Beyond Paradise

by Barbara Nolan

  Her words made sense. You can’t hurt someone who’s lost everything, and you can’t scare a person who has nothing to lose. Only now he did have something he cared about, and the fear of losing her twisted him up.

  She stroked his cheek. “And although it’s made us horribly vulnerable, it’s also made us incredibly tough.”

  The tough part he could handle. It was the vulnerable part that scared the shit out of him. His life was being blown to hell, everything boiling up and spilling over in what he feared would be a messy ending. But here she was in his arms, giving it up to him, accepting his past, accepting him.

  “How’d I get so lucky.” He nuzzled the curve below her jaw and mumbled against her skin.

  Chapter 23

  Jonny’s revelation rocked her, and the pain in his voice made Cheryl tighten her grip around his waist and hold on tight. Being strong for so long had taken its toll on him, and she wanted to be the person that relieved that pain.

  Her fingertips trailed down to the fine hairs that disappeared beneath his sweatpants. His muscles retracted and reacted to her touch, and when she arched her back and pressed against him, he cupped her ass and nudged her to him.

  “I don’t know what you did to me.” He mumbled against her sensitive flesh of her breast. “But this thing simmering between us is real.”

  “I know but . . .” She peeked up at him through her lashes and prayed he would understand. “I have a hard time trusting.”

  “I get it, but from now on no more secrets. Even if it’s bad, real bad, I wanna know.”

  He walked her backward until her legs hit the bed. He nudged her down and pierced her with those dark eyes. “Understand?”

  She nodded then raised to her knees. Her hands tugged down his pants and the strong roped muscles of his thighs clenched when his dick twitched under her soft caress.

  “How about I take care of you for a change?”

  A groan rumbled from the back of his throat. “You’re killing me, baby.”

  “No, I’m going to make it all better.”

  She brushed her lips against his abs, inching closer to the prize. She kept her movements careful and deliberate, licking her way down and around his thick shaft. She played there a few minutes before taking him whole, sucking him hard and deep. She pumped him with her mouth, and when she cupped his balls, he drew in a sharp breath. She pulled off slightly and made a show of her tongue taking him from bottom to tip.

  His head hit the headboard with a thud, his eyes hazy slits, his face a sexy mix of desire and absolute submission. With him sprawled out beneath her, she braced her hands against his rock-hard thighs and sucked him in a little deeper each time. He swelled in her mouth, and his breathing quicken to raspy gasps.

  He gently pushed at her shoulder. “I’m gonna blow, baby.”

  The warning encouraged her. She craved all of him. And when he quenched her thirst, she drank him in. Happy to give him pleasure after all he’d done for her.

  He caught her under the arms and hauled her over his taut abs. She placed gentle butterfly kisses over his swollen jaw, then nestled into his shoulder and drank in the scent of their sex.

  “How would you like to go down to Miami with me?”

  “Miami?”

  “We have another club in South Beach, and there’re some people I want to see down there. People that can help me break away from Frank.”

  “I still have more questions about you getting beat up.”

  “Laying on the beach all day.” His mouth moved lower, past her collarbone, as he pulled at the hem of her shirt. “You and me in my beachfront condo?”

  “Sounds nice but . . .”

  “Ever been to South Beach?”

  “The farthest south I’ve ever been is Seaside Heights.”

  One of Mama’s boyfriends took her and Dylan to the Jersey Shore when they were kids. They hit the bars while she and Dylan got sunburned, and around midnight, they got thrown out of the motel because they were fighting so loud.

  “To answer your question, no. I’ve never been to South Beach.”

  “It’s nothing like ‘Sleazeside.”

  She laughed at the old joke.

  “You’ll love it.” He moaned when the doorbell rang.

  “Who could it be?” Panic overwhelmed her with all the possibilities.

  “Whoever is on the other side of that door is majorly fucked.” He stood in all his naked perfection, then leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of her head. “Don’t move.”

  Jonny yanked his sweatpants over his hips as the doorbell rang again.

  She blew out a heavy sigh, waited until he left the room, pulled on her clothes, then cracked the bedroom door to listen. Way too much was going on in their lives, and if Jonny was in trouble, she wanted to help if she could.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jonny stalked to the door and scowled into the peephole.

  He flipped the lock and opened the door. “What’s up?”

  “I got somebody I want you to meet.” Max dipped his chin toward a wiry guy hovering by the elevators, covered in gang tats and decked out in a wife-beater hanging over low baggy jeans. “He’s Spanish. You’ll like him.”

  “Cheryl’s here.”

  “Forget about her for a minute.”

  Jonny cocked his head unsure of Max’s game.

  Max waved his hand, and the thug bounced over, rolling with attitude.

  “Jonny, this is Angel.” Max shifted his hand between the two of them.

  “Hey, man.” Angel pounded Jonny on the back, followed it with a street hug, stepped away, and said in Spanish, “Max says you got some heavy-duty shit going down.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle, mejo.” Jonny shot a sideways glance at Max.

  “Looks like somebody busted up that Hollywood face,” Angel said, again in Spanish.

  “Not your concern,” Jonny answered in Spanish. “Now cut the homeboy shit and speak English.”

