by Shayla Black
"Lucia is bright with books and learning," Mark conceded. "But Nicki knows people. She knows how to make sure they have a good time in this place. She's efficient and clever--"
"You keep taking up for her, and I'm gonna start suspecting you of banging my niece. That won't make me happy."
Blade hadn't flat out told Pietro about her fling with Mark? Shocking. Or maybe he just hadn't had time yet.
"Whatever sex life Nicki and I may or may not have is absolutely none of your business."
"I'm her guardian."
"She's twenty-six years old," Mark reminded him. "Trust me, Nicki is totally equipped to live her own life without your interference. That includes running her club."
"So you are banging her. Since you're not Italian, I won't have you in the family. You're probably not even Catholic," Pietro spat.
"Again, none of your business." Mark's voice had gone from hard to implacable. Not a good sign.
"Do you want your arms or legs broken first?"
Ugh! Mr. Old School had been watching gangster movies again. Having heard more than enough, Nicki set to burst in. Bad-news Bocelli interrupted her.
"Look, dancer boy. You heard the boss man. Turn the books back over to me and no one gets hurt."
"That's Nicki's decision. If Nicki says you're the man, fine. Until then, I'm here to stay. Now excuse me."
Nicki heard Mark's double-edged tone. Was he warning Blade that her choice applied to matters beyond who did her accounting? The thought pleased her.
A moment later, footsteps told Nicki that Mark intended to leave the room. Time for her to intervene before things got really ugly.
"Let's drop in on the overgrown boys," she whispered to Lucia.
"Amen," her sister shot back. "If you don't, He-Man and the Hulk will start fighting right there in your office and reduce it to rubble in ten minutes.
"Yes, but my money is on Mark to win." Nicki smiled.
Their mere appearance at the door to the office had Pietro scowling, Bocelli staring, and Mark pretending not to look relieved.
Poor guy, having to put up with the Italian version of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Mark had earned a little backup. Everything he'd said to her uncle thrilled her. He'd defended her abilities, her intelligence, her right to make her own decisions. If he didn't believe in her and didn't give a damn, he wouldn't have said anything. Oh, he might have fought for his job, but not by reciting a laundry list of her capabilities.
Gotta love a man who knew it didn't take a penis to ensure an IQ larger than one's shoe size. And while not all men were sexist pigs these days, she knew enough to realize that Mark's willingness to put himself on the line to defend her was something just a little special.
Somewhere, deep inside that man, beat a heart that cared about her. Even if he denied it and hated it and was even now trying to carve it out with the rusty edge of a tin can.
The only thing between her and having the man she loved devoted to her in some way that didn't involve sex was to find out what that bitch in his past had done to him and prove she would not do the same.
Monday morning, Nicki knocked on Mark's door at an obnoxiously early hour, for her anyway: nine-thirty.
Mark opened the door. Surprise washed over him to see Nicki standing there, wearing a casual white sundress with a flared skirt, and thin, lacy straps that allowed a bare hint of cleavage to show, and carrying a wide-brimmed straw hat. Her hair fell down to her shoulders in soft curls that matched her soft smile. This was a whole new side of Nicki, feminine, a hint of sweet lace and innocence.
If he hadn't known her better, he'd be tempted to believe it.
"Hi," she murmured. "I've come to surprise you today."
"I'm already surprised. This is early for you."
She shrugged. "You're worth losing a little sleep. After all you've done for me, I wanted to give something back to you. And you've been edgy lately. Worried, I guess, maybe a little ... down, so I wanted share something with you. Come with me?"
She held out her hand, face hopeful, blue eyes sparkling with warmth. There was nothing sexual about it, which stunned him. She wasn't here fishing for orgasms. Or asking him about the books. Nicki wanted to ... cheer him up?
Or did she have a hidden agenda?
I love you. She'd whispered those three potent words the last time he'd been deep inside her. As soon as she'd uttered them, his trip through Pleasure Central had zipped at light-speed straight to Orgasmland. Yeah, in the cold light of day, he had to face the fact she could be lying, playing a game with him to cover her illegal activity, distract him from digging too deep and asking too many questions.
