by Lynn LaFleur
“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Synda raised her arms and flopped them at her side. “Rico, you choose.”
“What’s wrong with right here?” He pulled a chair out from the table next to where they stood.
“Too close to the door,” the women answered in unison.
He’d rather sit close to the door for a fast getaway, if necessary. If a cop walked in, he was out of there. “What’s wrong with the one by the bar?”
“Hey, you’re The Man.” Synda high-fived him. “Lead the way.”
Members of the band straggled in behind them, a quartet of trumpet, piano, bass and drums. By nine thirty, the place rocked.
Halfway through the first set, a man walked in carrying a trombone, and by the end of the set, a sax player made it six. They’d started hot and kept getting better. Rico tapped his fingers on the table in time to the beat of the drums. The band was good. Really good. For the first time in years, he let down his guard and relaxed.
Every part of him tensed when someone bumped into his chair. He whipped his head to the left. Mary Beth stood behind him, her lower lip clasped between her teeth. He stared at her mouth, remembering how it had softened beneath his. His gaze flashed over her body. She wore the same jacket she’d worn the first time he’d seen her at the café. He wondered if she wore that skimpy purple bra again.
His fingers itched to open her jacket and find out.
“M.B., glad you could make it,” Leandra said. “Sit down.”
Glad you could make it, Leandra had said. So she’d known Mary Beth would be here. He looked at Leandra, then Synda. They both gave him smiles he assumed were supposed to be innocent.
Yeah, innocent like a cobra.
Mary Beth slipped off her jacket and sat in one of the three empty chairs at the table, next to Synda. He couldn’t drag his gaze from where her V-necked sweater draped low enough to show a hint of her breasts.
He didn’t need hints about her body. He’d tasted every curve, every hollow, every dip.
His cock roared to life. Rico shifted on his chair, searching for a more comfortable position where his balls didn’t feel squeezed. He and Mary Beth had one night of hot sex. That’s all it would be. The need for revenge still clawed at his soul. He couldn’t forget that she could have saved him ten years in hell. No matter how much he wanted her, he had to push aside that desire and make her pay.
It was time she had a taste of what he’d experienced.
The second set started with a woman Mary Beth recognized from one of the casino lounges, a scat singer rumored to be the next Ella Fitzgerald if she managed to kick her cocaine habit.
Three empty chairs stood between Mary Beth and Rico. Leandra had left with Tom Connors a few minutes ago. Then one of the guys at the bar, who’d been drooling over Synda, caught her eye and beckoned her over. Now she and Rico sat alone among four empty chairs.
From time to time, Mary Beth glanced in his direction then quickly looked away.
He was dressed in black and leather again, she noticed. Like last night, he wore his hair drawn back in a ponytail. She didn’t want to remember how their tussling had loosened the band that held that lush wavy hair in place. How it had fallen in soft waves to his shoulders.
Her breath caught at the memory and her hormones kicked into high gear. She had to turn away. There was something about him—not his mind or his manners, but something that drew her like a magnet to metal.
She closed her eyes. They had nothing in common. He had a high school education, she had a master’s degree.
He’d worked in his uncle’s auto repair shop at the time of his arrest, then spent the next ten years making license plates. She had a thriving law practice, billable hours that grew each month.
He was a beer-and-brat kind of guy. She’d worked hard to acquire the knowledge and palate to glance at the most elaborate menu and order any entrée with a perfect accent. Superficial differences, but differences nonetheless.
She’d come from the neighborhood, just like Rico, but she’d pulled herself up and out of the dead-end life she’d have known if she’d stayed. She wasn’t going to go back now, not for a lifetime, or even another night, of incredible sex.
Mary Beth shook away the gloom, opened her eyes and noticed a wave of people had piled into the club. They craned their necks, looking for places to sit. Soon they’d drift over and ask to sit in the empty chairs at their table. Ordinarily that was fine with her. Tonight she’d wanted to spend the evening with friends, not with someone she hardly knew, and definitely not with Rico. She’d wait until the set ended then make her move.
