An Offer He Can't Refuse (21 page)

"The Way You Look Tonight"

Stan Getz

Stan Getz Plays
(1952)

Though he'd gotten the information he was after in the first
forty minutes, the "cocktails and tennis" that Johnny took Téa to turned into cocktails, tennis, conversation, and enough hors d'oeuvres to serve the entire U.S. Davis Cup team. After playing and eating and trying to fill Clark's hunger for knowledge of Texas Hold 'Em and all things poker, it was closing in on eleven p.m. when Johnny drove Téa home and escorted her up her front walk.

At the door, she turned to face him, and he looked down at her, grateful for the shadows that disguised her curvy, follow-me figure. It was only her eyes he could see clearly, their exotic tilt framed by wavy tendrils that had worked free from the long braid hanging down her back. "I had a good time," she said. "Thank you." She put her hands behind her back, an action that he knew would be thrusting her breasts forward. If he let himself think about that. Which he didn't.

"You're welcome. I wasn't expecting the evening to end so late." When he'd picked her up, he'd expected a few drinks, a little information, then long hours in the warmth of Téa's bed. It was optimistic, hell yes, but any good gambler went into the game expecting to win.

Though after what he'd learned from Phillip, Johnny had revised those expectations. It had made the evening hellishly long as he'd watched Téa and wanted her, all the while knowing he wasn't going to do one damn thing about it. But the best gamblers also knew that when the game wasn't going their way, it was time to pick up their chips and leave the table.

Still, it was with regret that he let himself lift one of those liberated wisps of her hair and curl it around his forefinger. "Good night," he said, giving it a little tug.

"Good night?" she echoed, her voice uncertain.

Through his finger, he felt a little tremor run through her. How could she be jittery when he was leaving? He'd thought he was what made her so nervous. "Are you all right?"

She glanced around at the surrounding shadows, then licked her lips. "I thought you might like to come in."

Well, yeah, he might love to, but now it was way too complicated.

Maybe she was reading minds again. Because she went on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck. "Johnny," she whispered. "Show me how simple it can be."

Her mouth was turned up to his, tempting, juicy, and his cock stirred, despite himself. "Téa—"

"I want to forget everything tonight," she said, her body shivering against his as she stepped closer. "I don't want to remember anything but you and me."

Okay, fine, he'd give her a good night kiss. After all his big talk she'd at least expect that. He'd do the perfunctory it's-been-nice smooch, then get the hell out before getting them both in trouble. It might hurt like hell to stop, but nobody ever died of lust.

His hands fell to her waist. Slid around to her ass. Her lips found his and her fruity, warm taste filled his mouth. The tip of her tongue touched the tip of his and he went fully erect and rock-hard.

His hands tightened, tilting her closer to him. He slanted his head, needing the taste, the fit, the heat of her body because the whole night was suddenly so damn hot. She moaned, trying to move in closer, but he held her still, keeping just that fit of pelvis-to-pelvis, mouth-to-mouth, remembering that he was going to have to stop this soon.

Any minute.

She broke from his hold and pressed her entire body against his. Soft breasts against his chest. Her belly to his cock. He lifted his head, thinking he needed air, but instead it was the skin of her neck he needed, the smooth warmth of it against his tongue, the thrum of her pulse beating against him.

His hands raced up her back, encountering that tight club of her hair. He didn't like it. He didn't want any of her bound, fastened, kept away from him. The band at the bottom pulled free and then he sifted his hands through the dark mass, unwinding it as his lips went back to hers.

For just a second or two.

Moving in, he pushed her back against the door and fisted one hand in her hair. Lust and heat were speeding through his system like a car chase, spinning thoughts and sense from his head. He grabbed her left breast.

He grabbed her, he who finessed women, he who had found great success in slow warm-ups and stealthy touches. He who'd enjoyed the kind of foreplay that you could measure in half-degrees.

She arched into his hand, from beneath her bra and the stretchy knit of her top, her nipple poking into his palm, just as if half-degrees weren't enough. Just as if finesse didn't matter to her.

It didn't seem to matter to him.

He kneaded the softness in his hand, his fingers firm, unable to be soft when his cock was so hard and this need for her was driving him so high.

