French Kiss (13 page)

O
ver lunch Johnny
was ultra
-
cautious
not
to make eye contact and Nicky was more than willing to comply. She was operating on the edge of reason anyway. The lit
tl
est thing—like a look or a smile—could push her over, and there she’d be making a fool of herself in some posh, Paris restaurant.

Johnny limited his conversation to Jordi and Vernie, while Nicky participated in the general discussion only when it was absolutely necessary. It was safer if she kept her
gaze
elsewhere. Since the restaurant overlooked a garden and
the
people-watching was world-class, it was easy enough to use
those
distractions to keep her from shamelessly lusting after a man who should be
only
a client to her.

It also helped, distraction-wise, that Jordi chattered on nonstop, her relationship with her dad warm and unconstrained. The man
was charming on every level—damn him. Father. Lover. Client. It wasn’t fair that he was so divinely perfect in
every
way—including his mastery of the
Kama Sutra.
It made it real difficult to consider giving up sex with him—when, of course, she should.

For the sake of her business.

The potential for problems down the road was inevitable with a man like Johnny who never stayed with a woman much longer than it took for a rose to wilt.

If she had any sense
at all she’d keep things strictl
y business.

On the other hand, she could be Zen about this entire episode— like live in the present and go with the flow. Definitely a more satisfying option.

The words
Nice
and
villa
jolted her out of her internal debate, and she began to listen to the conversation taking place. They were discussing a trip to the south of France. The playground for the rich and famous had such cachet—Cannes, Nice, Juan les Pins, Fitzgerald, Picasso, yachts t
he size of football fields…

Jordi, apparentl
y, liked their villa in Nice because she had friends there. Vernie liked the climate and shopping. Johnny liked the seclusion. They all liked the private beach.

How great would it be to have a private beach on the Mediterranean, Nicky thought. Not that she would ever be in that tax bracket. In fact, not too long ago, she’d been wondering how to make her house payment. And in her business, she never lost sight of the fact that six-figure tree houses were luxury items. If the economy soured, those purchases would be the first to go.

But even such sobering thoughts couldn’t dispel her current good cheer. A night of highly erotic, orgasmic pleasure left one feeling as though the world might in fact be one of endless pleasure. Like the tantalizing dessert that was being placed before her.

The mouthwatering scent of chocolate wafted into the air, the steaming confection oozing sweet decadence and calories.

Not that she cared about calories at the moment. She’d burned off enough calories last night to allow her a full cart of pastries.

As Nicky was putting spoon to dessert, Johnny’s phone rang, but she barely noticed, so overwhelmed were her senses by succulent chocolate.

She heard Johnny say, “Excuse me,” but only glanced up in passing as he left the table. She was intent on
her first
delicious taste of a dessert that could pass for a flamboyant
Easter
hat. But she’d also been seriously ignoring Johnny during
lunch
in order to keep desire at bay, and continuing down that
path
seemed an expedient exercise.

So
it
was a bolt from the blue when she
felt a hand slip
under her arm and lift her to her feet before she
was half done with
her dessert.

“Vernie, if you’ll take Jordi
back
to the
hotel when you’ve fin
ished,” Johnny said, taking the spoon from
Nicky’s hand and
dropping it on the table. “I just received a
business
call I have to handle, and I need Nicky to translate for
me. This fellow
doesn’t speak English very well.”

But my
dessert
, Nicky silen
tl
y
protested, eyeing the chocolate
pastry with longing.

“We might stop at the arcade
on our
way
back,” Vernie declared.

“I’d rather you didn’t until I return.”
Johnny’s voice was
mild, but
he
held Vernie’s gaze for a charged
moment. “When
you’re finished here, Barry will take you back to
the hotel.”

Vernie nodded; if Johnnie had called Barry to come for them, she wasn’t about to ask questions. “We’ll work
on
that fairy tale Jordi’s been writing instead.”

“I’
m on page ten already, Dad. Vernie helps me with the spelling, but otherwise it’s all my stuff.”

“She has your creative talent,” Vernie said, smiling at Johnny. “It’s a fascinating story.”

Jordi jabbed her finger at her father. “But you can’t read it till it’s all done.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie. This shouldn’t take long. I’ll be back soon.”

With a wave, he began leading Nicky from the restaurant, when a male voice called out, “Hey, Surfer Man!”

She could feel Johnny’s grasp tighten, but his smile was in place as he turned to the nearby table. “Hey, yourself, Mikey. Small world.”

“We’re here for the races. What about you?”

“Hi, Jill.” Johnny nodded at the woman seated beside Mikey in the banquette. “Just a visit for me. This is Nicky Lesdaux. Nicky, Mikey and Jill Chambers. We all went to high school together.”

Mike did a thumbs-up. “Championship football team our senior year, right?”

“Thanks to you. Mikey was our quarterback,” Johnny explained to Nicky.

“If
your
sticky fingers hadn’t caught every one of my passes, we never would have made it. So how’re things goin’ for you?”

“Can’t complain,” Johnny said. “You know, mos
tl
y workin’ hard. How’s the law firm?”

