Strip Search Page 8

  Mark watched Nicki, struggling to restrain his reaction to her mocking seduction. They weren't done here. He hadn't had time for equal opportunity arousal. Where the hell did she think she was going?

  A devilish smile turned up the corners of her lush, red mouth. "I'll leave you to deal with your ... problem. Don't yank my chain again."

  "Nicki, this isn't over."

  As if he hadn't even spoken, she tilted her head and informed him, "Oh, Zack should be here any minute. He called to say he was taking his grandfather to the doctor, and he'd be a few minutes late. In fact, he should be here about the time that goes down." She gestured to his erection with a toss of her head, that smug smile still firmly in place.

  "Damn it, Nicki--"

  Anything else he'd been about to say disappeared in an instant as something big and black began falling from the rigging above the stage--and straight toward Nicki.

  Adrenaline surged, powering his legs. Lunging out of his chair, he ran for her with every ounce of his energy and leaped on her. Her back hit the hard stage with a surprise gasp. He rolled her beneath him an instant before the something big crashed into the stage inches from his left shoulder--where her head had been just moments ago. Glass shattered, colored shards peppering the air. Mark closed his eyes and covered her face with his chest. Electrical sparks zapped, sizzled, then died.

  A glance at the object told him it was one of the large overhead lights. The thing had to weigh at least fifty pounds. It would have more than likely killed her.

  He tensed, then forced himself to relax. Safe. Nicki was safe.

  Mark let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

  "What the hell happened?" Nicki asked, panting.

  She sounded shocked. He didn't blame her. It was a good question, one at the top of his list, too.

  Mark glanced up at all the metal rigging and lights overhead. He saw nothing odd. Nothing swinging loose. No one up on the bridge toying with the lights for the night's show or anything.

  "I don't know." He raised up on his elbows and peered down into her face. "Are you all right?"

  Nicki might think of herself as tough and gutsy, and she was--most of the time. But underneath it all, he saw glimpses of something else. Something more vulnerable. That had never been more obvious than now.

  With an answering nod, she asked, "You saw it coming?"

  He shot her a grim nod.

  "And--and you got me out of harm's way." She sounded almost surprised.

  "I wasn't going to let anything happen to you."

  Slowly, she nodded, still panting. "I... Thanks. That would have been one hell of a headache."

  "Any idea what caused that?" He stared up into the dark, silent rigging above the stage.

  "No." Her voice shook. "We just had some lighting maintenance done yesterday. M-maybe they didn't secure everything when they were done."

  It was possible. Accidents happened. If someone caused it, they'd somehow crept down and snuck past them, without either him or Nicki being the wiser. That seemed unlikely, and yet... what would have made that light fall suddenly at that particular moment?

  "Mark?"

  Nicki raised her gaze to his, clinging and wide. She trembled. The connection jolted him down to his toes. Damn it, the woman was as potent to his system as a bottle of tequila on an empty stomach. Beneath him, she was lush and warm.

  And safe, thank God. Mark wondered if she knew that her gaze shouted a need for reassurance. Denying that he wanted to touch her--hold her--was pointless. The fact his hips rested squarely between her spread thighs, and his still-hard cock was notched right where he wanted it to be wasn't helping his self-control.

  Nicki took the decision from him and pressed her mouth to his with a cry, desperate fingers twined in his hair.

  Mark met her and dove in ravenously, tongue dominating the inside of her mouth with one bold stroke. Lust pounded at him, as if he hadn't touched a woman for years. What was it about this woman? Something about her pulled at him. Thinking of Nicki without thinking of sex seemed beyond his capabilities. He needed one night with her, to fuck her and get her out of his system. She provided too much distraction for him to focus on his case, just by being herself.

  Nicki threaded her hands into his hair and lifted her hips to his. She was wet. No mistaking the damp humidity of her seeping through her little panties as she pressed against him. The realization pumped any remaining blood from his brain and jetted it south.

  All thoughts of focus and investigation ceased.

