Sexy Ms. Takes

This was no sexy mistake.

“I want you,” she said.

She didn’t touch him. Or act desperate or scared or tough.

“I know exactly where we are and who I’m with. I want you. I would like to have something good happen tonight. Something I choose. I would like to remember this day not for losing an opportunity, but for taking the opportunity to connect with someone I like. Who I admire.” She grinned. “Who I think is really hot.”

He grinned at her in return as he pulled her down onto the bed.

“This doesn’t have to be the worst New Year’s Eve ever,” he murmured. His mouth teased her lips, then started a downward trail as his hold on her tightened.

She pushed herself against him. An unmistakable message. His answer was in his arousal, in his low moan.

Oh, yes, this was sexy—and definitely not a mistake!

Dear Reader,

How fun to do a threesome for Blaze®! No, not that kind of threesome. Three short stories all in one book, which is more fun to write than you can imagine. I hope you enjoy it!

It all kicks off on New Year’s Eve. Three sexy, spirited women all hoping their lives will change after a career-making audition for a hot new Broadway show. All three lives do change, but not in the way any of them dreamed.

The sparks fly when each encounters a gorgeous man.

Detective John Greco… Duty bound and forced to face the family that betrayed him. Only actress Bella can make things right.

Dr Flynn Bradshaw… Off for a much-needed vacation from his residency until he crashes into dancer Willow.

Colin Griffith… An Englishman who turns to his best friend, singer Maggie, when his brother goes missing.

All three relationships deepen as the clock ticks past midnight to bring them not only a new year, but a new life…together.

Happy holidays, and as always, much love,

Jo Leigh

About the Author

JO LEIGH has written more than forty novels since 1994. She’s thrilled that she can write mysteries, suspense and comedies all under the Blaze® banner, especially because the heart of each and every book is the love story.

A triple RITA® Award finalist, Jo shares her home in Utah with her cute dog, Jessie. You can chat with Jo at her website, www.joleigh.com, and don’t forget to check out her daily blog!

SEXY MS. TAKES

JO LEIGH

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Once again, this is for Debbi and Birgit,

who, as always, have my back.

Ms. Cast

1

“TAXI!”

Yet another Yellow Cab passed Bella Lacarie, this one stopping half a block up for an older, well-dressed man. She kept her curses soft but vehement as she fought the urge to look once again at her watch. She wasn’t late. Yet. But the traffic was insane. Yes, it was New Year’s Eve Day, but it wasn’t technically a holiday until tonight, and that meant midtown was a mad mix of jostling pedestrians and unruly vehicles all coated with black slush.

Another cab came, numbers lit, and this time she stepped right into the gutter, threw her right hand in the air and whistled with her left. The combination worked, and the taxi pulled up, spraying her coat with a fine mist of mud.

“520 Eighth Ave,” she said, climbing in, then immediately spilled the entire contents of her tote bag on the floor. She would not take this as an omen. For all she knew, spilling an overloaded huge purse was the best luck ever. Still, it was hard not to sigh as she bent to collect her belongings.

Just as she picked up her hairbrush and lip gloss, she heard the driver’s door open and a man yell, “Get out!”

“What the hell?” came a high-pitched, accented voice that had to belong to the driver. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Fear froze Bella as she listened to the scuffle.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

Oh, God, that was still the driver. The taxi rocked. She reached for the door handle, but before she could grab it, the cab shot forward, throwing her back.

She stilled where she landed. If she sat up, the assailant would see her. He had a gun. He’d shoot her. But she wasn’t all that well hidden, and the floor was big enough to hold tote bags, but not bodies.

Okay, she had to breathe. Stay quiet. He’d get where he needed to go and then run away, because the cabbie would certainly call the cops, right? So no reason to panic. Especially if she couldn’t identify the man behind the wheel.

The cab turned a sharp corner, sending her and everything on the floor into the door. She squelched a cry, but not completely. Oh, God. The only good sign was that she wasn’t seeing a montage of her life flash by.

He sped up, cursed, then said, quite calmly, “This is Detective Greco. My car’s been disabled on Church and Leonard, it’ll need a tow. I’m currently in pursuit of—”

Bella bolted upright. “Detective?”

