by Pat White
“Don’t say that.” The older woman took her by the hand and coaxed her to the cot.
“I’ve dressed like a freak, performed a suicide jump, and gotten married to a complete stranger. That’s it. I’m done.”
“Your uncle needs you.” Max squeezed Frankie’s hand with trembling fingers.
“Mom was right. Uncle Joe is a lost cause.” She snatched a dark suit from the garment bag and headed for the bathroom.
Max grabbed her by the elbow. “How dare you talk like that about your uncle? All he ever did was love you and take care of you when no one else would.”
“Now wait a minute—”
“You owe it to him to do everything in your power to help.”
“Like marry a complete stranger?” she challenged. Strange, she never raised her voice to her mother like this. “What’s next? Have Jack’s child?”
“The marriage is probably bogus. If not, your uncle will figure out a way to have it annulled.”
“I’m annulling this whole mess right now.” She reached for the bathroom door.
“He’s going to die,” Maxine’s voice trembled.
Frankie’s hand froze on the doorknob.
“What did you say?” She turned slowly, afraid to see Max’s expression.
The older woman ambled to the cot and sat down, interlacing her fingers in her lap. “You heard me. Your uncle’s going to die.”
“Is he sick?”
“No, nothing that minor.”
“Then what?” She sat beside Max.
“Always had to prove himself, be a success. Went too far this time,” Max mumbled.
“You’re not making sense.”
“Your uncle borrowed money,” she sighed. “From bad men. They came to the office late one night when no one was around. I heard one call the other Pugsy. The tall one had a tuba case and a pool cue. The other guy carried a family of boa constrictors in a burlap sack. The thugs trashed the place, shouting and threatening your uncle. After they left I found Sully curled up on top of his desk. Seems the men left one of the snakes as a reminder they’d be back. The thing must have crawled up into the heating duct. Couldn’t find him anywhere. Took me an hour to get your uncle off his desk.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I’m not too proud to tell you I’m scared. I’ve seen enough mob movies to know what they’ll do to Sully. First, he’ll lose his left pinky then they’ll crush his right kneecap. If he doesn’t cough up the money in six months they’ll probably—”
“Stop.” She grabbed Max’s hand to comfort her, or comfort herself, she wasn’t sure. Everything had seemed so normal a week ago.
“He’ll be devastated if he finds out you know,” Max said.
“He didn’t think I’d notice something was up when he started tooling around in a wheelchair?”
“Don’t be mad at him.”
“Mad doesn’t even come close.”
Max studied Frankie with those bright blue eyes tinged with specks of silver. “He loves you so much. He always talked about his smart little princess, so clever, so precocious. Anyone listening would have thought you were a genius.”
“Why, Max? Why did he do this?”
“To prove himself.”
“To me?”
“Not just you.”
“Who?”
Max glanced at her fingers. “Doesn’t matter.”
“How can you say that? His life is in danger because of his pride. Does this other person even care about him?”
“Nah, not like he needs to be cared for.” Max straightened and headed for the door.
Frankie realized that Max had always taken care of Uncle Joe. She’d watched his back, cleaned up his messes, and even scolded him when necessary, which was more often than not.
It dawned on Frankie that Maxine loved her uncle. “Max?”
“I’ll give you privacy to change.” Max shot Frankie a wavering smile. A touch of sadness colored her eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a tough old broad.” She closed the door behind her.
Frankie wished she could say the same about herself. Now she had no choice but to be tough. Her uncle’s life depended on it.
***
“I’ll bet you were behind this.” Jack closed in on Frankie as she waited for the limo outside the arena’s north entrance.
She held her breath. It had been nearly two hours since their “wedding” and she could still taste him on her lips. It didn’t help that he’d changed into hip-hugging jeans and a black T-shirt that spanned his chest like a second skin.
“You set this up, didn’t you?” he accused.
Was that smoke streaming out of his nostrils?
She struggled to get her wits about her. No longer the nervous cat bride, she was businesswoman Francine McGee, the only person standing between her uncle and the Grim Reaper.
“I had nothing to do with it, Mr. Hudson. Although considering the audience reaction, I’d say it seems to be a clever story line. ”
“Clever.”
“Yes, clever.”
“And you didn’t dream it up? I’m surprised.”
He crossed his arms over his chest letting his gaze drift from her mouth to her breasts, down to her legs, then back up again. She lifted her chin and pressed her fingers to the lapels of her suit. There was no way she’d be intimidated by his sexual energy. Time to mark her territory.
“The marriage will fit in well with the promotional dates I’ve set up. You and Tatianna will be a big draw as man and wife.” She glanced across the parking lot. Where was that car? She needed time alone, time to sit with her thoughts and decide to what lengths she’d go to protect her uncle.
“Where is my wife, anyway?” he asked, an edge to his voice.
Great, now he hated Frankie as businesswoman and cat wife.
“She’s got friends in town and decided to stay over.” It was getting awfully easy to lie to this man. What was happening to her?
A black stretch limousine pulled up.
