ANightatTheCavern (7 page)

“Miranda?” came the harsh reply.

“Jorges.”

That was all. One word. One name. One man who changed her
world forever.

* * * * *

“Jorges! For once I am being serious to the point of death.
I’d appreciate your full attention.”

He gasped and lifted his head to see Amaryllis glaring at
him with her hands on her hips and a royal lift to her chin. He rarely blushed,
but his guilt at allowing his mind to wander heated his cheeks.

Amaryllis was his friend, and was clearly in distress. Some
might see her white-blonde hair and ba-bam body and think her to be a flake,
but she was extremely intelligent, savvy, always collected and could see right
to the heart of people in an instant, almost as if she had superpowers. Never
would he call her scatterbrained, but as she stood in her living room with
pants and blouses escaping from half-opened suitcases and her straight hair
flying in every direction, she was the epitome of flustered.

Amaryllis had been tight-lipped about her past and for good
reason. Apparently her father had been in a version of the mafia in her
homeland of Sweden, and she had fled to the States for safety. The night before
she had a run-in with one of her father’s former bodyguards, which had upset
her more than she let on. Instead of allowing Jorges to comfort her when she
had been visibly shaken, she had asked him to turn his attentions to the
lonely-looking woman at the bar. Miranda.

Had Amaryllis known that when she sent him to brighten the
night of this unknown woman, she was changing his own views on relationships?
For one uncomfortably long moment as he had held that condom in his hand, he
had almost tossed the thing over his shoulder and taken Miranda bare.
Pregnancy, disease? He hadn’t cared. All that had mattered was being with this
woman who surprised him with every laugh and made him hunger for more.

In the hot clasp of her body he felt like he belonged. Not
just physically, but spiritually as well. While the night had started out to be
about Miranda indulging in her most illicit fantasies, by the time they had
collapsed on a sofa in the VIP lounge, he had begun to spin his own.

But those thoughts were crazy. He was Jorges, the good-time
guy. The great lay who treated you like a queen, but only for the amount of
time it took to get you off. Work was his longtime lover, and women,
recreation. One girl, a home, family. That wasn’t what he wanted.

Right?

“I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat and slammed the door on
the dangerous thought. “I am listening. You’ll be gone for three days. Where
will you be?”

“I…can’t say.” She avoided his gaze and went back to tucking
her clothes into a suitcase. “Trust me, it is for your own protection you do
not know.”

“What are you running from, Amaryllis? I can help.”

“Not this time,
lebshone
. I know you want to help
because you are my friend, and you love me, just as I love you, which is why I
want you nowhere near this situation.”

“Tell me you won’t be on your own.”

A secret smile was her answer.

“What was her name?” Amaryllis asked in a deliberate attempt
to change the subject.

“Her who?” Two could play that game.

“Don’t be cheeky.” She tilted her head and leveled him with
that stare he swore saw right down to his soul to a place he didn’t know
existed. “The woman from last night.”

“She’s not important.” He shifted his weight from one foot
to the other.

“And now you’re lying to me? She
is
important because
you
are important to me, and obviously she has a hold on you for me not
to have your undivided attention.” Her smile belied the narcissism of her
words.

The ice-princess persona she wore like spandex was a front
for the insecure woman Jorges knew lived inside her. A mask he was all too familiar
with since he wore a similar one himself.

“Miranda,” he released on a sigh. And as if waiting for an
opening, the floodgates in his brain released and the events of the night
flowed over him in a hot, pulsating wave.

“Did you give her a night to remember?”

“Yes.”

“And you miss her.”

He did. And that scared the shit out of him.

“Tell me about her.”

“I—” His breath caught and he coughed. “Not now. You’re in a
hurry and I don’t want to endanger you with unnecessary delays.”

“Stop.” She held up her hand and waved her finger in his
face. “Do not forget who I am. I can spare three minutes. Sit.”

“Ama—”

“Sit.”

“God, you’re pushy,” he grumbled, but sat as instructed.
“You need a man to break you down and make you more pliable.”

