Praise for Cara Summers

“Fans looking for a thrill ride will be pleased!”

—RT Book Reviews on Tailspin

“Great characters with explosive chemistry, a fun intrigue-flavored plot and a high degree of sensuality add up to an excellent read!”

—RT Book Reviews on Taken Beyond Temptation

“The sex scenes were incredibly hot! Ms. Summers knows how to entertain her readers while writing something a bit risqué.”

—Night Owl Reviews on Led into Temptation

“A great mystery. The excitement and romance never end.”

—RT Book Reviews on Christmas Male

“This romantic suspense is a sexy, fast-paced page turner.”

—Freshfiction.com on Come Toy with Me

“Ms Summers manages to weave breathtaking suspense and sizzling love scenes with a deftness that will have you turning the pages late into the night…this is one you’ll need sunscreen for. Another sexy, steamy romance written by one of the best in series genre.”

—Romancejunkies.com on Lie with Me

Dear Reader,

I love writing stories set at Christmastime, but this one was especially fun because it allowed me to do a whole “list” of fun things.

First of all, Sexy Silent Nights allowed me to tell Jonah Stone’s story and wind up a trilogy about three friends who met in their early teens at the St. Francis Center for Boys. (You may remember Gabe from Take My Breath Away…and Nash from Tailspin.)

Acting on a compelling and instant attraction, supper club owner Jonah Stone and security agent Cilla Michaels agree to indulge in one sexy night together. Any more is strictly forbidden. And utterly irresistible…

Telling Jonah’s story also allowed me to revisit a city I left my heart in from my very first visit—San Francisco.

Last on the list, and certainly not least, is that writing this story allowed me to meet and share with you an amazing calico cat named Flash who is a resident at the Furry Friends Shelter in Barrie, Ontario, the Blaze Authors’ first Pet Project. I hope you love her as much as I do.

For news on my future releases, visit www.carasummers.com. And for more information on the Blaze Authors’ Pet Project, visit blazeauthors.com/blog.

May all your Christmas wishes and forbidden fantasies come true!

Cara Summers

Sexy Silent Nights
Cara Summers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Was CARA SUMMERS born with the dream of becoming a published romance novelist? No. But now that she is, she still feels her dream has come true. And she owes it all to her mother, who handed her a Harlequin romance novel about fifteen years ago and said, “Try it. You’ll love it.” Mom was right! Cara loves writing for the Blaze line because it allows her to create strong, determined women and seriously sexy men who will risk everything to achieve their dreams. When she isn’t working on new stories, she teaches in the writing program at Syracuse University and at a community college near her home.

To my nephew Nick and my new niece Kristen.

May all your future Christmases together be merry!

And especially to my great-nephew Luca—who celebrates his very first Christmas this month.

I love all three of you!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

1

One sexy silent night…5:00 a.m.

CILLA MICHAELS WAS NOT GOING to leave the hotel room without her panties. She’d been a cop for three years, a private security agent for two, and now she headed up G.W. Securities’ new office in San Francisco. She was a pro at tracking things down.

On her hands and knees, she inched her way quietly down the length of her side of the bed, using her hand to sweep the space beneath it as she went.

Nothing.

She was not the kind of woman who would abandon anything that had a La Perla label on it. She’d parted with a small fortune for the red lace bikini, and it was part of a set. The matching camisole had already been located near the nightstand. She had a vague recollection of stripping it off and tossing it there herself. While in the throes of uncontrollable passion. Because that’s exactly what Jonah Stone had sparked in her.

Ducking her head down, she lifted the dust ruffle and peered beneath. The dim light slipping through the narrow slits in the drapes didn’t provide much in the way of illumination.

The rest of her clothes she’d found quite easily near the door of the hotel suite where Jonah Stone had efficiently stripped her out of them. The man had fast moves, and just thinking about what had happened the instant the door had closed behind them brought back the sensation of those hard hands on her skin, the impatience, the demand. And the pleasure.

Heat shimmered through her, pooling in her center and then radiating outward. He’d taken her the first time right there. No small talk. No talk at all. But the foreplay had been top-notch. His hands had pushed into her hair, and she’d felt each of those hard, slender fingers while he’d assaulted her mouth with lips, teeth and tongue. Each sensation had been so sharp. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget his mouth, his taste.

Then he’d moved those hands over her shoulders, shoving her jacket off and molding her body with such purpose and skill.

He’d smelled so good and felt better—hard and tough and male. Hadn’t she been imagining him just like this ever since the instant she’d first seen him at that party yesterday?

When those smoky-gray eyes had collided with hers, something had clicked inside of her like a switch turning brains cells off and lust on—full throttle. That was the only explanation she could come up with for agreeing to his one-night stand proposition.

His argument had been logical enough—just the kind you’d expect from an astute businessman. After all, they were unattached adults, intensely attracted to each other, and fate in the form of an airport-closing blizzard had thrown them together. Why not pleasure each other for one long, sexy night and then go their separate ways?

She might have come up with at least two good reasons why not. In fact she’d been thinking about them when he’d suddenly appeared at her table in the lounge of the hotel. But looking into his eyes had triggered that little click again, and sent logic flying.

That was how she’d ended up against the door of his hotel room, his mouth branding hers. She had only a blurry recollection of how her sweater and slacks had hit the floor. Her focus had been on those hard hands moving up her legs and heating her blood to the boiling point. She’d never before experienced such intense sensations. Never wanted anyone so desperately. He’d opened up a new and wonderful world for her. Sensations flooded through her again as she recalled how he’d slipped fingers beneath the thin lace that still covered her, pushed into her and sent her flying.

Again.

He’d whispered the word so quietly against her mouth. His hands had already slid between them. She caught the rasp of a zipper, the tear of foil. The sounds might have been the most erotic she’d ever heard. Even as he sheathed himself, the need inside her had spiked into craving. She had to have him inside her. She couldn’t survive another ten seconds if he wasn’t.

Now. Right now.

He’d dug fingers into her hips, lifting her as she’d wrapped arms and legs around him. Then he’d driven into her, and she hadn’t cared if she survived at all. His thrusts had battered her against the door again and again. Fast. As if he’d needed this to survive just as much as she had. That was the last rational thought she’d registered before his release triggered an orgasm that had simply shattered her.

Drawing in a deep breath, Cilla pressed a hand against her hammering heart. A little side-trip down memory lane was not going to help her find her panties. All it made her want to do was crawl back into bed with Jonah.

Don’t think about that. No more fantasies, either. That’s what had landed her in this situation—a one-night stand in a hotel near the Denver airport with Jonah Stone—a man she’d met for the first time only yesterday.

Her new job at G.W. Securities had brought her to a small family gathering at the Fortune Mansion in Denver. The moment she’d arrived at the party, she’d been aware of him. He was a man that any female would look at more than once—tall, dark and ruggedly handsome. He was dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans, which enhanced the broad shoulders, muscled chest and long, lanky legs. His chin was strong, his mouth firm and his cheekbones made her think of a warrior’s.

Of course, she’d looked at him more than once or twice. Any woman needed a little eye candy in her life, right? It was when her eyes had finally collided with his that the trouble had started.

She’d heard that click, and she’d totally lost track of where she was, who she was. For seconds, minutes maybe, she hadn’t been aware of anyone or anything but him. A stranger she’d seen across a crowded room.

It was the kind of thing she’d only read about in books or heard in song lyrics or seen in a movie. Everything had frozen, including time.

Before yesterday afternoon, Cilla would have sworn that nothing like that could happen in real life. But it had. More astonishing than that, it had happened to her. And of course, she’d been curious.

Who was he?

And how could he have this amazing effect on her?

