Authors: Anna Alexander
“What’s the second choice in case we’re out?”
“Out?” Megan screeched. “Why would you be out?”
“Because,” her fingers tightened around the pen, causing the
plastic to crack, “it’s six days before your wedding and orders for this
weekend have already been filled. It may be hard to believe, Megan, but you’re
not the only one getting married this weekend.”
“Well I’m the only one that matters!”
“Girls, stop this shouting.” Eloise put her arm around her
youngest daughter. “Darling, you must stay calm. You don’t want to pop a blood
vessel before your big day, and, Mandy Pandy, stop antagonizing your sister.
She’s under enough pressure as it is. Go to your little computer and find us
those napkin rings.”
“I’m not promising anything.” Miranda marched away from her
family before she did something childish, like throw a glass at the wall. While
the crunch of crystal against drywall would have been oh so satisfying, it
wasn’t worth having the destruction come out of her paycheck.
As she walked toward her desk, she heard her mother trying
to placate her sister. “Don’t mind her, Megan princess. You know how jealous
she must feel about you marrying a successful doctor and she has no one. Show
some compassion.”
“What do you want me to do, Mother? I made sure to invite
Bryant’s single fraternity brothers. If she can’t land one of those men, she’s
hopeless.”
Indignation burned the back of Miranda’s throat but she
refused to acknowledge the irritation. Their pity was stupid and misplaced. She
didn’t need a man in her life to be happy, and she certainly didn’t need her
sister and mother trying to set her up. She was perfectly capable of finding a
man on her own, if she so wanted.
Like Jorges.
Tears welled up at the thought of his name. Had she been
insane to leave him all alone in that big bed, looking sexy and sated with the
curve of his butt and golden expanse of his back peeking out from beneath the
rumpled sheets?
Nope. That move had been completely logical.
As she had stood there staring over him like a creepy
stalker eyeing the weak and tasty, she knew the worst thing she could do was
wake him and face the horrible morning after. To have his sexy smile turn
indulgent as he patted her on the head and said farewell would have been a
butter knife to the heart. He probably forgot all about her before she left the
nightclub.
For one night, she’d been bold and sexy and Jorges had given
her that power. It was a gift she’d always treasure. No, it was better to leave
first and not risk tarnishing her perfect memories.
Of course, as is wont to happen to all best-laid plans, that
idea was obliterated to smithereens as she walked to the main part of the
showroom where her desk was located and spotted Jorges near the front window
display. His arms were folded across his black cotton-covered chest and a
contemplative frown marred his brow. The moment her heels skidded to a stop on
the concrete floor he lifted his gaze in her direction.
“Hey.” He smiled and gestured to the table. “Who put this
together?”
“I—” She coughed and tried again. “I did.”
“Really? It’s fantastic. I would have never put together
that bright orange with that shade of blue. And the stone platters are an
excellent touch.”
“Thank you.”
“You know, I’ve been working on a project for a restaurant
in Madrid and haven’t found my inspiration. May I use your ideas?”
“What? Uh, sure.”
He liked her design? A highly sought-after designer wanted
her design? Really? But even as the warmth of his compliment stroked her ego,
his unexpected appearance caught her completely off-guard and before she could
control herself she blurted, “What are you doing here?”
His gaze narrowed as his lips pressed into a firm line. “You
didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye.”
“Oh, well.” Heat raced across her face. “I didn’t, um, know.
I—I didn’t want to make things weird. The entire night was a first for me and
I’m not exactly up with the etiquette.”
“That night was a first for me too.” He glided the few steps
separating them then brushed her hair over her shoulder. The light touch sent
goose bumps down her arms and tightened her nipples.
What was it about this man that made her want to march up to
her beautiful table, knock all the fine china to the floor with a grand sweep
of her arm and beg him to take her on the cold surface? One look, just one tiny
glance from those crystal-blue eyes and she was a quivering mass of need ready
to be ridden hard and put away wet.
“Pandy!”
Douse. And just as quick as a fire hose on a campfire, the
flame was snuffed out cold.
Miranda jumped back and turned to see her sister glaring,
shellacked fingernails curled into her hips as her Ferragamo-covered foot
tapped an impatient rhythm.
