More Than Fiends (3 page)

“I'll show you!” she shouted and covered my hand with hers to squeeze the trigger on the bottle.

“Hey!” Leo shouted and leaped back.

Too late.

A stream of dirty brown liquid shot out in a wide arc. I watched as it hit the window, the wall, the door and, finally, the top of Leo's head.

He screamed and slapped both hands to the tiny plume of smoke already lifting off his scalp.

“Ohmigod!” Panicked, I peeled granny's clawlike grip off my hand, grabbed a dish towel and tried to swipe at Leo. But he danced back out of reach, still rubbing at his head. And now his
palms
were smoking.

I glanced at the spray bottle and then dropped it, fast. Holy Marc Jacobs leather tote! “What the hell did you put in there?” I shouted. “Acid?”

Leo wasn't listening. He took off like someone had shot him out of a cannon, and for a portly guy, he could really move. I was a couple steps behind him, shouting apologies and trying to convince him on the fly that going for a personal injury suit would only get him a pitiful IRA balance and a few good purses.

He didn't even slow down. He hit the driver's side of his delivery truck, yanked it open and hopped inside. He had the truck in reverse and was barreling down the driveway before I could latch onto the grille and dig my heels into the concrete. Thank God, he'd already loaded up the old washer. I had a feeling I was never going to see Leo again.

Even from a distance, I could still see the smoke wafting out the window.

Jasmine, a little winded but otherwise looking pretty self-satisfied, caught up with me. “There. You saw it for yourself.”

I swiveled my head to glare at her. For the first time in my life, I was speechless. Probably safer that way. Shaking my head, I ran back up the driveway, ignored her wavering voice calling my name, slammed and locked the door, and tried to convince myself none of it had happened—the secret to my life: selective memory.

I undressed as I ran and hit the bathroom already naked. In less than fifteen minutes, I was showered, shampooed and pawing through my closet for something not slutty.

Finally settled on a sea green skirt with matching jacket and a white blouse. Simple. Plain. Boring. Laid out the outfit on the bed, dashed back to the bathroom and dried my short, dark blond hair—which needed highlights again—and slapped on some makeup. Then back to the bedroom, threw on the outfit and grimaced at my reflection. I have no problem with being a businesswoman. I just hate having to
dress
like one—but again, that pesky eating thing forces me to do a lot of things I'd rather pass on.

I pulled one of my beloved purses down from the shelf—they were all in their protective cloth bags, naturally, but I, being a genius, had labeled them, so I knew exactly which one was which. This one was the green Fendi envelope bag. Perfect. Even took the sting out of wearing a skirt. Threw my keys and wallet and, what the hell, a lipstick inside, then headed downstairs in record time.

Jasmine was nowhere to be seen. Had the boys in white coats already come by to scoop her up? God, I hoped so. So far, my birthday had really sucked. Having to deal with the crazy old woman who knew too much about me was just not something I was up for, you know? Anyway, I had bigger things to think about. Like impressing the hell out of Devlin Cole.

By the time I made it downtown, it was five minutes to four. I hopped out of the car, smoothed my skirt and folded my fingers around the leather of my Fendi, just to ease my nerves.

I stared up at Magic Nights, and it looked a lot different in daylight. White brick, so clean and brilliant it seemed to glow in the sun, the building took up nearly half the block. Windows glistened blankly, curtains closed tight across them. Neatly trimmed green hedges hugged the edges of the building, and a small, elegant brass plaque by the double front doors proclaimed in swirling script,
Magic Nights

If you didn't know what it was, the building could pass for any upscale business place. I'd never been inside Magic Nights, but I had driven past it at night, all lit up by bright white lights and flashes of color. Music poured out the doors that were harder to get through than the gates at Buckingham Palace.

I'd often wondered why Devlin Cole had chosen to bring his exclusive club to La Sombra. After all, he probably would have done even more business than he did, if the place were in Los Angeles or San Francisco. Maybe his clientele appreciated the smaller-town vibe.

