Had he last touched her a mere two days ago? Felt like two damn years.
To his shock, Nicki then folded the scarf, all but climbed into his lap, and placed it over his eyes.
"No." Mark grabbed her wrists, forcing her to lower the scarf.
"I'm not going to hurt you." She scoffed. "As if I could."
True, but... "I don't like not knowing what's going on. And I'm not thrilled at the idea of looking like a jackass."
"Well, certainly you can make one teeny exception for the sake of a surprise. I'll be driving, so my hands can't wander to your ... person and disturb you. I'll be looking at the road, so I won't be staring at you when you can't see. I'll be in my own seat, so I can't do anything with my mouth you might disapprove of."
If the issue was merely about what she'd be doing with her hands and mouth ... bring it on. He could take her--again and again. It was wondering what locale she'd drive him to and what would happen when they got there. He didn't think Nicki would chauffeur him straight to a lair of thugs set up firing-squad style, but he didn't want to bet his life on it. Even if it seemed out of character, Nicki could well be laundering money for someone who probably had no aversion to violence whatsoever. Both Pietro and Bocelli fit that description.
Still, Rafe had always advised him to use his gut. It told him that Nicki wouldn't harm him physically.
Emotionally, all bets were off.
Now she was looking at him as if his refusal and hesitation really hurt her feelings. Damn it, he either had to upset her or trust her. The hell of it was, he hadn't been good at trust since Tiffany.
"Look, it's not that big a deal," Nicki uttered as she backed away. But she sounded disappointed. "I wanted to surprise you, but if it makes you uncomfortable--"
"Just do it," he growled, grabbing her wrist.
Damn it.
He'd deal with whatever came his way.
Hesitantly, Nicki leaned over and knotted the scarf at the back of his head. When she straightened away, he couldn't see a thing except the general impression of sunlight all around.
With that, she backed out of her parking space and zipped out of the lot. Soon out of the traffic, one upbeat pop song followed another, punctuated by the occasional ballad or offbeat eighty's hit. Most of it was drowned out by the wind stirring all around them, blowing his hair into his face. Her speed picked up, signifying open highway beneath the tires.
Otherwise, they rode in silence. Not comfortable, not awkward. Without his sight, he sensed a tension in Nicki he hadn't seen in her flirty expression. His own thoughts kept whirling with possibilities. He could be headed for an afternoon of danger at gunpoint or hot sex.
About an hour later, she slowed to a stop and put the car into park.
Nicki took a deep breath. "I wanted to bring you someplace away from the bustle of Vegas, hopefully someplace where you could forget about your sister's recent problems ... and whatever else might be troubling you. I'm hoping that you'll just relax and enjoy yourself today."
Mark was still pondering where the hell she might have taken him when he smelled her mouthwatering scent looming close, felt the brush of her breasts, the warmth of her body, despite the rising temperature of the June day. The erection that had abated during the drive returned with a vengeance.
The blindfold fell away. Instantly, Mark realized there were no gangsters ready to fit him for a pair of cement shoes or use him for target practice. Just a few senior citizens milling in the parking lot and a young couple holding hands. In fact, the last thing he expected to see when he blinked and his eyes grew accustomed to the streaming sunlight was two white buildings basking in the perfect, cloudless day, one resembling a multistoried bell tower. The other structure was square and high-roofed with arched windows and a large sign welcoming them to the award-winning winery in the desert.
"Well?" Nicki prompted.
He turned to her hopeful expression, watching at she bit her lip nervously.
"A winery?"
"It's a pretty place. They have a great restaurant and tours, along with a neat little gift shop."
He said nothing; he didn't know what to say. He'd never been a big wine drinker, on the one hand. But the place was crisp and pristine, rising into the desert sun with the mountains as a majestic backdrop. The more puzzling thing, however, was Nicki. Had she really brought him here for no other reason than to cheer him up?
"Or if you're not interested, maybe I'll just buy you a bottle, get you drunk, take you home, and strap you to the bed for a change."
Mark recognized the acid impatience in her tone. And he burst out laughing.