“Excuse me, Jorges. That’s my sister and she’s getting
married this weekend. She’s a little…demanding.”
His gaze flicked between the two sisters and the corner of
his mouth quirked up. “No. Go ahead. I’m in no rush.”
“Good. Um, wait here.”
She scurried to her desk, keeping one eye on Jorges, and
nearly missed her chair as she sat down. With frequent glances at him from over
the top of the monitor, her hands shook as she typed out the information she
was searching for.
He came. For her? Why?
Tingles raced over her skin with the implication that Jorges
wanted to see her again. Why else would he have gone to the trouble of tracking
her down? It sure as hell wasn’t because she didn’t say goodbye, although she’d
wager very few women ever wanted to say goodbye to Jorges. Maybe he really,
truly wanted to spend more time with her.
Now the question was, did she want to see more of him?
She choked on a snort. Of course she did. What woman
wouldn’t want to see more of this sexy, interesting, exciting man? Even if it
were just for coffee. It wasn’t beyond her social skills to be cool and
sophisticated while sipping a latte.
The click of heels striding in her direction made her
fingers type faster. Just great. Let’s have her mother and impatient sister
meet her lover. Yeah, how to explain how they met without making her look like
a total slut?
“Come on. Come on,” she stage-whispered at the computer.
Finally. Data. She dashed her notes across the page and
jumped up to stop her sister’s progress only to draw up short when she saw that
the footsteps had belonged to the maid of honor of Roxanne’s client, who
sprinted the last steps to Jorges and threw her arms around him in an
enthusiastic hug.
“Jorges,” she squealed and popped a kiss on his mouth.
“Fancy meeting you here, you sexy beast.”
“Oh, hi, um, Tina.”
“Tammy.”
“Right, Tammy.” He pulled the girl’s arms down from around
his neck. “How are you?”
“Good.” She giggled. “But not as good as I was the other
week with you at the club. Do you remember my friend Caitlyn?”
She pointed to the bride standing in the corner who was
waving fabric samples in front of her fiancé’s face as if she were performing
semaphore. She turned to shoot them a furtive glance over her shoulder and
Miranda noticed her cheeks were pink and a wild look darkened her eyes.
Breathe, girl. Just breathe.
In through the nose and out through the mouth. Miranda
slowed her racing heart as she contemplated avenues of escape from behind her
desk. The only way out was to skulk around the clingy couple, and she was
fairly positive she couldn’t make it past them without doing something stupid
like vomit or punch the woman in the boob.
Miranda sank back into her chair as Jorges said, “Yes,
Caitlyn. I— I didn’t know she was engaged.”
“That was the point, silly. Let me tell you, you gave us the
night of our lives. Will you be at the club this weekend?”
From the corner of her eye Miranda saw Jorges sneak a glance
in her direction before answering the bubbly blonde. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Oh, pooh.” She pouted, walking her fingers up his chest.
“Well, when? I’d love to meet up with you again.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, call me sometime.” She withdrew a business card from
the side pocket of her purse and ran the sharp corner of the paper across his
lip, down his chest and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
Holy shit. Tears burned Miranda’s eyes as the girl cupped
his cock and gave him a light squeeze before turning on her heel and slinking
away with an extra wiggle in her step.
Oh. Right. That was why she had left Jorges behind without another
glance. Apparently the powers that be thought she’d be oblivious to a gentle
reminder of why they weren’t a good fit and needed to slap her upside the head
with proof.
Somehow she found the strength to remain sitting upright
when all she wanted to do was crawl under the desk and mentally berate herself
some more. God, had someone slipped her hallucinogens or was she just that
brain dead? How was she supposed to compete for his affections when women
appeared out of nowhere and publicly fondled him? Did she even want to compete?
Gah, just the thought of having to bear witness to his admirers made her sick
to her stomach.
Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could pretend that her
self-esteem hadn’t taken a major hit.
Dear Lord, please let this agony end
soon.
“Sorry about that,” Jorges said from the other side of her
desk. “Some people just don’t understand personal space.”
“It’s none of my business.” She staggered to a stand and
held her notepad to her chest like a shield. “Well, anyway, it was nice to see
you again, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” He stopped her with a hand on her arm
that he promptly dropped when she flinched as if his touch caused her pain.
