Moving beside her, he shook his head in disbelief of all the emotions this tiny woman had him feeling. With great care not to disturb her, Mica placed all his packages on the floor and brushed a finger through her hair, then sat beside her and tried to shift the laptop from her grip without waking her.
They might not have broken any world records last night, but they'd given it one hell of a run for the gold. He figured she needed her sleep, and a nap sounded damn good to him, as well—especially when he figured they'd awake in each other's arms and could add another event to the scorecard.
Turning the laptop, he skimmed over the words and his heart stopped. Cold dread slowly ate at him; rage burned in its wake. He went back up to the top and found the letter addressed to himself. His guilt over reading it behind her back eased a bit, but even though he probably should have waited for her to give it to him, he couldn't tear his gaze from the text. Or keep his finger from scrolling down the screen so the next lines would appear.
Finished, he saved the file and went to stand on the balcony. An unnatural calm filled him and distanced his mind from the situation. Somewhere inside him he knew he should throw stuff, rave like a madman until every cop in the greater New York area showed up.
Traffic noise filled the heavy air. It was a warm day; spring was definitely on the horizon. Mica leaned against the railing and looked out over a city he'd spent the last fifteen years in. He'd seen a lot of bad shit in that time and wasn't innocent or naïve by any means. He had a real fear that when this strange numbness wore off, if he didn't have control of his emotions, he'd likely go berserk.
Even now, deep underneath the calm, a rage burned so hot he almost feared it. It was the kind of rage that made a man able to kill a dozen with his bare hands, and he knew right where he'd start. At the library this afternoon, he'd gathered information about Lorenzo Lloyd and his wife. Information that included the couple's upstate New York fortress. Even now he had a friend of his working to get him blueprints of the estate. He was glad he didn't have them in hand already.
Hands clasped, hanging forty-three stories above the city, Mica watched the traffic snarl below. Funny how today was an ordinary day for everyone else. People went to work, met for lunch, talked on cell phones, and shouted profanities at complete strangers. They were blissfully going about their day, unaware that Mica Garrison Devane had met the love of his life and might be about to die for the woman.
Sure it wasn't 9/11, but some kind of recognition seemed in order. Never had an event so monumental happened to him before, and he had some difficulty wrapping his mind around it. Life seemed so surreal all of a sudden that he had trouble accepting that life went on around him as it did every day. On some level, weren't they all connected? Shouldn't there have been a ripple in the force or something?
He scrubbed both hands through his thick hair and wondered if he was up for this, wondered if he'd get either of them out alive. Lorenzo Lloyd had done business in this city long before Mica was even born. He had a lot of friends, connections Mica couldn't hope to match or infiltrate. He was afraid to go to the cops. He'd seen too damn many TV shows and movies where the bad guy was connected to the local precinct, and the poor sap who'd gone in like lamb to the slaughter ended up dead before the second act. He imagined for Lloyd to move around this city and get away with all that was rumored about him, he was probably very connected.
The man had been under investigation for charges from racketeering to murder and never charged with a thing, though the people around him often were. On top of facts, there were so many rumors and so much innuendo floating around about the man he was practically an urban legend. Jayden's letter filled in a lot of holes and settled any doubt he had that one man could be pure evil.
What that man had done to her was enough reason to kill him, in Mica's book. Legal system be damned. From raping her repeatedly—though he knew Jayden wouldn't see it that way. Just because she found it futile to say no, didn't mean she'd consented, either—to the incident that caused her reported nervous collapse. The man had terrorized, bullied, and tormented her for years. Mica actually laughed, one hard bark of laughter. And all in the name of love.
Jesus, he was proud of her. He couldn't imagine how in the world she'd come through it all intact—in the emotional sense, as well as the physical—and still had the passion and fire of a woman who'd seen nothing but good in this life. How the hell was she able to trust anyone after that? And what a gift it was that she trusted him.