  Shifting, Mark fitted his hands beneath her ass. Firm, bare cheeks? Sweet heaven, she was wearing a thong. The knowledge swept a fresh burst of lust through his system.

  He rocked against her, notching his cock toward the top of her pussy, right over her clit. Her gasp, followed by the nails in his back told him he'd scored a direct hit. And still, he kept at her mouth, tasting her, drinking her essence, her passion.

  More. He needed more of her.

  Lifting one of his hands away from her mostly bare ass cost him, but he used it to push aside her flimsy summer top and her little lacy bra. He tore his mouth from hers to look. Her pert breast and beaded rosy nipple beckoned. He couldn't wait another minute. Another second.

  Dipping his head, he captured the hard bud in his mouth and sucked her deep in his mouth, rasping the sensitive flesh with his tongue. Jesus, she was like heaven. Sugar and spice.

  Hot, sweet, all woman. He was going to combust if he didn't get inside her soon.

  Grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, Nicki arched up to him, moaning, "Mark."

  Hearing his name on her lips ripped lightning through his body.

  "More," she moaned. "Now."

  "You like it fast," he observed aloud, pressing his hips down right into her clit.

  "Yes."

  "Hard."

  "Yes."

  "And a little bit rough. Don't you?" He grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her to look at him.

  "Yes." Nicki gasped for a breath, blue eyes sultry, dilated. "Yes."

  Good damn thing he did, too.

  Even better, since he knew he could get out of his absurd Viking getup in about four seconds. Time to find out how quickly he could get Nicki out of her annoying garments.

  Caressing his way from her bare cheek to her hip, Mark found the delicate string that held the two triangles of fabric together and wrapped his fist around it.

  Lifting his mouth from her nipple, he stared down into her flushed face and swollen mouth, brimming with satisfaction at her unfocused, dilated eyes. "I'm going to rip these little panties off you, Nicki, then taste you, get inside you..."

  She groaned, grabbed his face, and pressed her mouth against his again.

  The air around them exploded with sound suddenly--the buzz of an electric guitar, the vibration of rock music turned up to concert-loud levels. Nicki gasped. Mark nearly jumped out of his skin. Next came Joan Jett's mocking voice asking, "Do you wanna touch, do you wanna touch, do you wanna touch me there?"

  The old song was a favorite at the club, particularly when the mood got raunchy, Mark had noticed. He'd never liked the taunting song. He liked it even less right now. Who the hell was playing it?

  Nicki righted her top. "What is going on?"

  Good question.

  Mark rolled to his feet and looked toward the DJ's booth. Blade Bocelli exited the disk jockey's little space with a derisive glance before striding through the club and disappearing upstairs, leaving the snide, pulsing music on full blast.

  That son of a bitch! How long had he stood there like a fucking Peeping Tom, staring at them?

  Thoughts raced, suspicion danced through his nerves. Clearly Bocelli had been there long enough to play voyeur. What about longer? Perhaps long enough to send the light crashing down toward an unsuspecting Nicki?

  "Damn it!" she cursed. "I'm screwed."

  Mark fisted his hands at his sides and did his best to restrain his temper. Beating the hell out o
f the Mafia bastard right now would be pointless--enjoyable for a few minutes, but ultimately pointless. Mark's whole purpose for being here was to bring Bocelli to justice for his money laundering, and God only knew what other crimes. He doubted Blade was the guy's given name. Surely he'd earned it in ways the authorities would find interesting, and Mark vowed to give them the needed proof. The laws Bocelli had broken, coupled with what he'd done to Tiffany, ensured him a one-way trip to the federal penn.

  But if Bocelli had anything to do with that light nearly falling on Nicki's head, there would never be a hole small enough for him to hide in. Anywhere. And Mark would make certain the asshole ended up being very sorry.

  Suddenly, Zack bustled in from the right side of the stage, looking harried. "Did I miss anything?"

  The opportunity to get into both Nicki's panties and the club's accounting records hadn't panned out yet. Mark was determined that his luck, with regard to the latter at least, was about to change.