“When’s your lunch break? I want to see you again.”
Acid churned in her belly and her lips quivered. This was
one of those Band-Aid moments in life where you were faced with the choice of
tortuously peeling away the uncomfortable object a millimeter at a time or
ripping it off in one quick, painful tug.
With her family staring at her from across the room as if
she were an episode of bad reality television, she made her decision. “I don’t
think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” He turned to follow where her unwilling gaze
tracked the progress of the Swedish Bikini twins as they left the store. “Oh.
Look, Miranda, I know what that must have looked like. It isn’t what you think,
well, mostly, but I swear, I didn’t know one of them was engaged. I—uh—” He
growled and ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I just…just—”
“Gave them what they needed,” she finished in a soft voice.
“I know. You’re good at that.”
The tears returned with a vengeance, but she refused to let
them fall. “Thank you for checking up on me, and as you can see, I’m fine.
Don’t worry, I still think Saturday was the best night of my life. Goodbye,
Jorges.”
Another word and the dam stunting her humiliation would
crumble. With her head held high she forced her feet to march away in a strong,
smooth rhythm.
“Who’s that?” Megan asked.
Miranda didn’t need to glance at her sister to know to whom
she was referring.
“Nobody,” she croaked then cleared her throat. “Now, where
were we?”
Nobody. Miranda had called him a nobody.
Never before had he felt the need to apologize for who he
was or how he lived, but with a single tear clinging to her thick mink
eyelashes, Miranda had made him feel…dirty.
No matter how many times he forced his mind to block out the
hurt he’d seen on her beautiful face, his chest tightened and his skin crawled
with the need to scour his body down to the bone.
As he walked past the bar of The Cavern, he wondered if the
club had always appeared so desperate. It was as if all this time he had been
walking around with beer goggles on that made the dark and sad appear mysterious
and sexy.
Only a few days ago The Cavern was like his home, a place
where he felt secure enough to be his true self. That was until Miranda saw
beyond the clothes and stylish hair to the man beneath the flash.
During their night together, they had connected on a level
of friendship, if friendship was even possible to achieve while being buried
deep inside her heat. But companionship had been there on a level he never felt
before, even with Amaryllis. In Miranda’s arms he didn’t feel like he was “on”.
He was allowed to be a man enjoying a woman who lit up all his buttons. The
thought of not experiencing that connection again made him want to hide under
the covers and never come out. A reaction so foreign, it scared the shit out of
him.
“Hey, Jorges. Wait up.”
“This isn’t a good time, Ry,” he called out and kept
walking.
Ryan was a beast to bear even when his company was welcomed.
With Miranda understandably assuming it was he who had slept with the cheating
bride and her maid of honor when it had actually been Ryan, it took all his
willpower not to turn around and punch the fucker in the face. The only thing
that stayed his hand was the knowledge that the move was childish.
When he had introduced those girls to Ryan, neither of them
knew one of them was engaged, and of course Jorges didn’t know Miranda was part
of his future. Rationally, yes, Ryan wasn’t to blame for his present sour mood,
but Jorges could still hold a grudge until he was ready to face the truth and
what it meant to truly feel regret.
“Now is always a good time to have fun.” Ryan caught up with
him and slapped him on the shoulder. “Meet my new friends.”
Jorges turned around and fought a wince as he saw the lanky
brunette on Ryan’s left arm and a voluptuous blonde on the right. The girls were
dressed for a night of sex, and again the word desperate came to mind.
It wasn’t his place to judge or condemn them, and it wasn’t
their fault they were flirting on the edge of his self-pity, so with a plastic
smile he gave them each a curt nod and drew upon his manners. “Good evening,
ladies. You look…ravishing tonight.”
“Svetlana and Isabelle are new in town.” Ryan smiled and
drew them closer to his side. “I told them we’d welcome them in style.”
“Sorry, Ryan. I’m needed elsewhere.”
“Come on, Jorges.”
“Ladies.” He took each of their free hands and dropped a
gallant kiss onto the back. “I leave you in Ryan’s more than capable hands.”
A twinge of guilt twisted his gut as he left Ryan to face a
fate similar to his.