He walked back through the door and closed out the noise of the city below with the slide of glass. Jayden slept on, her breathing slow and even.
That she trusts you, even a little, is a miracle. Don't fuck it up. Mica knelt beside the bed, kissed her limp hand and made her a solemn promise. I will never, let that man come near you again. I will kill him or die trying.
The truth of it resonated throughout his body. For the first time his first response wasn't un-fucking believable, it was to call his lawyer and make some arrangements. Then he needed a battle plan.
* * * *
Moonlight bathed the light sheen on their bodies as they lay entwined in one another's arms. Jayden had never felt more secure in her life as she did when Mica loved her. When Mica pressed a firm kiss against her head, she sighed softly, then looked up into his eyes, to beg him to continue. He laughed, and Jayden realized she'd never heard anyone before that laughed the way he did.
Full of life and joy.
It made her smile in response every time.
He brushed a kiss to her nose then met her stare and smiled. “Okay, you want more?"
She nodded.
"You're not bored senseless yet?"
Not by a long shot, babe.
Although, if they didn't stop every hour or so to fuck like rabbits, she figured by now she'd have the bulk of his life story, but she liked the balance they'd struck. Mica told her a story, then he loved her until she couldn't breathe.
Recover.
Repeat.
It worked for her.
"Okay. Okay. Where was I anyway?” He scratched his head, and she nuzzled closer. “Right, my bizarre career in modeling. I think I did so well because I kept my nose clean.” He raised a brow and met her gaze for a moment. “Both figuratively and literally. I didn't do drugs, and I didn't fuck the other models, and I showed up to every shoot on time and sober, without complaint."
Jayden thought all that was probably true, but his god-like face and rock hard abs hadn't hurt him any, either. She placed a kiss over his nipple and flicked it with her tongue, feeling a rapid, hard response against her left thigh.
"Do you want to hear this or not?"
She laughed and nodded, and then settled against him with a silent promise to be good.
"So anyway, by the time I was twenty-six, I was probably the male equivalent of Tyra Banks or Elle, but us poor male models just don't get the same type of attention. Sure I got a few rock videos, but where was my Victoria Secret catalogue shoot or Sports Illustrated cover?"
Jayden smothered her laugh against his chest.
"Oh sure, laugh if you want, but I was devastated.” He joined her in laughter, adding, “Or not. Modeling sucked, but I made a lot of money at it. I invested it well and by thirty, I was able to hang up my spandex bikini and go full-time into what I loved, which was the restaurant business.
"Vasquez and I opened Amaris about three years ago.” He looked down at her. “It's Hebrew and means God's promise. My name also being Hebrew, I felt a connection with the name.” He chuckled. “But mostly I thought it sounded different. Romantic. That's the place you were hanging out looking for scraps when I found you, by the way."
Jayden smiled but it was a little sad this time. In a way it seemed eons ago, but the reminder took a slice off her euphoria. As if reading her thoughts, he kissed her slow and deep, exactly how she loved it, and all thoughts of Lorenzo, danger, and death slipped away.
"I'm so proud of her, angel. We have three dini
ng rooms. A family style, a casual, and the cove, which ... Have you ever been to Disneyland?"
She shook her head.
"Jesus, I thought it was every little girl's dream to see Sleeping Beauty's Castle."
Maybe it had been at one time, but she'd never been enough of a dreamer to think she'd ever go to Disneyland.
"Anyway, there's this one restaurant there, The Blue Bayou. It sits alongside the pirate ride, and when you eat there, it's as if you're eating on the back patio of a southern plantation at night. Stars overhead, fireflies dance over the water, night sounds of crickets and owls surround you. I sort of did the cove ala Blue Bayou, only instead of tables it's all booths. Private booths set in such a way you can't see into one from another. They're draped with rich fabrics, candles, flowers, and some of the most expensive linen I've ever seen. It's a very popular room. Someday I might do an entire restaurant like that."