As a top-notch security agent and investigator, she’d tracked down the answer to her first question within five minutes. His name was Jonah Stone, and he was the best friend of her new boss, Gabe Wilder. That alone would pretty much have classified Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome as forbidden fruit. The new G.W. Securities office in San Francisco was only six months old, and Gabe had hired her to run it. She had to concentrate on her job, on proving herself to Gabe. The last thing she needed was to get involved with his best friend.

But there was another reason to put Jonah Stone on the Forbidden Fruit list. From what Gabe had told her, his friend was a busy and successful entrepreneur, the owner of three successful supper clubs and totally focused on his businesses. That reminded her a bit too much of her father.

But even with the warning flags flying, she’d still tried to satisfy her curiosity about the second question. How could he have that time-stopping, nothing-else-matters effect on her mind and senses? So when he’d approached her, she’d gripped his outstretched hand, felt the hard palm, the firm strength of his fingers, and the oddest feeling of connection. Then she’d met his eyes and her mind had just emptied. And she’d been struck by a vivid image of the two of them, naked and rolling across a wide bed in a dark room.

Both the feeling and the image had faded, and she’d been just fine. But she’d also made her excuses and left the party early. And everything would have been fine if it hadn’t been for the damn blizzard.

If the Denver airport hadn’t had to close down last night, she and Jonah would have both been back in San Francisco in their separate apartments, and her expensive red panties would have been in her laundry hamper. But it had shut down and she’d decided to switch to an early-morning flight and stay at the airport hotel. She’d been in the bar having a glass of wine and thinking about him when he’d shown up. During the time it had taken him to cross to her table and join her, she’d experienced for the third time in her life what she’d decided to call the nobody-else-but-Jonah effect.

For a moment, neither one of them had spoken. And then he’d made his proposition. And she’d agreed to it. The rest of the night was now history—and the sexiest one she’d ever experienced.

Panties, she reminded herself as she inched her way around the corner of the bed. Find them. Get dressed. Leave. The sooner she got back to San Francisco, the better.

They weren’t anywhere along the foot of the bed. They weren’t anywhere in the trail of clothes that led to the bed. Chances were good that they were still in the bed. But if she got back into that bed, it wouldn’t be just for her expensive underwear.

She spotted the red lace the moment she crawled around the end of the bed to Jonah’s side. In the light from the digital clock radio on the nightstand, she also saw Jonah. More of him than she wanted to. He was sprawled on his stomach, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress. The sheet covered him only to the waist.

And that strongly muscled back was not what she should be looking at. She dragged her gaze away and glanced down his arm to where his fingers nearly brushed the floor. Threaded through them was her quarry. All she had to do was get those panties and leave.

Very quietly, she crawled forward, scarcely daring to breathe. Gripping just the edge of the lace, she tugged.

Jonah’s fingers reflexively clenched the red undies.

Cilla waited, listening hard. His breathing was steady. Only his fingers had moved, so in another moment, they’d relax again. This time she’d just pull harder.

That was one strategy—the smart one. Grab and go.

But her gaze had already betrayed her. It had left the panties behind to run up that arm. Jonah’s face was turned toward her and his eyes, those incredible eyes, were closed.

She could easily wake him. There were a lot of ways to persuade a man to give up a piece of lace. Several scenarios ran through her mind.

She snuck a quick look at the clock: 5:15 a.m. The alarm hadn’t yet sounded. Technically, it was still night. And if a girl only had one night to spend with a man?

She might as well make the most of it.

Rising, she pulled the sheet down and climbed back onto the bed to straddle Jonah. Then she leaned down to nibble at his ear and whisper, “I have a proposition for you.”

2

Yet another sexy silent night, 2:00 a.m., three weeks later…

JONAH STONE STOOD AT the window of his apartment, looking out at his own private view of the Golden Gate Bridge. For almost a month now, he’d stood at the same place, delaying the time before he would inevitably have to climb up the stairs to his loft and go to bed. Once he did, he’d dream of her again.

Cilla Michaels.

The dreams that had been haunting him since the one night they’d spent together at that airport hotel in Denver were growing more vivid. In each of them, she’d be with him, right there in his bed. The sensations were always so intense. He’d smell that elusive scent of hers, feel her heart beat beneath his lips, taste the salty dampness of her skin under her breasts, the sweetness at her throat, her inner thighs, hear the way his name sounded when she gasped it into the silent night.

Steeped in her, he’d rise above her and look into those incredibly green eyes as he entered her. Again and again, he’d thrust into her until he lost all of himself.

Then he’d wake to find himself alone in the bed. And he’d try to convince himself that was the way he wanted it.

One night. That’s what he’d promised himself and her. That’s what she’d agreed to. The memory of that night should have faded by now. That’s what memories did. But everything about that night was still vividly etched in his mind.

Turning, Jonah glanced at the conference table where he’d left his cell phone. Next to it sat a small green box with a red ribbon. Cilla ran G.W. Securities’ new office in San Francisco. So he could use the threatening note that had been tucked inside the box as a professional excuse to call her. Was that why he’d delayed calling his friend Gabe Wilder about it? So that he could call Cilla instead? He’d been tempted to do so more nights now than he could count. More than once he’d punched part of her number into his cell before he’d been able to stop himself.

The little green box with the red bow had been delivered to him that evening just when the cocktail hour at Pleasures had been its busiest. Since his apartment took up the third floor of the building, he frequently filled in for his manager, Virgil, on Monday nights.

He continued to study the box, debating. He’d been in the bar when his steady customer and current business partner, Carl Rockwell, had brought the small gift to him. Before he could thank him, Carl had explained that a man dressed up as Santa had given it to him just outside and asked him to deliver it.

Jonah had felt something the moment he’d taken the box, a tightening in his gut. The hairs on the back of his neck had stirred, too. He’d even turned to look through the windows that lined the wall of the bar to see if whoever had sent the gift might still be watching. There was no sign of a Santa.

Then he’d put the gift behind the bar and out of his mind as a new wave of customers streamed into the club. He hadn’t opened it until a short time ago when he’d returned to his apartment. Moving to the table, he took the lid off the box and picked up the folded note he’d found inside.

’Tis the season for remembering Christmases past. Pleasures and fortune are fleeting. You destroyed an innocent life in pursuit of yours. You’ll pay for that soon. Six nights and counting…

Rereading it had his gut instinct kicking in again. Perhaps it was the wording. And there was something else that kept tugging at the corners of his mind. Some memory that was eluding him. Maybe it was the reference to Christmases past. At twenty-nine he had a lot of them to remember and several that he’d tried hard to forget. Especially that long-ago one when his father had promised to return, but hadn’t.

He’d also made his share of enemies. Some of them probably dated back to his early days in foster care. He hadn’t always “played well with other children.” As a businessman, he was demanding. He hired and fired people. Over the past six years he’d opened three successful supper clubs in the United States and he was in the process of opening another one in San Diego and a possible fifth in Rome.

Pleasures had been his first supper club and the result of a dream that had taken shape during his years in business school. His goal had been to create a place where people could escape into a different world and find temporary respite from the harsher realities of life. And he’d known that he wanted to open the club in San Francisco as a kind of thank-you to the saint the city had been named after, a saint who’d played an important part in his life.

The success of Pleasures had allowed him to open Interludes, a sports-themed bar in San Francisco, and more recently Passions, another supper club in Denver.

He didn’t like it at all that the word pleasures was used in the note. But perhaps he was overreacting. It was December 19, a peak time for his businesses, and he wasn’t getting much sleep, thanks to Cilla Michaels.

So he wasn’t going to alarm Gabe yet. And calling Cilla, who was running Gabe’s newly opened office in San Francisco, would be a mistake on so many levels.

He strode back to the window. Not that he could put all the blame on her. He’d known from the first instant he’d seen her at that party in the Fortune Mansion that she was different. That she’d be different for him. Gut instinct again.

