Beyond Paradise Page 6

  “Hello, Cheryl.” Frank’s harsh whisper thundered over the house music. Her breathing slowed, but her heart hammered faster. “You looked shocked to see me.”

  Shocked, stunned and paralyzed with fear. Yeah, that explained it.

  “Nothing surprising about the owner keeping an eye on things.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Jonny and Eddie were the owners.” He smiled. “Their names are on the lease, but it’s my money that runs the place.”

  Jonny and Eddie worked for Frank Barnett? Disturbing on so many levels.

  He leaned in. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what you did.” She shuddered as his hot breath stung her ear.

  “I didn’t—”

  “You lured Nicky out to that alley and stabbed him.” He smiled at her. “By the time I came along, you’d already slit his throat.”

  The strobe lights illuminated his face with pinpricks of color.

  “You know it didn’t happen that way.” Her voice rose but no one noticed with the pounding music. “I was defending myself.”

  “It’s just a matter of semantics.” The smile turned into a sneer. “I wore gloves, so the only prints on that knife are yours. It’s called evidence. Cops like that.”

  Cops or anything related to the system that had neglected her and Dylan sent a chill down her spine. And a thug like Frank Barnett would have a precinct filled with crooked cops on his payroll that would be more than happy to do whatever he wanted.

  “And I’m thinking this hot ass of yours could be very useful.” Frank squeezed her arm, then pulled her to his side. “As long as that knife and Nicky’s body don’t reappear.”

  People laughed and danced to the music around them completely unaware of her bizarre situation.

  She yanked her arm away and twisted out of his grasp. “What do you want?”

  Her street sense burst through her panic. A guy like Frank Barnett always had an angle and pinning Nicky’s murder on her was only the beginning.

  “Nothing.” He smiled wider. “Yet.”

  Eddie came up alongside her. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”

  Frank’s gaze burned into her. “We were just getting to know each other.”

  “Is everything all right?” Eddie looked from her to Frank.

  “Of course.” Frank spread his arms wide.

  Frank and Eddie exchanged a quick glance that she didn’t understand. “I think I’ll go back upstairs.”

  Eddie nodded, and Frank grinned. “Nice meeting you.”

  She cut around the perimeter of the club to the elevators. The silver doors parted, and thankfully she was alone for the short ride to the third floor. She gripped the cool metal rail against the mirrored walls and sucked in a deep breath. Frank’s calm, cool voice unnerved her, but the revelation that Jonny and Eddie worked for him blew her away. All the pieces fell together. Jonny was collecting for Frank at the Oasis, and when Frank didn’t get his money, he came to finish the job.

  Then the matter-of-fact way he’d pinned Nicky’s murder on her. His flawless appearance and polished voice belied his twisted mind. Fact and illusion collided, and the deadly chill of his eyes said, psycho.

  In her rush to leave Eddie’s apartment, she forgot the key he’d given her, so she knocked. Jonny answered the door, still shirtless, and still rocking those great tats making her irregular heartbeat kick to overdrive. Her choices for the night ranged from a devious killer to an off limits, sexy as hell, bad boy. Both equally capable of sending her life straight to hell.

  “What happened?” He opened the door wider and she entered the apartment.

  She struggled to stifle a yawn as his gaze raked over her. She didn’t have the energy to explain, or even to lie, so she remained silent.

  “You’ve only been gone for twenty minutes, and you come back looking like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “It’s nothing.” Every street-smart instinct blared out a warning. Frank was Jonny’s boss, so who knew where his alliances lay.

  He motioned to the red marks Frank left on her arms. “Was Nicky here?

  “I told you, we broke up.”

  “You’re running from something. I know the look.”

  She mashed her lips together to keep the truth from spilling out. How could a man she’d just met and didn’t like very much find her weaknesses and make her feel so vulnerable?

  “Please stop.” Her voice quivered as the words choked her.

  “Then tell me what you’re really doing here.”

  She called upon every skill that kept her alive as a child and seen her through her teenage years.

  “You helped me before.” He motioned to his arm. “Maybe I can help you.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “I never met anyone who needed help more.”

  Shit. His simple statement drove a wedge under her restraints, while his eyes examined her. Seeing her guilt, knowing her truths.

  “I’m fine.” A crazed laugh threatened to escape, but she squashed it.

  “You’re not, now tell me why.”

  His persistence sent adrenaline rocketing through her, and all her stifled emotions from the last two days bubbled to the surface like some frenzied volcano.

  “Because I stabbed Nicky.”

  She hadn’t wanted to say it, she hadn’t planned on saying it, but once again her mouth took over before thinking.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jonny blinked a few times. “You what?”

  “You heard me.” She averted her eyes.

  He moved her to the couch, then poured a shot of tequila. “Drink this.”

  She gulped the clear liquid and squeezed her eyes shut for a minute.