Even loaded, the scat singer did a phenomenal job. Still the set went on a little too long for Mary Beth. Not only had a party of four non-locals plopped into the empty chairs at their table, Rico had moved over to accommodate them and now sat right beside her. He rested his forearms on the table and kept his fingers laced. That did nothing to hide the tension she sensed he had bottled up inside him. She had to get out of there. She’d have to move fast to get away before he caught up with her.
Synda left the bar and stooped in a crouch on Rico’s far side. He leaned down to hear what she said. From the corner of her eye, Mary Beth saw first Synda, then Rico, turn in her direction, nod and look away. Why did they bother to whisper? A blind man would see they were talking about her.
A waitress nudged Synda aside to make room to deliver a pitcher of beer to the newcomers. She placed a fresh glass of wine in front of Mary Beth.
“Châteauneuf-du-Pape,” she said. “The best we have.” She placed the corked bottle between them. “Marty ran in for cigarettes, saw you and sent it over.”
“Marty Trinidad?”
The waitress nodded. “He threw down a couple of Benjamins and walked out. My lucky day.”
Mary Beth smiled at that. Marty, always the showman. She knew him so well, knew he’d return near closing time and offer to see the waitress home. A couple of “Benjamins” didn’t come without strings attached.
In the meantime, she saw Synda had walked back to the bar and disappeared in the cluster of men who’d gathered around her stool.
The moment the music stopped, while the crowd still applauded, Mary Beth grabbed her purse, jacket and the bottle of wine. She jumped to her feet and headed for the door.
She’d almost made it outside when a hand clamped on her arm. She didn’t have to look to know whose.
Rico.
“Let go of me.” She snapped her arm away. She kept her voice low, still several heads turned. One man she knew pushed his chair back and started to stand. She smiled at him, a smile that reassured him things were fine.
“Where are you going?” Rico demanded. “Home?”
“Where I’m going is none of your business.” She pushed through the door and walked into the chill night air.
“It is my business. Synda told me to see you home.”
“Why? She doesn’t think I know the way?”
“I didn’t ask. She’s my boss. I do what I’m told.”
In the moonlight, Mary Beth saw he’d shaved more of his beard, exposing more of the soft smooth skin she’d loved touching last night. She shivered. The nearness of him started her hormones racing and sent tremors through places already hot and wet.
Except for the scar that told a different tale, and the tattoo that peeked out from the top of his turtleneck, Rico looked like a clean-cut, well-toned athlete. That wonderful mouth, those soft generous lips. They made her mouth water, in spite of the danger they meant. She willed herself to look away, to say something smart-alecky, maybe even hurtful, anything to make him leave her alone.
She could think of nothing…except how much she wished he’d take her in his arms and press that beautiful mouth against hers.
The wind kicked up and sent an empty soda can on its way. The sound of the aluminum rubbing against asphalt raised the hair on Mary Beth’s arms, much like nails on a chalkboard. It broke the mood as well.
“If I agree, h
ow do you plan to see me home?” The Tarot was so close, Synda and Lea always walked over. “Do you plan to walk behind my SUV?”
He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys on a chain bearing the Harley insignia. “We’ll drive to Pea-arrow’s and get my bike.”
“Pietro’s,” she corrected.
“Whatever. It’ll only take us a minute.”
She rolled her eyes, and hoped the look on her face sent the message that this was the dumbest idea she’d ever heard. Either her look hadn’t been condescending enough, or he couldn’t tell the difference. “Where’d you park your car?”
“It’s an SUV.”
“Where’d you park it?”
“In the lot in back.”
He took her elbow. She tried to swat his hand away. He tightened his grip. “You’re not going back there alone.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve done it a million—”
He stopped short, put both hands on her shoulders and shook her, hard enough to get her attention. “I’m going to see you home. I can follow behind you, or you can ride on the back of my bike, but it’s going to happen. You got it?”