His eyes had been drawn to her the moment she’d entered the room. No surprise there. Any man would have given her a second look. Her face had grabbed his attention first with its delicate features and stubborn chin. But he certainly hadn’t missed the slender, almost lanky body and those long legs that the charcoal-gray slacks showcased. But it hadn’t been just her looks that had pulled at him. She seemed to radiate an energy that tugged at him on a gut level.

Then there were those green eyes. The first time he’d looked into them, he’d felt as if he’d taken a punch right in the solar plexus. And when he’d clasped her hand in his, for a moment, he hadn’t wanted to let it go.

The last thing he wanted or needed right now was to pursue a relationship with a woman who could have that effect on him. A woman like that could change your life.

During the past year, he’d seen his two best friends, Gabe Wilder and Nash Fortune, meet the women they’d decided to spend the rest of their lives with. Nash had already married his former high school sweetheart, Bianca Quinn, and Gabe was planning to marry FBI agent Nicola Guthrie on Valentine’s Day.

He was happy for his friends, but Jonah liked his life just the way it was. Simple and uncomplicated. The right woman could change that. But on that night nearly a month ago in Denver, had he listened to what his mind was telling him? Had he heeded his gut instinct?

No.

Instead, he’d reverted to the reckless style of his youth when his name had been renowned in the family-court system. He’d followed Cilla Michaels when she’d left the party. He’d even watched her in the airport like a stalker until her flight was canceled. Then he’d followed her to the airport hotel and booked a room. Finally, he’d walked into the lounge, sat down at her table, and propositioned her for a one-night stand.

In the business world, Jonah Stone was never impulsive. He studied his options, planned various strategies. And he was even more careful in his private life and relationships. He’d been nine when his father had decided to desert his family, nine and a half when his mother had stepped in front of a bus rather than go on without the love of her life. He’d vowed never to be that vulnerable to anyone. Happy ever after didn’t happen. The most one could hope for was a happy right now.

Instinct told him that Cilla Michaels could have the power to make him hope for the impossible. He turned back to the table and let his gaze rest on the green box with its festive red ribbon. His instinct was telling him something about that box, too, and he might not be overreacting.

Once again, he debated calling Cilla and hiring G.W. Securities. He had no doubt that his friend Gabe would recommend she handle the case. She was here in San Francisco. Gabe was in Denver. And at the party, Gabe had spent some time singing Cilla’s praises to him. She’d been involved in a high-profile personal security case in L.A. and she’d saved a client from a crazed stalker. In Gabe’s opinion, she had a rare combination of intelligence and excellent instincts.

But if he called her, he’d also have her in his bed again.

He pressed his hands against his eyes and rubbed. He didn’t have to decide tonight. In the morning, he was flying to Denver to attend the annual Christmas party at the Denver Boys and Girls Club, a place he’d been running for years with Gabe and Nash. They’d opened the club when the St. Francis Center for Boys, the place where they’d all first met, had closed down. He’d discuss the box and the note with Gabe.

Jonah moved toward the spiral staircase to his loft. And there was always the chance that tonight would be the night that Cilla Michaels finally faded from his dreams.

CILLA JOLTED AWAKE AND TRIED to focus. Relief came when she realized she’d fallen asleep on the couch and not in her bed. During the past three weeks, she’d rationed the hours she allowed herself to spend in her bed.

Because the damn thing was cursed.

Each time she fell asleep in it she dreamed of Jonah Stone touching her, tormenting her, taking her.

And each time she woke up to find herself alone, she yearned for him. So avoiding her bed had become almost as important as avoiding Jonah.

Which was why she’d ended up dozing off on her couch during a Christmas movie marathon on the Hallmark Channel. The credits for Miracle on 34th Street were rolling down the screen. A quick glance at the time on her digital TV box confirmed that she’d dozed off for nearly twenty minutes.

That pissed her off.

Not only had she missed her favorite part of the movie, the part where Kris Kringle proves he really is Santa Claus, but she’d also missed the cheese and crackers. The plate sitting on the cushion beside her was now empty.

She glared at her cat. Flash, a plumply proportioned calico, lay stretched serenely along the arm of the sofa, a good distance from the scene of the crime.

Pets were not allowed at The Manderly Apartments, a rule that was explicitly spelled out in the lease and articulated equally clearly by the apartment manager, Mrs. Ortiz, a woman who reminded Cilla eerily of Mrs. Danvers in the old Rebecca movie.

But Flash hadn’t given Cilla much choice. When she’d moved in a few months ago, the calico had migrated from its former home on the fire escape to the living room via an open window. And stayed.

It had to be for either the food or the conversation since the cat wouldn’t allow her to stroke, cuddle or even pick her up most of the time.

“You’re supposed to share,” Cilla pointed out.

Flash’s bland expression clearly said, “You snooze, you lose.”

Her phone rang and the caller ID lady chimed, “Call from Wilder, Gabe.”

Cilla sprang from the sofa and raced for her desk. Gabe headed up G.W. Securities’ home base in Denver. Two months ago he’d given her a new beginning by hiring her to manage his branch office in San Francisco when she’d moved on from a personal security agency in L.A. Gabe wouldn’t be calling her at home on her night off if it wasn’t important.

Maybe he even had a job for her. Business had been good lately. G.W. Securities offered a variety of services to corporate as well as private clients. Lots of people wanted to give security systems for Christmas, and she enjoyed the challenge of working on their design. But there were times when she missed the action that came with providing personal security.

Mentally crossing her fingers, she grabbed the receiver on the third ring. “Gabe.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“Not at all.” The cheese and crackers were gone, her favorite movie was over, and working would give her a perfect excuse to avoid her bed.

“I need a favor,” Gabe said.

Cilla’s heart sank. Not a job after all. “What can I do?”

“I want you to meet someone at the airport and make sure he gets home safely. He’s not a client. He doesn’t even know I’m making this phone call.”

Hearing the worry in his voice, Cilla reached for a pen and paper. “Who is he and what time does his plane touch down?”

On the other end of the line, Gabe expelled a breath. “Thanks, Cilla. It’s Jonah Stone and he’s due to arrive in San Francisco at 10:15. There was a lengthy delay because of the weather here in Denver. I was hoping the flight would be canceled, but he’s on his way.”

Jonah Stone.

Just the mention of his name had her heart skipping a beat. His image flashed into her mind—all that glorious dark hair, the handsome face with its sharp cheekbones, clearly defined chin with just that hint of a cleft, and the dark gray eyes… Just thinking about him made her knees weak and she carefully lowered herself into her desk chair.

“Jonah’s not going to like that I’m sending you,” Gabe said.

Cilla didn’t imagine that he would. She’d had a chance to explore every inch of that taut, toned, amazing body. Jonah was a man who could handle himself on a physical level pretty well. That was definitely part of what made him so damned attractive.

More than once since their night in Denver, she’d regretted the fact that he was on her Forbidden Fruit list. More than once, she’d run over the reasons why. She’d done a little research on him. According to Gabe, the man had a real talent for hacking and electronic security, and right out of college, he’d helped Gabe establish G.W. Securities and continued to work there while he’d recruited backers for a supper club in San Francisco. In the past six years, he’d opened two more clubs and others were in the planning stages. A man that successful had to put business first just as her father had.

And still did. Bradley Michaels was handsome, charming and currently working as the CEO of his fourth company. There’d been no time in his life for her mother or her. Not even at Christmas. Christmas had been his time to focus even more on the business and entertaining. After five years of playing second fiddle, her mother had divorced him, and since then Cilla’s contact with her father had been limited to phone calls on her birthday and Christmas.

“I’m worried about Jonah,” Gabe said.

“Why?”

