Sexy Silent Nights. Cara Summers

Then she said, “I told you to trust me. I said I could handle it. You could have gotten yourself shot.”

      So could she, Jonah thought as he walked toward her. He’d rolled over quickly enough to see that she hadn’t dropped to the ground as she’d told him to do. Instead, she’d stood there, feet spread, returning the fire of the man in the van like some mythical warrior. He was certain that his heart had skipped two whole beats.

      “From my perspective, you did handle it. Very well. I’m not shot, and Laurel and Hardy are out for the count.”

      He’d taken her arm to draw her with him toward the club. It was only then that he saw they’d attracted an audience. From the looks of it, most of the bar crowd had poured into the street including Virgil, the tall, bronze-skinned man who’d managed Pleasures since Jonah had opened it.

      The fat guy he’d nicknamed Hardy was on his hands and knees, shaking his head like a dog. When they reached him, Cilla planted one of her shoes right under his nose where he could see it. “Don’t even think of getting up unless you want me to kick you again.”

      He collapsed onto his stomach.

      “Boss,” Virgil said. “You all right?”

      “Fine. You’d better call the police. Ms. Michaels and I seem to have been the victims of an attempted mugging.”

      “I already called 9-1-1, and so did several of our customers.”

      Even as sirens sounded in the distance, Jonah noted that Cilla had crouched down to secure the fat guy’s hands behind his back. When she’d finished, there was a spattering of applause from the people who’d gathered. Ignoring it, she retrieved the first man’s gun, then secured the man Jonah had knocked out.

      Jonah turned to Virgil. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you stay here and keep everyone away from the crime scene until the police arrive?”

      Jonah saw the questions in his manager’s eyes. He also read concern, but all Virgil said was, “Sure thing, but I don’t think these guys are going anywhere.”

      “No.” He glanced back as Cilla walked toward him. The sound of sirens grew closer. “I’ll try to reassure our guests. You can send the police to me when they arrive.”

      When Cilla reached him, she put her arm through his and kissed him on the cheek. “You sure know how to show a girl an exciting time.” Then she turned to beam a smile at the small crowd of onlookers. “I’m pretty lucky.”

      There was more murmuring and nods of agreement. One woman said, “I think he’s the lucky one. The only other place I’ve seen a kick like that was when I saw the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall.”

      There were more nods and a few laughs as his customers began to move back into the club.

      “I’m going to offer everyone a round of free drinks, but you’ve already diminished the tension level considerably,” he murmured as they followed the group.

      “You can thank me by trusting me more the next time,” she hissed.

      Jonah laughed as he drew her into Pleasures.

      AN HOUR LATER, JONAH sat in his office watching Cilla pace back and forth in front of his desk, talking on the phone to Gabe. Making her report.

      The policemen had questioned them separately, and the one who was in charge, Detective Finelli, seemed to know Cilla. Which reminded Jonah very forcibly that he knew very little about her—only what Gabe had told him at the party. Her name was Priscilla Michaels, but she went by Cilla, and Gabe thought the world of her.

      Oh, he’d been tempted to run a thorough background check on her, but satisfying curiosity could lead a man into deep trouble. Finding out more about her could have complicated his decision to keep his distance.

      The name Priscilla intrigued him because it didn’t fit the woman he’d spent the night with in Denver. Cilla suited her better. It also fit the woman he’d met at the airport and the one who’d turned into his arms out on the street. For an instant when she’d put her hands on his face and pulled his head down to hers, he could have sworn the cement beneath his feet had shifted as if it were beach sand. And all he’d been able to think of was her.

      Oh, she was a very dangerous woman. And like it or not, he was learning more about her with each moment that passed. Problem was, the more he discovered, the more curious and fascinated he became. She was good at what she did. She’d not only smoothly maneuvered him earlier into accepting her escort back to Pleasures, but once the police had left, she’d managed to get a call into Gabe before he had.

      And the woman who paced in front of him right now was a sharp right turn from the woman who’d met him at the airport earlier or the woman who’d kicked the gun out of that thug’s hand. Ever since she’d entered Pleasures, it was as if she’d had a to-do list and she’d been checking off items one by one. Quick, efficient, focused.

      It occurred to him that he was dealing with two sides of the same woman. He recalled his first reaction to her given name. But Priscilla fit the woman he was watching now to a T.

      She paused in her pacing to fist a hand on her hip and summarize for Gabe what Detective Finelli had assured them before he’d left. The police would do everything they could do—question Fatso and Skinny, put out an all-points bulletin on the van.

      “The two men have lawyered up, so they won’t be questioned until the morning when their public defenders are assigned,” Cilla said to Gabe as she started to pace again. “But my friend Joe Finelli says he’ll talk to his captain and get permission for me to observe the interviews.”

      Her friend Joe Finelli? Jonah recalled what he’d seen of the interaction between the detective and Cilla. Finelli was a good ten years her senior. Had they dated? Been lovers?

      And the fact that his mind instantly jumped to those questions reminded him why he’d decided to avoid Cilla Michaels. He didn’t want that kind of involvement.

      Deliberately he looked past her to the open door of his office. The evening was winding down. By the time the police cars had pulled away, he could see that every thing had returned to normal in his club. The bar was still busy, and the jazz band on the basement level would switch to dance music in another half hour.

      Virgil would handle closing. What Jonah needed was some quiet time in his apartment to try to figure out what in hell was going on. There was something in the wording of the note that was still pulling at the edge of his mind.

      “Joe recommended that he continue with private security,” Cilla was saying.

      Joe. Her use of the detective’s first name triggered a quick surge of impatience. Not jealousy. Because that was ridiculous. And the impatience was with himself.

      Because he didn’t want to go to his apartment and think about what had happened by himself. He wanted to talk about it with Cilla Michaels. And perhaps with Priscilla, too.

      He watched her stride across the width of his office again and wondered if the woman ever stood still. There was such energy radiating off her. She’d been lightning fast outside the club—both physically and mentally. The kick had come out of nowhere. The poor sucker hadn’t been expecting it.

      And she’d brought those same elements of energy and surprise to her lovemaking, as well. He vividly recalled the speed of those clever hands as they’d moved over his skin exploring, exploiting—until the flood of razor-sharp sensations had left him helpless to do anything but want more.

      “Sure I can set up a security detail.” Cilla paused at his desk to pull a small notebook and pen out of her purse. “We’ll want to give him 24/7 protection, two men each shift.”

      Jonah took a deep breath and brought his focus back to her. He wasn’t helpless. This time it was more than a surge of impatience he felt. Sitting on the sidelines and letting others decide his fate had never been his strong suit. He’d run away from three foster homes before the judge tired of seeing his face and sent him