"Wow, difficult choice. A day of culture with a pretty woman or hot, sloppy sex I'm not likely to finish before passing out. Hmm, guess I'll take a chance and go with door number one."
The smile dancing at the comers of her mouth kicked up again. "Good choice. Let's go." She climbed out of the car and called back to him, "The first tour starts at eleven."
Within moments, they joined the seniors and the couple drooling all over each other for a leisurely stroll around the grounds that looked like a lush green oasis rising from the desert. Green lawns, palms, and willows swaying in the breeze fringed the larger building that housed the equipment used to ferment and bottle the wines. Nicki slipped little tasting cups up to his mouth. He wasn't terribly interested in fermented grapes ... but Nicki's blue eyes pleaded. He relented, if for no other reason than to see her smile, to feel him touch her as she lifted the cups to his lips.
God, he had it bad.
They sipped wine of all varieties, Mark gravitating to dry ones with a bit more body, Nicki to light, fruity ones with emphasis on sweetness. By the end of the tour, they marveled at the winery's workings. They also laughed with one of the Seniors who'd done a bit too much tasting, then tucked the length of her skirt into her waistband and imitated Lucille Ball during the winemaking episode on
I Love Lucy.
More relaxed than he had been in weeks, Mark linked Nicki's fingers with his and led her outside. They emerged on the other side of the building, into the sunlight again, on a long white porch. Slender white columns held up the porch, dotted with climbing ivy. Wicker rockers welcomed visitors to sit and stare at the vineyards beyond that stretched to the base of the mountain.
Mark had to admit it was beautiful here. Peaceful.
The seniors lingered inside, asking the tour guide all manner of questions about making wines ... and several trying to talk the one into righting her skirt. The young couple clutched one another's hands. Mark overheard them discussing their upcoming wedding on this very porch. They looked deliriously in love as the man leaned over to kiss his bride-to-be, and she responded with a soft sigh.
They walked away moments later, murmuring about the rose garden, leaving Mark to stand in a suddenly wistful silence beside Nicki. Had her purpose in bringing him been strictly romantic, rather than nefarious?
"So, you hungry?" she asked. "After the vineyards below, we can grab a bite of lunch--"
"Are you looking for what they have?" he nodded toward the retreating couple.
He could have shot himself the minute the words were out. Why ask? It didn't matter--at least not to him. It couldn't.
Nicki hesitated, staring at her naked fingernails. "Not necessarily. They look honest with each other. Open. I'd like that."
Yeah, so would he. Starting with some information about who was laundering money and if she was involved.
Having been naive about Tiffany, Mark looked back on those months of their marriage and winced. In retrospect, the way in which she'd set him up had seemed obvious. She'd had access to every tool needed to frame him. If he'd asked a few key questions about her dirt-poor background, he could have pieced together her motive. Almost from the beginning he'd suspected something wasn't right. She kept secrets, insisted on her "privacy," only responded to sex after a lot of patient manipulation. Often she'd cried afterward. Still, he'd been infatuated by Tiffany's seemingly wide-eyed simplicity.
With Nicki, he hated to use a cliche, but at times the comparison felt like apples to oranges. She was neither wide-eyed nor simple. Sharp, slightly cynical, self-reliant, deliciously naughty. And he wasn't the same trusting chump he'd once been.
Still, his ... relationship with Nicki felt different. Being with her--flirting with her, having sex with her--was easy. He got no sense that she kept secrets or had anything to hide. She definitely responded to sex and never with tears or guilt. When he really focused, his gut told him she was innocent.
But was that his heart telling him what he wanted to hear? His head shouted that he was making the same mistake twice.
Mark wondered if he had again failed to ask the right questions. So many puzzle pieces with so few answers.
"Mark?"
Nicki had spoken of being honest in the emotional sense, and part of him was dying to ask if her declaration of love, shouted in the moment of passion, had been real.
God, he was confused. His thoughts jumbled around like baby food and toxic waste tossed together into a blender. Every day, it got more difficult to separate his investigation from his personal feelings. They blurred. One affected the other, until he wondered if he had any prayer of getting out of it unscathed.