  “Explain.”

  “Nicky and I had a fight. A bad fight. He was hitting me, and I pulled a knife.” The words rushed out, then she swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to hurt him, but he fell into the knife and . . .”

  Her voice faded off, and her face paled. He pried the shot glass from her hand and refilled it. “Drink.”

  She shot the tequila then rolled the glass between her hands.

  “Was he alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you left him in the alley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was anybody else there?”

  “No.”

  Her rigid back and shrill voice sounded defensive, not distressed. Like his questions were annoying her. Her story had way too many holes, but why would anyone confess to a crime they didn’t commit? Unless the truth was worse. Fucked up, but he’d play along for now.

  “What you did was self-defense. Nobody deserves to be hit.”

  “Guys get mad; they hit. It’s the way it is.”

  “I would never hit you.”

  And he meant it. No matter how crazy a woman behaved, he’d never resorted to violence. He’d never become a violent animal like his father.

  “I just wanted to get away from here. Take my brother and start over.”

  “And you didn’t tell Eddie any of this?”

  “No. I couldn’t . . . I didn’t want to tell anyone.”

  Her gaze darted away from him, and it crushed his heart. His mother had that look. Fear with a lot of shame mixed in.

  “But you told me?”

  “I’ve been so scared.” She set the glass on the coffee table.

  After an endless silence, he traced the side of her jaw with the tip of his finger, and when he leaned in, she met him halfway.

  “I’ve got you.” He pushed a stray hair away from her face and kissed her, wanting to taste more of her, be part of her, sink into her sweetness and make all her fears go away.

  His eager hands roamed up her b
ack. A decent man would’ve paced himself, given her space, but he’d never been a decent man when desire overwhelmed him. He nipped his way down her slender neck, loving the feel of her skin against his lips. He knew what he wanted. He’d wanted it ever since he’d seen her at the Oasis.

  He fumbled with the hem of her T-shirt, and she covered his hand with hers.

  “You want me to stop?” His words caught between a sigh and a gasp.

  She pushed his hands away, tugged her shirt over her head and flung it onto the couch.

  “This isn’t a game.” He meant it as a warning, but the lust in his voice made it sound more like a challenge.

  “I know.” She gasped as he snaked his hands around her waist. “‘Cause games have rules.”

  For one tantalizing second her eyes dared him with desires as overpowering and primal as his. Shit, he was fucked. So, so fucked. Standing, he snatched her hand and jerked her up, thankful for the numbing effects of the tequila on his arm. He pulled her toward the bedroom, nudged the door open with his foot, then kicked it closed.

  She slipped off her shoes and wiggled out of her jeans until they pooled at her feet. A heat boiled in the pit of his stomach and shot through his veins, melting him from the inside out. One part of him wanted to take time and explore every inch of her, while the part that controlled him was as hard as steel and dying to find its way into her warm, wet body.

  He tumbled her to the bed, crushed his mouth to hers and pushed his tongue inside until they were both gasping for breath. She arched her back, and he stripped away the thin scrap of lace covering her sex. Edging his hand between her thighs, he slipped one finger inside her heat, then two. Her soft sweetness quivered as he plundered her folds with a steady rhythm until she purred.

  He increased the pressure, until she shuddered and moaned against him.

  “Ohhh, don’t stop,” she whimpered.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” he assured her. “I’m gonna make you come so hard, you won’t be able to see straight.”

  Two heartbeats later, he captured her mouth in another demanding kiss, leaned toward the nightstand, yanked open the drawer, and rummaged around for a condom. Tearing it open, he sheathed himself, then spread her thighs wide. She arched her back to meet him seconds before he thrust inside her.

  Her lips nuzzled his neck, and he wanted to go slow. Wanted to savor this, take his time, but his hips had other ideas. Holding his breath, he pumped into her hard, and when she wrapped those beautiful legs around his waist, he drove deeper. It was crazy and unbelievable, something he’d never experienced. Something he would only feel with her. And something that could bring his world down around his ears.

  “See what you do to me?” He fisted the sheets and watched his body take her. And when she watched him too, it almost made him blow.

  “C’mon baby,” he growled in her ear. “Wanna hear you screaming my name when you come all over me.”

  Her spasms hit again, and she milked him, sucking him in deeper and deeper. “Ohhh, Jonny.”

  His name on her lips made him thrust into her harder, his fingers kneading her ass until he broke apart and came so hard that for a second everything snapped to black. They stayed locked together. Gasping. Her head still nestled in his shoulder. Her thigh still draped over his back. He shifted as the pain returned to his arm. Then reality hit like a pile of unpaid bills.

  She stared at him either confused or embarrassed. He felt edgy too, so he stayed silent.

  “Did we really just do that?” she asked around nervous laughter.

  “If you gotta ask, I must’ve done something wrong.”

