One More Night with You (17 page)

A few taps on the greenhouse door preceded a woman with short blond waves and downturned blue eyes. “So you went away and came back the ultimate hottie.”

“Honey!” Joey pushed her cane to its limit and it jabbed the ground ferociously as she hurried to her childhood bestie. She heard her father mutter something about avoiding girl gossip as he left the greenhouse. “Coraline said you were working today.”

“At my studio, yes. But I make my own hours, so I'm here.” Honey squeezed her hand. “Let's split.”

“And go where? It's dark now.”

“All the sexy cowboys hit Dusty's after dark.”

“I'm not in the market. I have a man.”

“Yay for you, darlin'. But I'm currently between men—and not in the good way. For old times' sake, come with. Go put on something that says ‘I live in Las Vegas so you better impress me.'”

They were Joey and Honey, the naughty gals of June Creek, Texas, again. Joey didn't pass up the chance to rediscover this part of herself. At the main house she changed into a short pleated dress and her new boots and was taking the rear stairs when her brother caught her.

“Sneaking out?”

“Yes. Honey Sutherland's waiting outside and we're going to Dusty's.”

“What about your dude?”

“Zaf's from our world, Eddie. I'm sure he can handle the family on his own.”

His face changed. “Yeah. Birds of a feather work together.”

“Ed—”

“Screw it. Forget I said that. What lie do you want me give Mamá and Papá when they ask where you went?”

“Don't lie. Just wait ten minutes before you snitch. I don't want the family ganging up on me to guilt me
and
Honey into staying put.”

“Fine. You're supposed to be the responsible older sibling, you know.”

“Who the hell said that?”

Eddie smiled. “Know something? If you hung around more often, I wouldn't be off-my-ass shocked that you're actually kind of cool.”

* * *

This part of the de la Peñas' main house was quiet—or what passed for quiet in a place packed with people talking, hollering at TV sports, singing along to music and jiving around.

Coming into a parlor that resembled Joey's offbeat decorating style but with unmistakably high-end flair, Zaf gratefully accepted the drink a housekeeper brewed from an espresso machine on the buffet near the door.

He didn't speak until he'd sunk his weary body onto a slipcovered parsons chair, drank through the burn of the liquid and rubbed his eyes. “I think you chose the wrong man for this assignment.”

Anita Esposito de la Peña, halfway up a rolling ladder with a stack of books in the crook of one arm, stopped what she was doing and climbed down.

She'd given Joey her petite frame and dainty air that folks would think was more suited for storybook fairies than federal agents. The difference was Anita harbored no doubts. The FBI had been her stepping-stone; the elite covert securities branch she ran with her uncles and brother was her lifeblood.

“A cup of what he's drinking, Yasmin?” she asked the housekeeper, her smile as fresh as the bouquets he'd seen creatively arranged in Bonita Gardens' lobby. The woman balanced dual lives masterfully. The Anita who June Creek knew was a pillar of a small community, a florist's wife, an accountant and an attentive mother. The Anita
he
knew was a flinty, unshakable ex-agent who helped run an underground security firm and wasn't afraid to grab a guy by the balls to get things done.

Merge the two and she was an almost superhumanly fascinating individual.

“I'm requesting to be taken off the job, Anita.” He continued to speak freely—as Yasmin wasn't a housekeeper at all. She was an operative installed within the household while Anita groomed her as an assistant, and was currently helping Eduardo de la Peña develop intelligence techniques.

The assistant who'd trained Joey to hone her memorization and face-cataloging skills when she was a child had been assigned the role of equestrian groomer and years ago quietly left the industry to enjoy a tropical retirement in Barbados.

Anita and her children had been conditioned for the most dangerous recesses of law enforcement. Hector de la Peña was an average scientist running an average florist company. God help the man.

“
Que pasa?
Around here a man's word is all he has,” Anita began, setting the books down on a table before sitting cross-legged on the floor and taking her espresso. “You gave me and my firm your word that you'd see this to the end.”

