by Cindi Myers
Tommy held up both hands, as if to ward off a blow. “Hey, I’m just curious. She just didn’t strike me as your type.”
“What do you mean?”
Tommy grinned. “Hey, I know you’re straight, but that don’t stop me from noticing—you’re a sharp looking dude. You could have any woman—or man—you wanted.”
“I want Laura.” The words came out without thinking. His stomach tightened as the truth of that simple statement hit him. He was one messed-up guy, that was for certain.
“Got a thing for chunky girls, huh? Like a little extra meat on the bone?”
He made no conscious decision to hit Tommy, but there was his fist, shooting out and popping the smirking young man right on the jaw.
Tommy howled, then lunged and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He made a vicious jab for David’s eye. Tommy might look like a wimp, but damn, he could fight. David only managed to dodge about half the blows aimed his way, landing about the same percentage of his own punches. He planted a good punch to Tommy’s chin, and caught a corresponding jab on his own jaw.
Tables and chairs tumbled as they battled their way across the room. He landed a satisfying smack on Tommy’s nose, and blood spurted. A woman screamed, his first indication that they’d attracted a crowd, and he realized they’d stumbled out into the open foyer of the club.
“Apologize, and I’ll stop hurting you.” He spoke through swelling lips.
“I didn’t say your girl wasn’t a looker—if you like cows.”
This earned Tommy a black eye, and David barely missed having his own nose broken.
Then rough hands grabbed him and dragged him away. “Break it up!”
He looked up into Charlie’s scowling face. “You got a death wish?” Charlie asked. “’Cause I could make it come true.”
…
Laura was half asleep on the massage table, lulled by the soft music of flutes, the lavender and sage scent of the oils the masseuse used, and the gentle kneading of her muscles. This was heaven. She’d have to be sure to thank Rachel for thinking of it.
Then screams shattered her peace. She sat up, grabbing at the sheet to wrap around her. “What is going on?”
“I don’t know.” The therapist, a short, sinewy woman named Lin, headed for the door. Laura, barefoot and wrapped in the green cotton sheet, followed.
All along the hallway, doors opened, and women in various states of undress appeared. Rachel, her cheeks slathered in green mud, peeled a cucumber slice from her eye and blinked. “What is all that screaming?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” She hurried past her sister toward the spa entrance. A deep male voice urged everyone to stay calm. Was this some kind of a terrorist attack? Or was someone merely hysterical after having won a big jackpot?
She pushed her way to the front of the crowd and gaped at the sight of two men rolling around on the marble floor, arms flailing—two men she recognized. Blood streamed from Tommy’s nose, and David’s right eye was swollen almost completely shut.
“I told you he was a thug.” Rachel had worked her way up to Laura’s side. “Anyone with any kind of upbringing wouldn’t brawl in public like that.”
“Maybe it was self-defense.” She flinched as Tommy landed a solid punch, snapping David’s head back.
“What did he do to warrant an attack in the middle of the day?’ Rachel asked.
What, indeed, since he’d told her he intended to run errands. To take a suit to the cleaners. She wasn’t the violent type, but if she had been, she might have yielded to the temptation to step in and land a few blows of her own. Men could be such idiots.
Her anger dissolved to dread, however, when two familiar dark-suited figures waded in to separate the brawlers. The muscles of Charlie’s back strained his suit coat as he hauled David to his feet. Across from him, Victor had hold of Tommy.
She wrapped the sheet more firmly around her and made her way over to David, the excess fabric dragging behind her like the train of a ball gown. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He kept his eyes on Tommy, who was trying to staunch the blood flowing from his nose.
“What were you fighting about?” she asked.
David gingerly touched the cut at the side of his eye and winced. “Nothing.”
Charlie punched David’s shoulder, none too gently. “I want to hear the answer to that question, too.”
“I said something about his wife he didn’t like, and he let me have it.” Tommy cradled his nose with a blood-soaked handkerchief. “Guess the honeymoon isn’t over yet.”
She clutched the sheet with both hands, though it didn’t really make her feel less naked under the scrutiny of all those eyes. “You were defending me?” she asked David.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Two uniformed security guards joined them. “What’s going on here?” one demanded.
“It’s over now.” David moved away from Charlie and took her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Maybe there’s some ice in the spa for your eye,” she said.
He grunted in answer. Apparently a few punches and a little blood turned guys into cave men.
“We’ll be talking to you later,” Charlie called after them. His words sent a shudder down her spine. She didn’t like to think of what Charlie might have to say to David, or if he’d let his fists or a gun do his talking for him.
…
How was he going to explain this? David wondered, as he tried to wash the blood from his face in the spa’s tiny bathroom. The sink was a shallow pink shell that sat on top of the marble counter—pretty, but impractical. He was getting more water on the floor and counter than in the bowl.
Apparently, the fact that Laura was legally his wife had been enough to unlock the door on some fantasy of closeness and partnership he hadn’t even realized he’d harbored. What had started as a ruse to fool Zacolli’s goons had become all too real, and in making it real he’d let his feelings get in the way and jeopardized years of work. Stupid.