The car swerved into oncoming traffic and the detective cursed her roundly as he struggled with the wheel. “What the hell?”

“You’re a detective? A police officer?”

He looked at her in the mirror, his brown eyes wide, then he cursed again and took a hard left that sent her back down onto the seat.

“Hey!”

“Where’d you come from?” he asked.

“I was here,” she said, sitting up again, “when you hijacked the cab.”

“Great. Jesus. Just great.”

“I’m not thrilled about this, either. Let me out.”

He said nothing, just stepped on the gas, narrowly missing another car.

She clutched the seat. “Detective! Let me out.”

“Can’t.”

“What? You have to. You can’t take an innocent person on a car chase.” Besides scaring the crap out of her, she was pretty sure this was illegal. She stared at the back of his dark head, wondering if she should try to knock him out, although that might get them both killed. “Did you hear me?”

“If I stop, I lose ‘im.”

They drove way too close to a black SUV and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for impact. Seconds later, she opened her eyes. “Can’t you radio for help?”

“Yeah.” He snorted. “I will. I just can’t lose him. Hold on.” He took a sharp left, cutting off two other cars, and throwing her against the door.

She groaned at the force of the door handle jabbing into her side. That was going to be a nice bruise.

“The scumbag is going to jail if it’s the last thing I ever do,” he muttered. But at least he flipped open his phone.

“I don’t need it to be the last thing I ever do. Pull over.”

The detective didn’t seem to hear her. “He’s right over there. In the old Caddy. Bastard isn’t even stopping at the lights.”

“Detective Greco, I’m going to have you arrested if you don’t let me go.” She looked in her tote, but of course, her cell wasn’t there. “Now.”

“Look, ma’am, I’m sorry. I’ll let you out. I just need to—”

“The only thing you need to do is stop this car.” This was the most important audition of her life. It could change everything. She’d worked very, very hard for this chance, and she wasn’t going to let anyone blow it. Not to mention get her killed. She lifted a shaky hand and shoved the hair away from her face. “I mean it.”

He cursed again.

“Yeah, that’s going to help.”

A MINUTE LATER, John pulled the car to the curb, trying not to go ballistic as he grimly watched Sal get away. The prick had been right there, and if he hadn’t slashed his tires.

His passenger hadn’t even opened her door. He looked at his phone, but calling in was useless. Sal would be long gone by the time another unit could be dispatched. He turned to his unwilling passenger only to find her bent over the backseat. Great. Now he’d have to pay to get the cab cleaned. He didn’t hear anything, though. “Ma’am?”

“What?” she asked, surly as hell.

“I’ve pulled over.”

“Your reckless driving tossed my bag all over the floor. You’ll sit there and wait while I get it picked up.”

He turned back to the wheel. Anger flared again as he realized he’d have to come up with a way to explain all this to the captain. As a rule, they frowned on cops commandeering a working hack to go in pursuit. Especially one with a passenger on board.

“Dammit, I can’t find my cell phone. Look under your seat.”

She didn’t sound like a native, but her attitude was pure New York. “Yes, ma’am.”

He bent, awkwardly, and fished around for the cell, knowing he wouldn’t find the damn thing. Not the way this day was going. “Nothing.”

“My whole life is on that cell. It has to be here.”

“What’s the number?”

She was silent for a moment. Then she gave it to him, her voice slightly mollified. Maybe even impressed enough not to report him.

He dialed and a tune rang out. Jesus, the opening notes from A Chorus Line. Shaking his head, he turned to give her a hand. That’s when he saw the gun. Sticking in through the window. Pointed at her.

John dropped his cell and went for his weapon.

“Uh-uh, Johnny. I don’t want to hurt the pretty lady, but if I have to, I will.”

John stared at the beefy man, slowly showing him his hands. Clearly he knew who John was, but John didn’t recognize the guy. He wasn’t from the neighborhood, even though he had a trace of an Italian accent. Was this even about Sal? Or another case John had been working on?

“You wanna go down with Sal?” he asked the man, who smiled calmly as if he knew John was fishing.

