by Julie James
But then the brunette with the bombshell figure had shown up, and things had gotten interesting.
Tennyson initially had assumed that the brunette was a customer, and from what he could tell through the camera lens, Jordan Rhodes had assumed that, too. But then the brunette had said something that had made Rhodes tense, and Tennyson had begun paying closer attention. No clue what either woman had said, but from their rigid body language, he personally had been hoping for a cat fight. Then Rhodes smiled, gestured to some wine bottles on the bar, and the brunette stormed out.
Tennyson quickly tossed the camera onto the passenger seat beside him and covered it up with the backpack filled with snacks, water, and cigarettes he always kept on hand during a surveillance. He grabbed his cell phone off the dash and pretended to make a call.
The brunette pulled out her keys and pushed the unlock button, and the lights on the car in front of him blinked. So far, she hadn't noticed him. Tennyson watched out of the corner of his eye as she yanked a cell phone out of her coat pocket and dialed. He'd had a smoke in the car a few minutes earlier, and had cracked the window open to get some fresh air. As such, he was in a perfect position to hear her end of the conversation as she approached her car. It sounded like she was leaving a voice mail message for someone.
"Hello, Nick McCall, or should I say, Nick Stanton, whoever the hell you are today—I'd assumed you hadn't called because you were on another undercover assignment, not because you had your dick stuck in some skinny blond bitch. I thought you told me this wasn't about another woman? Guess you lied about that. And why am I not surprised? It's what you do for a living, after all. Lie to people."
The remainder of the brunette's tirade became muffled as she climbed into her car, then she slammed the driver's door shut and everything went quiet.
Tennyson sat in his own car—motionless—still holding the phone in his hand.
Ho-ly fuck.
After the brunette drove off, he made a call of his own.
"Mercks. You are not going to believe this. I think I've got something on Stanton. I mean, I've fucking got something. We need to run another background check. This time on the name Nick McCall."
Twenty-one
AT EIGHT O'CLOCK that evening, DeVine Cellars was hopping. Thursdays often were the store's busiest nights, as people liked to get their wine situations settled before the weekend. Tonight was no exception.
Andrea pulled Jordan off to the side. "There's a Nick Stanton on the phone for you. He says it's important."
"On my cell phone?"
"No, the store phone."
"Thanks, Andrea." Jordan went into the back room and picked up the extension. "Hello?"
Nick did not sound pleased. "I've been calling your cell all day."
"I got your messages; I just haven't had a chance to call you back."
"We need to talk about Lisa," he said.
"There's not much to say other than what I already told you in my message." She'd called Nick after Lisa had exited the store in a snit—no clue why that might be—and left a message saying that he might want to keep his eye out for semipsycho, yoga-pant-wearing ex-girlfriends.
"I'm sorry she approached you at your store. That was way out of line." He paused. "What did she say to you, exactly?"
"Well, she asked some questions about us," Jordan said. "Then there was some talk about your no-relationship policy. How you always tell the women you get involved with that you don't date anyone seriously."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
"Oh."
So it's true, Jordan thought.
Nick exhaled raggedly. "Look, Jordan—I can't leave the office right now because I'm working on something that'll take another hour. But we need to talk. I'll come by the store as soon as I'm free."
She tried to sound flip. "There's really nothing to talk about. After all, it's not like you owe me any explanations. Although my character was somewhat surprised to learn that you're one of those guys with lame commitment issues."
So much for flip.
Nick paused. "I have a good reason for being one of those guys, you know."
Please. "Those guys always have their reasons." Jordan could hear the noise from all the customers outside. "I need to get going. I've got a store full of customers."
"No, Jordan, we have to—"
There was a knock on the door, and Andrea stuck her head in. "Sorry. There's a customer out front asking to speak with you."
"Unfortunately, sweetie, I really have to go now," she said to Nick. "I'll call you back later." She hung up the phone before she said anything else she'd regret.
With a deep breath, she plastered on her best smile, determined to focus on work. She turned back to Andrea. "Thanks. Did this customer say what he or she wants to speak to me about?"
"He. A very good-looking he," Andrea said with a grin.
Jordan tiredly rose from her chair. "Please tell me it's not Xander Eckhart." She definitely was not in the mood to deal with that situation right then.
"It's not Xander. This guy says you owe him a case of wine."
Curious, Jordan followed Andrea out of the back room. The store was crowded, and nearly all the tables were filled with customers drinking wine. She spotted the mystery man, sitting by himself at a table near the dessert wine and champagne section.
He eyed her appraisingly as she walked over. "Jordan Rhodes. Good to see you again."
She stopped before him and smiled. "Cal Kittredge. It's been a while."
AN HOUR LATER, Nick swore under his breath, cursing the lack of parking spots in front of DeVine Cellars. He found one a block away, parked the car, and climbed out. He was a man on a mission tonight, and his target was Jordan Rhodes. Whether she wanted to or not, they needed to talk.
He strode up to DeVine Cellars just after nine o'clock. He peered through the front window, knowing he'd likely see her closing the store.
Bingo.