The place was supposed to be a private nightclub, catering to the rich and tacky. But it was pretty common knowledge that it was actually a sex club—where your every fantasy could come true—with the help of your American Express Platinum Card.

And I was finally going to get a look at the inside. My hoo-hah tingled expectantly, but the reality was, the only fantasy of mine that would be satisfied would be snaring the cleaning contract.

I knocked on the front door and waited, stroking my Fendi for luck. If I could get this contract and somehow keep Leo from suing me because of Wacko Granny, all might be almost okay with my little corner of the universe.

When the door opened, I looked up, up, up into a pair of dark, nearly black eyes. The guy had to be six foot five, and next to my miserable five foot five, he looked like a giant. A really
great
-looking giant. I kinda liked that in a man.

He had a strong jaw, and thick, black hair hanging to the collar of the white dress shirt that covered a chest broad enough to tempt any woman to fling herself at it.

“Ms. Burke?” God, his voice was like dark, rich chocolate.

“Yeah?” I think I sighed, but let's not dwell. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I mean, yes. I'm Cassidy Burke.”

“Devlin Cole,” he said and reached out to take my hand in his.

When his fingers curled around mine in a firm shake, my insides lit up, and that tingle in my hoo-hah kicked into high gear again.

All I could think was,
The whole birthday thing is suddenly looking a lot better.

“L
et me show you around,” he said, dropping my hand and stepping back so I could move past him into the club.

My skin was buzzing, but he didn't have to know that. Nodding solemnly, in a perfect imitation of a calm, cool businesswoman, I said, “That's a good idea.”

He walked beside me, taking one long step for every two of mine. “As you can see, it's a big place.” He paused in a wide doorway off the entry hall, and I peeked past him at the main dance floor.

Gleaming wood floors stretched out in what looked like acres of space. Two tiers of tables and chairs formed a semicircle at the far end of the room, and at the opposite side was an elevated stage where a DJ's booth sat dead center. Mirrors lined one whole wall, and instead of wondering just how much glass cleaner that was going to take, I studied my reflection standing beside Devlin Cole's. Wow, we really looked good together.

At least, he looked really good, and anyone standing alongside him sort of basked in the glow. That's okay. I was comfortable with basking.

“I have an industrial crew come in every night to clean the club area,” he was saying, and I had to force myself to pay attention to his words rather than stare at his mouth.

“Okay,” I said, taking a firm grip on the Fendi. “So what do you need me and my company to do?”

He looked down at me and smiled—and, whoa baby, what a smile. He had that whole tall, dark stranger thing going for him anyway, but that smile really put him over the top. The man was a walking orgasm. And, boy howdy, could I use one of those.

“I'd prefer that a smaller company handle the upstairs rooms. Better for business,” he said, “if we maintain a semblance of privacy.”

“Oh, we can provide that,” I said, hearing myself ramble at high speed. “I mean, we can't provide privacy, but we're discreet. Our customers are like family. Well, not family. Better than family, since you don't always like your family, you know. But we take care of our people, and we're quiet. Just really quiet and never discuss clients with anybody. Heck, we hardly even talk.” Oh God.
Shut up, Cassidy.
I took a breath, hoping it would help. When it didn't, I at least went for a change in subject. “This really is an amazing place. I hear you practically have to give blood to get inside.”

“We do have a select clientele.”

Oh, you betcha. The rich, the tacky, the famous and the wannabes all eventually came to La Sombra at some point to fight their way into Magic Nights. There were reporters who would literally kill to get the inside scoop on what happened in here.

Now it was me getting that scoop—and so far, no fatalities. I wasn't going to think about Leo's possible third-degree burns.

“I actually tried to sneak in past your gargoyle on the door one night about ten years ago,” I said, wondering if I should be admitting that—then hey. It was too late. Bag open. Cat out. “Didn't get far.”

“If I'd known you were outside, I'd have made an exception.” His dark eyes flashed with something. Interest?

Oh boy. Flirting 101.

It had been a long time for me, and I wasn't sure how to play this. After all, this was supposed to be a business meeting, but at the same time, how often does a guy like Devlin Cole trot through your life?

Um, let me think…never?