“Pass me your gun. Nice and easy.”

Shit. John picked up from where he’d left it on the seat and slowly handed it over his shoulder.

“Excuse me. Sir?”

His passenger’s voice was remarkably steady, given the circumstances. John finally got a good look at her. She was pretty, all right. A damn knockout. Long, silky, brown hair. Red lips, pale skin. But her eyes, they were light blue, aquamarine. Doe eyes with dark lashes.

She turned to the guy with the gun. “I don’t know this man,” she said. “I’m just trying to get to Eighth Avenue, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just slip right away and leave you two to work this out.”

“Sorry, doll. I can’t let you do that.”

The woman faced John again. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Let the lady go. Whatever this is about, she has nothing to do with it.”

“No can do, Johnny.” He opened the back door and stuffed himself into the rear seat, forcing the woman to slide over. She reached for the door handle, but the guy’s thick hand stopped her. “Unless Johnny here does something stupid, you’ll be fine. So sit back, relax, and before you know it, you’ll be where you need to go.”

“I’m already late for an audition. This is a callback for me. I’m so close. I know the director wants me and I’ll be the lead ingenue. Please, try to understand my position.”

The big man sighed, and Johnny could swear he smelled garlic. “You seem like a nice lady, but I don’t got a choice here. Shut up and you’ll be all right.” Keeping his gun pointed straight at his target, he said, “Drive.”

“Where?”

“Just go straight till I tell you to turn.”

John put the car in gear and took off, slowly, down the street, trying to think of a way to get Blue Eyes out of this. “You wanna be in the cell next to Sal’s, is that it? So he won’t be lonely?”

“He’s not goin’ to jail, Johnny, and neither am I. Turn right.”

“Sal’s crazy if he thinks I’m gonna let this go.” John’s mind raced. The guy hadn’t denied knowing Sal. But how? What had that idiot gotten himself into?

“Yeah, well, we’ll see who’s crazy. Take the second left.”

John’s gaze darted between the road and the rearview mirror. Maybe there was something familiar about the guy’s thick black brows and the droop to the left side of his mouth. But John still couldn’t place him. Shit, he’d probably seen him in a mug shot.

“Another left at the light.”

John’s hands tightened on the wheel as he realized where he was heading. “What is this? Some kinda joke? You takin’ me to the neighborhood?”

“You’re really a very attractive girl,” the man said. “So what are you, an actress?”

Bella, who’d held her breath at every bump and turn, terrified the gun would go off, looked up in surprise. She’d hoped the detective and the maniac would get so caught up in the conversation that she’d have an opportunity to get out of this stupid car. “I do my best,” she said, channeling the ballsy babe she’d played in her last stint off Broadway. “But you gentlemen seem determined to keep me away from the biggest audition of the year.”

“Given this is the last day of the year, that can’t be too bad, right?”

“It was an expression, somewhat hyperbolic, but close enough.”

“Hyper what?”

“Never mind. What is this neighborhood you’re dragging me to?”

The man gave her an oily smile instead of an answer, and met John’s eyes in the mirror.

“Is this neighborhood in the city?”

“It’s not far.”

“Then you’ll let me go?”

He shrugged. “It’s not up to me. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“My name is inconsequential. Just think of me as the innocent bystander. The one who’s done nothing whatsoever that would cause anyone to shoot me.”

He laughed. At least she thought it was a laugh. It could have been a cough. The man had a very thick neck, topped by a couple of chins. His face had that ruddy, unhealthy look, as if one more plate of spaghetti would send him to the hospital. Counseling him on his eating habits probably wasn’t a good idea. She just hoped he didn’t have a stroke before he stopped pointing that gun at her.

“You can call me Vince,” he said, his gaze going to her chest.

She pulled her coat closed.

“Where you takin’ us?” The detective glanced back at the big man. “A warehouse? That field by Tony’s? You don’t want to kill a cop. That’s life, buddy. Hard time.”

“Shut up. I’m talkin’ back here.”