A knock on the door interrupted these dismal thoughts. “David? Are you okay in there? I brought you some ice.”
Opening the door, Laura, dressed once more in a sundress that flowed over her curves, handed him a plastic bag of crushed ice and a white terrycloth hand towel with the spa’s logo. “They said we can keep the towel. You should probably go back to the hotel and lie down for a while.”
“I need to find Tommy and patch things up with him.”
“Don’t you think you both ought to cool off a little first?”
Cooling off took time. Time he didn’t have. Victor and Charlie’s patience was running out, and Tommy was no closer to agreeing to come back to Chicago to testify against his father. David had spent the last year of his life cultivating Tommy, and with one rash punch he’d probably lost him.
A door down the hall opened and Rachel, wearing a short terrycloth robe, swept toward them. “What are you doing dressed?” She spoke to Laura, obviously ignoring David.
“I needed to look after David.”
“I can look after myself.” As if to demonstrate, he pressed the ice against his swollen eye. Ouch! “Go back to your massage or whatever.” Go back to your normal, safe life.
“Men who brawl in public like school boys deserve to suffer by themselves.” Rachel looked at him the way she might look at a smashed bug on her windshield.
“Rachel’s right,” he said. “You go on and enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.”
“As if I could enjoy anything, knowing you’re hurt.”
Go, Laura. I don’t want you around me anymore.
If they’d been alone, he might have been able to say the words, to send her away for her own good. But he couldn’t do it in front of Rachel. He couldn’t make things worse for her than they already were. “Let’s go,” he said instead, turning away.
“You don’t have to go with him,” Rachel said.
“I’ll talk to you later, Rachel.” They
exited the Hard Rock, and Laura hurried her steps to keep up with him as he took long strides, the soles of his shoes hitting the pavement hard. If it wouldn’t have attracted more unwanted attention, he would have broken into a run, trying to burn off the nervous energy that was coursing through him.
“If you’re trying to run away from me, you can stop it.” Laura grabbed his arm and held on, forcing him to slow his pace. “You can be mad at yourself all you want,” she said. “Don’t pretend you’re really mad at me.”
He stifled his automatic denial. “How did you know?”
“Turns out dealing with four-year-olds and husbands isn’t so different.”
His laugh surprised him. He wouldn’t have thought he had any laughter left in him. “Are you going to tell me to go sit in the corner and think about what I’ve done?”
“No. But when we get back to the hotel, we need to talk.”
Right. But first they had to get to the hotel. He hadn’t seen any signs of Victor, Charlie, or anyone else following them, but he wouldn’t take chances. Spotting the entrance to the Excalibur, he dragged Laura inside, took the elevator up to the third floor, then the stairs down. They wound through back hallways and ended up in a parking lot. A short dash through a row of idling buses and they reached their hotel.
“Whew!” Once inside the room, Laura collapsed into a chair and fanned herself. “Being with you I’m certainly getting a lot of exercise. I’ll be Rachel’s size in no time.”
“You look good the way you are.” An echo of the rage he’d felt when Tommy had called her a cow shuddered through him. He’d spent a lifetime reining in his emotions, but Laura had wiped out all his self-control. Everything he felt for her was so intense. But losing control like that could be suicide for both of them.
“You’re sweet to say so. Sit.” She patted the table across from her.
He sat and held the ice pack to his eye. The swelling was going down a bit; he could almost see a little on that side.
“So is taking a suit to the cleaners some FBI euphemism for talking to an informant?” she asked.
He grimaced. “I didn’t want you involved. You already know too much.”
“But I am involved.” She scooted forward until she was perched on the edge of her seat. “I’ve been thinking. Tommy probably isn’t going to want to talk to you right now.”
“No.”
“Why don’t I talk to him?”
“No!” He jumped up. The thought of her alone with slime like Tommy filled him with rage.
“Why not? I mean, can you think of anyone less threatening than me? And guys will sometimes open up to a woman in a way they won’t to a man.”
Deep breath. Forbidding her to have anything to do with Tommy wasn’t going to work with her. She had a stubborn streak beneath all that sweetness. He took a deep breath. “If you think you’re going to lure him with your feminine charms, forget it—he’s gay. That’s part of the problem he has with his father.”
“I’m still someone who isn’t a cop. That maybe makes me more sympathetic.”
“It’s not going to happen. Do you realize the kind of trouble we could both get into if I exposed a civilian to something like this?”
“I’m already exposed. I was exposed when you pulled me out of the crowd and asked me to marry you.”
“Look. Laura.” He set down the ice pack, struggling to find the right words. “Whatever happens in the next few days with Tommy, you need to go home soon. Back to Davenport. Back to your real, safe life. You know this thing between us can’t last.”
She stiffened. “This thing between us?”
“This marriage. You know it was never meant to be real. It’s my fault. I never meant for things to get so out of hand.”
“You never meant for us to get emotionally involved.”
“Right.” He tried for a light-hearted tone. “It’s crazy, right? We’ve only known each other a couple of days. However strong our feelings are right now, they can’t be real.”
She nodded. “You’re right. It is crazy. I’ve never done anything like this.”