“Next time, I'll mention your name,” I said.

“Next time, I'll invite you,” he said, and the timbre of his voice dropped about three octaves, and the resulting shiver along my spine made me quiver all over.

No doubt that was unintentional. To men like this one, flirting came as naturally as breathing. But I wasn't complaining. This little interview was really going to spice up my fantasies for a while.

He headed for the stairs, and I hurried to keep up with him even though the view from behind was pretty spectacular. Broad shoulders and great butt. Added to that smile, a triple threat.

Lucky me.

His big hand skimmed the polished banister as we walked up the stairs. “Have you lived here long?” he asked.

“All my life.” Boring, I know. Born in La Sombra, raised here, still living here and will probably die right here, too. God, quick, somebody! Find me a biographer!

“Your family's from here, too?”

“No, actually, I'm a princess, but gypsies stole me and brought me to La Sombra.” Crap.
Shut up, Cassidy. Don't let the nervous rambling start again.

He chuckled and I relaxed a little. Probably not a good idea. I ramble when I'm nervous, but I
really
talk when I'm relaxed.

“So how about you? I mean, I know you're not from here, so…where?”

Did he stiffen a little? The moment came and went so fast I wasn't sure. But, hell, maybe he was just a touch more private than someone like me, who has been known to tell perfect strangers things most folks wouldn't confess to a shrink.

“Europe, originally,” he said finally. “I moved here from Cleveland twelve years ago.”

And no accent. A shame, really. A guy like him should have an accent. Something Latin, maybe. Or, God help me, Irish.

“Cleveland?” I asked with a laugh. “Sorry. It's not really funny, but you don't seem like the Midwestern kind of guy. And from Europe to Cleveland. Not exactly the kind of move most people would think to make. You know, sitting at a street café in Paris, you don't usually think, ‘I'm tired of this life. Think I'll move to Cleveland.'”

Somebody stop me!

“I was visiting…friends in Ohio. I didn't stay there long. I don't care for snow.”

“Oh.” Reasonable. “Me, neither. Give me the ocean and an eighty-degree Christmas with Santa in board shorts every time.”

“Hmm…”

Was he bored?

Terrified?

At the head of the stairs he paused, and I took a sec to look around. Even the hallway was pretty spectacular. Long and wide, a thick white—a bitch to keep clean—carpet covered the floor, and the walls were painted a soft, dusky blue. Framed photos dotted the walls, and my gaze went to the closest one.

A naked woman in silhouette, arching over her lover—a man, also in silhouette. Strange, but the shadowed people made the photos even more erotic than they would have been had the figures been well lit.

“You like the photos?”

“Beautiful,” I said and swallowed hard as I glanced at the next one. There, the silhouettes were posed in an acrobatic clinch that made me wonder if
anyone
was really that limber.

“Our photographer has a good imagination,” he said.

“I'll say.”

He grinned at me, then took my arm and steered me to the first door on the right. He opened it and stepped back for me to take a look. Ah,
finally
. I was going to get my first peek at a top-of-the-line fantasy room in an exclusive sex club. I braced myself to maintain a look of sophistication despite being appalled, shocked…
bored
.

Just between us, it was a major letdown.

The whole room was a soft blue. From the thick carpeting to the walls, the ceiling and the oversized pillows—the only furniture in the room—dotting the floor. It was like stepping into the sky. A plush, fabric sky, but still. I walked inside and glanced to my left. On one wall, blue fabric with Velcro straps draped from the ceiling and coiled at the floor. All ready for a little bondage fun. Which in today's world really didn't qualify as kinky.

This kind of thing just wasn't for me, though. The only place I'd want to be tied down was in the freezer at Cold Stone Creamery, and even then, I'd need my right hand free to hold a spoon.

“Well, it'll be easy to vacuum,” I said, on a sigh of disappointment.

“You don't like it?” he asked, one corner of his mouth quirking.

“Oh, um, sure,” I said, not really wanting to offend him or anything. I needed this contract. “It's just that, well, why pay for this when you can stay home and throw a few pillows on the floor for free?”

