Sexy Silent Nights

“Shall we go clubbing?” he asked.

“Can’t wait.”

Jonah extracted his duffel from the front seat and started across the lot. Behind them, the car beeped as he locked it with the remote.

She walked to his left, just half a step in front of him, and when they reached the sidewalk her eyes scanned the street. Directly across from them was a narrow alleyway, but the light from a streetlamp revealed only Dumpsters. To the left was an unmarked van in a loading zone. But it was seemingly empty and already sported a parking ticket on the windshield.

There was nothing at all to cause the itchy feeling at the back of her neck. The door of the club opened, releasing another couple along with the faint sound of bluesy music and laughter. The man and woman turned away from them, crossed to the opposite corner, then disappeared down a side street.

As they stepped off the sidewalk, Cilla slipped an arm through Jonah’s, and drew him on an angle toward Pleasures. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been tempted to drop in your club for just a drink.”

He shot her a sideways glance. “Why haven’t you?”

“Usually I’m not dressed for the occasion.” That was true enough, but not the only reason she’d avoided going into the bar. “My apartment’s not far from here, so I’ve walked by on my way home from work. You painted the doors red a few weeks ago.”

“My manager Virgil’s idea. He wanted to try it out for Christmas.”

“Festive. One of these days I’ll dress up and treat myself to a glass of champagne at the bar.”

“We don’t have a dress code.”

“But with a club like Pleasures, dressing up is part of the deal—kind of like Cinderella going to the ball. It wouldn’t have been the same if she’d worn her work clothes to the castle. Know what I mean?”

“Yes.” He looked over at the bright lights of the club. “I know exactly what you mean. Providing the opportunity to dress up and escape the workaday world is part of what each of my venues offers.”

The itchy feeling that had been nagging her since they’d stepped out of the parking lot suddenly increased, and Cilla had to exert all her control not to turn around. Instead, she listened hard.

Some kind of movement near the van? Their backs were to it now. Then she heard the footsteps, approaching from behind.

When Jonah tensed beside her and would have turned, she increased the pressure on his arm and pitched her voice low. “We have company, so do exactly as I say. Take me into your arms.”

She moved with him, shifting so that her body shielded his, then raised her hands to his face. “Lean closer.”

He leaned so close that his lips were nearly brushing hers. She was very aware of the fact that the footsteps were growing louder. But she was aware of other things, too—a flood of sensations. The hardness of his body, the heat of his breath on her mouth, the ribbon of pleasure that unwound right to her toes. Every cell in her body remembered him. Wanted him. For a fleeting moment, one desire—to feel those lips on hers—nearly swamped her.

Ruthlessly refocusing, she whispered, “Be my eyes. How many, what do they look like, and how close are they?”

“Two and they look like Laurel and Hardy.” He nipped at her bottom lip, and for just an instant, her mind clouded, then emptied as if someone had pulled a plug. She was aware only of Jonah—the hardness of his thighs against hers, the tightening of his hands at her waist, the heat of his breath as it moved over her lips and between them. Sensations hammered at her, and all she wanted was to melt into him.

“They’re about ten feet away. And the fat one, Hardy, has a gun.”

“Shit.” Adrenaline spiked through her system, clearing her thoughts, stiffening her spine. “I need them closer.”

“You’re getting your wish, sugar.”

“The one with the gun is mine.”

“Not going to happen.”

She nipped his bottom lip hard. “I know what I’m doing. Here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ll be the helpless female, you the macho man. He won’t know what hit him. Trust me.”

“Let the girl go,” a gravelly voice said.

Arguing time was up, but Jonah dropped his hands. Cilla immediately pivoted toward the men. Eyes widening, she pressed a hand against her breast and focused on her training. “Sweetums, he’s got a gun.”

“Step aside,” the tall, skinny one said to her. “We don’t want you.”

“Go ahead, sugar,” Jonah said. “Run on up to the club. I can handle this.”

