Authors: Maureen Smith
Vince grinned. “Definitely too good for me.”
“Damn straight she is. If you insist on
getting laid, pick any of the other girls. They were checking you out the
minute you walked through the door. Any one of ’em would do you in a heartbeat,
and you know it. I’ve heard that Giselle gives the best head—”
Vince chuckled dryly. “That’s the second time
someone’s tried to push Giselle off on me. Poor girl—they must keep her
mighty busy. No, thanks. I’m sure she’s a very talented woman, but I like my
meat a little fresher.”
Frank heaved a resigned sigh. “And it doesn’t
get any ‘fresher’ than Rebecca. She’s a beautiful woman. You know, she gets hit
on all the time, but she’s never let it get to her before.” He glared pointedly
at Vince. “Until tonight.”
“I told you, man, I didn’t do anything to
her.” Not as much as he would’ve liked to, anyway. Vince wondered how far
things would have gone if he hadn’t tried to remove Rebecca’s mask. He grew
hard just thinking about it.
“Look,” he said gruffly, “if I’m supposed to
be some high-rolling investment broker with cash to burn, I have to play the
part convincingly. Dropping half a grand on the Platinum Suite was expected of
me. How am I supposed to convince Rossi to go into business with me if I’m
tight-fisted with my money?”
“Yeah, I hear what you’re saying,” Frank
grumbled. “Just don’t get carried away, that’s all. They’ve got us on a tight
budget, and I’d hate to get yanked off this case just because you blew taxpayer
dollars on the Platinum Suite. Next time you’re at the club, do us both a favor
and settle for one or two lap dances. At forty bucks a pop, that shouldn’t
break the bank.”
“Yes, sir,” Vince said with a mock salute.
Despite his cavalier tone, Vince knew better
than anyone how important it was for them to play by the book on this case. The
Baltimore Police Department, in conjunction with the local FBI division, had
assembled a task force to investigate the financial dealings of Bruno Rossi,
who was suspected of masterminding a lucrative money laundering operation. But
five years and nine investigations later, the authorities still hadn’t been
able to prove Rossi’s guilt. Sending two Baltimore police detectives undercover
to infiltrate the club owner’s organization was the government’s
latest—and perhaps final—attempt to snare the man who’d become, in
many ways, as elusive as John Gotti had once been. In fact, some members of the
local law enforcement community had already dubbed Rossi the new “Teflon Don.”
Vince didn’t like being thwarted by criminals
who thought they were untouchable. He was determined to succeed where others had
failed in taking down Rossi. But he couldn’t afford any distractions, and Rebecca
Edmonds, with her sweet lips and sexy ass body, was the grand dame of
distractions. The sooner he could have her, the sooner he could get her out of
his system.
Or so he told himself.
“Look, I gotta head back before Rossi starts
getting suspicious,” Frank announced, backing toward his truck with his
shoulders hunched against the chill. For such a big tough guy, Frank Sciorra
had always been a punk where cold weather was concerned.
“See ya tomorrow night, Frankie,” Vince
said.
He watched as the black SUV rolled out of the
parking lot and disappeared down the street before he started toward his
Durango. Pausing at the door, he took a long pull on his cigarette and gazed at
the lights from the Inner Harbor twinkling in the distance.
All he needed was one night alone with Rebecca
Edmonds. One night to bury himself deep inside her wet heat, to experience her
luscious body writhing beneath his, to feel her nails digging into his back as
they rocked through one mind-blowing orgasm after another.
One
night
,
he told himself, and then he could turn his attention to other, more pressing
matters.
Like taking down Bruno Rossi.
Rebecca lifted a cardboard box from the floor
and hoisted it onto the Formica countertop of her new kitchen. Wiping a sheen
of sweat from her forehead, she stood back, lips pursed, and swept a look
around the sunlit room. It was smaller than the kitchen in the condo she’d just
moved from, and she wasn’t too crazy about the beige linoleum floor, but at
least the room had an island and modern oak cabinets. The rest of the
two-bedroom apartment wasn’t bad either, and at $1,500 a month, it was just
what she needed at this point in her life.
