Strip Search (36 page)

No. Raking a hand through his hair, Mark acknowledged that Nicki wasn't a woman who played games with jack-asses. She cut them out of her life--

That was it! Now something made sense. This was Vegas, and Nicki was taking a short-term gamble by laundering money in order to take her cut and, along with the profits from the club, buy her chauvinistic uncle out of her business, out of her finances, out of her life as soon as she was able.

Mark had always known Nicki was a gutsy girl. But if his theory was right, this just proved it.

In an odd way, he admired her for taking charge of her life, clearing her own roadblocks to the life she wanted, being fearless, and just doing. But a crime was a crime--and if she was guilty, it was his responsibility to make sure she did the time. He knew of no other way to let his past die the ugly death it deserved.

And he couldn't say a word of this to her, not until the investigation was over and his findings were delivered to the FBI.

"Mark?"

The hurt in her voice sliced through his thoughts. When he looked up, tears welled in her eyes. Maybe she'd never had her heart broken before, but the two-ton stone sinking in his gut told him he likely qualified for her first. If he wasn't cautious, Nicki was going to be his second. And despite her criminal activities, he still felt for her--way more than was wise. And he didn't think she was faking what she felt for him.

"Damn it, talk to me! I've laid everything out on the table," she pointed out. "I know you've been hurt before, but I'm not her. I'm trying to open communication--"

"Nicki ... I don't know what to say." He sighed, raked his hand through his hair.

This sucked. He didn't want to talk about the past, didn't want to risk his heart anymore and give her the means to cut him off at the balls. And he couldn't breathe a word about his investigation with the hope that in her "open communication," she'd just tell him all the reasons she was "innocent." He'd want to believe her too badly--even if she was ready to slit his throat. He knew his history too well as a stupid sucker who fell for a pretty face.

"Say something. Anything!" A tear dampened her dark lashes, ran down her cheek. "I told you I loved you two days ago, and you left without a word."

"Because you scare the hell out of me. I don't let women get to me. But you do. I don't need that."

He frowned, fighting conflicting urges to clutch Nicki to him and to run away. In the end, he couldn't do either. He had to stay and play this dangerous game that had already claimed a life, a marriage, and a heart. And it wasn't over yet.

"I would never hurt you. If you'll open up a little--" "Nicki, it's not that simple." He sighed, paced. "My divorce was final a year ago today."

D
ivorced.
Nicki gripped the steering wheel as they rolled into the heart of Vegas in silence. The afternoon waned, golden sunlight blistering. She didn't know what to say. Clearly, his hurt went far deeper than a bitchy girlfriend could inflict.

Mark had stood at an altar and promised to love another woman until death parted them. And she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't make such vows unless he meant them.

For all she knew, he still loved his ex-wife. True, he'd said she wasn't coming back, but that hardly mattered if the heinous woman held his devotion.

To feel betrayed by the fact he'd been married was irrational; Nicki realized that. But that didn't make the feeling go away. It wasn't as if she'd entertained the notion of getting married any time soon, right? She'd never even been serious about a man.

Despite telling herself to focus on the success of Girls' Night Out, Nicki had poured her energy into Mark. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And based on his behavior, the hot buttons of his she'd inadvertently stepped on over the last few weeks, she'd bet money his ex-wife cheated. Then most likely lied while pretending to adore him. Maybe she'd even left him, too.

I'm doomed. She gripped the steering wheel and fought the urge to cry.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

They were the first words he'd spoken in nearly two hours, since putting the verbal nail in her coffin by telling her the details of his divorce were none of her business. And he thought she might want food?

"No.

Ahead, the club beckoned. With it dark on Monday, Nicki was grateful she would find her domain quiet tonight. The last thing she wanted now was to deal with loud music, demanding patrons, temperamental dancers, and general self-employment headaches. She could go to her apartment, lock the door, grab a spoon and a gallon of ice cream, then crawl into a nice case of sugar shock.