“I should've told you no in the beginning,” he said, recalling how it had nearly crumbled him that Joey's mother had personally sought him out and pulled him out of the shadows because she'd learned Gian DiGorgio was tracking her daughter. Zaf's reunion with Joey had been months in the making, carefully planned to the finest detail so he could be reinserted into her life and act as her shield until DiGorgio could be convicted and neutralized. “I shouldn't have let the past and my goddamn guilt rope me in.”

“But...” she said gently, “that's not what roped you in. There's no question you felt horrible after hurting her in Arizona. To shoot the woman you loved while trying to rescue her? Awful.”

“I didn't take this assignment because I need the money. In fact, don't pay me. Not a cent. I won't take it.”

Anita exchanged a smirk with Yasmin, who strutted to gather the books and shelve them.

“What was that about?” he demanded.

“I owe Yasmin a hundred dollars.”

“For?”

“She's a wagering woman. Really, it's a sickness. Anyway, she said you would try to quit. I said you'd stand by our simple terms.” Anita stared into her cup. “I still intend to connect you with the pigs who took your cousin. He was hardly older than my son when he died. You should know I pray for his soul—yours, as well.”

“Thank you, Anita, but I can't effectively guard Joey. Tonight she left the ranch—”

“Yes, mmm-hmm, I'm aware. Honey Sutherland helped her escape to a bar.”

The woman didn't appear concerned. “Is Honey—”

“A part of the business? No. However, she was an annoyingly inquisitive child. When the girls were twelve, they conspired by email to meet an out-of-towner, and I intervened before it came to that. For three years Honey pestered my husband and me, because she couldn't fathom how we knew every detail of their silly plan.” Anita drank then started to twirl her curly brown hair. “It came to a head at Joey's Quinceañera. The girls were going to sneak to El Paso, I blocked them and it came out that I'd been hacking Joey's email. She was
pissed
and had me swear to never spy on her again. Honey, however, was intrigued. She's not on my payroll, but that may change. She's loyal to the family. Loyalty is very valuable.”

“DiGorgio got close to Joey. It rattled her and it almost pushed me too far.”

“Did you use a weapon?”

“No.”

“You did the right thing, Zaf. Gian DiGorgio isn't hiding or sending minions to handle the messy work. That's a good thing, though it can't seem that way now.”

“Anita, he got to her because Joey asked me to stay away and I respected that. My job is to keep her safe, but it's as if I'm less of a bodyguard and more of a... Damn it.”

Joey's mother had the gall to smile. “More of a lover?”

Zaf and Yasmin looked at her, speechless.

“Are we not all adults in this room? Zaf, you and I are engaging in an adult conversation. Yasmin, you're openly eavesdropping on an adult conversation.” She set her cup aside. “Zafir Ahmadi, you're the one my daughter chose. While she's parading you around as her boyfriend and while she
believes
Hector and I don't already know the danger she's in, I see that there's more truth to your ‘fake' relationship than either of you will admit.”

“Yeah?”

“You love Josephine.”

Yasmin was no longer shelving books, but was up high on the rolling ladder and smiling against a handful of hardcovers. “You love the hell out of her.”

Anita shrugged at him. “If Yasmin and I can tell, do you suppose Josephine can, too?”

“What will it do to her when she finds out we've been working together from the jump, that you've continued to spy on her?”

“I suppose, Zaf, that we'll burn that bridge when we come to it. Until then, you're not a captive here. Go to Dusty's, but whether you go as her bodyguard or boyfriend is to your discretion.”

Zaf was neither. He was twisted-up in love with Joey, and he needed clarity more than his next breath. He wouldn't get it here at the ranch and was restless without her.

So he drove, guiding the rental pickup along June Creek's peaceful roads until he found the dive bar on Minton Street.

Joining the current of newcomers, he found people scattered. Some sat hunched over fried food, some surrounded pool and foosball tables, some occupied the bar and some were dancing on the dimly lit floor.

