She feigned interest by offering him a forced smile, exposing her straight, white teeth. “Thank you.”
When Alex left, Ava turned toward Aiden. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Yes, please. I feel like clocking that guy.”
Ava chuckled a little as she rose to her feet. “Yeah, you and me both.” Her shoulders flinched at the touch of Aiden’s hand on the small of her back. His touch sent weird, spammy messages of desire to her brain. Flashing lights, orange cones, and warning flags fought against the strange, lustful temptations that belied rational, focused thought.
One touch from this guy—one tiny little touch on her back, and she was a new woman.
As Ava slid into the passenger seat of the SUV, she hit the repeat button on her thoughts, hoping to recapture some semblance of brain function not ruled by her libido: Remember Henry. Focus. Henry. Focus. Henry.
***
All the Midnight Bar was missing were clouds of rancid smoke drifting as bad harmonies mixed with intoxicated people. Thank God smoking was banned years ago. But why hadn’t they outlawed karaoke?
The tiny hole in the wall was crowded; Ava’s shoulder pressed against Aiden’s body as they worked their way through the place. She searched for a skinny blonde and found quite a few of them. None of them were Kat, however. “She’ll show—she has to.”
“What?” Aiden hollered over the singing of a woman who sounded like she had laryngitis.
“I said she’ll show. She has to,” she yelled.
They found themselves shuffled around the room, pushing up against the throngs of people. Why was it so busy on a Wednesday night? “Thank God,” she muttered under her breath when the woman stopped singing, and actual music blasted out of the speakers, offering the room relief before the next singer was to perform.
Someone bumped into Aiden, which caused him to slam against Ava, pushing her backward a little. “Sorry.”
And then he did something unexpected. He reached for her waist, and she found herself moving to the crooning of one of her favorite bands. Were they dancing?
She noticed the way Aiden’s eyes scanned the room, but his body continued to sway in beat to the music. Impressed, she found herself willing to forget why they were in the crowded bar to begin with.
Her hips moved from side to side, and then he pulled her closer to him. A devious smile slid across his face, and Ava wondered what he was thinking.
But she didn’t need to wonder for long, because when his eyes met hers, she saw the heat burning in the intensity of his gaze. He wanted her. God, she wanted him, too. Desperately.
The music was slowing to a stop, and she had a feeling another horrifyingly bad voice would soon sound throughout the room. She took a small step back, all that the crowded place would afford, and her cheeks warmed.
“Maybe if we go to the front, we can get a better view of the club. See if Kat is here,” he said as he leaned toward her, speaking loud in her ear so she could hear.
Their purpose for being there resurfaced in her Irish-fried brain. “Yeah,” she responded.
He gripped her hand, and a strange sensation wrapped its way up Ava’s arm and spread throughout her body. He guided her toward the stage and motioned for her to take a seat on a nearby barstool that someone had just vacated.
“Here.”
She sat down without argument. Her feet were killing her from Kate’s heels. Why had Kate punished her by giving her such pretty shoes that were so damn painful? What is that slogan women with style always say? Beauty is pain? She shook her head and jolted when Aiden placed his hands on her shoulders.
Ava studied the room, but they were too close to the stage, which limited her view. They’d see a lot better from on stage, however. She shifted in her seat and turned to face Aiden, and when she looked up at him, she got the vibe that he had the same idea as her. “If I go backstage and peek out, I can get a better view of the club.”
“You stay put. I’ll go.”
She watched Aiden climb the steps off to the side of the stage and disappear into some backroom. She sat upright on her stool, strange pricks of uneasiness moving up her spine as she focused on the stage. She exhaled, relieved when the man with the worst vocal chords in history stopped singing. The crowd began to cheer, and the man started to clap his hands, turning. What was going on?
She saw someone was pushing Aiden out to the center of the stage. He held his hands up, waving them in front of a woman who had stepped straight out of the 1980s, with her permed hair and—yes—spandex and tube socks.