“No such man exists.” She perched on the sofa next to him
and took his hand. “Let me guess, our plain wallflower was not as she appeared.
Say it. I love to hear the words.”

Jorges laughed and kissed the back of her hand. “You were
right.”

“Of course I was. Tell me everything.”

“You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Then tell me the juicy, non-sexy stuff.”

“Well, she was…amazing.”

While he told Amaryllis about mundane things about Miranda,
like her job and their first conversation, in his mind he replayed the personal
details that had imprinted themselves on him like a tattoo to be carried
forever. Like the way her eyes sparkled just before she laughed, the satin
texture of the curve of her hip against his palm and the way she bit her lip as
she gathered her courage.

The night had been magic. Then came the cold dawn of morning
when he woke up alone in an empty nightclub. Only the pleasant ache in his
balls and the smear of her pale-pink lipstick on his skin confirmed that the
night hadn’t been a complete fantasy. At least she had taken the time to cover
him in a sheet before she disappeared.

The morning after a one-night stand was not an uncommon
occurrence in his life, but this was the first time that his heart felt the
pain of disappointment. He wanted to take her to his favorite breakfast spot
and see the color of her hair in the sunlight. He wanted to show her his latest
design and ask for her opinion. He wanted her to share in his life.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he
wanted to let someone see past the two-hundred-dollar haircut and designer
clothes to the man he was beneath the skin. Amaryllis didn’t count. She forced
her way past his barricades and claimed a spot like an explorer stealing land
from the locals. With Miranda, he wanted her to see
him
.

Sheer madness on his part, for certain. She had come to The
Cavern looking for a good time, and he delivered it in spades. When the sweat
of their bodies had chilled on her skin, she’d probably been ashamed of her
wanton behavior and skipped out before she had to face an awkward morning
after. Hell, how many times had he done the same thing himself? Why would she
ever think he was interested in more?

“So, when will you see her again?” Amaryllis asked.

“You’re funny.” He stood and swallowed down the lump caused
by the thought of not seeing her again. “You know me. I’m the goodtime guy and
she’s a forever kind of girl. I filled a need, and that’s all that will be.”

“Yes, you fulfilled her need. But she hasn’t filled yours.”

As he busied himself with the task of correcting her packing
job, the weight of her too-seeing gaze bore into his back. “I don’t have needs,
besides the basics.”

“What is that word? Ah, yes, bullshit. You need to be loved
by a woman who wants more from you than your cock.”

“That’s not true. What, in the entire history of our
relationship, has ever given you the idea that I need a woman’s love?”

“Because you are human, and humans need connections to
another. To live for that one person, as they live for them.”

“You’re human too, babe. Who are you connected to?”

“I’m not as human as you may think. But I have not given up
hope that he is out there somewhere.” Her gaze turned inward and darkened as
she whispered, “Maybe even heartbeats away.”

Jorges thought about the darkly fierce man he saw dancing
with Amaryllis the night before. Perhaps there was more to his reappearance in
her life than a dire warning.

Amaryllis jumped and ran her hands over her hair. “Damn, I
wish I didn’t have to go, but I really shouldn’t tarry any longer. My ride is
here. Jorges, make me a promise.”

“That depends on what the promise is.”

She stuck out her tongue. “Go see her. You know where to
find her. Try, at least try to see if the magic of last night continues to
pulse in the daytime.”

He laughed. “You do have a way with words.”

“Promise me.”

“Fine, fine. I promise,” he said as a knot formed in his
gut.

She narrowed her gaze. “And you know that I will know if you
do not follow through.”

“Yeah. You have scary skills like that.”

She pressed two quick kisses to his cheek. From her back
pocket, she withdrew a piece of paper. “Here. I will be without a way to
communicate. This is the number you can call if you absolutely need to reach
me. Please look after the staff. I love them dearly, but with me gone, the
temptation to play may be too great to resist.”

“Done.”