Joey was doing none of that. On a bar stool, her cane held between her knees and a mic in her hand, she was singing an unfamiliar country ballad while a cigarette-smoking band played on stage.

Zaf hung back, listening, falling deeper in love with every lyric she sang and the bubbles of tipsy laughter in her voice.

“What can I get you, boss?” the barkeep asked.

“Beer.” He nursed the cold drink until Joey hit the final notes of her song then he slithered through the strands of folks. “Finally, that voice comes out of hiding.”

Her gaze landed on him, and her smile froze when he touched his beer to his Stetson. “You're wearing the hat? Aww, it feels like I accomplished something.”

“I stand my ground on the guitar issue.”

“Understood. Give and take's what it's all about.”

Zaf chuckled and let her take a swig of his beer. “How drunk are you and the infamous Honey Sutherland?”

“Shots and martinis. One each. We're pathetically responsible tonight, but it's wonderful to catch up with her. We were best friends growing up. I've missed her.” Joey pointed out the pretty blonde twirling and gyrating on the dance floor.

“She reminds me of how you were in Mexico,” he said. “Dance with me.”

“What's in this beer? You're crazy right now if you think I
can
dance.”

“Just hang on.” He traded the beer bottle for her cane and lifted her off the stool. In the center of the floor, he lowered her until her boots were on top of his shoes.

Joey's eyes filled. “We're dancing.”

It wasn't perfect, people had to be staring and he'd never be able to give back what he'd taken from her, but this worked for them. Zaf held her around the waist and moved carefully to the slow beat, and all she had to do was trust him.

After a while she rose to her tiptoes. “I told you what'd happen if you wore the hat...”

Zaf's entire form tightened. Except, he didn't want to take more from her tonight. He wanted to give.

The end of the wraparound bar was vacant, probably because a big-ass illuminated plastic two-scoop cone advertising June Creek's own ice cream brand stood in the way.

“This cone reminds me,” he told her when he brought her behind the cone. The prop's white-gold glow caressed one side of her. Partially in light, partially in shadow—that was Joey exactly. He held her still, against the bar, with a firm hand on her middle. “I haven't had dessert yet.”

“I can go for a strawberry dipped.”

Zaf smiled and his anticipation climbed as she ordered a cone and turned to him again when the bartender was called to the opposite end of the bar.

“I heard if you eat dessert standing up, the calories don't count,” Joey said.

“What's the caloric value of this?” Zaf's fingers moved aside the fabric between her thighs and she instantly tensed up.

“Oh—not here. My friends eat at this bar.”

He put the Stetson on her head, kissed the smear of strawberry ice cream on her lips. “Mmm.” Off went the panties, and he stuffed them in his jeans pocket. “I'm your friend, Jo.” He nudged her legs apart. “Why can't I eat at this bar, too?” He sank to his knees.

“Zaf...” was the last word to pass her lips before his lips found her. Music swam around them, the lighted prop exposed them even as it hid them, and she rocked to the rhythm of his tongue between her legs, leaving her slick and yielding for him.

“Look at me when I'm touching you.”

Joey cut her moan short and it sounded more like a sharp, erotic squeak. But she watched his fingers tunnel deep and withdraw, watched his eyes as they watched her.

Returning his mouth to her mound, he drank in her taste and sucked on her flesh until she started to quake.

“Oh, there you are, Joey,” someone said, and there was the sound of high heels on the plank floor.

“Oh,
God
, no,” he heard Joey gasp, and she fumbled to shield herself with the hat and fight the orgasm.

But she was already coming, and a final stroke of his tongue had her crying out and crushing the ice cream cone in her fist.

And with a stunned “Whoa!” Honey Sutherland caught him going down on Joey in a bar called Dusty's.

Joey shook, her body boldly riding the sensations as she floundered to explain why Zaf was on his knees with his face between her thighs—besides the obvious truth.