“No, no,” Bella said. “Feel free to discuss whatever you want. I’m not even listening. I’m humming quietly to myself.” She bit her lip. Why did she have to babble when she was nervous? If she’d just stay quiet, do what he asked… Oh, God, if she could just not throw up.

“You’re damn cute.” He lifted the gun a bit. “Where are your people from, huh? France, maybe?”

“My people are from Arizona. Tempe, to be exact.”

“Naw, I’m talkin’ about your famiglia, your ancestors.”

She wasn’t going to tell this cretin a thing. Not a true thing, at least. But she didn’t want to piss him off, either. “Yes, France and England. That’s where my ancestors are from. Are we almost there?”

He looked front, and she stole a glance at the door handle.

“Turn right, next block.”

The detective started swearing a blue streak. “You’re takin’ me to Sal’s house? Where his mother and his grandmother live? Right under his roof?”

“Pull into the garage. It’s empty. Oh, and Johnny, you better hand me your cell phone, ‘cause this ain’t no joke.”

“No, shit. I kind of figured that out when Sal shot me.”

Bella tensed again, and was pretty certain she was going to be sick all over her best dress. They were taking her to a man who’d already shot a cop, who had no qualms about letting his family know. Maybe if she fainted, they’d take pity. She was good at fainting. Best in her class.

With the gun pointed at her like that, she couldn’t act anything but terrified.

2

BEFORE HE’D EVEN PUT the cab in Park, the garage door closed. In the dim light, John thought about how he was going to get the actress clear so he could shoot Vince with the gun he had stashed in his ankle holster.

The door that connected the garage to the old two-story brick house opened, and there was Sal himself, pointing not his beloved Sig Sauer but a friggin’ doublebarreled shotgun.

“Put your hands out the window, Johnny. On top of the car.”

“You know what you can do with that shotgun, don’t you, Sal?” The idiot kid always had to have the biggest toys. John couldn’t believe he’d given Sal the time of day, let alone tried to help him get into community college. Sal took after his mother’s side. He was as thin as a rail and dressed like an extra on Miami Vice.

“Just do as I say.” Sal’s gaze went to the woman. So did the barrel of his shotgun. “Who the hell is she?”

“Put the fucking gun down before you shoot somebody.” Vince sounded exasperated, and to John’s surprise, Sal backed up a step and lowered the shotgun.

Which made John even more curious about Vince because the kid was too hotheaded to back down for anybody. Behind him, John heard the door opening, felt the cab rock heavily as Vince got out, then the door shut again. A moment later, his peripheral vision caught the hostage walking toward Sal. Handcuffs held her wrists behind her back and even in the puffy down coat, her arm was dwarfed by Vince’s burly grip.

“Johnny. I ain’t got all day.”

He should refuse. Dive down and get his other gun. Shoot and pray he didn’t hit the girl. But she hadn’t done anything except turn up in the wrong place at the wrong time. He really didn’t want to go to hell for killing her. Not that he wasn’t going anyway, but still. This was all his fault, not hers.

He put his hands on the cab’s roof and watched as Sal slyly inched the shotgun toward him. John stared him down, holding the kid’s hateful gaze. No way John would give him the satisfaction of showing that he gave a damn about the shotgun. But then Sal swung the barrel so it pointed at the woman. Not just pointed. Touched. John knew exactly what would happen to her if those two shells went off.

Vince came back to the cab and cuffed John’s wrists. John stood still as a statue as he was frisked, as his gun was pulled from his ankle holster. Vince snickered, and it took all John’s willpower not to knee the fat man in the groin.

Vince had everything now. John’s weapon, both cell phones, even the girl’s tote bag from the backseat. All neat and tidy. John had to wonder how this would have played out if she hadn’t been in the cab. Someone would have died, and it wouldn’t have been him.

“Let’s go,” Vince said, poking him in the back with his pistol.

“Va fungule sfacime.”

“Watch your mouth,” Sal said, snorting. “Remember your girlfriend here.”

“Let her go, Sal. She ain’t involved in this.”

“She is now, Johnny. Come on. We have things to discuss.”

“Like how you shot me?”

“Be careful,” Vince said, his voice lower, closer.

“What?”