“Okay. Okay.” The words came out on breathless gasps as she took one shaky step, sideways. Without missing a beat, she shot her other leg straight up. Her toe hit Fatso’s wrist dead-on and the gun clattered to the pavement. Pivoting slightly, she landed a punch to the man’s temple. With a grunt, Fatso fell like a rock.

She glanced up to see Jonah racing after the skinny one. “Dammit!”

Pausing only long enough to kick the gun on the sidewalk out of the way, she ran after them. Her heart shot straight to her throat when the back door of the van near the alley slid open. There was at least one more thug to deal with—the driver. She could see him through the windshield now. Broad shoulders, short gray hair.

Before skinny could nose-dive through the door, Jonah grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. One punch straight to the face took him down. Cilla winced and for the first time registered the sting in her own knuckles.

Then the window on the driver’s side lowered and she saw the gun.

“Get down,” she shouted to Jonah. He did, hitting the sidewalk and rolling as the shot rang out. Skidding to a stop, she pulled her own gun out of her pocket, gripping it in both hands as she took her stance and fired. Tires squealing, the van lurched away from the curb and up the street. It backfired loudly in the intersection, then roared off. She got the license plate before it disappeared.

Sliding her weapon back in her pocket, she turned to see that Jonah had already sprung to his feet. The relief was so intense that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she said, “I told you to trust me. I said I could handle it. You could have gotten yourself shot.”

So could she, Jonah thought as he walked toward her. He’d rolled over quickly enough to see that she hadn’t dropped to the ground as she’d told him to do. Instead, she’d stood there, feet spread, returning the fire of the man in the van like some mythical warrior. He was certain that his heart had skipped two whole beats.

“From my perspective, you did handle it. Very well. I’m not shot, and Laurel and Hardy are out for the count.”

He’d taken her arm to draw her with him toward the club. It was only then that he saw they’d attracted an audience. From the looks of it, most of the bar crowd had poured into the street including Virgil, the tall, bronze-skinned man who’d managed Pleasures since Jonah had opened it.

The fat guy he’d nicknamed Hardy was on his hands and knees, shaking his head like a dog. When they reached him, Cilla planted one of her shoes right under his nose where he could see it. “Don’t even think of getting up unless you want me to kick you again.”

He collapsed onto his stomach.

“Boss,” Virgil said. “You all right?”

“Fine. You’d better call the police. Ms. Michaels and I seem to have been the victims of an attempted mugging.”

“I already called 9-1-1, and so did several of our customers.”

Even as sirens sounded in the distance, Jonah noted that Cilla had crouched down to secure the fat guy’s hands behind his back. When she’d finished, there was a spattering of applause from the people who’d gathered. Ignoring it, she retrieved the first man’s gun, then secured the man Jonah had knocked out.

Jonah turned to Virgil. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you stay here and keep everyone away from the crime scene until the police arrive?”

Jonah saw the questions in his manager’s eyes. He also read concern, but all Virgil said was, “Sure thing, but I don’t think these guys are going anywhere.”

“No.” He glanced back as Cilla walked toward him. The sound of sirens grew closer. “I’ll try to reassure our guests. You can send the police to me when they arrive.”

When Cilla reached him, she put her arm through his and kissed him on the cheek. “You sure know how to show a girl an exciting time.” Then she turned to beam a smile at the small crowd of onlookers. “I’m pretty lucky.”

There was more murmuring and nods of agreement. One woman said, “I think he’s the lucky one. The only other place I’ve seen a kick like that was when I saw the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall.”

There were more nods and a few laughs as his customers began to move back into the club.

“I’m going to offer everyone a round of free drinks, but you’ve already diminished the tension level considerably,” he murmured as they followed the group.

“You can thank me by trusting me more the next time,” she hissed.

Jonah laughed as he drew her into Pleasures.

AN HOUR LATER, JONAH sat in his office watching Cilla pace back and forth in front of his desk, talking on the phone to Gabe. Making her report.