"I don't know if I can give you that," he said honestly.
"I don't know that I can give it, either." She shrugged. "I've never tried."
Just then, the tour guide and the seniors, still full of questions, emerged. The comedienne of the bunch looked again like a regular tourist, complete with a slightly staggered walk. They lingered on the porch, and Mark sensed Nicki's frustration that their conversation had been interrupted. Hell, on some level it chafed him, too. Not that he was looking for any kind of forever after. Never again. But maybe if they settled this dust and got some things out in the open, he could focus on this case and stop fixating on the fact that, with every heartbeat, he pined for Nicki.
Mark led her toward the vineyard and saw the young couple. The group of seniors were following them into the rows and rows of grapevines. No privacy there. He saw a sign for the rose garden that pointed to the side of the building and led Nicki that way.
Surrounded by a profusion of roses in yellow, red, and pink, he led her toward a small gazebo painted a crisp white. Its little blue roof pointed toward the noontime sun. Once inside, he sank down to a little bench and settled Nicki beside him.
"What do you mean, you've never tried?" he asked. "There have been other guys, Nicki."
She shrugged, looked around at the roses, seemingly entranced. Mark didn't buy it for a minute. Nicki didn't want to answer.
"You said open and honest," he reminded her.
Sighing, she extracted her hand and stood. "I've never let a man get really close to me. My dad loved me, I guess, in his Italian macho way. And you've seen my uncle." She wrinkled her nose, then turned away. "I can't wait to pay him his three hundred thousand and get him out of my club!"
"I can see why. He's a real charmer."
"Isn't he? Anyway, my mother had a string of worthless boyfriends, all of whom seemed to delight in breaking her heart. She was so emotionally needy. She gave and gave and gave. They always took and left. I can't tell you how many Sunday mornings I woke up to find her nursing a bottle of vodka, still drinking after Saturday night's dismissal." Facing him again, she did so with a bare expression of both desire and confusion. "I didn't want that."
"Smart girl."
"Not so smart, really. I thought I could just be casual about sex. Everyone else seemed to be." She shook her head and focused on her shoes. "In the end, pleasure for the sake of pleasure only seemed to make me more ... lonely. After a wild beginning, I figured out that being on someone's booty call list wasn't what I wanted, either. After my dad was murdered, I cleaned up my act and opened the club. I was so busy that I gave up dating, men, and sex. I didn't really miss it. Isn't that weird? I mean, I was lonely, but I felt so strong. At the ripe old age of twenty-six, I've had never had a broken heart. But I've also never really had a real relationship. I've already opened a business on my own, and it's slowly succeeding.
That's been my focus, so things were looking good." She looked up with a frown. "Then came you."
Mark winced. "I know I haven't been easy to get along with."
Nicki scoffed. "You're the king of understatements today. You flirt, you back away. You kiss me, then run off. You--"
"Make love to you, then make your life miserable by leaving or accusing you of crap." Mark sighed. "I know."
"Why? Did I do something to earn your distrust?"
Yes and no. So many signs pointed to her masterminding the felonious activities going on at the club and distracting him so she could complete them. But the evidence was circumstantial. The setup really didn't make sense. First, why did she keep him around? To add legitimacy to her phony books in case of an IRS audit or an FBI raid? Or maybe she strung him along to act as a buffer between she and Bocelli, now that it appeared she'd cut Mr. Mafia loose from the operation? He didn't know.
She had access to the tools needed to commit the crime, yes. But the more compelling question was, why would she do it? He couldn't pinpoint a motive, a reason to explain why she would do something to jeopardize the club she'd worked so hard to build. Revenge against her asshole uncle was a possibility, but Nicki didn't seem the type to cut off her nose to spite her face by committing a crime that could demolish all her hard work simply for retribution. He didn't see her doing it just because she was greedy enough to want extra cash--but he couldn't rule it out for sure. Was it possible that her uncle, who had forced her to allow Blade to be her accountant, had also forced her to launder money for him--and threatened with loss of his financial support if she didn't play nicely?