“Maybe it's not about where you are but who you're with.” His gaze darkened, and my breath caught in my throat.

I shrugged. “If that were true, you'd be out of business.”

“Touché,” he said, then swept out one hand, indicating the room. “Being here is freedom to some. You leave the world behind, and in this room, along with the others, there is only you and whoever is sharing the room with you.” He looked into my eyes, and I swear I
felt
my mouth go dry. “Here, there are no distractions. Nothing to come between you and the fantasy.”

“Okay, now, that makes sense,” I said when I thought my voice would work without a squeak. After all, if Devlin Cole was in the room, I was pretty sure no woman alive would be looking at the décor.

“And every room has a different theme,” he said, taking hold of my elbow with his long fingers.

Plenty of strength in that grip, and I could have sworn I felt the heat of his fingertips sizzling straight through the fabric of my jacket. Couldn't help wondering how much hotter the heat would be skin on skin. Then I scrapped that thought and ordered my hoo-hah to take a nap. It didn't listen.

“But not all of the rooms are used every day. I'd only need your company twice a week. Early mornings are best for me.”

“Uh-huh,” I said as he showed me a room that boasted a two-seater velvet swing hanging from the ceiling on silver chains. Wow. Okay, this was better. More what I was expecting to see here. Could you really do it while swinging? Who kept balance? The one on top? And how would you stay on top while the swing was moving?

Who the hell cared?

He was talking, and I really tried to focus on his words even while a part of my brain was spinning as it tried to tick off rooms, square footage and the hourly rate for cleaning it all. Figuring out the bid for this contract was going to be so much fun. Well, fun for me, since Thea would be doing the actual math parts.

Still, happy little potential dollar signs were flashing in my mind. Though it really would have been easier to plot and add and multiply if Thea were there.

Not that she would be. I try to be an understanding, extremely cool mom, but I do draw the line every now and then, and sex clubs are definitely “over the line” places.

“Ms. Burke, I checked out your company after we spoke on the phone last week.”

Crap. Could he find out that I'd recently bounced a couple of checks?

“And?”

“You have good references.” He shrugged those big shoulders. “But you're a small business. Only a few employees.”

Even fewer today, I thought, but thankfully didn't say. Besides, it didn't matter. The minute I wrangled this contract, I could hire a couple more women. No more college students for me, though. This time, I'd listen to Carmen and hire some of her cousins.

“But you just said you preferred a smaller company for privacy reasons.”

“So I did.”

“We may be small, but we're good.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “So I hear. In fact, Davis Howell swears you're the best at what you do. That you're efficient and discreet.”

I had to smile. Davis Howell thinks bologna is a gourmet treat. But, hey, who am I to argue? “Davis is a sweetie.”

“Not many people think of the DA as a sweetie.”

“I'm not most people.”

“I'm sensing that.”

“Good.” I gave him a smile because (a) I really wanted this job, and (b) it's hard to
not
smile at a guy who looks like Devlin Cole. “Clean Sweep can take very good care of your place, Mr. Cole.”

“Devlin.”

“Devlin.”

“Would you like to see the rest of the place now?”

“Oh,” I said, grinning now. “You bet. I need as much information as I can get to put my official bid together. I can have it to you by the end of the week.” As soon as Thea did the actual math.

“I'm impressed.”

Impressed was way better than terrified or bored. Feeling better about the whole situation, I headed on down the hall to peek into the next room.

This one looked like a cave. The walls had been plastered, then sculpted, then painted gray to resemble rock walls. The fireplace looked as though it had been hewn from solid rock, and stone benches had faux-fur rugs thrown across them. Wow. Made me want to strip down and roll around on the furs for a while. Until I remembered somebody else already had been.

Ew. “The You Tarzan, Me Jane room,” I muttered, walking inside and doing a slow turn. “So, will you want us to, um, wash these furs every day or just vacuum?”

“Vacuuming is fine. Heavy cleaning once a week or so.”

Oh, I didn't want to think about how much action those furs saw in a week. Mentally, I added an extra box of rubber gloves to the bid.