There’s no way he’ll do it. No way. She sat up straighter than she’d known was possible when Aiden, albeit reluctantly, braced the microphone stand. Oh God. She blushed, embarrassed for him, as the slow wail of Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” came on. When Aiden’s voice filled the room—Irish accent gone, it was as though Steven Tyler were among them.
The room grew silent. The audience was equally as entranced by Aiden’s singing as she. Each phrase seemed to come from his heart and soul, and Aiden was laser focused on Ava. Both hands gripped the microphone as he stared straight into her eyes. Her skin flushed in goosebumps, but she felt heat, not chills.
Aiden’s father had been a performer; he’d been singing the first time he had met Aiden’s mother. The gift must run in the family. And now she was glad karaoke hadn’t been banned.
As the song was near finishing, Ava caught sight of a familiar blonde out of the corner of her eye. She forced her gaze away from the Irish rock star on stage and toward the woman. It was Kat.
Kat looked right at her and turned away. She started for the exit, pushing through the crowd of women that swooned over Aiden’s final notes.
Ava jumped up from the stool and darted after Kat, trying not to trip and stumble as she plowed her way to the door. She used the mass of people to stabilize herself, stretching out her arms to each side as she paddled her way through the people.
She barely noticed the silence from on stage or the groans in the audience. She pushed open the door and looked out onto the semi-crowded street. “Kat!” A flash of blonde turned down a side street. She couldn’t run in her death-trap shoes. She took a moment to slip them off before she attempted to step up her pace to a jog, but her damn pencil skirt worked against her. Why in the hell are you running from me?
Just as Ava finally rounded the corner to the alleyway where Kat had disappeared, she heard a cry. A dark SUV was parked just twenty feet away. Two men, cloaked in black, hopped out of the vehicle and grabbed Kat. “No,” she cried out.
Ava slapped her hand over her mouth, realizing she’d just drawn their attention. One started toward her while the other fought with Kat, wrestling her to the ground. Ava turned, knowing there was a slew of people just down the street.
But she wasn’t fast enough. A hand clasped her hip, and the assailant spun her around. Without thinking, she dropped one shoe and used the other as a weapon. She reeled her arm back and launched the heel into the hard chest of the masked man in black.
It was like hitting steel with a pencil. Pointless.
The man shook his head at her, and pulled her off the ground and into the air, cradling her in his arms. She balled her hands into fists and hit his chest, flailing her legs as he carried her toward the SUV.
But the next sensation she felt was freedom. Her rear end smacked against the ground. She pressed her hands forward, keeping her torso upright, and whipped her head back, freeing the hair from her face as she looked up.
Aiden was there, fighting a masked man for the second time that day.
Ava shifted her attention toward the SUV, looking for Kat. The other man was tucking her limp body inside the vehicle. “Kat.” She stood up, to do—what? Fight the man? What could she do? “Aiden,” she screamed as she caught sight of the barrel of a gun aiming their way. No, not again.
Two shots fired, a slight pause between them.
Ava snapped her head around in surprise a
s the masked man’s gun clattered uselessly to the ground. The bullets had come from Aiden’s weapon. And now he pointed a gun at the man he’d been fighting—where’d you get that?
“Let her go,” Aiden demanded from the man before him on the ground. She could see no blood on either masked man; they must have worn bulletproof vests.
The man on the ground held his chest. Despite the vest, the bullet must’ve stung.
Ava looked over at the man on the ground by the SUV, who was just rising to his feet.
“He’s got a gun, Aiden,” Ava blurted.
Aiden pulled the man up from the ground and shuffled forward in front of Ava. She slowly gathered her feet under her, preparing for . . . anything.
“Let her go or he gets a bullet to the head. We can make an exchange,” Aiden yelled.
Why hadn’t anyone heard the gunshots?
“Release her, or I’ll kill you both,” Aiden warned again in a deep voice.