His eyes followed as she walked over to the bar in her black silk shirt, slim-fit skirt, and high heels. Before going inside, he allowed himself a few seconds to watch her as she grabbed a bottle of wine and carried it over to a table in the corner.
She really was gorgeous. Any man would be lucky to—
Nick stopped midthought, suddenly catching sight of the guy she was with. Medium to tall build, model-perfect brown hair, with a scarf wrapped around his neck despite the fact that it was seventy degrees inside the store.
Obviously a douchebag.
Jordan poured wine into two glasses sitting on the table. She set the bottle down and took a seat in the chair opposite the douchebag. He said something she apparently found amusing, and then he picked up the bottle and filled her glass even more.
Nick watched as Jordan sipped her wine and made The Face—the seductive, the-hell-with-wine-you-should-see-what-I-look-like-having-sex face. At least that was how he interpreted it.
Watching her with a predatory gaze, the douchebag grinned. Apparently, he had a similar interpretation of The Face.
Something inside Nick snapped.
That was his fake girlfriend in there. Sitting at the table where they had just shared cheese fries the night before. And if she thought she could throw scorching hot sex-looks to any pansy-ass scarf-boy who wandered into her shop, she had another think coming.
He had a look of his own to show the douchebag.
It was time to break out the don't-fuck-with-me face.
JORDAN SET DOWN her glass and closed her eyes as the flavors of the wine enveloped her. "Mmm, I needed that."
"Long day?" Cal asked.
"Very." She glanced around the store. She'd let Andrea leave a few minutes ago, as amends for the extra shift she would have to put in over the weekend. She was relieved to see that things appeared to be in relatively decent shape.
Cal seemed to read her mind. "What if I stuck around and helped you close the store? Then we could check out that new Thai place I was telling you ab
out. It's BYOB, so pick any wine you want." With a grin, he gestured to the wines on the shelves behind them. "It's on the house."
"How generous of you." Jordan swirled her wine. "But I think I'm going to have to pass on Thai."
"Does this have anything to do with Tall, Dark, and Smoldering?"
While grumbling to herself about the ridiculous Scene and Heard column, Jordan thought about the best way to answer Cal's question. "The situation with Tall, Dark, and Smoldering is ... complicated."
"How complicated?" Cal asked.
You wouldn't believe it if I told you.
The chime on the door rang, and a cold gust of wind blew in. Jordan looked over and was surprised to see Nick standing in the doorway.
He wore his dark overcoat and a formidable scowl. With his eyes trained on her and Cal, he strode over to their table. "Looks like I'm just in time for last call." Wasting no time, he held out his hand to Cal. "Nick."
"Cal Kittredge."
"Nice to meet you, Cal. The store's closed."
Jordan shot him a look for his rudeness. "Nick."
He held up his watch and tapped it. "See? Nine o'clock."
Cal looked from one to the other. "I get the feeling I've stepped into the middle of something here."
Nick smiled mock-pleasantly. "Yes. And here's your chance to step out of it." He grabbed Cal's coat off the back of his chair and handed it over.
Jordan glared at him. "You can't be serious."
"As a heart attack, sweetie. We need to talk."
She turned back to Cal. "I am so sorry about this. You really don't need to leave."
Cal held up his hand and stood up. "No worries, Jordan. It's probably better that I go. We can talk later when I come back for the wine."
Nick's scowl deepened at that.
Jordan stood up from the table, brushed past Nick, and followed Cal to the door. She went for a joke, trying to cover her embarrassment. "Not the way DeVine Cellars usually treats its customers. I guess I should've warned you that it's 'Take a Tall, Dark, and Scowly Guy to Work' day."
"Remind me about that day next year. I think I'll stay home," Cal said. After a quick good-bye, he was gone.
Needing a moment to calm down, Jordan locked the door and pulled down the shades on the front windows. No need to let any random passerby see that she was about to have a very real argument with her jackass of a fake boyfriend.
When she'd composed herself, she turned around to face Nick. "I cannot believe you just did that."
He had taken off his coat and set it over a chair, an indication that he planned on going nowhere. He leaned back against the table and folded his arms, his light gray sweater pulling tight across his broad chest. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something between you and your customer?"
"Yes, you did interrupt something. It's called a conversation . And aside from being a customer, that was Cal Kittredge from the Food and Wine section of the Tribune. People in my business don't usually piss him off by throwing him out on his ear."
"I didn't realize he was so important to you," Nick said sarcastically.
Jordan glared at him. "What has gotten into you tonight?"
Nick pushed away from the bar and closed in on her. "I'll tell you what's gotten into me. How do you think it would look if anyone was watching you tonight? They'd see my supposed girlfriend having drinks with another guy."
Of course, Jordan thought. The investigation. The only thing he cared about.
"Why was he here anyway?" Nick asked. "Are you ... interested in this guy?"
She stalked away from him. "I don't have to answer that."
He followed her. "Yes, you do. It could be relevant to the undercover op."
Jordan whirled around. "Oh, blow your undercover op out your ass. I didn't ask any questions when your ex-girlfriend waltzed into my store and told me about the numerous women you've screwed. And how you don't give a damn about any of them because you don't do relationships. So the same rule goes for you: no questions. Which means that if I want to have drinks with Cal Kittredge, or any other man, that's my business, not yours."