Not that she wouldn’t miss her condo in
Annapolis with its lakefront views and manicured lawns. But when she’d made the
decision to take a year off from teaching in order to focus on completing her
dissertation, she knew she would have to make some drastic lifestyle changes.
And if all went according to plan, by the same time next year, she’d be
applying for a tenure-track faculty position at Johns Hopkins University, where
she’d dreamed of teaching for as long as she could remember.
As Rebecca reached for a box-cutter,
twenty-two-year-old Rasheed Edmonds entered the apartment carrying a large
cardboard box labeled
TEXTBOOKS
. He glanced over at her through the alcove
in the kitchen.
“Where do you want this?” he asked.
“Anywhere in the living room is fine.” Rebecca
smiled as her younger brother lowered the heavy box to the floor and made an
exaggerated show of slumping over it in a fit of exhaustion.
“That was the last box,” he panted. “We’re
done. Finished.
Finito
.”
“Are you sure?” Rebecca teased, walking out of
the kitchen. “Did you check every crack and crevice of the U-Haul to make sure
you guys got everything?”
Rasheed lifted his head to give his
approaching sister a wry look. “Take my word for it. The truck’s empty. Chris
is locking it up right now.”
Rebecca leaned down and planted a big, wet
kiss on his forehead, grinning as he groaned in protest. “Thank you, baby boy.”
At six foot tall, Rasheed Edmonds wasn’t
quite a “baby” anymore. The chubby face he’d sported most of his life had been
replaced by lean, masculine features when Rebecca wasn’t looking. Four years of
working out in the campus weight center with his college buddies had given him
a toned, muscular physique that drew plenty of admiring female gazes wherever
he went. His caramel skin was still sun-toasted from his summer trip to Costa
Rica, which had been his college graduation gift from Rebecca.
Eight years apart, the siblings had always
been close, a bond that had been further strengthened by the untimely death of
their parents.
Rebecca had just started on her master’s
degree when tragedy struck, claiming the lives of Frederick and Valeria Edmonds
in a boating accident while they were vacationing overseas. Rebecca had
immediately dropped out of school and taken on a part-time job, in addition to
her full-time one, in order to help raise her orphaned teenage brother. At her
insistence, money from the insurance settlement was set aside for Rasheed’s
college education—no exceptions. Although they’d received occasional
assistance from distant relatives, for the most part, Rebecca and Rasheed had
been on their own. Money had been tight, but somehow they’d survived, learning
to depend on each other through the good and bad times.
And in those dark, depressing years while
they’d both struggled to cope with the devastating loss of their parents, there
had been more bad times than good.
When Rasheed graduated from college with
honors, Rebecca was so proud of him that she’d wept like a fool at the
ceremony. Out of the many job offers he’d received, he had accepted a position
with a top executive firm in D.C. and was now thinking about pursuing an MBA.
Lost in her reverie, Rebecca didn’t notice
that her brother had risen from the floor and was walking through the
apartment, carefully inspecting each room.
“Are you sure you had to move out of your
apartment in Annapolis?” he asked as he returned to the living room, thick
brows furrowed in a frown. “This place isn’t as big or nice as the other one.”
Rebecca laughed. “Who says I need big or
nice?”
Her brother’s frown deepened. “It’s not about
what you need. It’s about what you
deserve
.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet of you, Sheed.”
Reaching up, Rebecca gave his cheek an affectionate pat. “Seriously though,
don’t worry about me. This apartment suits my needs just fine. The rent is more
affordable, and it’s within easy walking distance of the Inner Harbor and
Lexington Market, where I can buy fresh fruit every day. If you really think
about it, for what I’m paying a month, this place is a steal.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Rebecca winked playfully at him. “Hey, if it
doesn’t work out, I’ll just move into your bachelor pad.”