When “the girl” walked into Ryan’s life, would he regret
sampling so many women? Probably not. If Ryan knew the recriminations running
though Jorges’ head, he’d smack him a good one along with a fevered lecture
about living for yourself and not others.
God, he scrubbed his hand over his face. Why was he
stressing out so much over this? It wasn’t as if he had purposefully set out to
hurt Miranda with his free-wheeling lifestyle. He never knew she existed. But
she had been hurt. The pain was in the tremor of her voice and the
disappointment that darkened her eyes. In one second he had gone from dream man
to drunken mistake, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
The scent of sweat and perfume choked his throat, and if it
wasn’t for the promise he had made to Amaryllis, he’d be anyplace but in this
den of his misery. However, while he had agreed to watch the club, that didn’t
mean he had to be in the club to do so.
He marched up the staircase, nodding woodenly at the staff
and regular clientele who greeted him as he passed. Amaryllis’ apartment on the
upper floors had a security room fitted with monitors that scanned over the
entire area that was perfect for locking himself away in for the next few days.
From out of the main playroom a man stumbled into his path.
The guy was huge, filling the tight hallway as he doubled over as if in agony.
“Hey, man. Are you okay?” He rushed to the stranger’s side.
Quicker than a blink, the man had him by the shirtfront and
slammed up against the wall, holding him down with a meaty forearm across his
neck. From his back pocket he pulled out a switchblade that slid open with a
soft snick and lowered it out of viewing range. Jorges didn’t have to wait long
to see where the wicked-looking blade went as the tip pressed into his side.
“Where is Amaryllis?” the man growled in a voice so rough,
Jorges’ vocal cords ached in unwanted sympathy.
Shit. This must be the guy Amaryllis was running from. No
wonder she kept such a tight lip about the potential danger. Wherever she had
disappeared to, it must have worked for this asshole to still be looking for
her. God, let him be as lucky.
“Don’t know.” Hey, it was the truth.
“Where. Is. She.”
“I don’t know.” Fuck. The arm across his neck dug deeper,
cutting of his air and making spots float in his vision.
The man’s nostrils flared a second before flames erupted up
Jorges’ torso as the blade sliced through muscle and the attacker’s black eyes
flared with glee like a junky taking a hit of coke. “What
do
you know?”
Beads of sweat irritated his skin as droplets fell into his
eyes and blood rushed from the wound in a warm stream. If he looked down, he
feared he’d see his intestines hanging loose from his body and the thought made
his entire being shake.
Maybe if he gave up a little bit of information, the guy
would let him go.
“She told me an enemy of her father’s may be after her and
she was going to lie low. She refused to tell me where she was going so that I
couldn’t be used against her.”
A grunt indicated the information was processed. “Smart
girl. Did she leave on her own?”
Dare he lie? “Yes.”
The arm tightened. “Who did she go with?”
Shit. Was this freak a human lie detector? “I don’t know.”
The psycho lifted the blade and licked at the blood coating
the metal with a stare as cold as death. “Do I need to repeat the question?”
He was going to die. Right here. In the dark. Alone.
Funny, he thought one’s life flashed before their eyes
before they died, but not in his case. Instead of flashbacks from his past, all
he saw was Miranda. Her shy smile, her throaty laughter, the way she bit her
lip when in thought. To know he was never going to see her again gutted him as
surely as the blade.
No. Damn it! This couldn’t be it for him. For them.
He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer.
Forgive
me, Amaryllis. May your bodyguard be stronger than I.
“There was a man here the other night. Big. Dark. Like you.
She might have gone with him.”
The pressure against his neck eased a fraction and the man
leaned forward until their noses touched. “If I were you, I would do all I
could to contact Amaryllis. Tell her that an admirer is looking for her, and if
she wants to see her dear friend again, she will meet me here, and bring her
protector with her. If she refuses, then I will slaughter every person under
this roof. Starting with you.”
And like that, Jorges was free.
Shouts rang out as the assailant bounded down the stairs.
Jorges pushed his hand against his side, his stomach churning as a warm wetness
bathed his palm. His knees gave out and he fell hard to the floor. He refused
to look down even as he felt the blood gush from the wound with each heartbeat.