“Because he’s worried enough to cancel his plans and fly back to San Francisco early. He received a threatening note today. It was inside a green box tied with red ribbon and hand delivered to him while he was at a Christmas party he and Father Mike Flynn and I were throwing for the Boys and Girls Club we run here in Denver. I have some people still working on the box and the ribbon, but there were no prints, and I’ve had no luck tracking down the sender. He or she wore a Santa suit and sent it in with one of the kids. An early present for Mr. Stone. I’ll send the contents of the note right now in a text.”

Cilla grabbed her cell phone. “It’s the first one he’s received?”

“No. I asked him that right away and he admitted getting one yesterday during the height of the cocktail hour at Pleasures.”

“I’ve got the text.” Then she read it aloud.

“‘’Tis the season for remembering Christmases past. Pleasures and fortune are fleeting. You destroyed an innocent life in pursuit of yours. You’ll pay for that soon. Five nights and counting…’”

Today was the twentieth of December. Cilla did the math in her head. “Five nights until Christmas.”

“Yeah. The first had the exact same message except that it read, ‘Six nights and counting…’”

Holding the phone pressed to her ear, Cilla rose and began to pace. “The first one is delivered to his club here in San Francisco, the next to Denver. The sender wants him to know that someone’s keeping close tabs on him.”

“We think along the same lines, and so does Jonah.”

“Does anything in the wording ring a bell for him?” Cilla asked.

“Not that he can put a finger on. But he has a feeling about the threat. His feelings are usually spot-on, so now I have one, too.”

She was beginning to get one herself. Gut instinct should never be ignored. Her mind was already racing ahead. What she had was a reluctant client and the possibility of real danger. A tricky combination, but she could do tricky. In fact, she enjoyed tricky. One reason she’d been delighted when Gabe had approached her was because the jobs in L.A. had become a bit too predictable and boring even before she’d had a disagreement with a client and decided to move on.

“Jonah has an office and living quarters over his club, Pleasures. That’s where he’s headed.”

“Good to know.” Going to Pleasures would mean a wardrobe change. The jeans she was wearing would be out of place at the fancy supper club.

“I’ve known Jonah since we were in our teens. Ask him for help and he’ll give you anything he’s got. But at heart, he’s a bit of a loner. He doesn’t like to depend on anyone.”

“In other words, he’s going to try to ditch me.”

“Yeah. He wouldn’t let me send anyone with him. He wouldn’t even let me tag along.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll stick.” The two years she’d spent working personal security for some of Hollywood’s youngest and brattiest stars had honed her skills in the sticking department.

The moment she hung up the phone, she raced into her bedroom and threw open her closet door. She didn’t have a lot of clothes, but during her time in L.A., she’d acquired some special pieces. She pushed aside hangars and decided on the little black cocktail dress that had visited some of Hollywood’s hottest nightspots.

Whirling, she was about to toss it onto her bed, but Flash lay sprawled across the middle. The cat could move like lightning when she really wanted to.

“I have to leave for a while.” She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. “Business. Fancy place.”

Pleasures was very upscale. Though she’d never been there, she’d frequently walked by. And each time she’d passed the front doors during the past three weeks, she’d resisted the temptation to go in. If she had, the chances were good that she’d run into him. The plan was to get over Jonah Stone.

So far the plan hadn’t worked. And seeing him again…

Jonah was a client, she reminded herself. And she had very strict rules about clients.

She turned her attention to Flash. “Dress needs something, don’t you think?” The red peep-toed shoes had cost her half a paycheck, but when she held them up for Flash’s inspection, the cat made a sound deep in her throat.

“I agree. These things will dress up anything.”

It took her three minutes to change and another ten before she was satisfied with her hair and makeup.

She paused to survey herself in the mirror. She definitely didn’t look like a bodyguard. That ought to make it easier for a man like Jonah Stone to accept her as one. At least for the evening.

Then she narrowed her eyes on the image in the mirror and swept her gaze down and up. “Who are you kidding? You’re wearing this just as much for him as you are for the job.”

Moving closer, she tapped a finger on the mirror. “The man has three strikes against him. Not only is he like your father, he’s also your boss’s best friend and now he’s a client. One night with Jonah Stone is understandable. Enviable. Any more could be disastrous. You are going to handle this.”

Turning back to her closet, she grabbed her red leather coat and transferred her gun from her dresser drawer to her pocket. She was almost at the door of her apartment before she felt the eyes boring into her back.

Flash.

“Sorry.” Whipping around, she saw that the cat had returned to her station on the sofa. Right next to the empty plate.

“I’ve got to go, pal.” Crossing to the sofa, she crouched down and looked into Flash’s eyes. “It shouldn’t take long. But it’s my chance to impress my new boss.” She lifted a hand and then dropped it, remind ing herself that Flash didn’t like to be touched. “No more food. Remember our little talk about lifestyle choices.”

It was one that they’d had several times since she’d taken her new roommate to the vet. Dr. Robillard had prescribed a “modification” in Flash’s diet. The pediatrician her mother had taken Cilla to when she was thirteen had used nearly the same words.

“Moderation is the key. It made all the difference for me when I was in my teens. You’ll get used to it.”

Flash’s expression said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Tell you what. I’ll leave the Hallmark Channel on. They’re having a marathon of Christmas movies. It’ll take your mind off food.” She snagged the remote, hit the channel. “Look. A Boyfriend for Christmas. That sounds like a great one. Santa, presents and romance thrown in.”

And now she didn’t have to watch it herself. Cilla silently sent up a prayer of thanksgiving to Gabe as she rose and raced for the door. “Meeow.”

Flash’s mournful reproach followed Cilla as she headed for the stairs.

3

JONAH STONE HADN’T BEEN HAVING the best of days when he stepped into the airport parking garage. A chilly blast of wind followed him. His flight to San Francisco had been delayed three hours because of a blizzard in Denver, and he’d spent most of his wait time at the airport thinking about another blizzard and another night.

He’d been counting on the time in Denver to give him some respite from thoughts of Cilla. He’d been looking forward to catching up with his best friend, Gabe Wilder. Their other pal Nash hadn’t been able to make their annual party because his grandmother had arranged for a private Christmas cruise that would allow Nash and his wife, Bianca, to get to know some recently discovered members of their family.

Though their career paths had drawn them apart since the years they’d spent at Denver’s St. Francis Center for Boys, they tried to get together whenever they could, and Christmas usually provided the perfect time. He’d been looking forward to a poker game tonight at Gabe’s apartment and shooting some hoops tomorrow.

The note that had been hand delivered that morning had changed his plans. Like the first, it had come in a small green box tied with a red ribbon. The message had been playing in his head in a continuous loop, and each time it repeated, the feeling in his gut grew stronger.

The word pleasures had appeared in both notes, so now he was headed back to the club. Pulling his parking stub out of his pocket, he checked the aisle, turned left, and increased his pace.

He nearly stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her. Though he managed not to break stride, he now knew what it must be like to take two barrels of a shotgun right in the belly. She was leaning against the back fender of his car, her mile-long legs crossed in front of her.

Cilla Michaels.

As often as he’d considered calling her, as frequently as he’d imagined her in his mind, nothing had prepared him for the impact that seeing her again would have on him.

It was all he could do to keep his pace from quickening. That night in the hotel lounge, her dark hair had been pulled back into a long neat braid. Tonight, it spilled in dark curls over her shoulders. The open red leather trench coat revealed a very short black dress. The shoes were red with open toes and dangerously high heels. And the legs…well, they were incredible.

But as he reached her, it was the eyes that drew his gaze again, just as they had before. They were a pure and piercing green with a shimmer of gold around the pupils. Fascinating. And looking into them for too long had the same effect he’d experienced the first time. He forgot to breathe.

When he drew air in, he felt the burn in his lungs. No other woman had ever affected his senses, his mind, his breathing, his gut in quite this way.