  Angel shifted his gaze to Max, then to Jonny. “Sure boss, sure.”

  “You could use a little extra protection.” Max moved them into the foyer. The stench of stale cigarette smoke and weed surrounded Angel.

  “Nice place, man.” Angel strolled around like he was casing the joint. “You must be all about the paper. Fuckin’ rolling in it.”

  “Angel’s got the fire power and the backup we need.” Max sounded like he was revealing some big secret.

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it all.” Angel lifted his T-shirt, revealing a .38 stuck into the waistband of his jeans. “Motherfuckers don’t mess with me or my crew.”

  “I figure he can shadow you,” Max added. “Keep you safe in case Frank tries to do anything else.”

  “Better to have a gun and not need it, then need a gun and not have it.” Angel’s grin revealed a gold front tooth. “I fuckin’ take care of you. You feelin’ me, bro?”

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Jonny’s eyes bore into Max.

  “Jonny?” Cheryl entered the living room, stared at Angel then Jonny.

  “I told you to stay in the bedroom.” He heard the edge in his voice.

  “Damn, that one fine looking bitch.” Angel swaggered forward.

  “That’s it.” Jonny stepped in Angel’s path and shoved him toward the door.

  “Wait outside,” Max yelled at Angel.

  “Sorry,” Jonny said to Cheryl. “Give Max and me a minute.”

  She furrowed her brow, then retreated to the bedroom. Jonny didn’t even want to think about the questions she’d have now.

  “What the fuck are you thinking?” Jonny spat after she left the room.

  “I’m looking out for you,” Max defended.

  “I’m trying to get out of this l
ife, and you bring a guy to my apartment who looks like he belongs in a fuckin’ rap video?”

  “With everything going on—”

  “That what? I’d want some thug hanging around, bringing his shit down on me.” Jonny threw his hands up and flinched. “Or around Cheryl?”

  “If you’d forget about her for a minute, you’d see I’m right.”

  “Does Eddie know about this?”

  “Kinda. I told him you needed more protection, and he agreed.”

  “I don’t think this is what he had in mind.” Jonny heaved out a frustrated sigh. “Anyway, I’m going to Miami tomorrow.”

  “Miami?”

  “I’m gonna meet with Carlos, firm up our connections down there. We’re leaving tomorrow night.”

  “You and Eddie?” Max asked.

  “Me and Cheryl.”

  “Right, and how are you gonna concentrate on business with her there?”

  Jonny closed the gap between them until they were only inches apart. “I gave you a pass before, but you better knock this shit off.” He splayed his hands. “Bringing some gangbanger here? Telling him my business? I think you’re spending too much time with those strippers. They’re starting to fuck with your brain. Now get outta here and try to keep things together until I get back.”

  Max stormed off and flung the door so hard it bounced on its hinges. Jonny stood behind the door, squinted through the crack, and listened.

  “What the fuck, man?” Angel said, as he bopped by the elevators. “How’s it gonna play out now?”

  “Shut up,” Max growled. “I’ll think of something else.” Max jostled Angel onto the elevator and stabbed at the buttons until the door whooshed close.

  Chapter 24

  “How’s everything going?” Jonny gripped the phone in his hand, hoping the late morning view of swaying palm trees from his balcony on Ocean Drive would calm him.

  He hadn’t slept on the late-night flight to Miami, and after settling Cheryl into the bedroom at his condo, he’d spent most of the night sitting on the balcony. He stared into the vast, dark sky, his mind doing a constant loop over the events of the last few days. Now at noon, his bruised ribs and the lack of sleep left him edgy.

  “Quiet for now,” Eddie said. Then the rustle of sheets, a woman’s giggle, and Eddie’s guttural rasp. “Oh yeah, baby.”

  “You talking to me?” Jonny added sarcasm to his frustration.

  “No, no—”

  “Who the fuck is there with you?”

  “Bambi, she’s helping me recuperate.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be resting, not straining yourself.” More movement and muffled voices.

  “Believe me, that part works just fine,” Eddie mumbled into the phone.

  “It sure does, baby.” Bambi’s squeak toy voice shrieked through the phone, followed by kissy noises.

  “Will you please take your dick outta her mouth and focus on what I’m saying.”

  “Take a break, baby.” More shifting. “I gotta talk to Jonny.”

  “Hi, Jonny,” Bambi squealed in the background.

  Jonny gripped the phone tighter. “You gotta keep your head in the game.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Eddie barked.

  “Why are you acting like a punk?”

  “Maybe because I’m up here in New York looking over my shoulder every time I go out for a pack of smokes. This morning a guy stood too close to me at Duane Reade, and I almost decked him. Then I got Max bitchin’ and moanin’ and telling me Frank’s gonna take us all down.”

  “Did you ask him about the guy he brought to my apartment?”

  “He said he was trying to look out for you.”

  “Did he mention the guy was a fuckin’ gangbanger from Bed-Stuy?”

  “He’s worried, Jonny.” Eddie paused. “We all are.”

  “You wanna jump, say so now. If not, man up and grow a pair.”

  A few seconds of silence, then, “We’re not jumping.”