“As y'all were,” Honey said, snickering as she retraced her steps around the perimeter of the bar. “Welcome home.”

Chapter 11

T
rue to her word, Joey helped coordinate Danica and Dex's wedding. Within a week of her return from Texas, the Slayers' training camp had a day off, and the team's quarterback discreetly arrived at the courthouse to marry his bride in a simple late-afternoon ceremony that had brought Joey to tears.

For the first time since she'd traded princess stories for her mother's law books, she believed a relationship full of love but void of lies was a real, tangible thing.

“Thank you,” Danica said to Joey, holding her bouquet out of the way so they could hug. Dex stood near the judge's chambers where the newlyweds would make a quiet exit to a waiting car. “Arranging this, being here, transforming the place. The flowers are incredible.”

The floral arrangements were her gift to the couple. Though short notice, the extravagant Bonita Gardens of Texas order had arrived this morning, and a few courthouse employees Joey called friends had been happy to help put it all together.

When the room was cleared, and Joey left alone with nothing but an abundance of flowers and her thoughts, she smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her pale blue pencil dress. “It's all changing.”

The lives of her friends, her relationship with everyone who loved her in Texas, her feelings toward Zaf.

There was no question that she was irretrievably in love with him. He'd told her not to love him or forgive him, but she had gone ahead and taken both actions.

Because
no one
and
nothing
controlled her heart, she realized. It functioned independently of someone else's warnings and her mind's reservations.

As with the flowers she'd nurtured growing up, she could either feed her heart what it craved, or see it wither. Take a risk or stay on the shelf.

In the parking lot Joey slid into the Ferrari but picked up her phone before turning the key.

Eddie had called. She missed the family already. He was probably following up about the autographed practice ball she'd promised him. TreShawn Dibbs had offered it to her before her trip out of town, and she had yet to pick it up to send to her football-crazed kid brother.

“¿Bueno?”

“
Hola, manito.
Calling you back. Is this about the football?”

“No, not that. Look, Joey, I'm just going to say this. Maybe I'm too much like Papá or it could be Mamá's right and I have a long way to go till I'm ready for the Esposito family business, but there's something you gotta know.”

“What?”

“They're lying to you.”

“Who? Eddie, come on—”

“Everyone's lying. Mamá and Papá know Zaf Ahmadi's the one who shot you in that messed-up bust. They know about Gian DiGorgio. Mamá put you under her protection when she hired Zaf. He's working for her.”

“What?”

“Swear to God,” Eddie said. “I might be a jackass for telling you, but I had to. The way you were acting with him at the reunion... I don't know, it looked like you have it bad.”

Because I do and I can't hide what a fool I am.

“I had to tell you, Joey. I'm sorry.”

“Shh,
está bien
.” It wasn't, though. But maybe she was too much like their mother, and found it easier to lie.

When she hung up, Joey drove home. She parked on the curb, not in the driveway beside Zaf's pickup. Next door, Aggie was in her front yard setting up sprinklers, but as Joey got out of the car, the woman trotted across the lawn.

“Joey, hey. I wanted to give you these.” She pulled a small envelope from her shorts pocket. “I won a country club raffle for a pair of tickets to the erotic arts festival next month. To be honest, it's rather highbrow for me and I'm not seeing anyone. I thought you and your sexy man of mystery might go, instead. So, here.”

Joey eyed the envelope. The sexy man of mystery wasn't
hers.
He'd never been. Paddling through her grief until she could form words, she said, “Thanks, Aggie.”

Going directly to the guest room's walk-in closet, Joey looked around. It was a work in progress, coming together in such a way that she could see its potential. It was very much like her...

She was unfinished, messy, complicated. But she thought Zaf's patience and attention to her was a labor of friendship, if not some form of love.

It wasn't, though. The closet remodel was just a solid, a favor, a job. Being with her was the same for him.

“How was the wedding? Any paparazzi get in the way?” When she didn't immediately answer, Zaf turned to study her through goggles. “You okay?”