Nearly a month had passed and he hadn’t stopped wanting her. Now, seeing her again, he wanted her even more. He wanted his hands on her. He needed hers on him.

All the more reason to remember that she was dangerous for him. All the more reason to send her away. He had bigger problems on his plate right now. The two notes he’d received needed all of his attention.

“Cilla Michaels,” he said. “Gabe sent you.”

She nodded. “He contacted me as soon as your plane left Denver. He thinks you need protection, and he warned me you might not like it.”

“It’s not a matter of liking. Do I look like someone who needs protection?”

“Not in the least.” Cilla had had plenty of time to study him as he’d walked toward her, but she was sorely tempted to run her gaze over him again. The black leather jacket and jeans suited his tall, lanky frame and made him look tough and a little dangerous.

“You look to me as if you could handle yourself just fine,” she said.

“Good.” He opened the passenger door and tossed his duffel on the seat. “Then we’re agreed that I don’t need your services.”

“We’re not agreed on that.” She waited until he met her eyes, then added, “The least you can do is let me give my sales pitch. It’s the job of G.W. Securities to think of things the client might overlook.”

He leaned a hip against the car door. “Such as?”

“Would you have thought to check for a bomb under your car?”

He narrowed his gaze. “No.”

She smiled. “I did. It’s part of the service.” She could tell from the look in his eyes that she might have scored a point, but the game wasn’t over.

“I know that the first note said, ‘six days and counting…’” she continued, “the second said five, but that could be a lie. Sociopaths aren’t known for their honesty.”

Silence.

“And you’re probably thinking it’s highly unlikely that someone could have traced your car to this particular parking space, but I got a friend of mine to run down your license plate. Then I simply drove through the garage until I located your car. If I was able to do that, so could someone else. They could easily have booby-trapped it.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point.” When he smiled at her, the effect rippled right down to her toes. Then he took the lapel of her jacket and rubbed it between his fingers. Her toes, the little traitors, curled.

“But you’ve obviously got better things to do tonight. From the looks of it, Gabe’s call pulled you away from something or someone special.”

She thought of the empty cheese and cracker plate, her disgruntled cat and the movie on the Hallmark Channel’s Countdown to Christmas and barely smothered a yawn. Instead, she tried a smile of her own. “Actually, it didn’t. I was having a quiet evening at home.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “You dress like this for a quiet evening at home?”

“I changed after Gabe called. I thought this was more appropriate for Pleasures. That is where you’re headed, isn’t it?”

His smile faded. “Gabe is overreacting.”

“He said you had a feeling.”

“I may be overreacting. It’s probably a crank.”

“Perhaps.” But in the three hours he’d sat in the Denver airport waiting for his plane, he hadn’t changed his mind about coming home, Cilla thought. “But you don’t think so. You don’t like the fact that they used the word pleasures in the note.”

Surprise flickered for a moment in his eyes. “No, I don’t like that.”

“Could be coincidence, but…”

“I don’t trust coincidence.”

“But you do trust your instincts.”

He let the silence stretch again, so she pushed her advantage. “Look, I know we have a history. And we made a deal. One night.” She waved a hand. “Let’s put all of that in a side bar for now. This is strictly a professional offer.”

He narrowed his eyes fractionally, and dammit, her toes curled again. For an instant, her mind flashed back to that moment in Denver when they’d first stepped into the hotel room and he’d pushed the door shut and put his hands on her. His eyes had narrowed then, too, and she recalled how they’d glinted in the darkness. Ignoring both the image and her traitorous toes, she ruthlessly focused.

“Gabe’s a friend of yours and he’s my boss. He asked me to make sure you got to Pleasures safely. As a favor. I’m not even here on G.W. Securities’ clock. But I am here as a private security agent. And I’m good at what I do. You can call Gabe and get a recommendation.”

He frowned. “I’m not questioning your abilities.”

“Then why don’t you think of my escorting you to your club as a way to set Gabe’s mind at ease?”

“You’ll follow me to Pleasures and that’s it.”

“Not exactly. The service G.W. Securities provides is more than door-to-door. I check out your apartment before you go in. Double-check the security system. And I get a chance to walk you through Pleasures on the way. I’ve never been there.”

He considered for a moment. “Sounds reasonable. I run the risk of sounding like a real prick if I say no.”

“Not exactly the way I’d phrase it, but you’ve got the gist.”

“You are good at this, aren’t you?”

She beamed a smile at him. “I’m the best. How about I follow you to your club?”

HE LIKED TO KEEP HIS ROOM dark. In his opinion, everything was way too bright during the holiday season, as evidenced by the amount of light pouring through the windows. On the screen of his laptop, he could see that Jonah Stone’s plane had landed—10:15.

The anger that he’d been keeping tightly leashed for the past three hours eased just a little. He didn’t like it at all when he had to adjust his plans. The plane should have landed three hours ago.

But Stone was finally here. It wasn’t too late to go forward with the scheme. It would be another forty-five minutes to an hour before Jonah Stone would reach Pleasures.

He took a cell phone from his desk and punched in a number. On the fourth ring, a raspy voice said, “Yeah?”

He relayed the information and gave the order. “Got that?”

“Consider it done.”

Turning off the cell, he laid it carefully on the desk. Then he rose, walked to the closet and took out his overcoat, a hat and a long scarf. He trusted the man in charge of the mission, but he would still be on the scene to make sure his orders were carried out.

Five more nights—that’s how long it would take to complete his mission. It was all planned out. And during those nights, Jonah Stone would pay for the life he’d taken.

Moving to the nightstand, he glanced down at the picture. It was framed in crystal, and a small flameless candle burned in front of it.

Elizabeth. Poor, innocent Elizabeth. She’d been the only person he’d ever loved. And he’d had to leave her. He had a calling. She’d understood. He’d known that she’d been fragile, but how could he have foreseen that in his absence, she would fall under the spell of a man who’d seduce her and then reject her and kill her?

Five nights from now, on the anniversary of her death, he would exact revenge.

After running one finger down the side of the frame, he put on his coat, the hat and the scarf. Then he walked to the door.

When one set up a plan, part of the pleasure was watching it come flawlessly to fruition.

4

“YOU’VE GOT A CLASSY PLACE here,” Cilla remarked as she joined Jonah at the rear of his car. He’d pulled into a private lot half a block down from Pleasures and spoken briefly with the attendant, who’d then waved her through.

“I like it,” he said, shifting his gaze to the three-story club on the corner across the street.

And well he should, Cilla decided as she studied it. The location was prime, right in the heart of the city, and the building was old with tall arched windows on two upper floors that recalled a different, more gilded age.

On the second floor, shadowy figures wove their way among tables lit with candles. Through the windows on the street level, she caught a glimpse of a crowded bar. Tiny white Christmas lights twinkled on the awning, a subtle salute to the season.

“I know that I only talked you into letting me escort you here and lock you up tight for the night, but you really should allow G.W. Securities to provide you with round-the-clock protection. At least until we get a handle on what’s going on here.”

“You talked to Gabe on the drive over.”

She shrugged. “He is my boss. He wants to put a couple of men on you even without your agreement. My feeling is that the moment you spot them, you’ll shake them. He agreed. So we’d like your permission.”

“You’ve got all you’re going to get from me tonight. I have a business meeting tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t need a couple of babysitters tagging along. You can tell Gabe that I’ll check for car bombs myself in the morning.”

She let it rest as they watched a couple exit through the glossy red entrance doors to the club and head up the street in the opposite direction. At this time of night, there were very few pedestrians, and many of the other buildings on the block were dark. So were parked cars. In contrast, Pleasures glowed like a tempting little jewel.

“Shall we go clubbing?” he asked.

“Can’t wait.”

Jonah extracted his duffel from the front seat and started across the lot. Behind them, the car beeped as he locked it with the remote.