They fell silent for a time. Jayden ran her fingers through Mica's chest hair in a slow, steady rhythm, wishing she could speak. She wished she could ask him a million questions and know so much more about him. After a while, she sat part way up. Braced on one elbow, she swung her hair over her shoulder and stared into his dark eyes through the moonlight.
Tell me about home.
"What is it, my love?"
He touched her cheek, moving his other arm behind his head. Jayden swiveled her legs around and folded them in front of her, then gestured to the room in general.
"You want the name of my decorator? I don't think that's a good idea."
She thought his skin might have turned the slightest bit pink, but in the dim light she couldn't tell for sure. There was obviously a story there with the decorator, though, and she had a very long memory. She smiled and shook her head, at a loss to think of a better way to make him understand. Even though he'd bought her a small electronic notepad when he went out earlier, she wasn't sure where it had ended up with all their bed acrobatics, and didn't want to go looking for it.
Biting her lip, she moved her hands into a teepee shape.
"You want me to take you to an Indian casino. You play craps."
She laughed and playfully shoved him. He laughed in return and pulled her back down beside him.
"You want to know about my home? My real home, not this place?"
She smiled, nuzzled his shoulder, and settled in as he released a long, slow breath.
"I already hit the high points. The firehouse, the lose-your-virginity pond—"
She giggled, but soon Mica settled into his tale and told her what she longed to hear. About picnics and footballs games, how his dad taught him to fish, how his grandparents took him and his cousins for ice cream. Fourth of July fireworks and Christmas parades. Fall festivals and Spring fairs. To Jayden, it all sounded like heaven, but she heard the strain in Mica's voice the entire time he talked, and she was left wondering what happened that made a boy leave that kind of place and never go back.
"It's sad, really. Most of the kids move out as soon as they graduate, so the entire county is sort of dying. Mom says half the stores on Main are closed now, the ice cream parlor only operates during summer or during street fairs. Aunt Mavis’ is still there, but she's getting older, and Dad wrote last time that he thought she'll close up by the end of the year."
Jayden furrowed her brow.
Who's Aunt Mavis?
"She's a cantankerous old woman who's only stayed in business as long as she has because the woman can cook.” He raised one shoulder. “That and the fact that she has absolutely no competition. Her only son moved away the year before I did. She has a daughter. I don't know what happened to her, but I guess she doesn't want the place either.
"They try. The town. There's a restoration board that tries to interest people in relocating and renovating some of the older houses. There's a couple of real relics there, but they could be castles with enough elbow grease, a bulldozer, and an infinite bank account. Trouble is, most people that have that kind of money don't want to live in sleepy little backwater towns."
As he talked, Jayden felt her heart growing heavy. She wondered why it had to be that way. Why so many people shucked the old ways of family, quiet, and community for cities like this one with a million faceless bodies and so much noise you had to live forty three floors above it to get any sleep.
"It was dull as hell growing up there. We all got into a shitload of trouble ‘cause there was nothing else to do."
Jayden smiled again, picturing Mica as a teen. She bet all the girls wanted him. She wondered if there had been any one special girl. Wondered if anyone broke his heart.
Probably the other way around.
"Mostly I left, though, ‘cause I hated being poor, and working at Mavis’ for six bucks an hour wasn't going to change my future much. I didn't want to put in a forty hour week in a greasy spoon, then work at old Hank's gas station on the weekend to put bologna sandwiches on the table for a brood of hungry kids while my wife screwed my old high school rival behind my back."
Jayden flipped onto her stomach, folded her hand over his ribcage, and propped her chin on them. She scrutinized his face in the flickering light.
Is that what happened, Lancelot? Did Guinevere pick the king over you?
"It's nothing, love; an old soapbox I try not to stand on anymore."