“The wedding was fine.”

“Good.” His smile was a rare thing, and while it had the power to arrow straight to her core and make her feel laden with desire, today it only danced on her pain. “Better step back,” he said, going to a sawhorse. “Don't want shavings to get all over you.”

“My neighbor gave us tickets to see an erotic festival. I shouldn't have accepted them, since we're not going.”

“Yeah, of course we won't go if you don't want to. Check this out. The transformation's happening. Tell your shoes they ought to have a home in another few days.”

“Leave it,” she whispered, but he'd begun sawing and didn't hear. “Leave it! Screw the closet.”

“What the hell?”

She sobbed, but there were no tears. Going to the guest room, she almost sat on the bed before she remembered the first night they'd had sex in this house. “I know Mamá's your client. I know she's had eyes on me, even though she swore she wouldn't spy, and that she hired you.”

Zaf followed close, but he didn't make the mistake of touching her. He whipped off the goggles and got in front of her. “Anita and her people are worried about you, damn it, Jo. When she presented the job, I told her no at first. I thought the best thing I could do for you was stay the hell away—”

“How right you were. What did she tell you? That I can't fend for myself? That you owed me your protection because of Arizona?”

“She said I was the best man to keep you safe.”

“How much is the firm paying you? Tell me, how much am I worth to y'all?”

“Stop—”

“Oh, I want to know. And the sex? How was
that
negotiated into the deal? Are you paid bonuses for having to endure fucking me, or is that a perk for you, Zaf?”

“The sex is because you and I want it. Don't ever say it's something other than that. I can't shake you, and I've tried.”

Joey shrugged. “So we have great sex. We get along that way. But it doesn't change the fact that my mother has once again interfered, and she handpicked you to guard me. It was my right to fall in love with you again on
my
terms, not because of her meddling.”

Zaf froze. “You love me?”

I don't want to. I don't want to be your fool.

“I can't do this anymore, Zaf. Call my mother, tell her the job's canceled. I'm sure she won't care if you keep the money the firm paid—”

“I'm not getting money.”

“What, then?”

Anguish surged in his eyes. “Anita and your uncles, they're helping me get to Pote.”

Pote.
Damien Pote was a drug lord who kept himself mobile and his operations fluid, and had managed to escape numerous convictions over the past fifteen years of his reign within America. He employed less influential drug-traffickers and terrorists to carry out orders.

“Was Pote involved in your cousin's murder?”

“Anita's informants say he was.”

Joey hurt from head to toe. “So this was about Raphael, from the start. It's about that ring, Zaf, and this obsession you won't drop.” And it dawned. “You lied to me, when you said you'd given up the hunt. You're still Archangel.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's too late for apologies.” She wiped her face, shook her head; everything was still havoc. “I'm going to leave for a while, give you time alone to get your things.”

“Jo, don't—”

Tuning him out, Joey got in the Ferrari and drove.

* * *

Full squad practice had been especially punishing today. Eleven hours after reporting to the main building's cafeteria for a team breakfast meeting, TreShawn felt as though someone had hacked at his muscles with a dull pickax. The media had invaded and the owners were guests at the facility. On the sidelines of the practice field, Marshall Blue and his wife had assessed each roster member and coach behind their reflective sunglasses and almighty attitudes.

Mediocrity wouldn't make the cut—not this season. Last year TreShawn had celebrated a championship win, but that didn't mean his job was secure. So today special teams had pushed hard, and he'd pushed himself harder. Ignoring the brutality of the practices and the spite spewing from short-tempered coaches as everyone reviewed the taped practices on a projector that magnified the players' every mistake, no matter how minuscule, TreShawn had battled for his job.

The Slayers performed a miracle last season and had trading leverage. To keep his name on the roster, he needed to show the special teams coordinator, the head coach, the GM and, above anyone else, the owners that when it came to the kicker position, they already had the best.