“Me either. And I’ll never forget you. But you don’t belong in the kind of ugliness and danger I deal with every day. I won’t rest easily until I know you’re safe at home again.”
“What will we do about the marriage?”
“I’ll have one of the Bureau’s lawyers take care of it. Or you can contact someone if you like. We’ll get an annulment or a quickie divorce or something. When the real guy comes along—the one you’re meant to be with—you don’t even have to mention me.” Saying those last words hurt worse than any busted eye or lip.
“Oh. Sure.” She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she was suddenly cold, and looked away. “And you won’t have to mention me to any of the other women you’re with. We’ll just forget any of this ever happened.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’ll never forget you,” he whispered. “Never.” He kissed her cheek, then the side of her mouth.
She turned her head and responded with a kiss that bruised his swollen lips all over again, but he didn’t really care. The kiss gave him permission to stop thinking, to stop beating himself up over what he couldn’t change, and give up worrying for a while. The kiss reduced his world down to what was really important right here at this moment, and that was being in her arms and gratefully accepting all she offered.
Chapter Eleven
Laura had thought making love with David before was the best experience of her life, but this time was even more intense. They’d traded the urgency of their first encounter for a careful savoring that was almost languid. Kisses feathered along a collarbone and down the curve of a bicep. Clothing was peeled off slowly to reveal inch by inch of skin, uncovered like precious treasure. Lips and hands set out on a voyage of discovery, testing the limits of each erogenous zone, from the tender flesh at the hollow of the throat, to the satiny secrets at the base of the spine. They kissed, stroked, and fondled, every movement lush with wanting and waiting, anticipation like a rich perfume in the air around them.
They lay on the bed side by side, not speaking but looking into each other’s eyes, reading the depth of emotion there too intense for words. In silent agreement they lingered, prolonging the pleasure, letting the tension build. By the time David levered over her and she opened her legs and welcomed him inside of her she trembled with her need for him, and he let out a long, low groan of satisfaction that reverberated through her. He continued to move methodically, deliberately, plunging deep and withdrawing slowly, prolonging the moments when she balanced on the edge between pleasure and pain.
“I’ve been thinking about what you were saying before,” he said. “About the G spot?”
“What? Oh, I was just talking.” She squirmed, trying to press herself more firmly against him, but he held her hips still. “I really don’t know anything about that,” she confessed. She’d read articles in magazines, of course, but she didn’t have any practical experience.
“I do.” He leaned across the bed and plucked a pillow from the pile against the headboard. “It’s just like you told Charlie and Victor—it’s all in the proper angle.” He lifted her hips and slid the pillow beneath her, then thrust deep into her in a smooth, rocking motion.
“Ohhhh.” Her vision fogged and she lost all power of speech as he continued rocking, stroking, his hands caressing her thighs. The tension within her wound tighter, deeper, beyond anything she’d experienced before. And then, at the point when she was sure she could take no more, she flew apart, shattering with wave after wave of pleasure.
She clung to him tightly as he reached his own climax. “Laura!” he shouted, a cry of both need and triumph. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to keep out the rest of the world a little longer.
She refused to give in to tears; she was stronger than that. David could talk of moving on and putting this behind him—as if love was something she could throw out like a dress
that didn’t fit anymore—but she wasn’t that shallow. He didn’t lie to her or try to pretend that their marriage could ever be real. And she’d agreed to go along with it all. She’d thought she could have this great adventure, have a fling with a hot guy and walk away with only fun memories. For a smart woman, she’d been amazingly clueless; she had no one but herself to blame for the pain she was feeling now.
But she’d get through this. She wouldn’t whine or grumble—but she’d never forget. And she wouldn’t pretend her feelings for David weren’t real. No matter how much he teased her about one day finding the right guy and forgetting about him, she knew that couldn’t happen. She’d found her Mr. Right, and his name was David.
…
Laura woke to crayon-bright colors of neon streaked across the gray sky of dusk showing outside the bedroom window. The bed beside her was empty, the sheets cool and long unoccupied. David was gone, maybe for good. She turned her face to the wall and thought about giving into the desire for a crying jag, but it wasn’t like tears would really make her feel any better. Instead, she sat up and surveyed the room, as if the generic carpeting and drapes might hold some clue to what she should do next.
The note was propped between the salt and pepper shakers on the table by the window, her name in large letters across the front. The sight of it sent a jolt of surprise, and something like hope, through her.
The note was a single sheet of paper, the front of which was a flyer for a rib buffet somewhere off the strip. In a bold hand, David had written, “Went out to get dinner. Back soon. Love, David.” The “L” in “love” was jagged, as if he’d hesitated over writing it—because he wasn’t sure of his feelings, or because acknowledging the emotion hurt too much?
She crumpled the paper into a tight ball and started to hurl it toward the trash can, but she couldn’t do it. Carefully, she smoothed out the paper and propped it up again beside the bed, as wrinkled and tattered now as her own mixed-up emotions. She took her time dressing, wanting to look great for him and wanting to fill the time while she waited. When a half hour passed with no sign of him, she decided he must have just stepped out when she woke. When the clock marked an hour since she’d risen, she fought down butterflies in her stomach.