Sexy Silent Nights. Cara Summers

he? She sat on the edge of his desk, her cell phone tucked beneath her ear as she scribbled. “I think we can cover it for now.”

      We meaning who? He definitely didn’t like hearing the plans being made as if he were…what? A client whose life she’d just saved?

      Jonah frowned. That was exactly the case, wasn’t it? If Cilla Michaels hadn’t met him at the airport and pressured him into accepting her escort, he might very well be lying on the sidewalk outside just as Laurel and Hardy had been doing when the police arrived. In fact, he might have a bullet hole in him.

      His frown deepened. That scenario didn’t jibe with the note that had been delivered to him. If someone wanted to gun him down on the street, why warn him about it first? And why bother counting down the nights until Christmas? Unless the two incidents weren’t connected.

      That was something he wanted to talk to her about. Priscilla would have a theory. He was sure of it.

      And then there was Cilla.

      She strode away from his desk and put her hand on her hip again. The red coat was shoved back, giving him a good view of those remarkable legs. And he remembered exactly how it had felt when they’d been wrapped around him.

      It could happen again. Something primal, something that went beyond desire, sparked to life inside of him. In seconds, he could move to the door, lock it and take her against it just as he had in that hotel room in Denver. Seconds and he could have his mouth on hers. God, he wanted that. He wanted to taste her again—that sweet, tart flavor that grew more complex each time he feasted on it. He wanted to touch her again, to push the hem of that dress up those long, silky legs. Seconds. It would take only seconds to sheath himself and push aside whatever lacy barrier was left between them. Then he would fill her. She would surround him.

      The image in his mind triggered sensations so vivid that he could almost feel her closing around him as he thrust into her. Seconds, he thought again. Seconds and he could turn the fantasy in his mind into reality. The temptation to do just that was so powerful, Jonah had to grip the arms of the chair tight.

      This was why he’d stayed away for nearly a month, he reminded himself. And this was why he should keep his distance now.

      “No, we haven’t talked about it yet, but I’m sure he’ll agree that private security is the way to go,” Cilla said. When she shot him a questioning look, Jonah merely returned a bland one.

      He wasn’t a fool. Until he could figure out what was going on, he was going to take precautions. A bodyguard wouldn’t be a bad idea.

      “I can free up David Santos and Mark Gibbons,” Cilla said. “They’re very good, and I can still handle our other clients.”

      Jonah refocused his attention on what she was saying.

      She slid him a sideways glance. “Great. I’ll let him know.”

      Let him know? Annoyance sizzled through him. Mostly at himself. All evening, he’d let her call the shots. She’d convinced him to let her follow him to Pleasures, then she’d maneuvered him into that little macho man/poor helpless female scenario when the two thugs had approached. And she’d been the one who’d reported everything to Gabe. Now if he’d heard right, she intended to step back and assign two other men to guard him.

      That wasn’t her decision to make. He was about to stretch out his hand and demand to talk to Gabe when she closed her cell and faced him across the desk.

      “We need to talk,” she said.

      “Indeed we do.” Jonah kept his gaze on Cilla for one long moment before he rose and said, “Before you tell me what you and Gabe have decided, let me introduce you to Pleasures.”

      5

      HE WALKED FOR OVER AN HOUR in an attempt to settle his rage. The wind blowing in from the Bay carried a fine, icy mist that stung his cheeks. In spite of the cold and the lateness of the hour, there were still some people walking along the Embarcadero, wandering to and from Fisherman’s Wharf.

      Normally, he would have avoided the lights and the seasonal decorations, but tonight he would use them as reminders.

      Of Elizabeth.

      Of his loss.

      Of his mission.

      But in spite of the litany that he repeated in his mind, every time he thought of what had happened at Pleasures, his fury threatened to rise up like a tidal wave and consume him. At times, the red haze in front of his eyes nearly blinded him.

      His plan, his perfect plan had been bungled! Even now, as he replayed the scene in his mind, the panic and anger bubbled up just as it had when he’d been parked down the street from the club.

      He’d wanted to jump out of his car and scream.

      But he’d controlled the urge. Even when he’d heard the gunshots, he hadn’t allowed the panic to take control. His first impulse had been to follow the van and confront his partner. But acting when he was still teetering on the brink of anger would have been a mistake.

      Instead, he’d made himself wait until the crowd had gone back into Pleasures, then he’d pulled out of his space and driven down to Fisherman’s Wharf.

      Just a little bit longer now, and he’d be fine. Something inside of him would settle and his mind would clear.

      For two blocks, he concentrated on breathing in and breathing out. No one had seen him earlier. He was sure of that. Everyone had been watching what was going on in front of the club. But he shouldn’t have panicked.

      That was inexcusable. Panic led to mistakes even when the anger was justified.

      He’d explained the plan very carefully to his partner. It was a simple job.

      No guns.

      Fury erupted again. If they’d shot Jonah…

      He bit back the scream that burned in his throat like acid and fisted his hands at his sides. It was his job to kill Jonah. His job. And it wasn’t time yet.

      When the red haze threatened to blur his vision again, he stopped and drew in a deep breath. Then another.

      Think. He had to think.

      It wasn’t entirely his partner’s fault that the mission had failed. There was the woman.

      She shouldn’t have been there. Jonah Stone wasn’t dating anyone. She didn’t work for him. And she’d spoiled everything.

      He began to walk again. He’d find out who she was, and she’d pay dearly for disrupting his plan.

      When he finally felt himself settle, he realized that he was standing in front of a restaurant. Through the windows, he saw people laughing and talking at the bar. For a moment, he was tempted to go in and order a drink. Then the door of the restaurant opened and he caught the sound of muted Christmas music.

      No. He couldn’t go into a place where they were celebrating the season.

      So he would return to his room to have that drink, and he would wait for his partner to report.

      And he would plan his revenge on the woman.

      AS JONAH LED HER AROUND on a brief tour of Pleasures, Cilla could tell he was seriously annoyed. The calm voice and the charming smile didn’t fool her.

      She could understand what he must be feeling, sympathize with it. But what she admired was the way he kept his emotions tightly leashed. He’d never once interrupted her or tried to take her cell phone from her while she was reporting to Gabe. She doubted she could have been that patient.

      He’d taken her on a brief tour of the jazz room in the basement and the private dining rooms on the second floor, but she couldn’t recall one detail. Each time his arm brushed against hers or he placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her up or down a staircase, she couldn’t help remembering that moment out on the street when he’d leaned closer,