She stared back at him. The annoyed look in his eyes that did little to hide his hunger, the thrumming in her pussy…they frightened her and thrilled her at the same time.
Do something. You’re a smart-ass. Say something. Instead she tilted her head back and closed her lids. If he didn’t kiss her in the next two seconds, she’d kiss him.
“Let’s go!”
She almost fell backward when he released her. Her eyes snapped open. How could he ignore an invitation to a sure thing?
Her face burned. He had to know what she was thinking, had to see how much she wanted him to kiss her. Instead he’d strode away from her.
Mary Beth yanked the lapels of her jacket together, chilled by the night air and Rico’s rejection. She jammed her purse under her arm and holding the wine bottle by the neck, stomped after him. No way in hell he’d forgotten last night. None. He was a guy. All guys thought with their cock.
Rejection was new to Mary Beth and she didn’t like it. I’m not going to forget this Rico Zanini. Not ever!
At Mary Beth’s vehicle, Rico held out his hand. “Give me the keys.”
“I will not.” She pushed past him on her way to the driver’s side.
Without a sound, he jumped in front of her and blocked the door. “I got a job to do, M.B. Stop screwin’ with me and give me the damn keys.”
Inside, Mary Beth steamed. She also knew that losing her cool over a drive of a block or two wasn’t worth the effort. She’d let her guard down seconds before. Showed her vulnerability. Allowed him to take her power. Ain’t happenin’ again.
“Here.” She slammed the keys into his open palm. But I’m kicking your ass out as soon as we get to your bike.
In Pietro’s parking lot, Rico pulled the SUV up alongside his bike. As he slid out of the driver’s side, he took the keys with him.
She leapt out of the vehicle. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” she shouted after him. She came around the back and stood between him and the bike. He’d left the driver’s side door open.
“Get inside. I’ll give you the keys in a minute.”
He did, after he’d painstakingly checked out the bike, zipped his jacket, slipped his hands into black leather gloves, started the bike, and pulled on his helmet.
Watching each deliberate move, Mary Beth’s blood boiled hotter. He thinks he’s showing me who’s boss. He doesn’t have a clue whom he’s dealing with.
When they both saw he had nothing left to stall their departure, he tossed her the keys and inched up alongside, frowning until she buckled up before starting the engine.
Oh, what she wouldn’t give to burn a long patch of rubber and lose him. Impossible. She knew a good bike would meet and pass her in seconds.
She shrugged, threw the gearshift into drive, coasted out of the lot and onto the street. He followed close behind. Maybe he’d outsmarted her so far, but once they were on her turf, she’d call the shots. No invitations for a nightcap or a cup of coffee. She’d park the SUV, dash inside and bolt the door shut behind her. If he hung around expecting more, he could damn well freeze to death for all she cared.
Rico followed at less than a car length behind her all the way. Even on the bumpy lane leading to her drive and into the space cleared for parking at the back of the house.
In the time it took to cut the engine, Mary Beth popped out of her vehicle and hurried along the covered walkway that led to her door. She didn’t look back, wave, say thanks or goodnight.
Inside, after she threw the deadbolt, she yanked off her boots and jacket and leaned against the door. The satisfaction of the moment faded into an annoying sense of guilt. She’d thrown herself at him. He’d acted like a gentleman. That pissed her off. She didn’t know why Synda had asked him to see her home. Synda knew she wasn’t afraid to drive alone.
And hadn’t Rico made it more than clear that he did only what his boss had told him to do? She’d wanted him to kiss her and he’d walked away. Did he have to hit her with a brick to get his message across?
Leaning against the door, she tried to sort her thoughts and the cross-signals her body was sending. She’d never reacted to a man this way. Not a man who, if she’d met him under different circumstances, wouldn’t have interested her enough to remember his name. Now she couldn’t put him out of her mind.
Or the fact that several moments had passed and she hadn’t heard the bike’s engine start up again. What was he waiting for?