But in that moment, he'd wished desperately that she'd whispered the truth.
Today, who knew? Was she here out of obligation for pulling her out of her gas-ridden apartment? To pull the old bait-and-switch while something else with her accounts went down today? Any chance she actually cared?
Whatever her motivation, he had to play along. Not that spending the day with Nicki, who looked like a cross between a white daisy and a southern belle, was a hardship.
Mark reached out and put his hand in hers.
"Whew! I was beginning to wonder if you were going to turn me down," she bantered playfully. "Couldn't imagine why. I showered and everything this morning."
"You look great," he said softly, knowing it would likely be the only honest thing he was able to say to her all day.
She reached up and planted a quick kiss on the comer of his mouth. Intoxicated by her citrus-cinnamon scent and the pouting curve of her mouth, Mark shifted to move in and capture her lips.
Nicki had already turned around and tugged on his hand, dragging him out into the landing. "C'mon. I want to get there when the ... well, when it starts."
Shutting and locking the door behind him, Mark allowed Nicki to lead him down the stairs and to the parking lot.
The heat was already shimmering off the blacktop. The incessant Vegas sunlight assaulted him with piercing brightness and oven-like temperatures. Gosh, and it wasn't even ten in the morning. But he had to admit all the people who'd said over the years that the dry hot of the desert was easier to bear were right.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"It's a surprise, silly."
She smiled and ... was she batting her eyes like a flirt? Sleek, stiletto-wearing Nicki was wearing a modest dress and giving him the Scarlett O'Hara routine? Okay, what the hell was up?
With a laugh, she pulled him over to her car. He stopped dead in his tracks.
"You're kidding, right?"
"You don't like my Crossfire Roadster?" The furrow of her brow conveyed confusion.
"Uh ... It's very you."
The compact glossy red convertible with the black leather top sat low to the ground. She pressed a button on her key fob. The car beeped, lights flashed. She opened the door with flourish. "This is a great car. Speedy, reliable, responsive."
Mark cleared his throat. "And built for someone well under six feet tall. I'm almost six-six. Nicki, If I get in there, I'll have to duck my ears between my knees ... if I even manage to squeeze in."
"I'll fix that. Gimme a minute."
She hopped into the driver's seat, started the engine, pressed a button ... and down came the top. Nicki reached into the glove box, grabbed out a hairclip with plastic teeth, then twisted her hair on top of her head. A squeeze of the clip later, and the dark curls bobbed in the breeze, attached to just below her crown.
"How about now?" she asked. "The seat slides back a bit more, so you shouldn't have to do your imitation of the fetal position just to get to ... where we're going."
"And I take it you're not going to tell me where that is?" he asked, climbing into the passenger seat.
A playful smile curled up her pillowy red mouth. "I always knew you were smart."
With that, Nicki flipped on the radio, something peppy and light and pop-oriented Mark had never heard, considering he tended to favor Nickelback
, Nirvana, and classic rock. Not awful actually, the catchy little tune.
"How long is this drive?"
"Oh, no. No fishing for information. In fact..."
She reached over the middle console and grabbed her purse, which he hadn't noticed until now sat between his feet. From inside the overstuffed, tiny bag, she pulled out a red scarf. He instantly recognized it as the one he'd used to tie her right wrist to the bed two days ago. Between that bright red reminder and the sight of her leaning over his thigh to reach her purse--and a potent whiff of that tangy spiced fruit scent of her--he became hard as an iron post in three seconds.
Had he last touched her a mere two days ago? Felt like two damn years.
To his shock, Nicki then folded the scarf, all but climbed into his lap, and placed it over his eyes.
"No." Mark grabbed her wrists, forcing her to lower the scarf.
"I'm not going to hurt you." She scoffed. "As if I could."
True, but... "I don't like not knowing what's going on. And I'm not thrilled at the idea of looking like a jackass."
"Well, certainly you can make one teeny exception for the sake of a surprise. I'll be driving, so my hands can't wander to your ... person and disturb you. I'll be looking at the road, so I won't be staring at you when you can't see. I'll be in my own seat, so I can't do anything with my mouth you might disapprove of."