“Here’s my ride.” She escaped into the car and shut the door, finally able to take a deep breath to calm her nerves. She glanced out the window. Jack stood there watching her through the tinted glass.
She lowered her window. “Is there a problem?”
“I need a ride.”
Before she could hit the automatic locks, Jack whipped open the door and shifted onto the soft leather seat across from her.
It was going to be the longest two hours of her life.
They pulled out of the lot and she stared out the window at passing office buildings, resentful that the man’s very presence did things to her insides she couldn’t describe. She heard him fiddle with the mini-bar. Great, now he was going to get drunk and verbally abuse her.
She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned back against the supple leather and closed her eyes. Yeah, as if that would wash away the image of the man sitting across from her: his pecs thick and hard to the touch, his hair floating wildly across his shoulders. She found herself fantasizing about running her hands across the hard planes of his chest, down his stomach to other, more private places.
Bradley, she had to think about Bradley. He was the one she should be fantasizing about, not Cro-Magnon man. A smile played at her lips at the memory of Bradley straightening her shirt collar before work one morning when he’d slept over the night before. It was nice waking up next to a warm body in bed. She’d even suggested they live together. But Bradley was a proper gentleman and believed in cohabitation only if a couple was married. He planned to propose the day he got promoted to partner. That way he’d feel like a success, a true provider for his bride.
Frankie remembered a Saturday morning when they’d analyzed their five-year calendar, planning when to buy which items for their dream house and how to invest for a perfect future. He didn’t mind that they’d have to cover the entire wedding expense when usually the bride’s family footed the bill. Mama didn’t have that kind of money and she’d forb
idden Frankie to ask Uncle Joe.
In time it would all come together. She and Bradley would save twenty percent of every paycheck, invest in a combination mutual fund and stock program and before she reached the age of thirty-five she’d be walking down the aisle to say “I do” in front of a priest.
A priest. That’s it. She wasn’t really married to Jack because the Rev. Gardner wasn’t a minister of her own faith. What a lame thought.
“You could have at least warned me,” Jack’s sultry voice whispered in her ear.
She nearly jumped out of her skin. Her eyes popped open and she froze at the sight of his tanned, stubbled jaw a mere inch away. He was close, way too close. And all she could do was stare at his lips.
“What are you doing here?” She dug her fingernails into the leather seat.
“You offered me a ride, remember?” His eyes twinkled with mischief.
“I meant, why are you sitting next to me?”
“I wanted to make sure you heard me loud and clear.” His ran his tongue across his lower lip and her pulse did a double-time rumba.
“I can hear you,” she said, struggling to maintain a firm tone.
“Good. Because I want you to know how upset I am right now.”
Flattening her palms against the soft leather seat beneath her, she edged away from him until her back was jammed against the door.
He leaned forward.
She wanted him to come closer.
She wanted him to jump from the car.
“You’re upset. I understand,” she said.
“I don’t think you do. I’ve done the marriage thing once. That was enough.” He downed a shot from a small bottle of scotch and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The thought of tasting hard liquor had never crossed her mind until she spied a drop clinging to his upper lip.
“And nearly twenty years in this business is enough.”
As he scrutinized her skin, hair, and eyes, her skin burned red hot. She needed air, needed to put space between them.
“I’m sure the marriage thing isn’t legit,” she said, her stomach tied in knots. “But I can’t help you with your contract. It’s a binding document.”
“Oh, you could help me.” He cracked a seductive smile. “If you really wanted to.”
What she wanted at the moment had nothing to do with money and everything to do with raw, unbridled sex.
No, don’t let him control you like this! Fight back. Don’t let him melt you like butter on a frying pan.
Giving her blazer a tug to regain control, she cleared her throat. “A contract’s a contract. I don’t see what the big rush is about. It’s not like you’re an award-winning scientist who has to discover a cure for cancer.”
A new emotion flashed in his eyes, similar to the sadness she’d seen on the catwalk only different.
“No, that I’m not.”
He edged away, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Brains have never been my strong suit,” he said, glancing out the window.
She’d hurt him. Intentionally or not, she’d struck a nerve. But she couldn’t help herself. Worried sick about her uncle, she simply wasn’t thinking straight.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was unfair.”
He tapped a fisted hand against his thigh and continued to study the Wisconsin countryside.
“I’m not usually like that,” she continued. “I got some bad news about my uncle.”
He eyed her. “Yeah? The old man got three months to live or something?”
She clenched her fist, wanting to lay one right between his eyes. His gaze drifted to her hand and he grinned.
“No kidding? Don’t tell me—he’s got a tumor in his brain the size of a football,” he said, hopeful.
“He doesn’t have a tumor.”
“What then? Bad sushi? A parasite’s eating away at his intestines?”
“Forget it.”
“Ah, come on, Frank. Sully’s been like a father to me.”
“And I’m Santa Claus.” She glared out the opposite window.
Out of the corner of her eye she spied him shift beside her. He touched her hair and goose bumps tickled the back of her neck.