No matter what, he had to stay conscious long enough to get a warning to
Amaryllis. Footsteps pounded down the hall as security gave chase.
“Jax,” Jorges cried as a familiar pair of boots ran by, then
winced with the strain the small effort caused.
“Holy shit, Jorges.” The bouncer dropped to one knee by his
side. “What happened?”
“The fucker stabbed me.” He stomach lurched again. “Oh God.
Amaryllis.”
Jax lifted his hand to speak into the mic wired through his
cuff. “I need a medic to meet me in sickbay. STAT. Jorges has been knifed. Hang
on, buddy. Here we go.” He scooped Jorges up under the legs.
“Put me down. I can walk.”
“Yeah?” Jax dropped him on his feet and snorted when he fell
against the wall. “Let’s see you walk then, tough guy.”
“Fuck you.” Whoa.
Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick.
Jorges stiffened his knees and slid his feet one painful inch at a time toward
the sick room where they treated partygoers who had partied too hard.
Okay, maybe he should have let the big man cart him around
in his arms like a pussy, but the last thing he wanted was to draw attention
and cause panic throughout the club. Rowdiness was expected. Stabbings were not
the norm, even in a crowd as varied and large as the ones they gathered.
By the time he made it to the first-aid room, his vision
blurred and wavered like a drunk pirate’s and the contents of his stomach
flirted with his uvula. The moment his shins hit the edge of the cot, he
collapsed into a heap on the paper-covered mattress.
Jasmina ran into the room dressed in all of her Dominatrix
finery with two more bouncers on her heels. She headed straight to the
sideboard and gathered a pair of gloves and scissors while shouting out orders
for bandages that spoke of her experience as an ER doctor.
“Fuck, Jorges,” she muttered as she cut his shirt open. “Who
did you piss off? Move your hands so I can see better.”
Yeah, and have his insides fall out onto the bed? No way.
“Fucker that’s after Amaryllis. Shit. I have to warn her.”
He risked moving his hand to reach for his phone and barely
held back a scream as Jasmina took advantage of the opportunity and exposed his
belly to the air. The sight of blood,
his
blood, covering his hands made
the room spin again.
No man ever wanted to believe himself a pussy, but fuck, he
wanted to cry, barf and pass out, in no particular order. If it had only been
Jasmina in the room, he might have done just that.
The phone slipped from his grip and clattered onto the
floor. Jasmina kept him pinned to the cot with a firm hand on his chest. “Stay
still.”
“I need my phone.”
She held her hand out palm up. “Someone hand me some
Demerol. The cut’s clean, but I gotta stitch you up. Your injury won’t kill
you, unless you keep moving and make it worse. Jax, help me out.”
“Got it.” He picked up Jorges’ phone with a gloved hand and
wiped the plastic down. “Who am I calling?”
“Under contacts.” Jorges relaxed into the mattress, relived
to know death wasn’t kicking at his door and the message was being sent. “Under
D. Supposed to be. A friend of Amaryllis’.”
“Right.”
“Ow.” He jumped when Jasmina stuck him with a needle. “What
was that for?”
“For the pain and to relax you so I can start sewing. You
got lucky, my friend.”
“Is that what you call this? Ohhhh.” The meds raced through
his bloodstream, dulling his senses like mesh over a flower garden.
“That’s right, take a little nap. Jax, can you get him
home?”
“No,” Jorges slurred. “He has ta warnnn Amr-lllllis,”
“Done.” Jax slipped the cell into Jorges’ front pocket. “Her
friend will get her the message. And I can take him home, Jasmina. Especially
if we can take that sweet little Audi of his.”
“He shouldn’t be alone tonight.” Jasmina tied off the end of
the string and made her first suture. “Is there anyone who can stay with you?
Anyone we can call?”
Why did that question stab him in the heart? Almost all the
contacts in his phone were business or club related, and the only living thing
waiting for him at home were the plants he paid a cleaning service to water
once a week. Except for Amaryllis, he had no one.
As the pain medication sucked him under, he wished Miranda
was there with him, cradling his head on her soft lap, stroking her fingers
across his cheek as she cooed soothing sentiments in his ears.
Grasping on to the fantasy, he murmured the words that for
the first time made his heart ache as his eyelids grew heavy.
I’m all alone.