by Shayla Black
And Mark was done playing with both of them. "I'll look for it in a few minutes. I need to wrap something up so I can discuss a few things with Nicki. If I find it, I'll let you know."
Zack shot Mark a pissy glare but reluctantly allowed himself to be shepherded out the door. Blade scowled as Mark crowded him out of the doorway, too. Then he shut the door in their faces--and locked it for good measure.
Quickly, he searched Nicki's desk. When he didn't find a bit of paper with a phone number on it, he shrugged. Not his fault if Zack's love life would suffer. Zack shouldn't have lost the number in the first place.
Pushing the issue aside, Mark sat back in Nicki's chair. He had a little more research to do before he questioned her in some clandestine way he had yet to fathom.
But an hour later, he could make no more sense of the accounting records on Nicki's computer than before. But his gut told him that something big was coming soon ... and that something was likely to take Nicki down with it.
Drained, yet still furious, Mark stomped up the stairs toward the third floor apartments. Early evening sun slanted in bold golden swaths through the window, casting lazy shadows on the wall. Outside, the usual tumble of Vegas tourism bustled below. He hadn't eaten since dawn, Rafe had left a message an hour ago, and his buddy Jason, from his old days at Standard National Bank, had called to say he was getting married.
Right now, he didn't give a damn about any of that. He couldn't get his mind off of Nicki or his head around the fact she looked so guilty, even the comparison to sin was too mild. He didn't even want to think about the fact that her betrayal crushed him just north of the ribs, until he wasn't sure where his next breath would come from. Since it was Monday night and the club was closed, Nicki had the night free from responsibility, so they had an appointment to rendezvous and screw each other breathless. Not that the thought didn't have all the pertinent parts of his anatomy rising in interest ... but he had questions that he wanted answers for even more.
Such as, could this all be real? Why would she deceive him like this? Why would she choose him to scam? And did she feel anything for him at all? It hadn't escaped his notice that the one time he'd apparently shouted his love aloud she hadn't said a word in return. And then there was the ever-popular question, how long would it take him to get over her once this case was done so he could go back to his mind-numbing one-night stands?
The answer he had at this point: No idea.
With a heavy sigh, he approached her door. They'd agreed to meet at six, and he was half an hour early. What the hell. Given everything he'd discovered today, he wasn't inclined to give a shit if being a bit early would piss her off. No, that wasn't the whole truth. He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't as eager as a six-year-old on Christmas morning to touch Nicki, sink into her. In her arms, he could forget--for a few precious moments--about her deception.
After a quick knock, Nicki answered the door wearing a sizzling blue corset that matched her uptilted eyes and didn't require him to stare too hard to define the outline of her hard berry nipples. A barely there matching thong and sheer nude thigh-high stockings added to the erection-inducing getup. A stray silken lock of her hair nestled itself right into that enticing cleavage. He started to sweat.
Wow, if he showed a lot of willpower tonight, he might manage to restrain himself from ripping her clothes off long enough to greet her.
"Hi."
Her breathy voice and sultry smile went straight to his cock. They said follow me to the bedroom, and let's get busy. He wasn't about to argue.
Mark swallowed, fighting dual urges to question her about her secret files and get her flat on her back with her legs open wide for him.
Clearly, he was going to have to pick--quickly.
No contest, really. Not with an investigation in the balance and the opportunity to put Bocelli the home wrecker behind bars, he couldn't tip his hand too quickly.
"Hi." Tempting fate, Mark smoothed a hand down the curve of her waist, over her hip, and settled it on the sweet curve of her ass. "You look edible in that shade of blue, baby."
She flashed him a wicked smile. "Glad you have eating on the brain. Come with me ..."
Grabbing his hand, she turned and led him into her bedroom. She'd turned the bed down and adorned it with white satin sheets. Candles glowed all around the room--on her nightstand, her dresser, the cedar chest in the corner. Perched on a TV tray next to the bed was an array of fruits and pastries, along with two glasses of wine.