"Johnny," she whispered, and one of her legs wrapped around the back of his calf. Her smooth skin was rubbing his, any second certain to set off sparks.

His hand slid under that tiny skirt and under those skintight shorts and he grabbed again, cupping real skin, her curvy, silky ass. He groaned, ready now for heaven.

"Inside, Contessa, inside," he said, his voice thick and harsh. There was heat and wet between her legs, he sensed it, just inches away from his hand. "Now. Don't wanna do it against the door."

She froze.

Oh, shit, he thought, replaying his last words.
Don't wanna do it against the door
. Shit! Where was smooth Johnny, cool Johnny, charming Johnny? Women loved his manners, they loved him.
Don't wanna do it against the door
.

"Contessa, I—" But then he realized what had caught her attention. Through her door, he could hear her phone ringing.

"Your machine will pick it up," he said, gentling his hands and letting them fall away, all the while thanking God for the interruption. Though there was no way in hell he was going to stop now—and he'd probably roast in hell or at least under the broiler of his own conscience for it—at least it gave him time to find the practiced lover inside himself, the one who knew how to ease a woman into bed. The lover who did it smooth and slow to prevent any scratches to the surface of his life.

A voice floated from the machine and through the door. "Téa? Téa, if you're there, pick up. It's Eve. The security firm called. There's been a break-in at your office."

Téa stiffened. "Break-in?" she questioned in a frozen voice even as the answering machine clicked off. "Break-in?"

Her eyes moved off his face and into the darkness. "They must think it's in my office," she murmured, sounding faint.

She wasn't making any sense. Feeling a little scared, he figured, and a little startled from having to go from passion to business in the space of a breath. Hell, he was just getting his own breath back. And his sanity, he thought, relief washing through him. Tonight he needed distance, detachment, and with his hands all over Téa and his tongue in her mouth, he'd been speeding in the wrong direction down a one-way street.

"Come on, Contessa," he said, sliding an arm around her shoulders and taking a deep, steadying breath. "I'll drive you over." Even with his big brain functioning again, he couldn't leave her to find her way to her office alone, though he'd be singing silent hosannas all the way that he'd made it past tonight without an emotional scratch.

Her business wasn't far, but the ride was long enough for him to realize that Téa grew tenser with every block that passed. By the time they glimpsed a small crowd ahead, huddled on the sidewalk beside a private security cruiser, she was shivering. He grabbed a front-zip sweatshirt from the backseat and encouraged her to put it on.

"It's baggy, but warm, Contessa," he said, angling into a nearby parking spot. "Come on, honey, wrap up."

She stepped out of the car as soon as he stopped, his sweatshirt a bulky gray paper bag from her neck to her knees. Maybe because she looked like a little kid, maybe because he hated the way the security car's revolving light washed red, red, red, over her face, but something about her made his chest ache.

Ignoring it, he slammed his door shut and grabbed her hand. It was cold and so damn small he took it between both of his and rubbed it as they walked toward the knot of people outside her office.

The circling light flickered across their faces, illuminating some he didn't know, and some he did—Téa's sisters, Eve and Joey, and… Cal? What the hell was The Calculator doing at Téa's office?

A small figure in dark goth-wear and facial piercings ran up to Téa. "It's all my fault," she said.

TeVs feet stuttered to a halt, and Johnny pulled her back against him to keep her upright. Damn, she seemed ready to break.

"Rachele," she said. "You didn't have anything to do with this. It's me. I—"

"Didn't need to bother coming after all," Joey finished, charging over. She glanced up at Johnny, calculation gleaming in the red lights in her eyes. "You can blame Eve for that."

Eve strolled up with an elegant older woman who was Téa in twenty years, minus the mouth-drying curves. "You can blame Eve for nothing," the blonde corrected, shaking her head. "Eve is on your contact list if the security company gets no answer at your numbers and the silent alarm goes off."

The older woman—Téa's mother, obviously—reached out to place her fingers against her daughter's cheek and then her forehead. "
Cara
, are you sick?"

Téa struggled to break free of his arms and it took Johnny a moment to release his hold. "Not sick, Mom. I'm fine."