She walked to his left, just half a step in front of him, and when they reached the sidewalk her eyes scanned the street. Directly across from them was a narrow alleyway, but the light from a streetlamp revealed only Dumpsters. To the left was an unmarked van in a loading zone. But it was seemingly empty and already sported a parking ticket on the windshield.

There was nothing at all to cause the itchy feeling at the back of her neck. The door of the club opened, releasing another couple along with the faint sound of bluesy music and laughter. The man and woman turned away from them, crossed to the opposite corner, then disappeared down a side street.

As they stepped off the sidewalk, Cilla slipped an arm through Jonah’s, and drew him on an angle toward Pleasures. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been tempted to drop in your club for just a drink.”

He shot her a sideways glance. “Why haven’t you?”

“Usually I’m not dressed for the occasion.” That was true enough, but not the only reason she’d avoided going into the bar. “My apartment’s not far from here, so I’ve walked by on my way home from work. You painted the doors red a few weeks ago.”

“My manager Virgil’s idea. He wanted to try it out for Christmas.”

“Festive. One of these days I’ll dress up and treat myself to a glass of champagne at the bar.”

“We don’t have a dress code.”

“But with a club like Pleasures, dressing up is part of the deal—kind of like Cinderella going to the ball. It wouldn’t have been the same if she’d worn her work clothes to the castle. Know what I mean?”

“Yes.” He looked over at the bright lights of the club. “I know exactly what you mean. Providing the opportunity to dress up and escape the workaday world is part of what each of my venues offers.”

The itchy feeling that had been nagging her since they’d stepped out of the parking lot suddenly increased, and Cilla had to exert all her control not to turn around. Instead, she listened hard.

Some kind of movement near the van? Their backs were to it now. Then she heard the footsteps, approaching from behind.

When Jonah tensed beside her and would have turned, she increased the pressure on his arm and pitched her voice low. “We have company, so do exactly as I say. Take me into your arms.”

She moved with him, shifting so that her body shielded his, then raised her hands to his face. “Lean closer.”

He leaned so close that his lips were nearly brushing hers. She was very aware of the fact that the footsteps were growing louder. But she was aware of other things, too—a flood of sensations. The hardness of his body, the heat of his breath on her mouth, the ribbon of pleasure that unwound right to her toes. Every cell in her body remembered him. Wanted him. For a fleeting moment, one desire—to feel those lips on hers—nearly swamped her.

Ruthlessly refocusing, she whispered, “Be my eyes. How many, what do they look like, and how close are they?”

“Two and they look like Laurel and Hardy.” He nipped at her bottom lip, and for just an instant, her mind clouded, then emptied as if someone had pulled a plug. She was aware only of Jonah—the hardness of his thighs against hers, the tightening of his hands at her waist, the heat of his breath as it moved over her lips and between them. Sensations hammered at her, and all she wanted was to melt into him.

“They’re about ten feet away. And the fat one, Hardy, has a gun.”

“Shit.” Adrenaline spiked through her system, clearing her thoughts, stiffening her spine. “I need them closer.”

“You’re getting your wish, sugar.”

“The one with the gun is mine.”

“Not going to happen.”

She nipped his bottom lip hard. “I know what I’m doing. Here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ll be the helpless female, you the macho man. He won’t know what hit him. Trust me.”

“Let the girl go,” a gravelly voice said.

Arguing time was up, but Jonah dropped his hands. Cilla immediately pivoted toward the men. Eyes widening, she pressed a hand against her breast and focused on her training. “Sweetums, he’s got a gun.”

“Step aside,” the tall, skinny one said to her. “We don’t want you.”

“Go ahead, sugar,” Jonah said. “Run on up to the club. I can handle this.”

“Okay. Okay.” The words came out on breathless gasps as she took one shaky step, sideways. Without missing a beat, she shot her other leg straight up. Her toe hit Fatso’s wrist dead-on and the gun clattered to the pavement. Pivoting slightly, she landed a punch to the man’s temple. With a grunt, Fatso fell like a rock.

She glanced up to see Jonah racing after the skinny one. “Dammit!”

Pausing only long enough to kick the gun on the sidewalk out of the way, she ran after them. Her heart shot straight to her throat when the back door of the van near the alley slid open. There was at least one more thug to deal with—the driver. She could see him through the windshield now. Broad shoulders, short gray hair.

Before skinny could nose-dive through the door, Jonah grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. One punch straight to the face took him down. Cilla winced and for the first time registered the sting in her own knuckles.

Then the window on the driver’s side lowered and she saw the gun.

“Get down,” she shouted to Jonah. He did, hitting the sidewalk and rolling as the shot rang out. Skidding to a stop, she pulled her own gun out of her pocket, gripping it in both hands as she took her stance and fired. Tires squealing, the van lurched away from the curb and up the street. It backfired loudly in the intersection, then roared off. She got the license plate before it disappeared.

Sliding her weapon back in her pocket, she turned to see that Jonah had already sprung to his feet. The relief was so intense that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she said, “I told you to trust me. I said I could handle it. You could have gotten yourself shot.”

So could she, Jonah thought as he walked toward her. He’d rolled over quickly enough to see that she hadn’t dropped to the ground as she’d told him to do. Instead, she’d stood there, feet spread, returning the fire of the man in the van like some mythical warrior. He was certain that his heart had skipped two whole beats.

“From my perspective, you did handle it. Very well. I’m not shot, and Laurel and Hardy are out for the count.”

He’d taken her arm to draw her with him toward the club. It was only then that he saw they’d attracted an audience. From the looks of it, most of the bar crowd had poured into the street including Virgil, the tall, bronze-skinned man who’d managed Pleasures since Jonah had opened it.

The fat guy he’d nicknamed Hardy was on his hands and knees, shaking his head like a dog. When they reached him, Cilla planted one of her shoes right under his nose where he could see it. “Don’t even think of getting up unless you want me to kick you again.”

He collapsed onto his stomach.

“Boss,” Virgil said. “You all right?”

“Fine. You’d better call the police. Ms. Michaels and I seem to have been the victims of an attempted mugging.”

“I already called 9-1-1, and so did several of our customers.”

Even as sirens sounded in the distance, Jonah noted that Cilla had crouched down to secure the fat guy’s hands behind his back. When she’d finished, there was a spattering of applause from the people who’d gathered. Ignoring it, she retrieved the first man’s gun, then secured the man Jonah had knocked out.

Jonah turned to Virgil. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you stay here and keep everyone away from the crime scene until the police arrive?”

Jonah saw the questions in his manager’s eyes. He also read concern, but all Virgil said was, “Sure thing, but I don’t think these guys are going anywhere.”

“No.” He glanced back as Cilla walked toward him. The sound of sirens grew closer. “I’ll try to reassure our guests. You can send the police to me when they arrive.”

When Cilla reached him, she put her arm through his and kissed him on the cheek. “You sure know how to show a girl an exciting time.” Then she turned to beam a smile at the small crowd of onlookers. “I’m pretty lucky.”

There was more murmuring and nods of agreement. One woman said, “I think he’s the lucky one. The only other place I’ve seen a kick like that was when I saw the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall.”

There were more nods and a few laughs as his customers began to move back into the club.

“I’m going to offer everyone a round of free drinks, but you’ve already diminished the tension level considerably,” he murmured as they followed the group.

“You can thank me by trusting me more the next time,” she hissed.

Jonah laughed as he drew her into Pleasures.

AN HOUR LATER, JONAH sat in his office watching Cilla pace back and forth in front of his desk, talking on the phone to Gabe. Making her report.

The policemen had questioned them separately, and the one who was in charge, Detective Finelli, seemed to know Cilla. Which reminded Jonah very forcibly that he knew very little about her—only what Gabe had told him at the party. Her name was Priscilla Michaels, but she went by Cilla, and Gabe thought the world of her.