When Nicki set her mind on seduction, she did it right.
"You're way overdressed for the occasion," she chastised.
Then she peeled off his shirt, sliding warm palms up his abs and his chest as she did. Her hands against his bare skin made him shiver. Then, smiling like a naughty kitten, she unbuttoned his jeans. The lowering of his zipper was a seductive rasp in the silence. Slowly, she released the zipper and dragged the back of her finger over the outline of his engorged cock, still shielded by his underwear. Her fingertip swirled over the sensitive head. Mark sucked in a breath, bit back a groan, and wondered how she could get to him so damned fast--and how the hell he was going to keep his wits long enough to keep his heart from sinking deeper.
"Hungry?" Nicki shot him a cheeky grin at her silly double entendre.
Mark sent her an answering grin that dazzled her, despite the fatigue around those beautiful hazel eyes. "What do you have in mind?"
Gosh, do you want the list?
"Giving you a full belly so you have plenty of stamina. I'm pretty sure you skipped lunch."
"Guilty."
"Here." Nicki reached behind her and snatched a fresh cream puff with strawberry glaze, topped with powdered sugar. She'd tried one--just enough to know they were to die for and that if she made them a habit none of her clothes would fit for long.
As she approached the sculpted curves of his mouth with the confection, he opened wide. Oh, she could hardly wait until he did that to her nipples. Nicki pressed her thighs together to relieve the sharp, sudden ache at the thought.
Food first, girl! Feed him, then jump his bones. All the while wondering if he loves you ...
No. Scratch that last thought. This was sex. Just sex. Surely that wasn't too hard to remember.
Placing the pastry on his tongue, she watched as he bit down. And groaned. Even the sound of his pleasure seemed to drive her crazy. Not just in the arousal sense--though if he didn't get her out of this thong soon, it was likely to be doused--but also crazy in an entirely new sense. Some part of her wanted to find fifty new ways to make him smile or groan or any other indication of happiness she could think of. It was like a special gift she wanted to give him ... something that would make him glad every day to be with her.
Dangerous territory. Very dangerous.
But when he licked the powdered sugar off her fingers, she couldn't exactly remember why.
"Very sweet, baby. But I think you've got something sweeter hidden somewhere in here." He traced a pattern over the swells of her breasts with his finger.
Nicki bit her lip to restrain the urge to rip the garment off for him and offer him anything he wanted.
But the shuttered look on his face troubled her. She wanted nothing more than to soothe whatever was troubling him, replace that disquiet with a happy light that permeated him all the way up to those hypnotic eyes.
"Strawberries?" She plunked one into his mouth.
He ate it, seeming to consider its flavor. "It's great ... but surely you have something even more satisfying."
That dangerous finger of his traced the valley between her breasts, bisected her stomach, toyed with her belly ring and glided over her mound, barely there. A phantom touch that left her aching.
Gritting her teeth, she continued to tease him, tease them both. "Wine, maybe."
Mark took the glass from her hand, drained it in a few hearty swallows that showed off the sexy cords in his neck--and made her want to plant her mouth all over him.
&nbs
p; With a sigh, he set the glass aside. "Lovely, but lacking. Take it off, Nicki."
She sucked in a breath. She knew that voice, the soft one that resonated inside her body with steel-edged command. He meant it. And he meant for her to do it now.
Staring right into his eyes, where she was sure she could lose herself for at least half an eternity, she pushed one strap off her shoulder. Her body lit up like an out-of-control brushfire, as the heat in his gaze notched up a few degrees.
Then the cell phone clipped to his jeans rang.
Yanking it from its holder with a curse, he looked at the caller ID. He cursed again and flipped it open. "This really isn't a good time, buddy. I'm hanging up now."
"No," said the voice on the other end. "It's your sister. I left you a message earlier ... She's in the hospital."
Nicki stood so close, she couldn't help but hear the conversation.