“Come on, sweetheart, it will make you feel better to talk about it.”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
“You brought it up.”
She turned and stared him down. “And I’m dropping it.”
“Maybe I can help.” He brushed lint off her blazer lapel right above her breast. She glanced down at his hand, then up into his eyes. His smile faded. She couldn’t move. He was going to kiss her.
“Confession is good for the soul,” he said, his lips slightly parting.
She jumped to the other side of the limo and crossed her arms over her tingling breasts. “He’s in trouble, that’s all you need to know.”
“Man, it’s hot in here.” He pulled the T-shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, flashing a generous amount of taut, muscled stomach. Her pulse tapped against the base of her throat. How pathetic, getting turned on by a glimpse of the guy’s gut.
“What kind of trouble did old Sully step into this time?” He adjusted his shirt to cover his bare flesh.
“He got involved with…” Her voice trailed off as she watched him stretch his arms along the back of the seat. His shirtsleeves cut into his biceps accentuating hard, rounded muscle.
“What? I didn’t hear you. Damn, I’m burning up. You don’t mind if I take this off, do you?” He reached for the back of his shirt.
“He got in involved with the wrong crowd, okay? Keep your shirt on.”
He leaned back and shot her a victorious smile. “Wrong crowd? That’s what they said about me when I stole Kurt Porter’s bike in the eighth grade.”
“Trust me. This is more serious than petty theft.”
Before she could blink he was next to her, crowding her, practically sitting in her lap. She blindly reached for the window controls. Maybe a little air would help. Or maybe she could jump. She had a feeling she’d have better luck with the pavement than a physical encounter with Black Jack Hudson.
“What do I have to do, kiss it out of you?” he said.
She knew damn well she’d never survive another one of his kisses.
“You do and I’ll stop the car and have you dumped in the middle of Interstate 294.”
“No, you won’t. Now come on. Give, just a little.” His lips got closer…closer. She could practically taste them, spicy, sweet, male.
Good God! What was she doing?
She shoved at his chest and hopped to the opposite seat like a jackrabbit.
“He took money from the mob,” she blurted out.
He burst into laughter, the hearty sound filling the limo. Eyes watering he doubled over, laughing and slapping at his knee.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” she snapped.
“I guess…” he said, trying to catch his breath. “The thought of Sully a few feet shorter hit a funny bone, that’s all.”
“I see no humor in this.”
“Too bad. Seems like you could use a good laugh.”
“This is my uncle we’re talking about.”
“It’s Sully. The man’s been courting disaster for years. Doesn’t surprise me it finally caught up with him.”
“Of course a professional bully like yourself would find humor in this horrifying predicament.”
He burst into a new fit of laughter. “It seems like sweet justice to me.”
“He could die because of this stupid business!”
His laughter stopped short. Apparently the seriousness of her uncle’s predicament had finally sunk into that thick skull of his.
“Stupid business?” He squinted and leaned forward.
Guess not.
“If it’s so stupid why did Sully risk his life on a bad loan?” he challenged.
“Only he knows that.”
“Not for long. The press is going to lov
e this. They’re always looking for a reason to kick us in the teeth.” He held out his hands as if displaying a headline. “‘Big-time wrestling promoter uses mob money to boost business.’ ”
“They’ll never find out.”
“No?” He grinned and both cheeks dimpled.
“You wouldn’t.”
“You forget, babe, I want out of this crazy business more than you want me out of this car.”
“Yet you defend it so much.”
“That’s because people like you don’t understand how real it is even if it’s time for me to jump ship. That is if there’s even a ship to jump from after word gets out about Sully.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Now what? Threaten to break his contract? She couldn’t. She needed him too much. For the business, only for the business.
“What are you gonna do to me, sweet cheeks? Fire me? ”
She wracked her brain. Think, Frankie, think. You’ve bluffed your way out of worse situations with more challenging enemies like Fortune 500 CEOs.
Money. The key to every victory.
She smiled and casually crossed one leg over the other.
“No, I won’t fire you, but I can hold back the bonus incentive my uncle promised you when your contract’s up.”
He shot her a death glare. At least he didn’t reach for his shirt again.
“I’m assuming you need that little nest egg to move on with your life?” she said.
Jack burned to wipe that smug look off her face. And he knew how to do it—with a kiss.
“Cat got your tongue?” she taunted.
A haze of red flashed before his eyes. Red, orange, yellow. He was seeing fire, and he wanted to throw her right into the center of the flame.
With an arrogant nod, she closed her eyes and relaxed against the black leather seat. Would she sense his approach if he reached across the limo to squeeze that pretty little neck between his fingers?
He glanced at the mini bottle of booze in his hand and shook his head. The damn woman was driving him to drink. Hell, five minutes ago he’d nearly kissed her. He’d wanted to kiss her, this impossible, uptight, bossy broad. What a chump, letting his body override his better judgment again. This woman was a barracuda determined to torture him. The cold-hearted Franken Niece was incapable of understanding anything beyond bottom lines and marketing angles.