The one who was sick was him! Johnny thought, taking a belated step back. Christ, here Téa was, surrounded by family, and he was pretending to be her pillar of strength. But Mrs. Caruso was looking at him curiously, so Magee manners made it imperative he step toward the women again.

"Johnny Magee, ma'am," he said, holding out his hand. "A client of your daughter's. I was with her when the call came."

Cool fingers shook his. "Then thank you for bringing her over." She smiled.

Johnny stared, aware he was holding her hand moments too long. But when she smiled, the woman beamed beauty rays that age couldn't diminish. "I see where Téa gets her looks," he heard himself mumble.

Joey rolled her eyes, and elbowed the blonde sister beside her. 'There goes another one. Doesn't that just make you sick, Eve? Even when you're standing here, with all your Miss Universe appeal, one look at Mom and it's all over for the rest of us lesser mortals."

"Shut up, Joey," Eve and Téa said together.

Then Téa went on alone. "Now tell me what happened tonight. Was there a break-in or not?"

"Or not," Rachele said, fiddling with the ring piercing her eyebrow. "I came by to—to—"

"Get something you left behind you told us," Joey supplied impatiently. "And then you fumbled with the alarm keypad which set off the alarm."

"Which set off the calls to me and to Eve," Téa continued, looking stronger by the second. "So it was all a mistake. But why is everyone here?"

"I was hunting around town for you," Eve said, "so I called Mom and found her and Joey having coffee in the spa's bar."

"Okay," Téa replied, looking at who was left in the crowd, the security officer and Johnny's lead tech-head. She glanced back his way. "That means Johnny called Cal and—" Her voice trailed off as she peered over Johnny's shoulder.

Cal? He hadn't called Cal. He opened his mouth to let her know, when an icy-white stretch limo pulled up to the curb.

"—and Melissa Banyon?" Téa said, incredulous.

"Hell, no!" But it was the actress all right, exiting the chauffeured car, leading with nine yards of legs and those killer fake tits. Still inside the limo, illuminated by the interior lights, was Raphael Fremont, beaming a killer glare at Johnny that didn't look fake at all.

"I just happened by and had to stop once I saw you," the actress said in her baby voice. "Is there something I can do to help?"

The crowd was silent, some stunned, some awed, some annoyed.

"Sign an autograph I can sell on e-bay?" Joey put in, sotto voce.

Since none of the others were taking up the conversation, Johnny felt obligated to step in. "No, no, thank you very much, but we're fine here."

Despite his assertion, she moved like an armored tank with cone headlights, right for him.

Johnny braced himself, wondering what else a man had to go through in one night.

Then Téa stepped in front of him. He thought she bared her teeth.

Melissa Banyon, all six feet and sixty-four ounces of silicone, stumbled. Her gaze fixed on Téa, she lurched back. With a morose little pinkie bye-bye to Johnny, the actress exited as fast as she'd arrived.

Their little group was still silent as the limo glided off and another car took its place. A sleek black car this time. Téa stiffened, her mother backed away, and Eve and Joey exchanged pointed glances.

A tinted window slid down to reveal a dark-haired, dark-eyed man. Not Cosimo, this guy was much too young, but he was definitely a wiseguy. "Téa, your grandfather wants to know if you need any help," he called out.

"No," she called back, sounding falsely pleasant. "I don't need or want anything from him."

Johnny couldn't stop himself from touching her again, his palm stroking the shallow curve at the small of her back, wishing he could absorb some of the tension he felt there.

The wiseguy slipped on an easy smile. "How about an espresso? He has a new machine in his kitchen and he
insists
that you see it tonight."

The asshole was handing out orders now. Johnny took a step forward to get rid of him, but Téa beat him to it. She leaned close to the open car window. "And I
insist
on refusing. You can tell Cosimo I don't drink espresso in the evenings. It gives me nightmares."

She stepped back, bumping into Johnny's body. He cupped the nape of her neck. After a pause, the car moved slowly along.

Then Johnny remembered, so damn slow too, that
he
was supposed to be moving away from Téa as well. With a quick step, he put space between them. She turned toward her relatives, he turned toward Cal. After eliciting a promise from the other man to see her home, Johnny withdrew into the darkness and left.