“Works for me,” chimed in Rasheed’s best
friend and roommate, Chris Douglas, who had just strolled into the apartment.
Short, stocky and good-looking, he flashed a megawatt grin at Rebecca. “You
know you’re
more
than welcome to move
in with us, Rebecca. Any sister of Sheed’s is a sister of mine.”
Rasheed rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
“On that note, we’d better get this truck back to U-Haul before I end up using
it to shovel up all this bullshit I’m hearing.”
Rebecca grinned. “Now, now, Rasheed. Be nice.
It was very kind of Chris to give up his Saturday to help me move. Thank you, Chris.
I really appreciate it.”
He sketched a gallant bow. “The pleasure’s
all mine.”
As the boys were leaving, Rebecca heard Chris
exclaim to Rasheed, “Man, your sister’s fine as
hell
.”
Smiling at Rasheed’s growled warning, Rebecca
closed the door behind them and surveyed the clutter before her. How could one
person accumulate so much junk? she wondered, shaking her head at all the
moving boxes. She definitely had her work cut out for her. But for now she was
tired, thirsty and craving a hot shower. She would tackle the unpacking in the
morning after a good night’s rest.
If
she got a good night’s rest.
Rebecca frowned, remembering the way she’d
spent the previous night tossing and turning, her mind filled with vivid images
of Vince Gray. Two days later, she still couldn’t believe she’d let a complete
stranger kiss her. He’d kissed her and, worse, she’d kissed him back—and
had enjoyed every last moment of it.
The memory of that scorching kiss and the
fantasy that had preceded it were seared upon her brain, to the point where
she’d been unable to think of little else since then. During the night, she’d
awakened from a steamy dream to find herself moaning as she rode her fingers.
She—who’d been too consumed with her
doctoral studies over the past two years to give sex a second thought—had
actually masturbated.
It’s
a sign, girlfriend
, a voice
chided
. You’ve deprived yourself long
enough. You need to get laid. And what better person to end your drought than
that scrumptious hunk from the club?
Just thinking about Vince Gray’s deep, sexy
voice and heat-seeking tongue made Rebecca’s nipples get tight and tingly. She
had no doubt that the man knew how to pleasure a woman, and that making love
with him would be an unforgettable experience. But that was part of the
problem. A guy like Vince Gray would never be satisfied with just one partner.
For all Rebecca knew, he’d probably spent the following evening at another
nightclub picking up women. She was willing to bet he rarely—if
ever—went home alone.
Why
do you care? You’re not interested in marrying him or bearing his children. You
just need him to scratch an itch for you, and then you can both go about your
business.
Rebecca frowned and shook her head at
herself. Why was she entertaining these crazy thoughts about a man she’d met
only once and might never see again? Assuming Vince
did
return to The Sultan’s, she wasn’t scheduled to work again
until Tuesday. He probably wouldn’t even remember her or recognize her without
her mask. By kissing her, he’d satisfied his curiosity about the mysterious
woman in disguise, and that was the end of it.
Recalling that she’d left her car unlocked
while they unloaded her belongings, Rebecca headed downstairs to the parking
lot. She locked the doors to her Toyota Avalon, then checked the trunk to make
sure she hadn’t forgotten anything else. She found a medium-size box labeled
PERSONAL ITEMS
and lifted it out of the car, then closed the door and made her way back toward
the high-rise.
As she neared the building entrance, a couple
dressed for a night out on the town emerged and held the door open for her.
“Thank you,” Rebecca told them, flashing a
grateful smile.
She crossed the lobby and rounded the corner
to the service elevator, which the building manager had given her permission to
use while she moved in. The thing was as old as the building, and so slow that Rebecca
could climb the stairs to her ninth-floor apartment in less time than it would
take the service elevator to get her there. She’d fare much better in the
regular elevator used by everyone else. But she was tired and sweaty, and not
in the mood to stop on every floor with a heavy box in her arms.