  His luck with the former was anyone's guess. Nicki would have to stop avoiding him first.

  Pushing thoughts of hot sex with his "boss" out of his head for the moment, Mark rose. It was before eight A.M. Today, the club was closed. Right now, most everyone would be in oblivion, sleeping off the effects of nights that didn't end until four in the morning.

  Leaving his barren apartment, he slipped down the stairs and crept down the hall on silent feet, toward Nicki's office door. He expected to find it locked. That was fine. What guy didn't know how to pick a lock or two?

  But he stopped short when he saw Bocelli sitting in a chair, staring at columns of numbers on a computer screen.

  Crap! What was the Godfather gorilla doing here at this hour?

  Easing closer, he peered over the thug's shoulder, scanning the columns of debits and credits for the month of April. He was accounting? Unbelievable. Talk about leaving the fox in charge of the henhouse ...

  Mentally, Mark began adding, gaze dodging from one column to the next. Last month, Nicki had a night where the bar had only brought in three hundred dollars? Impossible. Frigging impossible. A slow night at the bar wouldn't be less than a thousand. And yet she'd outlaid fifteen hundred dollars for janitorial services in a week? Mark scowled, skimmed numbers that seemed more fictitious than a novel. Two and two shouldn't add up to five. What the hell was going on?

  Suddenly, Bocelli swiveled his chair around as if he'd sensed Mark there. He had no idea how, since he knew he hadn't made a sound.

  "What the hell do you want, Viking?"

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Mark shot back.

  "My fucking job. And you?"

  "If you're supposed to be her accountant, you know shit about it. The debits don't add up correctly, and alcohol expense doesn't belong in the office supply category."

  "What? You work for the fuckin' IRS now? Mind your own business, boy toy. Nicki lets me take care of a lot of things for her, because I'm good at them." Bocelli's nearly black eyes mocked Mark. "Her accounting ... among other things."

  Mark felt his jaw turn to granite. His blood turned to ice.

  A nun couldn't mistake Bocelli's insinuation that he was fucking Nicki.

  While trying to kill her by crashing a stage light onto her head?

  He wanted to strangle Mr. Italian Stallion Macho all over again.

  If Nicki was, in fact, having sex with Blade, it shouldn't be a surprise. If there was a bad girl in the crowd, Mark would find her every time. And want the hell out of her.

  His first girlfriend in middle school had been expelled for selling the answers to a history test. From there, it only got worse. As a freshman in high school, his girlfriend had been caught giving a blow job in the boys' bathroom--to someone else. As a senior, his squeeze had a skull and crossbones tattooed on her ass--after having her nipples pierced. In college, the lust of the moment had been putting herself through school by subscribing people to her website so they could pay to watch her masturbate. Hell, his own wife had married him just to have him take the fall for her felony.

  No one had worse taste in women than he did.

  The fact he was sweating over a woman who wore thongs, had her naval pierced, and owned a strip club was just par for the course. Her spreading her legs for a Mafia thug shouldn't surprise him in the least.

  It just pissed him off that he should feel let down. Some things, he reminded himself, never changed.

  Regardless, he still had to get into Nicki's accounting records. And even though it was stupid, damned if he didn't still want to get inside her ... just once.

  Mark looked at Bocelli and sneered. "Well, you may have handled some things for Nicki in the past. But 'things' will change now she's got competent help."

  Chapter 5

  Mark had the uncomfortable feeling that, if the old saying about someone's ears burning when others were talking about them was true, his would have been on fire.

  After an unexpected voice mail from Nicki asking him to drop by her place at five, after Monday rehearsal, he arrived at her front door, just as Lucia was exiting. The look that passed between the sisters suggested he'd been the topic of conversation.

  Uh oh.

  "You are in so much trouble," Lucia whispered, a smile playing at her soft mouth.

  "What? Why?"

  Lucia continued on, down the hall to her own apartment as if he hadn't spoken.

  Scowling, he turned back toward Nicki's door. Toward Nicki, now standing at the portal with a solemn face--and wearing a killer black dress. What the hell was going on?