The man by the SUV kept his gun in the air but opened the door to the SUV. He reached inside with one arm and grabbed hold of Kat’s lifeless body. He pulled her out and threw her to the ground before taking a step backward. “Now let him go,” the man demanded, aiming his gun at Kat’s still form.
“Back away from her, and I will.”
Although Ava couldn’t see the man’s face, she sensed his hesitation. “I’m not moving until he’s away from the barrel of your gun,” the man’s voice boomed in the alley.
And in a quick flash, the hostage jerked away from Aiden and spun around to face him, elbowing Aiden in the jaw. Aiden didn’t flinch. Cool as ever, Aiden fired at him, piercing the flesh of the man’s arm.
At the same time, another gun fired, and Ava sprang into action as she heard the bullet whiz by them. She scrambled to her feet, wishing she could reach Aiden and Kat, protect them both, but what could she do? “Help,” she yelled as loud as her lungs would allow.
A siren. She could hear a siren in the distance. Someone had heard the gunfire. Thank God.
Aiden shoved her against the brick wall and out of harm’s way just as the SUV hurtled forward. What the hell just happened?
The former hostage flung himself through the open door. And then they were gone.
“Oh my God.” She wasn’t exactly sure what went down before Aiden slammed her safely against the wall, but she knew that Aiden appeared intact, and she was also not sporting any blood. That had to be good, right?
“Kat?” she whispered, before saying it again, louder. “Kat!” Aiden pulled her back against him.
“The cops are coming. We have to go. We’ll find out what hospital they take her to. But we can’t be here when the cops show up. There will be too many questions. We have to go.”
“But—”
“Just trust me.”
She followed him down the alley, passing Kat where she lay. Was she alive? Her eyes were shut. Blonde hair fanned out beneath her head. Her skin was pale, but she’d always been fair. It was her unmoving chest that worried Ava. She wanted to kneel down to check her pulse as they neared, but Aiden pulled her away.
“Come on,” he demanded as he tucked a gun into the back of his pants. He jerked on a nearby door, which probably led to some bar. It was locked.
He tried the next door, the sound of sirens practically on top of them now. “Here.” He swung the door open just as a blur of red and blue shone down the alley. He grabbed her hand, and they wandered through an empty back kitchen. He thrust another door open, and they entered a crowded bar.
Ava followed Aiden, mind numb, walking barefoot on the sticky floor of the bar. It wasn’t until they reached Michael’s SUV, which was parked in a garage nearby, that the realization of what happened slammed into her.
“Are you okay?”
“Kat looked dead. Is she dead? And if not—won’t those guys just show up at the hospital and take her? I’m betting a hospital break wouldn’t be that difficult for them. I mean, they were dangerous in a really evil, bad guy movie kind of way.” She shivered. “You, though, you are even deadlier. And where’d you get the gun? Who the hell are you?”
He threw the Lexus in reverse and backed out of the parking spot. “I’m the man you asked to help you.”
Chapter Eight
Ava entered the living room and discovered Aiden sitting on the brown leather sofa. His blazer had been tossed with little care onto a nearby chair, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked—hot, and also sad. A pair of blue orbs focused on her—an almost painful hollowness shooting her direction.
“Kat is unconscious, but she’s alive.” He tapped his phone on his thigh and released a breath.
“Will she wake up?” Ava asked before joining him on the couch. She had changed into a pair of comfortable pajama shorts and a soft, long-sleeved cream top.
“The doctors are optimistic. She was hit pretty hard in the head, though, and she was drugged.”
“Is that what’s keeping her asleep?” she asked.
“Possibly.”
“For how long?”
“I doubt forever. I assume those guys just wanted to knock her out long enough to get her to wherever they were planning on taking her,” Aiden responded.
“I just don’t get why she ran from me when she saw me.”
He gave her a half-shoulder shrug and dropped the phone onto the couch next to him.
She covered her face with her hands. “And what if they go after her again?”
“Got that taken care of. Michael called in some favors, and he has guards stationed outside the room.”