If the issue was merely about what she'd be doing with her hands and mouth ... bring it on. He could take her--again and again. It was wondering what locale she'd drive him to and what would happen when they got there. He didn't think Nicki would chauffeur him straight to a lair of thugs set up firing-squad style, but he didn't want to bet his life on it. Even if it seemed out of character, Nicki could well be laundering money for someone who probably had no aversion to violence whatsoever. Both Pietro and Bocelli fit that description.
Still, Rafe had always advised him to use his gut. It told him that Nicki wouldn't harm him physically.
Emotionally, all bets were off.
Now she was looking at him as if his refusal and hesitation really hurt her feelings. Damn it, he either had to upset her or trust her. The hell of it was, he hadn't been good at trust since Tiffany.
"Look, it's not that big a deal," Nicki uttered as she backed away. But she sounded disappointed. "I wanted to surprise you, but if it makes you uncomfortable--"
"Just do it," he growled, grabbing her wrist.
Damn it. He'd deal with whatever came his way.
Hesitantly, Nicki leaned over and knotted the scarf at the back of his head. When she straightened away, he couldn't see a thing except the general impression of sunlight all around.
With that, she backed out of her parking space and zipped out of the lot. Soon out of the traffic, one upbeat pop song followed another, punctuated by the occasional ballad or offbeat eighty's hit. Most of it was drowned out by the wind stirring all around them, blowing his hair into his face. Her speed picked up, signifying open highway beneath the tires.
Otherwise, they rode in silence. Not comfortable, not awkward. Without his sight, he sensed a tension in Nicki he hadn't seen in her flirty expression. His own thoughts kept whirling with possibilities. He could be headed for an afternoon of danger at gunpoint or hot sex.
About an hour later, she slowed to a stop and put the car into park.
Nicki took a deep breath. "I wanted to bring you someplace away from the bustle of Vegas, hopefully someplace where you could forget about your sister's recent problems ... and whatever else might be troubling you. I'm hoping that you'll just relax and enjoy yourself today."
Mark was still pondering where the hell she might have taken him when he smelled her mouthwatering scent looming close, felt the brush of her breasts, the warmth of her body, despite the rising temperature of the June day. The erection that had abated during the drive returned with a vengeance.
The blindfold fell away. Instantly, Mark realized there were no gangsters ready to fit him for a pair of cement shoes or use him for target practice. Just a few senior citizens milling in the parking lot and a young couple holding hands. In fact, the last thing he expected to see when he blinked and his eyes grew accustomed to the streaming sunlight was two white buildings basking in the perfect, cloudless day, one resembling a multistoried bell tower. The other structure was square and high-roofed with arched windows and a large sign welcoming them to the award-winning winery in the desert.
"Well?" Nicki prompted.
He turned to her hopeful expression, watching at she bit her lip nervously.
"A winery?"
"It's a pretty place. They have a great restaurant and tours, along with a neat little gift shop."
He said nothing; he didn't know what to say. He'd never been a big wine drinker, on the one hand. But the place was crisp and pristine, rising into the desert sun with the mountains as a majestic backdrop. The more puzzling thing, however, was Nicki. Had she really brought him here for no other reason than to cheer him up?
"Or if you're not interested, maybe I'll just buy you a bottle, get you drunk, take you home, and strap you to the bed for a change."
Mark recognized the acid impatience in her tone. And he burst out laughing.
"Wow, difficult choice. A day of culture with a pretty woman or hot, sloppy sex I'm not likely to finish before passing out. Hmm, guess I'll take a chance and go with door number one."
The smile dancing at the comers of her mouth kicked up again. "Good choice. Let's go." She climbed out of the car and called back to him, "The first tour starts at eleven."
Within moments, they joined the seniors and the couple drooling all over each other for a leisurely stroll around the grounds that looked like a lush green oasis rising from the desert. Green lawns, palms, and willows swaying in the breeze fringed the larger building that housed the equipment used to ferment and bottle the wines. Nicki slipped little tasting cups up to his mouth. He wasn't terribly interested in fermented grapes ... but Nicki's blue eyes pleaded. He relented, if for no other reason than to see her smile, to feel him touch her as she lifted the cups to his lips.