The policemen had questioned them separately, and the one who was in charge, Detective Finelli, seemed to know Cilla. Which reminded Jonah very forcibly that he knew very little about her—only what Gabe had told him at the party. Her name was Priscilla Michaels, but she went by Cilla, and Gabe thought the world of her.

Oh, he’d been tempted to run a thorough background check on her, but satisfying curiosity could lead a man into deep trouble. Finding out more about her could have complicated his decision to keep his distance.

The name Priscilla intrigued him because it didn’t fit the woman he’d spent the night with in Denver. Cilla suited her better. It also fit the woman he’d met at the airport and the one who’d turned into his arms out on the street. For an instant when she’d put her hands on his face and pulled his head down to hers, he could have sworn the cement beneath his feet had shifted as if it were beach sand. And all he’d been able to think of was her.

Oh, she was a very dangerous woman. And like it or not, he was learning more about her with each moment that passed. Problem was, the more he discovered, the more curious and fascinated he became. She was good at what she did. She’d not only smoothly maneuvered him earlier into accepting her escort back to Pleasures, but once the police had left, she’d managed to get a call into Gabe before he had.

And the woman who paced in front of him right now was a sharp right turn from the woman who’d met him at the airport earlier or the woman who’d kicked the gun out of that thug’s hand. Ever since she’d entered Pleasures, it was as if she’d had a to-do list and she’d been checking off items one by one. Quick, efficient, focused.

It occurred to him that he was dealing with two sides of the same woman. He recalled his first reaction to her given name. But Priscilla fit the woman he was watching now to a T.

She paused in her pacing to fist a hand on her hip and summarize for Gabe what Detective Finelli had assured them before he’d left. The police would do everything they could do—question Fatso and Skinny, put out an all-points bulletin on the van.

“The two men have lawyered up, so they won’t be questioned until the morning when their public defenders are assigned,” Cilla said to Gabe as she started to pace again. “But my friend Joe Finelli says he’ll talk to his captain and get permission for me to observe the interviews.”

Her friend Joe Finelli? Jonah recalled what he’d seen of the interaction between the detective and Cilla. Finelli was a good ten years her senior. Had they dated? Been lovers?

And the fact that his mind instantly jumped to those questions reminded him why he’d decided to avoid Cilla Michaels. He didn’t want that kind of involvement.

Deliberately he looked past her to the open door of his office. The evening was winding down. By the time the police cars had pulled away, he could see that every thing had returned to normal in his club. The bar was still busy, and the jazz band on the basement level would switch to dance music in another half hour.

Virgil would handle closing. What Jonah needed was some quiet time in his apartment to try to figure out what in hell was going on. There was something in the wording of the note that was still pulling at the edge of his mind.

“Joe recommended that he continue with private security,” Cilla was saying.

Joe. Her use of the detective’s first name triggered a quick surge of impatience. Not jealousy. Because that was ridiculous. And the impatience was with himself.

Because he didn’t want to go to his apartment and think about what had happened by himself. He wanted to talk about it with Cilla Michaels. And perhaps with Priscilla, too.

He watched her stride across the width of his office again and wondered if the woman ever stood still. There was such energy radiating off her. She’d been lightning fast outside the club—both physically and mentally. The kick had come out of nowhere. The poor sucker hadn’t been expecting it.

And she’d brought those same elements of energy and surprise to her lovemaking, as well. He vividly recalled the speed of those clever hands as they’d moved over his skin exploring, exploiting—until the flood of razor-sharp sensations had left him helpless to do anything but want more.

“Sure I can set up a security detail.” Cilla paused at his desk to pull a small notebook and pen out of her purse. “We’ll want to give him 24/7 protection, two men each shift.”

Jonah took a deep breath and brought his focus back to her. He wasn’t helpless. This time it was more than a surge of impatience he felt. Sitting on the sidelines and letting others decide his fate had never been his strong suit. He’d run away from three foster homes before the judge tired of seeing his face and sent him to Father Mike at the St. Francis Center for Boys.