She removed her hands from her face, feeling a little better. “What do the cops think about all of this? Do her brother and family know? What if Alex mentions my visit to the restaurant tonight? What if someone connects me to her and—”
“And what? Come after you? They already are, remember?”
She slumped back on the couch and pulled her legs beneath her. “Well, what did Michael tell the police?”
He shook his head and reached for a glass of straw-colored wine. “Michael doesn’t need to say much. He’s kind of a boss in this city.”
“Kind of a boss everywhere.” She wet her lips. “Kind of like you.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes on Aiden. “Who are you?”
He took a sip of his wine before offering it to her. “You should drink this. Try and relax.”
“Could you just be honest with me? You practically don’t exist, according to Google. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“You and Google,” he said as a smile teased the corners of his mouth.
Aiden and his oh-so-delicious mouth. She took the wine from him and swallowed its contents with a few grateful sips. Mm, Riesling. “I think I need more.”
Without getting up, he reached for the floor and retrieved an opened bottle.
“I’m surprised Michael keeps his place stocked with wine when he’s not even living here.”
“He has a dedicated wall as a wine cooler. The house probably shows better with a couple dozen bottles on view.” He grinned at her as he refilled the glass. “Rich people,” he said before winking.
“But Michael isn’t the typical rich guy, is he?”
He nodded, and set the bottle down on the ground and scratched his chin.
“How’s your arm?”
“Fine. I changed the bandage myself while you were slipping into your tiny shorts.” His eyes focused on her legs.
“They’re not that short. And I can’t help my wardrobe. Sexy Kate Adams supplied my clothes.”
He was grinning at her, at a time like this . . . and she would hit him if she didn’t already feel complicity for the sinful thoughts she’d had earlier that night—and was starting to have at the moment . . . Must be the wine.
“You’re quite the singer,” she found herself saying. She was shocked to remember the sweet melody of his rich voice. It seemed an impossible thing to have happened, just minutes before the violent showdown.
> He reached for the wine glass they were now sharing and sucked it dry. He emptied the rest of the bottle into the oversized Riedel glass, took a few more sips, and handed it back to her. “I have a lot of hidden talents,” he said, angling his head and adjusting his eyes on her mouth.
She swallowed. “Why won’t you tell me who you really are?”
“I thought chicks are into a man of mystery?” His Irish intonation was becoming more prominent with every sip of wine.
“Only the ones who can’t handle the truth.” She sat up straight, her feet falling back to the floor. “Do you want me to be into you?” She wasn’t normally bold enough to make a statement like that, but in the last two days, she’d run away from a Fed, been shot at, fled a man with a gun, and . . . and had needed to become the polar opposite of her shy, nose-in-a-book, usual self.
Aiden reached out and touched her cheek. She leaned into his touch, reveling at how good his skin felt against hers. And it wasn’t just from the wine. The pad of his thumb graced her lips, and she thought he might kiss her. She inwardly sighed as he withdrew his hand from her face in order to retrieve the uncorked bottle of wine that was waiting on the side table.
He released his hold on the bottle when Ava rose to her feet. She moved in front of him, and he leaned his head back against the couch as her eyes focused on his. Ava stepped between his legs, using her knee to part them wide enough to accommodate her. His breath hitched at her touch.
Snaking his hand up her thigh, he pulled her closer to the couch—to him.
She moved on top of him, straddling his hard thighs. He held her gaze as his length hardened beneath her. In the flash of a moment, however, his eyes grew cold. He seized her arms and lifted her up, shifting her to sit beside him.
“You’re not yourself,” he said in a deep voice and refilled her wine glass to the brim.
She cleared her throat and rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to will away her humiliation. She wasn’t drunk—not even all that tipsy if that’s what he thought. But she felt the urge to drink away his rejection. She held out her hand for the glass and sank into the couch, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks.” Her tongue protested as she swallowed too much of the wine in one gulp.
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