The team wasn't down to fifty-three players yet, but that would change soon after the men pissed and results came through. Teammates had talked about the coaching staff's reluctance to cut too many should they need to make adjustments for league and franchise policy violators.

But TreShawn figured that at this point, the Blues' roster was next to finalized. Some of the men sweating and bleeding through reps wouldn't step on a game field in a bloodred-and-silver uniform, and some wouldn't play a single professional game.

Anxious to protect what belonged to him, TreShawn had trudged from one end of hell to the other and back. Now he was going home—not for another stupid-ass party, but to kick back with a friend.

Minako's crossover Buick wasn't in his driveway, but a black Ferrari was.

“I was just about to leave,” the driver said, getting out and coming around the back of the sweetest luxury ride he'd ever seen.

“Joey?” TreShawn could no longer remember how many times he'd invited her to his place. Each time she turned him down. She went to charity stuff, showed up at clubs, accepted invitations across the roster—but when it came to anything one-on-one, she was impossible to get. A man who wasn't sprung would've quit messing with her, but she had something more than hotness, a superb set of tits and a rockin' ass that compelled players and staff to stare.

“Hi. I stopped by for the practice ball. I should've called—”

“Hold up, hold up.” He got out of his truck and met her at the rear of the car. “I like this, coming home to this. Seeing you here. You're...”

TreShawn paused, waiting for her to interrupt or twist away the way she'd been evading him the entirety of training camp.

“What am I?” she prompted in that sexy accent.

“Crying.” Another step forward, and still she didn't bolt. “Where's your man?”

Joey shook her head, and he caught her jaw in his hand, settling his mouth on hers.

The exhaustion camp had left behind cracked, and adrenaline pushed through. The ghetto boy with no prospects had grown up, was getting paid big money and had a woman like this. It was the ultimate dream, and he was living it.

Pulse thundering, skin heating, he pressed close and kept her in place with a hand molding tight to her ass.

Did he taste confusion on her lips? Resistance? He wasn't certain, but she was unresponsive in his arms, until she moaned.

Wait.
Or was that a sob?

“What is this?” someone shrieked behind them.

Joey pushed at him with one hand and steadied herself with her cane as he turned to see a Buick on the curb. The driver's window was down and Minako's head poked out.

“Min,” he said, watching her fling herself out of the car and stomp to the other side. A car bulleted past and he almost lost his shit, but she darted safely back then threw open the passenger door.

Emerging with a wine bottle and one of those insulated bags she used whenever she brought over dinner, she deposited the items on the ground and shouted, “Take this so I don't feel like an idiot for preparing a lasagna from scratch. Go back to mauling her now.”

Was she pissed? “Why are you yelling?”

“We had plans tonight.”

“Chilling in front of the TV. We can do that anytime.”

“No.” Minako looked from him to Joey. “You're the woman from the Mirage. I thought TreShawn would leave you alone, since you have someone. But...he must be really hard up.”

“Hey,” he warned her, “back off. Quit sweating me, like you're my woman or something.”

She drew back as if he'd hit her, and he realized he'd never wanted to see that expression on her face. Minako was fiery, tough, a scrapper—but apparently, she could be hurt.

“No, I'm not your woman, TreShawn. Just your friend. I think you'd rather have enemies than friends.” She started walking, backlit by the last rays of sun melting on the horizon. Her long black hair moved through the wind like whips; the sway of her narrow but feminine hips drew his eye.

“She'll be all right.” Would she? If TreShawn went to her stucco house and waited beneath her window, would she give in to a smile and come back to him?

Was he wrong to ask that of her?

“I think she's hurting,” Joey said. “Coming here was an epic mistake. So was the kiss. Now two more people are casualties of the craziness that's my life. I'm leaving.”

He picked up the lasagna and wine. “Wait, Joey—”

“TreShawn, I can't be what you need. And you keep looking after her car.” Joey withdrew an envelope from her purse. “If you apologize and make it clear to her that I'm not in the picture, I think she'd appreciate sharing this with you.”