  “Oh no, believe me, you did everything right.”

  “Hey, Cheryl, are you up here?”

  “Shit, it’s Eddie.” She clutched at the sheet.

  He rummaged around on the floor for his pants, yanked them on, and slipped into the living room.

  Eddie frowned and did a double take at him shirtless, zipping up his pants. “Is Cheryl here?”

  “No . . . I mean, yeah.”

  “She seemed upset before.” Eddie looked around the room. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine.” He ran his hand threw his hair. “She, ahhh . . . wanted to lay down.”

  “Oh.” Eddie zeroed in on her shirt flung over the couch.

  “My arm is pounding like a bitch.” He motioned toward his bandage. “I think I’ll stay here for a while.” Truth. He should’ve been paralyzed after the sex they’d had.

  “Sure.” Eddie looked back once and left.

  When he entered the bedroom, Cheryl had the huge bed sheet draped around her as she gathered up her clothes. Guilt and confusion crowded his brain.

  “Eddie must know I was in here.” She flicked her hand at him, shirtless, barefoot, his pants half undone. “And you look like you just fell out of bed after rolling around with a fast fuck.”

  “It was more than a fast fuck,” he mumbled.

  He stepped in her path, bringing them face to face. “You were upset before, and I don’t want you to think I was . . .” Again, the guilt consumed him.

  She pressed her finger to his lips. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you can’t help me.”

  He cupped her chin. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

  “I’m in too deep.”

  She stepped back, and his hand dropped away. She bundled up her clothes and motioned toward the bathroom. “I’m going to get dressed.”

  “Sure.”

  Everything about this woman screamed trouble. Even though she confessed to a stabbing, he sensed something worse hiding in the shadows. Something that could unravel both of them and send his dream club straight to hell. He should give her up before things got messy, but he had a feeling opening up a million-dollar club in Manhattan would be easier than succumbing to the ache of letting her go.

  He’d just looped his belt buckle and turned toward the door when Angela walked into the bedroom.

  Chapter 11

  “What are you doing up here?” Jonny heard the edge in his voice.

  First Eddie, now her. Way too many goddamn people with a key.

  “Eddie said you got hurt.” She flicked her hand at his bandaged arm. “I wanted to see how you were.”

  “I’m fine.” He didn’t buy that for a minute. Angela didn’t do compassion.

  She scanned the room and zeroed in on the rumpled bed. “I didn’t like the way we ended things the other night. I hoped we could talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  She reached for his hand. “Fine, then we won’t talk.” Placing it on the plunging neckline of her skin-tight dress.

  He fixed his gaze on her forehead, his expression blank.

  “I’ll bet I could make that arm feel better,” she purred, all silky sweet and dripping with an innocence she didn’t possess.

  He pulled his hand away. “I don’t think so.” He waited for the pout and the hair flip, and when it came he easily resisted.

  The pout changed to a sneer. “How do you think this makes me look, if you just drop me?” She tossed her tangle of ebony curls over her shoulders. This time in anger, not seduction.

  Angela loved all her possessions. Designer clothes, purses, spa treatments, all the things his money could buy.

  “So, you’re just worried about your rep.” He pulled his lips into a cool smile.

  “I’m worried about you too.”

  That would be the day when Angela worried about anyone but herself.

  “Frank isn’t going to like this,” she said.

  He flicked a few quick glances toward the bathroom door, and she caught him.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “My fuckin’ arm is killing me.” He close
d the gap between them, clutched her arm and herded her out of the bedroom. “I told you the other night, we’re done.” At the entry door, he paused and collected himself.

  She looked him over. “You’re going to be sorry.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  Her cold gaze made good on the warning, two seconds before she strutted out.

  He closed the door, leaned against it, and regrouped. Throwing Frank in his face, like she expected a reaction. Those days were over. In a few weeks he’d have his own club and he didn’t have the energy for her or her drama. And he sure didn’t need a scene with her and Cheryl, the woman he’d just had hot, crazy sex with.

  Still basking in his reprieve, he entered the bedroom, sat on the bed, and ran his hand over the rumpled sheets. He’d had tough women, scheming women, broken women, and in a way, Cheryl was all three. But it was her vulnerable side that drew him in, the way she’d pleaded for help without saying a word. That was a side he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, ignore.

  A few minutes later, she came out of the bathroom dressed. He moved fast, caging her in against the bathroom door, leaving no room for her to move or escape. Her kiss-swollen lips and tangled hair sucked the air out of his lungs and made him want her all over again.

  “I need more of you.” He laid his cheek against hers and groaned into her neck. “I wanna fall back into bed and fuck you till . . .” He pushed his hips against her, and a soft little moan escaped.

  “We have to stop.” Her palms rested on his chest, but instead of pushing him away, she ran them over his shoulders.