Mark suddenly gripped the phone so tightly, Nicki was stunned he didn't crush it. All the dancing, seductive light in his eyes evaporated. She held her breath as he sat on the edge of the bed, stunned.
"Why? What's going on? Is she hurt?"
"Those damn contractions. Your niece-to-be is trying to come six weeks early. They're afraid her lungs aren't fully developed. We've been here for a few hours. They're trying to stop Kerry's labor ... But she's--shit." His voice broke. "She's bleeding."
"Which hospital, Rafe? I'm on the next plane."
"It'll be over before you can get here. The doctors ... they're trying. But they've got her hooked up to so many tubes and monitors, she looks like an alien. Damn, I--" He sighed. "I've never been so fucking worried in my life."
Mark's heart all but stopped. Cool, in-control Rafe sounded on the verge of tears.
"I know." Hell, he was worried, too. Terrified. Kerry was the only family he had left, and after everything she'd done to prove him innocent of embezzlement ... God, no. "I'm coming back to New York. Can Kerry talk at all?"
There was a pause, then Rafe returned. "The doctors want to talk to me. I'll call you back."
Flipping the phone closed, the sudden silence assaulted him. He stared at the wall, in shock. Suddenly, Nicki approached and threaded her fingers through his hair, soothing him with her gentle touch.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "If the doctors are trying, there's every chance they can save the situation."
Possibly. But what if they couldn't?
He looked up at her, at the gentle concern on her face, and wondered why the hell she cared. And why her touch made him feel better?
"I've got to go." He stood and buttoned his pants, searching for his shirt.
"Absolutely. The books can wait a few days. Or more, if necessary. Do you need money for a plane ticket?"
In the middle of donning his shirt, he paused. Nicki was offering to help him get home to his sister? Even as she was committing a felony behind his back?
"Why?" He hadn't realized he'd said the word aloud until it rang in the air between them.
"What do you mean? I know how important your sister is to you. And you look ... apprehensive. You want to be with her, set your mind at ease, I know. Take whatever time you need off, but if you need the money--"
"You'd give it to me?"
Not that she didn't have it to give, but someone greedy enough to commit a felony and screw a bunch of people over for greenbacks just shouldn't be the sort who'd offer a guy a plane ticket to visit family.
Even more odd, she looked confused by his question. "Of course." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "You pack. I'll find you a flight. JFK or LaGuardia?"
Forgetting the hundred reasons why getting close to Nicki in any sense but the physical wasn't smart, Mark clutched her against him. He stopped lying to himself about how comforting she felt against him. How right. He just held on to her for a few brief seconds. Despite the fact he knew everything was wrong in his world, holding her made it somehow bearable.
"I don't need the money. But thanks."
He finally pulled away--and felt somehow empty the instant he did.
"Call me if you need anything. I'll be thinking of you and your sister. I'll even drag out my rusty rosary beads and offer up a prayer." She put on a weak smile, but he saw the concern shimmering in her eyes. It kicked him square in the middle of the chest.
How the hell was he going to fall out of love with her if she kept acting like she cared?
Two days later, Mark walked back into Girls' Night Out.
He hadn't called to let anyone know he'd returned. In truth, he'd wanted to surprise Nicki, both with the fact Kerry had been released from the hospital yesterday, baby safely in her tummy, and that he'd come back.
Now, at four in the afternoon, he could barely wait to see her.
Ever since knowing that Kerry and his soon-to-be-niece were going to be just fine, he'd been wondering about Nicki and her behavior before he'd left. She'd been tender ... concerned. Offered to help him get to New York. Even though she had the money, he just kept wondering: Would a greedy criminal really give a shit if an employee, even one she was sleeping with, needed the money to see to a family emergency?
The only known criminal in his past was Tiffany, and she wouldn't have lifted the phone to dial 911 to save Kerry. In fact, Tiff had tried to kill his sister. And Tiffany had been stashing away money in the Caribbean, while he'd been nearly crushed with medical debt following his episode with melanoma.