Oh, he’d been tempted to run a thorough background check on her, but satisfying curiosity could lead a man into deep trouble. Finding out more about her could have complicated his decision to keep his distance.

The name Priscilla intrigued him because it didn’t fit the woman he’d spent the night with in Denver. Cilla suited her better. It also fit the woman he’d met at the airport and the one who’d turned into his arms out on the street. For an instant when she’d put her hands on his face and pulled his head down to hers, he could have sworn the cement beneath his feet had shifted as if it were beach sand. And all he’d been able to think of was her.

Oh, she was a very dangerous woman. And like it or not, he was learning more about her with each moment that passed. Problem was, the more he discovered, the more curious and fascinated he became. She was good at what she did. She’d not only smoothly maneuvered him earlier into accepting her escort back to Pleasures, but once the police had left, she’d managed to get a call into Gabe before he had.

And the woman who paced in front of him right now was a sharp right turn from the woman who’d met him at the airport earlier or the woman who’d kicked the gun out of that thug’s hand. Ever since she’d entered Pleasures, it was as if she’d had a to-do list and she’d been checking off items one by one. Quick, efficient, focused.

It occurred to him that he was dealing with two sides of the same woman. He recalled his first reaction to her given name. But Priscilla fit the woman he was watching now to a T.

She paused in her pacing to fist a hand on her hip and summarize for Gabe what Detective Finelli had assured them before he’d left. The police would do everything they could do—question Fatso and Skinny, put out an all-points bulletin on the van.

“The two men have lawyered up, so they won’t be questioned until the morning when their public defenders are assigned,” Cilla said to Gabe as she started to pace again. “But my friend Joe Finelli says he’ll talk to his captain and get permission for me to observe the interviews.”

Her friend Joe Finelli? Jonah recalled what he’d seen of the interaction between the detective and Cilla. Finelli was a good ten years her senior. Had they dated? Been lovers?

And the fact that his mind instantly jumped to those questions reminded him why he’d decided to avoid Cilla Michaels. He didn’t want that kind of involvement.

Deliberately he looked past her to the open door of his office. The evening was winding down. By the time the police cars had pulled away, he could see that every thing had returned to normal in his club. The bar was still busy, and the jazz band on the basement level would switch to dance music in another half hour.

Virgil would handle closing. What Jonah needed was some quiet time in his apartment to try to figure out what in hell was going on. There was something in the wording of the note that was still pulling at the edge of his mind.

“Joe recommended that he continue with private security,” Cilla was saying.

Joe. Her use of the detective’s first name triggered a quick surge of impatience. Not jealousy. Because that was ridiculous. And the impatience was with himself.

Because he didn’t want to go to his apartment and think about what had happened by himself. He wanted to talk about it with Cilla Michaels. And perhaps with Priscilla, too.

He watched her stride across the width of his office again and wondered if the woman ever stood still. There was such energy radiating off her. She’d been lightning fast outside the club—both physically and mentally. The kick had come out of nowhere. The poor sucker hadn’t been expecting it.

And she’d brought those same elements of energy and surprise to her lovemaking, as well. He vividly recalled the speed of those clever hands as they’d moved over his skin exploring, exploiting—until the flood of razor-sharp sensations had left him helpless to do anything but want more.

“Sure I can set up a security detail.” Cilla paused at his desk to pull a small notebook and pen out of her purse. “We’ll want to give him 24/7 protection, two men each shift.”

Jonah took a deep breath and brought his focus back to her. He wasn’t helpless. This time it was more than a surge of impatience he felt. Sitting on the sidelines and letting others decide his fate had never been his strong suit. He’d run away from three foster homes before the judge tired of seeing his face and sent him to Father Mike at the St. Francis Center for Boys.

At the time Father Mike had a reputation in the Denver area for being able to handle “bad” or “problem” boys. Jonah figured he’d been both. And if it hadn’t been for the center and the fact that he’d met Nash and Gabe there, he wouldn’t be where he was today.

“I’ll handle it,” Cilla said.

Studying her, Jonah leaned back in his chair. He was used to handling his own affairs or handpicking the people he chose to delegate them to. And whenever he could, he chose people he knew and trusted. Virgil had been like a big brother to him in the first foster home he was sent to. Before he’d opened Pleasures, he’d tracked Virgil down and hired him to manage the club. When he’d opened his sports bar, Interludes, he’d offered the manager’s position to Carmen D’Annunzio, a woman who’d volunteered at the St. Francis Center when her boys were in their early teens.

But he hadn’t chosen Cilla Michaels. He’d decided not to choose her, hadn’t he? She sat on the edge of his desk, her cell phone tucked beneath her ear as she scribbled. “I think we can cover it for now.”

We meaning who? He definitely didn’t like hearing the plans being made as if he were…what? A client whose life she’d just saved?

Jonah frowned. That was exactly the case, wasn’t it? If Cilla Michaels hadn’t met him at the airport and pressured him into accepting her escort, he might very well be lying on the sidewalk outside just as Laurel and Hardy had been doing when the police arrived. In fact, he might have a bullet hole in him.

His frown deepened. That scenario didn’t jibe with the note that had been delivered to him. If someone wanted to gun him down on the street, why warn him about it first? And why bother counting down the nights until Christmas? Unless the two incidents weren’t connected.

That was something he wanted to talk to her about. Priscilla would have a theory. He was sure of it.

And then there was Cilla.

She strode away from his desk and put her hand on her hip again. The red coat was shoved back, giving him a good view of those remarkable legs. And he remembered exactly how it had felt when they’d been wrapped around him.

It could happen again. Something primal, something that went beyond desire, sparked to life inside of him. In seconds, he could move to the door, lock it and take her against it just as he had in that hotel room in Denver. Seconds and he could have his mouth on hers. God, he wanted that. He wanted to taste her again—that sweet, tart flavor that grew more complex each time he feasted on it. He wanted to touch her again, to push the hem of that dress up those long, silky legs. Seconds. It would take only seconds to sheath himself and push aside whatever lacy barrier was left between them. Then he would fill her. She would surround him.

The image in his mind triggered sensations so vivid that he could almost feel her closing around him as he thrust into her. Seconds, he thought again. Seconds and he could turn the fantasy in his mind into reality. The temptation to do just that was so powerful, Jonah had to grip the arms of the chair tight.

This was why he’d stayed away for nearly a month, he reminded himself. And this was why he should keep his distance now.

“No, we haven’t talked about it yet, but I’m sure he’ll agree that private security is the way to go,” Cilla said. When she shot him a questioning look, Jonah merely returned a bland one.

He wasn’t a fool. Until he could figure out what was going on, he was going to take precautions. A bodyguard wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“I can free up David Santos and Mark Gibbons,” Cilla said. “They’re very good, and I can still handle our other clients.”

Jonah refocused his attention on what she was saying.

She slid him a sideways glance. “Great. I’ll let him know.”

Let him know? Annoyance sizzled through him. Mostly at himself. All evening, he’d let her call the shots. She’d convinced him to let her follow him to Pleasures, then she’d maneuvered him into that little macho man/poor helpless female scenario when the two thugs had approached. And she’d been the one who’d reported everything to Gabe. Now if he’d heard right, she intended to step back and assign two other men to guard him.

That wasn’t her decision to make. He was about to stretch out his hand and demand to talk to Gabe when she closed her cell and faced him across the desk.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Indeed we do.” Jonah kept his gaze on Cilla for one long moment before he rose and said, “Before you tell me what you and Gabe have decided, let me introduce you to Pleasures.”

5

HE WALKED FOR OVER AN HOUR in an attempt to settle his rage. The wind blowing in from the Bay carried a fine, icy mist that stung his cheeks. In spite of the cold and the lateness of the hour, there were still some people walking along the Embarcadero, wandering to and from Fisherman’s Wharf.