“Good.” She hugged him tight and under his hands he felt the
tremors running down her spine.

Suddenly the seriousness of her departure hit him and he
tightened his hold, somehow sensing that the woman in his arms was never going
to return quite the same way she was now.

“Be careful.” He pressed his lips to the crown of her head.
“I need you as my wingman.”

“You be careful too. You are my family and I would die
without you.”

“Always with the dramatics. I’m sure this mystery is all a
ruse because you’ve found a man you’re ashamed to tell me about and are off to
have a hot, kinky weekend together.”

“I wish.” She hugged him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He helped her carry her luggage, but she refused to allow
him farther than settling her into the elevator that carried her to the parking
garage, claiming that the less he knew about her departure, the better. With
her foot planted firmly in the way of the door closing, she gave him another
hug. “Call her.”

“I will. Good luck.”

“You too.”

The doors slid shut with a soft hiss and he stared at the
burnished metal. The polished surface reflected his troubled expression and the
deep line bisecting his eyes.

What was wrong with him? It was one girl. If Miranda was
able to place her trust in him, then he could trust himself as well.

He pressed the down button and tapped at the wall while he
waited for the compartment to make its return trip. Tracking Miranda down was
not an impossible task. He didn’t know where she lived, but he had an idea as
to where she worked. It was as good of a starting point as any. The real
question was, did he have the balls to follow through?

A smile curved his lips and a tingle brewed in his gut. If
Miranda thought last night was all of their story, he was more than eager to
prove her wrong.

* * * * *

In the wedding world, there were bridezillas and then there
were the monstrous she-bitches who used their wedding day as an excuse to make
everyone around them more miserable than the lowliest being in hell. When you
work in the event business, you learn to smile and take notes, forcing yourself
to endure the torture because, after all, they were the one’s signing the
checks. When the obnoxious creature was your sister, torture took on an
entirely different meaning.

Miranda didn’t bother to stifle her yawn as she watched her
younger sister Megan and their mother add yet another napkin to the table of
china and glassware. It wasn’t as if they were paying her any attention, or
cared to ask her opinion as to whether silk or shantung was a better fabric
choice for the napkins. This was the third visit in the last year, and after
having Megan claim that all of Miranda’s suggestions were in poor taste, she
had learned to keep her mouth shut.

Poor taste. Miranda mentally snorted. Quality and design
over price was not poor taste.

There was no containing the devilish smile that broke free
as she pictured the tacky peacock feather-trimmed table cloths that arrived the
day before. Would Megan insist on having them if she was told they were fifty
dollars each? What a photo spread that would make.

At least Miranda wasn’t alone in her misery. Across the
showroom floor Roxanne was catering to the needs of her own pain-in-the-ass
clients. About two thirds of the warehouse samples lay in heaps around the
display table as the bride and her maid of honor demanded to see more, while
the groom held up his wineglass for another refill of the complimentary
champagne.

Why did women even bother dragging along their fiancés to
pick out table linens and stemware? In Miranda’s experience the only thing from
their shop men were interested in was the final bill. They couldn’t give a
rat’s ass if the fabric they wiped their mouth on was cotton or satin, if they
used a napkin at all. Maybe forcing the groom to attend was some sort of
punishment? That made more sense as to why they were obligated to participate.

This poor schmuck was tucked in the corner, head down,
swilling wine with cell phone in hand as his bride-to-be and her maid of honor
kept running to the window and back with different fabrics to see how the color
appeared in the sunlight. Any questions thrown his way were answered with a
grunt and a nod.

Roxanne caught her gaze and they shared an eye roll as
Miranda’s mother snapped, “Miranda! Are you listening?”

“Of course. How many napkin rings?” She readied her pen to
take notes.

“We’re at three hundred fifty now, but include some extra.”

Good Lord. A thousand dollars just on napkin rings? Why
don’t they just give her the money and let her do something more useful with
it, like arrange to have her sister elope in Vegas. Or kidnapped. Either option
sounded fantastic.