  “Things are hot now, I get it, but I know we’ll have Carlos’s support.”

  “I hope his support in Miami helps us in New York.” Eddie always the voice of reason. It was fuckin’ annoying.

  “It will,” Jonny said with more confidence than he felt.

  Eddie drew in a breath. “And don’t forget to look over your shoulder once in a while, too,” Eddie warned. “Just because you’re in Miami doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

  Fifteen minutes later Jonny still gazed down on Ocean Drive. The warm, flower-scented air drifted over the balcony as tourists geared up for a weekend in South Beach. Stretching his arms over his head, his gaze traveled to the sparkling blue water on the horizon. Sitting on the plane did nothing for the ache in his ribs.

  He yawned and moved inside to the bedroom where Cheryl was tucked into his bed. The light shadowing her smooth, golden skin, and the sexy line of her leg showcased against the cream-colored sheets. She needed this sound sleep after the shit she’d been through. She deserved a life without worry, where she could depend on him to do right by her.

  Moving away from her perfect silhouette, he showered and dressed. Sunlight spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room and danced against the sleek stainless steel of his kitchen appliances. He rummaged through the cabinets and found that Anita, his housekeeper in Miami, provided all his favorite snacks, plus a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. He hadn’t been here in months, but he could depend on her to keep the kitchen stocked, and the condo pristine. He craved cleanliness and guessed a shrink would say his roach-infested childhood was the reason.

  Pulling out a bowl and spoon, he splashed milk over the Cheerios and munched on the little circles as he mentally rehearsed the conversation he would have with Carlos. Draining the last of the cereal-sweetened milk from the bowl, he rinsed it, stacked it in the dishwasher, and left the condo.

  He preferred to walk the few blocks to the Paradise II. The salt air helped clear his thoughts, and the people who crowded the sidewalk and overflowed into the wide boulevard energized him. A funky mix of models, movie stars, and cross-dressers strolled alongside flamboyant gays, trannies, and old Palm Beach money. Ocean Drive combined Fifth Avenue elite with Coney Island sleaze. The cream-colored beaches and swaying palms competed with the neon-blaring hotel and club signs. A crazy combination of nature and glitz, but he loved it.

  When he arrived at the club, he surveyed the outside. The building merged the Art Deco design of the forties with the flashy Miami Vice of the eighties, and promised the rich, and wish-they-were-rich, the opportunity to mingle with celebrities of all varieties. By day they played in the clear blue waters and tanned on the wide sandy beaches. By night, they were ready for whatever exotic, erotic diversions the club offered.

  He pushed through the doors, and although it was early afternoon, the bartenders and waitstaff were already setting up the bars and VIP tables on the first and second floors. At only ten thousand square feet, Paradise II had a more intimate feel than the New York club.

  Across the room, he spotted Carlos dressed in tapered black pants that were probably Gucci and a crisp white button down. Euro-Miami cool. His black, close-cropped hair, deeply tanned skin, and trim build made him appear much younger than his forty years. Jonny respected the man and enjoyed their shared bond of heritage and friendship over the years.

  “So good to see you, Jonny,” Carlos said in Spanish.

  They embraced, clapping each other on the back.

  “Same to you, my friend,” Jonny returned in Spanish.

  Carlos extended his arm and led him to the back of the club, and into the private elevator. They ascended in the glass-enclosed elevator, and the club grew smaller beneath them until the doors reopened into Carlos’s fourth-floor office. White furnishings, white m
arble floor, a polished brass bar, and a wall-to-wall view of the ocean. Very South Beach.

  “The place looks great.” Jonny gravitated toward the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the wide beach and glistening water. He geared himself up, knowing Carlos would waste no time getting to the point.

  “Hard work pays off.” Carlos moved behind the bar and extended a shot glass of tequila from his private stock. ”Now, tell me what’s on your mind.”

  He appreciated Carlos’ directness. “Things in New York have been sensitive.”

  “You’ve come up against some resistance?” He pointed to Jonny’s bruised face.

  Although the swelling went down, his eye was still shadowed a dusky blueish, green. Jonny raised his hand to his cheek. “It’s important you understand this won’t be easy.”

  “Nothing worth having ever is.” Carlos spread his hands in front of him. “I put the club’s success first always, but Frank gives nothing back. Only takes.”

  “It’s the same in New York. That’s why I'm breaking out with my own club.”

  Carlos digested the information. “Eddie too?”

  Jonny nodded but didn’t mention Eddie’s latest injuries or his apprehension. “Yeah, he feels the same way.”

  “Independence from Frank is worth it.” Clear determination shone in the older man’s eyes, and he knew Carlos remembered his family’s struggles and all they’d worked for to become Americans. Him getting jobs on the New York docks for many of Carlos’s family and friends had strengthened that bond.

  “I hoped you’d agree.”

  “You have our support.” Carlos extended his hand. “My people down here have been waiting for this day.”

  Jonny extended his hand, and the two men shook.

  “I arranged for South Beach Magazine to do an interview with you and Juan Martinez, the city manager, tomorrow. Explore the parallels between your assets to the Cuban business community, creating jobs and honoring heritage.”