She'd figure out how to shut Mark out of her heart tomorrow.

Pulling into the parking lot, she slowed the car, then put the gearshift in park. She wanted her purse ... but it lay on the floorboard between Mark's feet. She wasn't leaning over his thighs again, no way, no how. He aroused her just by being. Touching him ... That was like inviting the devil to come play in her panties.

Cursing under her breath, she closed the convertible top, yanked the keys from the ignition, then got out and slammed the car door. And to think, she'd started this day with the hope that telling the man she loved him wouldn't send him screaming. Ha!

It would--for the rest of their lives. Just hopeless. Why did it take knowing that he was likely forever angry and closed for her to realize that somewhere in her heart she'd begun hoping for white lace and promises?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Nicki," Mark called, unfolding his tall frame from the car and shutting the door. "Damn it, don't be this way."

She turned and raised a brow. "I'm merely silent, like you."

"Your silence has all the subtlety of a sonic boom," he called to her back.

"Since my mood disagrees with you, all the more reason for you to run along and play with yourself."

With that, she pressed the lock button on her key fob. The car beeped as she sashayed toward the club's side door.

Mark was right behind her. "Play with myself? Funny. I have a better idea; why don't you help me?"

"Why don't you take a flying leap?"

Nicki lifted up the section of the bar that led to the club's upstairs and ducked inside. Quickly, she tried to shove the makeshift flap back into place. Mark stopped it with a broad. palm. He flipped it back up, walked through, and let it slam behind him.

"I told you when we started that I didn't have commitment in me," he reminded her.

Yes, he had. Shoving open the door to the stairs, Nicki did her best to ignore him. It beat the hell out of her nonexistent comeback. Instead, she marched up stair after stair, feeling Mark mere paces behind her, his gaze burning her back.

At the third floor landing, he grasped her arm and swung her around to face him. "Damn it, I told you I didn't do forever."

"But you were willing to do it for some unworthy bitch who ... did what? Cheated? Left you?"

Mark merely stared at her with tormented eyes of green fire. Clearly, he wasn't going to tell her a damn thing.

"Whatever it was, she broke your heart," Nicki went on. "And where does that leave me? Outta luck? You're acting like a child who refuses to play checkers again because he lost the first game."

"The stakes are a little higher than a board game, baby. You can't even understand--"

"Because you won't tell me. Why? Do you still love this woman?"

"No." He shook his head, face solemn. "I'm just not making the same mistake twice."

"What? All women are liars and whores?" "No," he assured--but didn't elaborate.

In the distance, a phone rang. Lucia's. Nicki could hear it behind her door and the angry course of blood pounding in her head.

Mark's face hardened, and he shoved his hand into his pocket and jerked out his keys. Forcing one into the lock of his apartment door, he opened it, pulled her through, and slammed it shut--all with one hand. The other stayed firmly on her arm.

"I'm not arguing with you on the landing where your sister and anyone else up for good gossip can hear," he growled.

"It's not gossip. It's history." Nicki tried to pull away from his grasp, to no avail. "Damn it, if you'll let go, I'll leave. Then there'll be no argument for anyone to overhear."

"No. I told you at the onset I didn't do--"

"Forever. Yeah, yeah, Mr. Broken Record. I heard you the first twenty times. You're all about the short term. We've had ours. I got the picture. Guess it's over. Buh-bye." She tried to jerk her arm free again.

Mark didn't budge an inch. "Why does me not wanting to rehash a shitty past change things between us? You agreed to be mine totally when I assumed your accounting. You said anytime, anywhere, any way. You backing out or firing me?"

"Don't go there. I'm tempted to do both."

"But you don't want to," he whispered, using her arm to drag her closer. "You're no more finished with me than I am with you. We sizzle together. I've never felt anything so hot as when I'm deep inside you, and you tighten on me, screaming in pleasure."

Nicki figured it wasn't a good sign that arousal curled through her belly and moisture gathered in some inconvenient places at his words.