Normally, he would have avoided the lights and the seasonal decorations, but tonight he would use them as reminders.

Of Elizabeth.

Of his loss.

Of his mission.

But in spite of the litany that he repeated in his mind, every time he thought of what had happened at Pleasures, his fury threatened to rise up like a tidal wave and consume him. At times, the red haze in front of his eyes nearly blinded him.

His plan, his perfect plan had been bungled! Even now, as he replayed the scene in his mind, the panic and anger bubbled up just as it had when he’d been parked down the street from the club.

He’d wanted to jump out of his car and scream.

But he’d controlled the urge. Even when he’d heard the gunshots, he hadn’t allowed the panic to take control. His first impulse had been to follow the van and confront his partner. But acting when he was still teetering on the brink of anger would have been a mistake.

Instead, he’d made himself wait until the crowd had gone back into Pleasures, then he’d pulled out of his space and driven down to Fisherman’s Wharf.

Just a little bit longer now, and he’d be fine. Something inside of him would settle and his mind would clear.

For two blocks, he concentrated on breathing in and breathing out. No one had seen him earlier. He was sure of that. Everyone had been watching what was going on in front of the club. But he shouldn’t have panicked.

That was inexcusable. Panic led to mistakes even when the anger was justified.

He’d explained the plan very carefully to his partner. It was a simple job.

No guns.

Fury erupted again. If they’d shot Jonah…

He bit back the scream that burned in his throat like acid and fisted his hands at his sides. It was his job to kill Jonah. His job. And it wasn’t time yet.

When the red haze threatened to blur his vision again, he stopped and drew in a deep breath. Then another.

Think. He had to think.

It wasn’t entirely his partner’s fault that the mission had failed. There was the woman.

She shouldn’t have been there. Jonah Stone wasn’t dating anyone. She didn’t work for him. And she’d spoiled everything.

He began to walk again. He’d find out who she was, and she’d pay dearly for disrupting his plan.

When he finally felt himself settle, he realized that he was standing in front of a restaurant. Through the windows, he saw people laughing and talking at the bar. For a moment, he was tempted to go in and order a drink. Then the door of the restaurant opened and he caught the sound of muted Christmas music.

No. He couldn’t go into a place where they were celebrating the season.

So he would return to his room to have that drink, and he would wait for his partner to report.

And he would plan his revenge on the woman.

AS JONAH LED HER AROUND on a brief tour of Pleasures, Cilla could tell he was seriously annoyed. The calm voice and the charming smile didn’t fool her.

She could understand what he must be feeling, sympathize with it. But what she admired was the way he kept his emotions tightly leashed. He’d never once interrupted her or tried to take her cell phone from her while she was reporting to Gabe. She doubted she could have been that patient.

He’d taken her on a brief tour of the jazz room in the basement and the private dining rooms on the second floor, but she couldn’t recall one detail. Each time his arm brushed against hers or he placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her up or down a staircase, she couldn’t help remembering that moment out on the street when he’d leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing hers, and the incredible heat that had exploded through her.

For that one instant, her mind had totally blanked. She’d forgotten her plan, the danger he was in. There’d been only Jonah Stone. And the fierce desire that he alone could provoke had nearly consumed her.

He’d felt at least some of what she was feeling. His hands had tightened their grip on her waist and she’d seen the way those smoke-colored eyes had darkened until they were black as an abyss.

But he hadn’t kissed her. He’d maintained control. He’d kept his mind focused on the danger. What woman could resist thinking about what it might take to break that control?

Which was reason numero uno why she had to take herself off the case. Jonah Stone was in trouble. And the best way she could help him was to keep her distance. So she could think—about something besides jumping him.

That last option was totally off the plate since he was now officially a client. In her book, getting involved with a client led to disaster. It was a client in L.A. who’d expected side benefits as part of his security service that had led her to quit and move on.

But Jonah Stone was an entirely different problem. This time she was the one who might be tempted to offer side benefits. Even now she could feel the slow burning flame that she’d felt from the first time he’d gripped her hand at Gabe’s party. And she’d experienced how that flame could explode into a flash fire. Her aunt Nancy, who was a Catholic nun, used to talk about avoiding the occasion of sin. Cilla shot Jonah a sideways glance. For her that term summed up Jonah Stone.

And he was still in perfect control. There was no sign of what he had to be feeling. The man had gone through a lot today. Still, when they reached the bar, he smiled and exchanged a warm greeting with an older, handsome and fit-looking man who stepped into their path.

“That was a nasty piece of business out there on the street,” the man said.

Cilla remembered that he’d been one of the customers outside earlier. He was about Jonah’s height, darkhaired with gray at his temples. He reminded Cilla of a well-aging James Bond. She saw both concern and worry in the steel-colored eyes when they met hers. “Nice work.” Then he turned back to Jonah. “What can I do to help?”

“Got it covered,” Jonah assured him. “Cilla Michaels, I’d like you to meet Carl Rockwell. Not only is he a regular here at Pleasures, but he was one of my original backers when I opened the club. He believed in me when I was an unknown quantity.”

“And I still do,” Carl said.

Jonah smiled at him. “He’s invested in all my clubs, and now he’s a partner in a new place we’re opening in San Diego.”

Cilla held out a hand and found it firmly grasped.

“Cilla heads up G.W. Securities here in the city,” Jonah continued, “and I seem to be her newest client.”

“Good.” Carl stared directly into Cilla’s eyes. “Don’t let anyone hurt him, and let me know if you can use some backup.”

“He’s not kidding,” Jonah said. “Before he retired, Carl worked in the security business.”

“Virgil can let me know if you need me,” Carl said, nodding at the two of them before he returned to the bar.

Jonah led her to an empty booth at the far end of the room. Virgil managed to reach it just as they did.

He beamed a smile at them, then spoke in a low voice. “Does that little sideshow the two of you put on in the street have anything to do with the green box that was delivered here yesterday?”

“Jury’s out on that,” Jonah murmured. “I received another box in Denver this morning.”

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. “What can I do?”

“Exactly what you’re doing. Run Pleasures.”

Cilla studied the two men as Jonah laid a hand on Virgil’s arm and reassured him with the same information he’d given to Carl Rockwell. But he didn’t tell either man that he was definitely her client. “I seem to be” just didn’t make the cut.

She guessed that Virgil had about a decade on Jonah, and from the easy way they talked, she figured their relationship was personal as well as professional. Plus, Virgil was sharp. He’d already tried to connect the dots between the little Christmas gift Jonah had received and the attack.

Virgil turned to her. “If you work for Gabe Wilder, I have to assume you’re the best. What you did out on the street was impressive. But keep it up. Don’t let anything happen to Jonah.” Then he turned and moved back to the bar.

“Well, I’ve been well and duly threatened,” Cilla said as she slid into the back of the booth. “You have some very concerned friends. Does anyone else here know about the green boxes?”

Jonah shook his head. “Just Virgil. I asked him to keep an eye out in case another was delivered here.”

From her position at the back of the booth, Cilla had a view of the entire room. The crowd had thinned a bit so it was the first time that she was able to get a good look at the decor. And since a table now separated her from Jonah, she could give her surroundings more attention than she had on her tour.

The rich combination of dark mahogany and gleaming brass on the bar itself was repeated in the furniture and in the wood panels and sconces that lined the walls. The booths were red leather and the candle flickered in an old-fashioned hurricane lamp.

“What do you think?” Jonah asked.

“Sumptuous. It reminds me of another era where life moved more slowly, before airplanes, when people had the time to travel on a luxury liner to Europe. I got the same impression earlier when I looked up at the second-story windows. It makes me think of the times F. Scott Fitzgerald or Henry James captured in their novels.”

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