At the time Father Mike had a reputation in the Denver area for being able to handle “bad” or “problem” boys. Jonah figured he’d been both. And if it hadn’t been for the center and the fact that he’d met Nash and Gabe there, he wouldn’t be where he was today.

“I’ll handle it,” Cilla said.

Studying her, Jonah leaned back in his chair. He was used to handling his own affairs or handpicking the people he chose to delegate them to. And whenever he could, he chose people he knew and trusted. Virgil had been like a big brother to him in the first foster home he was sent to. Before he’d opened Pleasures, he’d tracked Virgil down and hired him to manage the club. When he’d opened his sports bar, Interludes, he’d offered the manager’s position to Carmen D’Annunzio, a woman who’d volunteered at the St. Francis Center when her boys were in their early teens.

But he hadn’t chosen Cilla Michaels. He’d decided not to choose her, hadn’t he? She sat on the edge of his desk, her cell phone tucked beneath her ear as she scribbled. “I think we can cover it for now.”

We meaning who? He definitely didn’t like hearing the plans being made as if he were…what? A client whose life she’d just saved?

Jonah frowned. That was exactly the case, wasn’t it? If Cilla Michaels hadn’t met him at the airport and pressured him into accepting her escort, he might very well be lying on the sidewalk outside just as Laurel and Hardy had been doing when the police arrived. In fact, he might have a bullet hole in him.

His frown deepened. That scenario didn’t jibe with the note that had been delivered to him. If someone wanted to gun him down on the street, why warn him about it first? And why bother counting down the nights until Christmas? Unless the two incidents weren’t connected.

That was something he wanted to talk to her about. Priscilla would have a theory. He was sure of it.

And then there was Cilla.

She strode away from his desk and put her hand on her hip again. The red coat was shoved back, giving him a good view of those remarkable legs. And he remembered exactly how it had felt when they’d been wrapped around him.

It could happen again. Something primal, something that went beyond desire, sparked to life inside of him. In seconds, he could move to the door, lock it and take her against it just as he had in that hotel room in Denver. Seconds and he could have his mouth on hers. God, he wanted that. He wanted to taste her again—that sweet, tart flavor that grew more complex each time he feasted on it. He wanted to touch her again, to push the hem of that dress up those long, silky legs. Seconds. It would take only seconds to sheath himself and push aside whatever lacy barrier was left between them. Then he would fill her. She would surround him.

The image in his mind triggered sensations so vivid that he could almost feel her closing around him as he thrust into her. Seconds, he thought again. Seconds and he could turn the fantasy in his mind into reality. The temptation to do just that was so powerful, Jonah had to grip the arms of the chair tight.

This was why he’d stayed away for nearly a month, he reminded himself. And this was why he should keep his distance now.

“No, we haven’t talked about it yet, but I’m sure he’ll agree that private security is the way to go,” Cilla said. When she shot him a questioning look, Jonah merely returned a bland one.

He wasn’t a fool. Until he could figure out what was going on, he was going to take precautions. A bodyguard wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“I can free up David Santos and Mark Gibbons,” Cilla said. “They’re very good, and I can still handle our other clients.”

Jonah refocused his attention on what she was saying.

She slid him a sideways glance. “Great. I’ll let him know.”

Let him know? Annoyance sizzled through him. Mostly at himself. All evening, he’d let her call the shots. She’d convinced him to let her follow him to Pleasures, then she’d maneuvered him into that little macho man/poor helpless female scenario when the two thugs had approached. And she’d been the one who’d reported everything to Gabe. Now if he’d heard right, she intended to step back and assign two other men to guard him.

That wasn’t her decision to make. He was about to stretch out his hand and demand to talk to Gabe when she closed her cell and faced him across the desk.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Indeed we do.” Jonah kept his gaze on Cilla for one long moment before he rose and said, “Before you tell me what you and Gabe have decided, let me introduce you to Pleasures.”

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