"You're dreaming." She tugged on her arm again.

His grip tightened. "I'm remembering."

"Well, hang on to those memories, sweetie pie. From now on, that's all you'll have."

"We're not finished," he rumbled as he stepped in, invading her personal space.

Nicki refused to back down--even if her heart began to pound with all the gentleness of a sledgehammer against her chest. She really, really hoped he didn't test her resolve on this one. It was so weak, the comparison to Play-Doh came to mind.

"Oh, I think we're more than finished. You said yourself you're not a forever kind of guy. Consider this the official means to make sure we don't barge into your comfort zone."

"I'm not done with you, and you're not immune to me."

"Don't delude yourself." She raised what she hoped was a cool brow.

"I won't if you won't."

Mark leaned closer, eyes narrowing. She'd couldn't miss the sexual intent in his gaze. He was all body heat, all determination to make her scream his name. And damn it if everything inside her didn't respond with a tight ache of desire.

Bad girl! Down
--
and I don't mean flat on your back!

A smile that shimmered sex curved his full mouth a moment later. Maybe something in her eyes had given her interest away. Or maybe it was her stiff nipples poking desperately against the thin white dress. Those would be hard to miss.

He leaned in, forcing her against the wall. Damn if her nipples didn't get harder still. And her thong ... well, much more of his unrelenting nearness and she might give Lake Mead some competition for the wettest place around. The realization didn't get any better when she remembered that two little ribbons were the only things holding up her dress.

Suddenly, Mark seized the sides of her face with both hands and his mouth crashed over hers. He plundered inside, tongue thrusting with ferocious hunger, swirling around hers, refusing to give quarter until she not only opened to his kiss, but welcomed it, participated in the damp pleasure of his mouth mastering hers. On this stolen handful of moments when he was solely devoted to her.

Nicki's spine melted, her resolve going straight from Play-Doh to thin air in the span of a heartbeat. He pressed her hips to the wall and aligned his perfectly to her, leaving no question about the size and strength of his erection. She already knew well the things he could do when fully aroused and focused on having her.

She was screwed here--literally.

The air left her lungs in a hot rush as he devoured her. One kiss tangled into the next, punctuated by the warm slide of his lips, the hot sweep of his tongue, the clenching of her thighs as she tried to stop the ache. Instead, heat prickled across her skin and seeped into her belly as Mark groaned into her mouth. The sound vibrated through her body, all the way between her legs.

This was going to end like the last time--and the time before, and the time before that--with her submission and his withdrawal. She had to do something if she didn't want him to keep chiseling away at her heart a chunk at a time.

Remember Anne Boleyn!

When Mark came up for air and pressed his heated lips to her throat, she took a deep breath, trying to filter out his woodsy-pine scent and gain control of her wayward hormones.

"I don't want it, not like this." She pushed at his shoulders. "You always trying to prove something with my surrender." Nicki wriggled, gaining a little space between them. "Sex isn't going to solve anything right now. You use it to avoid talking to me. And that's what we need most now, talking."

He stepped away, turned his back. "I don't want to talk about Tiffany."

Tiffany.
Well, now she knew the bitch spawn's name--not that it made her feel any better. Tiffany even sounded like a class-A bimbo, like a selfish snot who'd ripped out the heart of a decent guy and replaced it with rage and mistrust.

"We don't have to talk about her. Tell me anything."

Nicki placed a gentle hand on his biceps. He tensed under her touch and said nothing. Long moments slid by. Finally, she dropped her hand. Biting her lip to hold back tears, she feared this effort was futile. He'd never agree to tell her squat. And she was too smart to count on him changing. Maybe she should simply make love with him one last time, then let him go.

"What do you want to know?" he croaked into the thick silence.

She lifted her head to stare at his stark, taut features. Mark didn't look happy, but at least he wasn't shutting her out completely. Relief gushed into her like water from a fire hose. But how far was he willing to go with this talk?