In short, Tiffany wouldn't have offered him a dime for any reason that didn't benefit her.
From where he was standing, Nicki had no reason to offer him money ... other than out of the goodness of her heart. That didn't sound like a criminal. So what was her story?
Climbing the stairs to the third floor of the club, Mark cursed. Did Nicki have a good heart? Or was it just something he wanted to believe?
He was so damn confused. But the fact remained that, as long he had no hard evidence to clear Nicki, she had to remain a suspect. And he had to treat her like one. Somehow.
Well, he was back in Vegas, so it was game on. He'd have to answer his questions ... and gather the proof Rafe had sent him here to find. For his sanity's sake, if nothing else.
Mark knocked on Nicki's door. No answer. No stirring inside. He didn't hear the clink of the pipes to indicate she might be in the shower.
An indrawn breath of frustration smelled like ... natural gas. Was it coming from her apartment?
Alarm jolting his system, Mark pounded on her door. No answer. "Nicki!"
Silence.
Where was the gas smell coming from? Why was it so strong? What if ... No, he couldn't think about Nicki being hurt--or worse.
Then damn it, why the fuck wouldn't she answer the door?
Alarm turned to panic. Mark threw his weight against Nicki's door, shoulder plowing into the door. Nothing. Damn it, he had to get inside!
"Nicki! Baby, can you hear me?"
Still no answer.
Fear racing through his blood, Mark forced a calming, centering breath and reached into his years of karate. He could kick the door down. He'd broken bricks with his foot. It was a matter of focus, of channeling energy.
He set up for his kick.
"What is going on?" Lucia demanded, opening her apartment door, which was across the hall from his.
He whirled around. "Do you have a key to your sister's place?"
"Yes." A concerned frown furrowed her brow.
"Get it. Now!"
Lucia hesitated only an instant before she raced away. Mark turned back to Nicki's door and clobbered on it again. The sickly odor of gas was stronger now. Terror ratcheted up in his system. Adrenaline roared inside him until he was sure he could break down the walls with his bare hands.
Thankfully he didn't have to. Lucia sprinted to the door with the key.
"This better be something more than she's not speaking to you and you're wanting me to let you in so you can invade her privacy."
"Inhale deeply."
Lucia did--and she paled. "Oh, no!"
Mark snatched the key from her hand, shoved it in the lock and cranked it to the side. A click signaled the bolt retreating from the portal. He flung the door open.
The smell of gas nearly dropped him to his knees.
"Stay out. Call 911!" he shouted to Lucia as he stormed inside, placing his forearm over his nose.
He raced through the apartment, looking for her. "Nicki!"
Not in the kitchen, not in the living room. He rounded the corner, but did not find her in the bathroom.
Stepping into her bedroom, he prayed she wasn't home at all. Maybe that's why she hadn't answered, why he couldn't find her ...
Barreling into her bedroom, he found her sprawled across her bed sideways, facedown and hanging over the edge of the bed.
"Nicki!"
Mark raced to her side and scooped her up in his arms. She didn't respond to his voice or his touch. Instead, she lay limp in his arms, head dangling over one arm, feet over the other, as if she was ... No!
Swallowing, his heart racing, Mark darted out of her apartment. Lucia met him on the landing, gasping when she saw Nicki was asleep, unconscious or ... No.
Sprinting down the stairs, he raced for the club's door.
"Follow me!" he shouted.
Shouldering the door behind the bar open, he dashed into the club and out into the sun-drenched parking lot. He sank to his knees ten feet outside the club's doors and cradled Nicki in his lap, beneath the shade of a palm tree. Immediately, he placed two fingers over her carotid artery. Her heart was beating, thank God. But it pumped double time, like a marching band on fast forward. She looked pale. Even the red lips that always tempted were a waxy yellow with a tinge of blue.
What the hell had happened?
Panting and pale faced, Lucia made it outside and knelt beside him. "The Fire Department is on their way. They're sending an ambulance."