God, he had it bad.
They sipped wine of all varieties, Mark gravitating to dry ones with a bit more body, Nicki to light, fruity ones with emphasis on sweetness. By the end of the tour, they marveled at the winery's workings. They also laughed with one of the Seniors who'd done a bit too much tasting, then tucked the length of her skirt into her waistband and imitated Lucille Ball during the winemaking episode on I Love Lucy.
More relaxed than he had been in weeks, Mark linked Nicki's fingers with his and led her outside. They emerged on the other side of the building, into the sunlight again, on a long white porch. Slender white columns held up the porch, dotted with climbing ivy. Wicker rockers welcomed visitors to sit and stare at the vineyards beyond that stretched to the base of the mountain.
Mark had to admit it was beautiful here. Peaceful.
The seniors lingered inside, asking the tour guide all manner of questions about making wines ... and several trying to talk the one into righting her skirt. The young couple clutched one another's hands. Mark overheard them discussing their upcoming wedding on this very porch. They looked deliriously in love as the man leaned over to kiss his bride-to-be, and she responded with a soft sigh.
They walked away moments later, murmuring about the rose garden, leaving Mark to stand in a suddenly wistful silence beside Nicki. Had her purpose in bringing him been strictly romantic, rather than nefarious?
"So, you hungry?" she asked. "After the vineyards below, we can grab a bite of lunch--"
"Are you looking for what they have?" he nodded toward the retreating couple.
He could have shot himself the minute the words were out. Why ask? It didn't matter--at least not to him. It couldn't.
Nicki hesitated, staring at her naked fingernails. "Not necessarily. They look honest with each other. Open. I'd like that."
Yeah, so would he. Starting with some informati
on about who was laundering money and if she was involved.
Having been naive about Tiffany, Mark looked back on those months of their marriage and winced. In retrospect, the way in which she'd set him up had seemed obvious. She'd had access to every tool needed to frame him. If he'd asked a few key questions about her dirt-poor background, he could have pieced together her motive. Almost from the beginning he'd suspected something wasn't right. She kept secrets, insisted on her "privacy," only responded to sex after a lot of patient manipulation. Often she'd cried afterward. Still, he'd been infatuated by Tiffany's seemingly wide-eyed simplicity.
With Nicki, he hated to use a cliche, but at times the comparison felt like apples to oranges. She was neither wide-eyed nor simple. Sharp, slightly cynical, self-reliant, deliciously naughty. And he wasn't the same trusting chump he'd once been.
Still, his ... relationship with Nicki felt different. Being with her--flirting with her, having sex with her--was easy. He got no sense that she kept secrets or had anything to hide. She definitely responded to sex and never with tears or guilt. When he really focused, his gut told him she was innocent.
But was that his heart telling him what he wanted to hear? His head shouted that he was making the same mistake twice.
Mark wondered if he had again failed to ask the right questions. So many puzzle pieces with so few answers.
"Mark?"
Nicki had spoken of being honest in the emotional sense, and part of him was dying to ask if her declaration of love, shouted in the moment of passion, had been real.
God, he was confused. His thoughts jumbled around like baby food and toxic waste tossed together into a blender. Every day, it got more difficult to separate his investigation from his personal feelings. They blurred. One affected the other, until he wondered if he had any prayer of getting out of it unscathed.
"I don't know if I can give you that," he said honestly.
"I don't know that I can give it, either." She shrugged. "I've never tried."
Just then, the tour guide and the seniors, still full of questions, emerged. The comedienne of the bunch looked again like a regular tourist, complete with a slightly staggered walk. They lingered on the porch, and Mark sensed Nicki's frustration that their conversation had been interrupted. Hell, on some level it chafed him, too. Not that he was looking for any kind of forever after. Never again. But maybe if they settled this dust and got some things out in the open, he could focus on this case and stop fixating on the fact that, with every heartbeat, he pined for Nicki.