, she knew he'd opened the shower door and found the ceiling mirror.

  An odd noise out on the terrace was a welcome distraction, and Sunni left the kitchen and shoved back the curtain in the living room to find Jackson's partner pawing at her door frame. "Stop that," she scolded.

  Instead of heeding her warning, the dog began to work faster, his long claws digging deep grooves into the vulnerable wood frame.

  "No!" Sunni unlocked the door and shot it open. "I said stop!"

  The German shepherd was inside her apartment in one aggressive leap. His next move put him on his hind legs and in Sunni's face. She staggered backward into the bookshelf as the dog planted his paws on her shoulders, then offered her a kiss that sent his long tongue over her face from chin to forehead in one very wet, slippery slurp.

  "Nooo…" She shoved the dog down and wiped slobber off the end of her nose and chin. Still leaning against the bookshelf, she watched him bolt across her white carpet and down the hall. Seconds later he was back—his interest focused on the kitchen. She was still against the bookshelf wiping slobber when he stood on his hind legs, put his paws on the island counter and looked across it at her.

  She cringed as his sharp dark eyes studied her, then the living room. A vision of him lifting his leg on the edge of one of her sofas made her groan out load. The noise brought his attention back to her, and that's when she noticed he was missing part of one ear. His many scars made him look like a bad boy who had enjoyed earning the title, and as arrogant as his two-legged partner.

  Suddenly he made one powerful lunge that easily carried him over the counter and put him in the middle of one of her leather sofas.

  "Omigod!" Sunni's jaw dropped, then dropped another inch as he bounced over her glass coffee table to the other sofa without touching the floor. Wagging his tail as if he'd just been given the key to the castle, he jumped over the back of the sofa and nearly took out her eighteen-hundred-dollar Tiffany.

  "No!" She made a mad dash to rescue the red-and-amber Calafar. "Jackson!"

  The dog jackknifed around and looked at her as if she'd said the magic word. Suddenly he barked, then started spinning in a circle in the middle of the roam.

  Sunni abandoned the lamp and raced down the hall yelling for Jackson. On reaching the bathroom door, she jerked it open and…

  Sunni wanted to move, she really did, but her feet felt as if they'd been nailed to the floor. She didn't hear what Jackson said as he met her gaze. His lips were moving, but the shower spray prevented the words from escaping the erotic glass cage that held him captive. His hand reached for the lavender towel atop the rim of the shower. The shower door opened.

  He stepped out of the shower, drawing the towel around his iron-hard belly. "This better be good, Sis, because… What's wrong? You look like someone just aimed a loaded gun at your head."

  This man certainly had a way with words, Sunni thought, her gaze tracking several water beads that were on their way down his hairy chest heading south toward his navel.

  "Sis…"

  "It's Mac. He's… Something's wrong with him. I've got to go now. I'm going now. Work … that's where I'm going now. Late … I can't be late."

  Sunni knew she sounded like a robot ready to short-circuit, knew nothing she had said made sense. Retreat was the only thing that would save her now, and she forced her feet to move. In the living room she found Mac still spinning. Only he'd added a piercing bark to his antics as he chased after his tail. He had obviously lost a few brain cells in one of the battles Jackson had referred to earlier—brain cells and fur, along with part of an ear.

  She raced out of her apartment and hurried to the elevator, refusing to look back as Jackson called out to her. She poked the button, anxious to escape. The elevator doors opened just as he stepped out of her apartment. Sunni's eyes widened—if Edna was watching, she'd just been granted an eighty-six-year-old woman's fantasy and dying wish all at once—Jackson Ward in a lavender loincloth was one awesome sight.

  "Come on back inside, Sis," he called out to her. "Sometimes he acts that way. He's just excited to see you."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Masado Towers was definitely a hotel for the rich and famous. The five-hundred-room hotel advertised three restaurants, two lounges, boutiques, swimming pool, and fitness and conference centers. And that was just for starters.

  The building had been deep in construction when Jackson had left three years ago. At that time it was hard to tell what it was going to look like. But it looked fabulous—the outside structure, three marble-and-granite towers to add to the Chicago skyline; the inside finished off in Italian marble, old-world murals, rich wood and mansion elegance.

  Again, like he had the first day he'd stood inside the gold-plated front doors, Jackson felt a sense of brotherly pride for what Joe had accomplished. Smiling, he gazed at the private glass elevator that climbed more than forty storie
s, knowing exactly where it led and the idea that had inspired it.

  Yes, the hotel was five-star all the way, complete with a lobby surrounded by water gardens, live foliage and polished marble walkways you could see yourself in.

  He glanced across the little stone bridge to the elaborate display window where a full-size stuffed Zion stood stalking a beautiful female mannequin outfitted in a red silk nightgown. Still smiling, he admitted Sunni Blais, like Joe, sure knew how to make a statement. And an entrance and exit, he mused, remembering the look on her face when she'd raced into the bathroom, then exited a few minutes later just as quickly.

  While he stood enjoying the memory, a low growl sounded at his side. He glanced down, saw Mac's eyes lock on Sunni's lion and swore. "Don't even think about it," he warned. "No smart-ass stunts. Got it? As it is you're going to have to work damn hard to get on the good side of Sis after what you pulled this morning. And she doesn't even know about the lamp yet."

  A few minutes later, Jackson, with Mac at his side, stepped off the glass elevator on the thirty-ninth floor. At the end of the hall was a pair of shiny gold doors, and next to it sat a muscled-up bodyguard in a shiny black suit.

  They were eight feet from the door when Mr. Muscle stood. Jackson said, "Tell Joe—"

  "Don't have to tell Mr. Masado nothing," the man's steroid-inflected voice rumbled. "You and the fur ball have been on camera since you entered the elevator." That said, the guard swung open the heavy bulletproof door to allow them entry.

  Jackson stepped aside and once the fur ball's tail cleared the door, it closed behind them. He glanced around, appreciating Joe's spacious office. The room was first rate, with rich wood walls and a plush carpet. A solid wall of windows overlooked Lake Michigan. Along another wall stood an eighteen-foot bar with an Italian marble surface and six white leather bar chairs fronting it—the gold-framed mirror behind it every bit as long, allowing no one in the room any privacy.

  Joe was seated behind a long half-circle desk—five white leather chairs curved around it. He was wearing an expensive gray suit and a smile. Behind him Lucky stood stone sober with a drink in his hand.

  What the two Masado brothers shared was equal height—six foot two, to be exact—Sicilian smooth black hair, dark eyes and a straight nose that took center stage on both of their prominent faces. Lucky was thirty-one and Joe was thirty-four, the same age as Jackson.