The seconds ticked by. They turned to minutes. She listened for the sound of his footsteps. She heard nothing. Her pulse quickened.
In your dreams if you think I’m coming out there to say goodnight. Or worse, to say thanks.
From the living room, she heard the chimes of the grandfather’s clock strike the hour.
Oh crap. Unable to stand the suspense, she turned and unbolted the door.
Chapter Eight
Without her boots and jacket, Mary Beth shivered at the slap of cold air that met her in the open doorway. Outside, twenty feet from where she stood, Rico still straddled the Harley, helmet off, arms folded, one foot planted on the ground. Unlike her, he appeared immune to the cold, a man who’d stay in the exact spot until spring if he had to in order to get what he wanted. He looked almost content.
She narrowed her eyes and squeezed her lips together. He knew she’d change her mind, sat there until she realized it. How annoying. Unfortunately, how true.
“Would you like some coffee before you head back?”
“Why not?”
Was that a smirk? Damn him!
At the sink, Mary Beth stood with her back to the door. She heard Rico step inside the kitchen, heard the zip of his jacket, the rubbing sound of boots toed off. She rinsed away the coffee left in the odd cast-iron pot and began filling it with cold water. She sensed Rico now stood a few feet behind her, watching her work. He claimed to hate cats, but he moved like one. A panther on the prowl.
“That’s some coffeepot.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “My friend Marty picked it up in Greece.”
“Did he pay two Benjamins for that too?”
“Quite a few euros, I imagine.” With deliberate movements she placed the cover on the pot and flicked on the gas jet. “Marty Trinidad is a good friend. He started out with nothing. He knows how to appreciate wealth. And he doesn’t apologize for his generosity.”
Rico spun her toward him and wrapped his long fingers around her upper arms. She winced when his thumbs pressed hard into the soft flesh above her elbows. “What else is he generous with? His dick?”
His words stung more than his grip. “Let…go…of…me.” She uttered precise words with points as sharp as daggers.
He tightened his grip.
She tried not to grimace.
“I asked you a question, lady. One of those damn cats of yours g
ot your tongue?”
“I’ll tell you what I’ve got—the sheriff’s department on speed dial. If you don’t let go of me right now, you’re going to be spending the night in very familiar surroundings.”
She saw both doubt and wariness in his eyes. She pressed ahead. “If you think I’m blowing smoke, keep it up.”
Rico released her so quickly, she had to catch hold of the counter to keep from stumbling backward. “I want you out of here, right now.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something else. Shaking his head, Rico crossed the kitchen in quick strides and drove a foot into one of his boots. His jacket dangled from his arms, a sleeve dragged across the floor. He grabbed the second boot and didn’t look back.
Mary Beth watched his retreat. He’d looked almost comical hopping out the door on one foot, but there was nothing funny about what happened between them. In prison, he’d pumped his body into a weapon. His strength frightened her, and his quiet temper frightened her even more. He held such rage inside him, so much directed at her. She’d thought last night had been their catharsis. That it was over. Now she wondered if it was just beginning.
She kept an eye on the clock. She counted the ticks of the second hand, listened for the sound of the Harley’s engine. Like before, it didn’t come. Instead, Mary Beth heard the outer door creak open slowly. Her pulse doubled while she waited for Rico to speak.
“Rico?”
No answer, except the sound of the kitchen door opening wide.
He stood outside the threshold, hands jammed in his pockets, head down.
“Did you forget something?”
He shook his head.
After a silence, he looked up. “I’m sorry, Mary Beth. Sometimes I say things I don’t mean, and sometimes I want to say things I mean but I can’t. I was out of line about Trinidad.”
The breath Mary Beth had been holding since she’d heard the door creak open seeped out of her.
“Rico, at times we all say things we don’t mean. I’m sorry too. Why do we keep fighting? Why can’t we forgive each other?”
He still made no attempt to step inside. Cold air poured into the kitchen from behind him.