  Her hesitant posture only underscored the tense furrow of her brow. Clearly, she hadn't invited him here for the fun of it. With her low-cut minidress and sexy stilettos, Nicki looked good enough to eat ... all the way to multiple orgasms, but he wasn't fooled by her outfit de jour. Since Bocelli had discovered them nearly having sex on the club's stage last Thursday, Nicki had done a masterful job avoiding him. He doubted very seriously she had invited him here for sex.

  Damn shame, too.

  "You called?" He held up his cell phone to indicate that he'd received her message.

  With a jerky nod, she stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in."

  He paused, looking into Nicki's apprehensive oval face, the sharp, watchful stare of her upturned blue eyes. Whatever had prompted her surprising request to drop by her place wasn't something she was looking forward to.

  Mark's mind raced. Why would she ask him here, at exactly five o' clock, on the club's only dark day? Either she wanted to talk about his lack of progress in learning his damned Viking routines or ask why he'd appeared in her office early this morning to peek at her accounting records and give her "accountant" a hard time. He was more than willing to bet Bocelli had already informed Nicki of their altercation earlier today.

  Before or after he climbed between her legs? a snide voice in the back of his head asked.

  It shouldn't matter. He and Nicki weren't going anywhere, relationship-wise. Since Tiffany, he didn't do relationships. But he couldn't deny that, for some head-scratching reason, he worried about Nicki. Yeah, it bugged the hell out of him that she might be fucking the hairy Italian jerk. But it concerned him more. Did she know she was sleeping with a guy who was probably a stone cold killer?

  Resigned that he wouldn't get answers while standing in the hall, Mark brushed past Nicki and entered her apartment. Damn, she smelled good, like ... tangerine but lighter, with a hint more spice. Whatever it was, that scent kicked his libido into gear every time.

  Without meeting his gaze, she shut the door behind him, then led the way to the little Old World living room.

  He sat. She also sat, then rubbed her hands together. Nicki didn't often display a demeanor other than her usual brass balls. Her tense, out-of-sorts gestures only confused him.

  If this was about Bocelli finding him trying to get a peek at her books--and he suspected it was--he had to somehow convince her to keep her distance from the dangerous prick ... without getti
ng fired or blowing his cover.

  The best way to fight fire was with fire.

  "I'm glad you called me over here. I want to talk to you."

  "I-I want to talk to you, too."

  "I'm going to skip being a gentleman today and go first. Sorry." Mark plowed on, despite the fact Nicki looked taken aback. "Bocelli is more asshole than accountant. He doesn't need to be doing your books, Nicki."

  She blinked several times. "You want to talk to me about my choice of accountants?"

  "I know you have more sense than to hire that Stallone wannabe to take care of your money. Do you know anything about his background? Is he even qualified?"

  Her frown reflected equal parts confusion and anger. "So he's not from H and R Block. What do you care?"

  "I don't want to see him take you down the river. He could be cheating you, Nicki."

  Holding up her hands to stay him, she said, "Look, you two don't like each other. I get it. He's made it really clear that he doesn't think you're qualified for your job, either. The two of you need to quit your macho posturing and stop telling me how to run my business."

  "I think he's hiding something. I'm trying to protect you."

  "That's crap. Both of you big he-men seem to think that I must have my brains in my boobs. This is so like every man I know." She gritted her teeth. "Listen, I started this club virtually on my own. You and Blade and my uncle all think you should tell me how to handle the operations because you got something dangling between your legs. I know why the other two think they have the right to boss me around. What's your excuse?"

  Clearly, her uncle thought the familial connection allowed him to put his two cents in with Nicki. What was Bocelli's claim to fame here? Had Nicki just admitted that she was sleeping with him? Her words felt like a punch in the gut.

  "Do I need an excuse to want to make sure he doesn't take advantage of you?" he countered, voice rising. "He's no accountant."

  "And you are?" she shot back tartly.

  Mark hesitated. "Yes."

  Her stunned expression took some of the starch out of her spine. Bingo. "You're an accountant?"