“We’re keeping our heads above water. You have to come back, and we’ll hit the waves on Casper Beach.”

“Jeez, I haven’t surfed in years.”

“I go out
w
ith my kids.” Mikey smiled. “You know, maintain the skill set—or at least try.”

“Christ, it sounds good. I’ll give you a call. I have an appointment, or I’d stay and chat. Great to see you both.”

As they moved toward the door, Johnny said, “Mikey and I used to watch the weather forecasts and wait for the big waves. It’s not world-class surfing up there, but damned fun.” He blew out a breath. “Christ, life fucking changes. That
was
Lisa on the phone, and she’s in some goddamned mess. I had
to
call Barry and Cole. Not that they had to come far,”
Johnny
grumbled. “They were parked across the street.”

Personally, Nicky was glad they’d ignored
Johnny’s
orders to stay at the hotel. Talk of drug cartels and
money laundering
made her nervous. “They just worry about you, that’s
all,” she
said.

“I
guess,” he muttered, as they stepped
outside. “If
you’ll excuse me for a minute,” he said, walking toward
the Mercedes
that was sitting at the curb. The passenger-side
window rolled down,
and he leaned forward and started talking
fast.

His voice was low, so Nicky couldn’t
hear what he was
saying, but she could tell he was pissed. His
tone was brusque,
his dark brows were set in a scowl, and then
he said loudly enough
for anyone to hear, “Fucking Lisa. She’s
nothing but trouble.”
Moments later, Barry accompanied
Johnny back. As he went
inside the restaurant, Johnny took Nicky’s
arm. “We’re taking the
car. Barry, Vernie, and Jordi will
go back in a cab.” Helping
Nicky into the Mercedes a moment
later, he took his seat beside
her. Cole gave them a nod from up front
beside the driver,
and the car pulled away from the curb and
eased into traffic.

Cole half turned. “Where to, boss?”

“Lisa was in hysterics as usual, but near
as I can
tell, we have two choi
ces. She was whispering—apparentl
y she’s
on
her boyfriend’s shit list for taking something of his—so she didn’t make a lot of
sense. But she needs rescuing; that much I figured out.” He smiled tigh
tl
y. “Sound familiar?”

“Been there, done that, boss. The woman is in constant crisis mode.”

“Affirmative there, but this time, she might be in over her head. These guys she’s with are loser hoodlums, but their daddies aren’t above sending out a hit squad or two.”

“Not to worry. We brought along extra firepower. Yours is under my seat.”

“New stuff,”
th
e driver added in a distinct Bronx accent. “Prime stuff.”

“So where to first?” Cole asked.

“A shop in the fifteenth
arrondissement.” Johnny gave th
e address.

Extra firepower?
Had she heard right? “Did he say extra firepower?” Nicky murmured, hitting Johnny on the arm just to make sure he was paying attention.

“You won’t be in any danger,” Johnny replied, intent on unzipping a small duffel bag he’d pulled out from under Cole’s seat.

“Then why do you need WEAPONS?” she gasped. Cars with guns in bags under the seats were way the hell outside her normal operating zone.

“Relax.” Johnny glanced up and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s just insurance.” He sat up, a deadly looking handgun held ligh
tl
y in his grasp.

It didn’t help her peace of mind when he slipped out the clip, checked it, and shoved it back into place. It really, really didn’t help when he bent over again and pulled out another smaller handgun.

“This is nice. Is it custom
?”
The weapon shone in his palm with a jewel-like, poisonous gleam.

“Beretta’s newest model,” the driver noted. “I couldn’t pass it up.”

“Who could. It’s a beauty.”

In her world, beauty was defined in terms of nonlethal objects. She was truly out of her element. In fact, she was so far outside anything remotely recognizable that she felt as though she might melt into a peddle of fear where she sat. Like now—
this
second.

“Hey,” Johnny whispe
red, as th
ough he was psychic. “It’s okay. Don’t freak. We’re going to two chocolate shops, there’ll be lots of people around, you couldn’t be safer.”

“If it’s so safe, why does your ex need rescuing?”

“She probably doesn’t. She probably
just thinks
she does.” And that might even be true, although
Lisa’s boyfriends—
zoned out or not—gave him pause. But he
wasn’t going into any
detail about possible risks because he needed
Nicky to ask
questions once they reached the shops. She
had plenty of protection
between
the
three of them anyway.
And it was broad daylight.

Dropping the smaller handgun
into his jacket pocket,
he shoved the other one back under
Cole’s seat. Then, he took
Nicky’s hand and held it the rest of the
way to their first stop,
making casual conversation as though the
subject of guns and
hit men had never come up. He even
made her laugh once or twice
before they reached their destination.

Unfortunately, at the sight of the dingy neighborhood, low-rent government office buildings across
the street, and
the battered white door before which they eventually stood—unmarked and without a handle or bell to ring—Nicky’s apprehension returned.

“Are you sure you’re at the right place?” she whispered. It didn’t look like a chocolate shop to her. There was no sign, no windows, not a clue that anything existed behind the crusty facade.

“We’ll find out,” Johnny said and banged his fist on the peeling paint.