But intuition told her it was more. She played with his chest hairs, her mind ruminating on its own. Lorenzo was waxed clean and, even if he hadn't been, it wasn't as if she wanted to run her hands over his chest. She liked Mica's hair; in a strange way it fascinated her. She felt another kiss to the top of her head, and the telltale growth now positioned between her thighs since she'd slipped one of her legs over his.
Fire sparked in his golden eyes when she looked at him again, and an answering flame ignited deep in her belly.
God, you're a hoyden, J.
She laughed because she loved it, and she laughed because, with a growl, Mica pinned her to the bed. She stopped laughing when his mouth hungrily covered hers with the promise of paradise.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eight
Jayden looked over the sea of hair care products swarming Mica's bed, her emotions a mixture of anxious nerves and straight-out trepidation.
She hated Mica's plan—hated that he'd probably end up dead if they went through with it. The memory of his parents’ photograph from the mantel downstairs was permanently etched in her mind. Their smiles. Their laughter. If she got their only son killed, she might as well shove a sword through their hearts. On the other hand, her plan wasn't coming together at all. She'd snuck out of bed three times last night—which wasn't easy when one sleeps with the male equivalent of a nymphomaniac—but her protected e-mail account remained empty. She realized she was in this alone.
Well, alone except for the probably-soon-to-be-dead Mica, unless she came up with something else.
"This one promises complete coverage.” He tossed yet another box onto the bed. Even in all her turmoil, Jayden couldn't resist a smile when Mica came up behind her. Arms wrapped tight around her waist, he pulled her against his chest and placed a predatory kiss on her nape.
"Christ, woman. I love you in a skirt."
She giggled. They'd had sex three times since she put it on that morning, so she figured she had to believe him. They'd done it with her on top, in only the skirt; they'd done it against the wall again; and her personal favorite, when he bent her over the desk and threw the end of the skirt over her head.
He'd taken her so fast that she hadn't even been aware of what he was about until she felt him slide inside her—she'd given up on underwear after the ‘against the wall’ incident—and God, it felt like heaven. She laughed as he bent his knees and even know pressed his half-hard cock against her cleft. She moaned and pulled away from him, twisting until she faced him and held up one finger.
You promised.
At this rate they'd both be dead from all the sex, instead of whatever Loren
zo planned. She tilted her head for a second and thought about that.
Then again, it'd be a hell of a lot more pleasant than whatever Lorenzo's got planned. She shook the lusty thought from her head.
This really is serious.
She'd been out for nearly forty-eight hours, and with the exception of phenomenal sex—which did carry a lot of weight in her book, but that was hardly the point—she hadn't accomplished a thing.
"One more time, baby. Then I'll be good. Promise."
He came toward her with dark eyes and a hunger she was coming to understand would never be satiated. She understood it because she shared it, but just before he pulled her into his arms, she ducked under them, grabbed a box from the bed and held it up. In the end, Mica laughed.
"I wanna fuck, and you say ‘Not tonight, I'm doing my hair'?” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “That's a woman for you. Ooof."
He laughed when her throw hit its target and the hair color box landed smack against his abs.
"I should have bought you army fatigues and maybe a chastity belt."
They both laughed as he turned his back to her and walked toward the window. Jayden had to admit she liked the skirt as well. It was a gypsy style in pale pink, which perfectly matched the lacey tank and cotton-candy nail polish he'd gotten to go with it. He'd purchased a sundress, a pair of jeans, several tees, and thank the Lord above, there wasn't anything in white.
Purples and greens and pinks, even the denim was a beautiful sandblasted blue. For the past three years, Jayden's wardrobe had been taken away and all she'd been allowed were variations of what Mica had found her in. She figured Lorenzo had done it to back up the whole mental patient image he had going on, and although he'd come close—especially over this last winter—he hadn't broken her.
Now it's my turn, darling. And I will make you pay.
Jayden shook the thoughts from her head as she picked up the deep auburn color that had the best chance to cover her inky-black hair and held it out to Mica, who leaned against a wall, hands behind his back as if he didn't quite trust himself.
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