She put her hands on Nick's chest and shoved. Take that.
He didn't budge.
Instead, his hand clamped down on her wrist and he pulled her closer. "The hell it isn't," he growled. "I'm making it my business."
His mouth came down on hers and he kissed her. His hand swept to the back of her head as he claimed her lips, rough and possessive. Jordan was pissed off and fired up, and she grabbed his sweater to push him away, but ...
God, yes.
Instead of pushing, she clutched his sweater and pulled him close. He kissed her until she was breathless, then pulled back and peered down at her with blazing green eyes.
"There. See if the douchebag can kiss you like that," he rasped, his tone both angry and satisfied.
Jordan's cheeks flushed hot, flamed by fury. "I bet there are plenty of douchebags around who can kiss me like that."
"Then I'll have to work harder to stand out from the crowd." Nick grabbed her again.
They slammed against the brick wall next to a shelf of wine bins. Nick's mouth slid down to her neck, and Jordan felt as though her legs melted right there. She had to stifle a moan when his stubbled jaw scraped against her skin.
Rough. Just like she'd imagined it.
"I shouldn't be doing this," she murmured against his ear. "I don't even like you seventy-five percent of the time."
His voice was a silky, hot caress. "But what do you think about the other twenty-five percent?" Not waiting for an answer, his hands slid up the front of her shirt and gripped the collar. He pulled impatiently, and the first button popped open. Then the second.
He pushed back and took in her now exposed bra. His eyes moved to her face and he heatedly held her gaze. He popped open the third button while she watched.
"You could tell me to stop," he said huskily.
Yes, she could.
When she remained silent, he yanked harder and popped open the fourth and last buttons at the same time. She felt the rush of cool air against her heated skin as he captured her mouth with his. While his tongue swirled around hers, he pulled down one of the cups of her bra, groaning deep in his chest when her breast spilled free.
"Nick," she breathed.
He lowered his head and teased one of her nipples with his tongue. She threaded her fingers through his hair, loving the feel of the thick, soft layers.
He yanked down the other cup of her bra, so that both of her breasts were pushed up for his mouth. He groaned when she arched forward eagerly against the brick wall. "God, Jordan, you are so fucking hot."
For you, she nearly blurted out. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes when his tongue twirled around the peaked tip of her other breast. He slid one of his hands up her thigh, underneath her skirt, and her body trembled with anticipation. He nipped the tight bud of her nipple at the same moment he slid his hand into her panties and cupped her. She gasped, overloaded by the sensation.
He slid a finger inside her and moved it in and out in a deliciously slow motion. He added another finger, then brushed his thumb against her clit, teasing her until her legs were shaking.
"Do you want this?" His lips swept over hers as he continued the exquisite torture with his fingers. "I want to hear you say it. No more games, no more sarcasm. Just the truth."
She didn't need to think—she already knew the truth. Maybe she was a fool to keep going in spite of everything Lisa had said about Nick. But she'd have to be a bigger fool to let some stranger's jealous words dictate how she led her life. She'd make her own decisions about Nick—and have no one to blame but herself for the consequences.
She pulled back to meet his eyes. "Take me home."
Something happened.
She saw it on his face—his expression softened. The tough exterior, the walls, the mask he wore as an undercover agent melted away, leaving just him. He said her name and kissed her again, and she met his mou
th eagerly. No holding back now, they peeled away from the wall and made their way to the back room.
Nick held her face in his hands, his gaze hot and possessive. "If I take you home, I'm staying. All night."
Jordan nodded. "And I expect lots of dirty words."
He laughed, then stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Seriously, Rhodes. They broke the mold with you."
She smiled as he leaned down to nuzzle her neck. Melinda and Corinne were right—she did like the way he said her last name.
Her cell phone rang from the back room. Which she ignored, of course.
But when the store phone rang next, she felt Nick go still.
"Ignore it," Jordan said in a throaty voice. "Let me grab my coat and we'll be out of here."
The store phone stopped ringing. Her cell phone started up again.
Nick swore, shaking his head furiously. "I can't believe I did this. I cannot believe I fucking did this." He peered down at her, suddenly very serious. "You need to answer your phone, Jordan."
She reached for him. "Whoever it is can wait. I'm busy right now."
"Actually, it can't wait. It's ... probably someone calling to tell you that your brother was just stabbed in prison."
Jordan's heart stopped. She pulled her hand back. "Why would someone be calling to tell me that?"
Nick checked his watch. "Because about ten minutes ago, your brother was stabbed in prison." He held up his hand when he saw the look on her face. "He's fine. I promise. But you should take this call. If it's your father, I don't want him to panic. I can only imagine what they're saying on the news."
"The news?" She pushed him away from her. "What the hell did you do to my brother?" She quickly adjusted her bra and pulled at her shirt, holding it closed with one hand as she headed for the back room to answer her ringing cell phone.
Nick caught up with her in the hallway. "I know you're freaked out. But right now you need to trust me. If it's your father on the phone, tell him that you spoke to an ER intake nurse at Northwestern Memorial who said that Kyle is okay."