Vince hissed at him. “Just shut up. It’ll be okay if you just shut your mouth for five minutes.”

The urge to mess up this gavone was so strong it made every muscle in John’s body tense. He kept his gaze on the shotgun, jerking forward when it met the woman’s coat.

Vince noticed and gave Sal a warning look. The whole thing made John nervous. Sal had been getting in trouble for a while, but mostly small stuff. Vince not only wasn’t from the neighborhood, but he sounded as if he was from the old country. If Sal had somehow gotten mixed up with the Mob, this wouldn’t end well.

And thanks to John, the woman was now in it up to her pretty little neck.

Sal pushed her inside, but not far. The door to the basement was open and he prodded her down. Vince did his own urging and soon they were in the basement of the Molinari family home, only things had changed since John had last been there.

For one, the new door at the base of the stairs. It looked weird. Not just because it was steel, but because it had a slot in the middle, as if it had been made for a psychiatric lock ward. It had to have cost a fortune, but Sal had probably gotten a deal from his uncle’s cousin Nick, who owned a place out in Jersey. Or maybe this was a new Family addition. “What’s with the door?”

Vince poked him on. “What did I say about keeping your mouth shut?”

“Be happy to help you with that there, Johnny,” Sal said, forcing all of them inside the room.

A brown velvet couch dominated the basement itself. The TV was gone, so was the table it used to sit on. No books. No radio. Only a dingy floor lamp. The place looked like a tomb.

“Sit down.”

Johnny stood his ground. “Take the cuffs off.”

“Yeah, right. Sit down.” Sal didn’t push at him, but he did push the girl. The fear on her face when she turned was enough to get John moving.

The couch was even bigger than he’d guessed. He sank into the lumpy cushion. “So, I’m sittin’.”

“You and me, Johnny, we have a deal to make.”

“The only deal I’m interested in is the one where you and your mook friend here end up doing five to ten.”

“Okay, so we won’t talk now. That’s cool. Sweat it out. I don’t give a shit.”

John heard movement upstairs, reminding him where he was. “Where’s Nonna?”

Sal shifted nervously. “Don’t worry about her.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Sal, you didn’t hurt her?”

Shock and then anger contorted Sal’s features. “Fuck you, Johnny. What do you think I am?”

“Good question. I don’t know anymore.”

Sal made a move toward him. Vince stopped him. “Enough already.”

“I want to talk to her.” John pushed himself forward on the couch. “Right now.”

Sal made a one-armed gesture. John hit him with curses that would make Nonna, who was ninety-two last San Gennero’s, light enough candles to torch the Bronx.

“Sal.” Vince motioned with his gun. “Get out.”

“The cuffs,” John said, preparing his posture to charge.

Sal didn’t answer. Instead, he walked backward, the shotgun still pointed at the woman, until he reached the door. The two men slipped outside and closed the door so hard the reinforced frame shook. A moment later, the slot opened, and Vince said, “The girl first.”

John stood, and so did she. He cocked his head toward the door. “It’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

“I’m not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?”

He winced at the fear in her eyes. “Not yet.”

She looked at him a few more seconds, then went to the door and turned to offer her wrists.

A minute later it was John’s turn. If he thought it would do a bit of good he’d grab Vince by his goddamn jacket and smash his face in the door. Instead, he decided to leave that option for later and concentrate on the woman.

BELLA STEPPED BACK AS John’s handcuffs were unlocked and the door slot closed. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. Of course she understood that the Mob existed, but even living in Manhattan she’d never dreamed she’d be in any way involved with them, especially not as a hostage. It should have been a good thing to have a detective with her, but he was the one who’d gotten her into this mess, so no points there.

No windows, a steel door, lunatics with guns, no phone. Her chance at stardom shot to hell. And she had to pee.

“Look, I don’t know what to say.” John met her eyes. “Sorry obviously doesn’t cover it.”

Bella blinked at him, not sure how to respond. Especially since his GoodFellas accent had suddenly disappeared. She headed for the other side of the room, hoping against hope it had a bathroom. Thank goodness it did. A stall shower, a pedestal sink and god-awful wallpaper, but infinitely better than a bucket.