Sexy Silent Nights. Cara Summers
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combination of intelligence and excellent instincts.
But if he called her, he’d also have her in his bed again.
He pressed his hands against his eyes and rubbed. He didn’t have to decide tonight. In the morning, he was flying to Denver to attend the annual Christmas party at the Denver Boys and Girls Club, a place he’d been running for years with Gabe and Nash. They’d opened the club when the St. Francis Center for Boys, the place where they’d all first met, had closed down. He’d discuss the box and the note with Gabe.
Jonah moved toward the spiral staircase to his loft. And there was always the chance that tonight would be the night that Cilla Michaels finally faded from his dreams.
CILLA JOLTED AWAKE AND TRIED to focus. Relief came when she realized she’d fallen asleep on the couch and not in her bed. During the past three weeks, she’d rationed the hours she allowed herself to spend in her bed.
Because the damn thing was cursed.
Each time she fell asleep in it she dreamed of Jonah Stone touching her, tormenting her, taking her.
And each time she woke up to find herself alone, she yearned for him. So avoiding her bed had become almost as important as avoiding Jonah.
Which was why she’d ended up dozing off on her couch during a Christmas movie marathon on the Hallmark Channel. The credits for Miracle on 34th Street were rolling down the screen. A quick glance at the time on her digital TV box confirmed that she’d dozed off for nearly twenty minutes.
That pissed her off.
Not only had she missed her favorite part of the movie, the part where Kris Kringle proves he really is Santa Claus, but she’d also missed the cheese and crackers. The plate sitting on the cushion beside her was now empty.
She glared at her cat. Flash, a plumply proportioned calico, lay stretched serenely along the arm of the sofa, a good distance from the scene of the crime.
Pets were not allowed at The Manderly Apartments, a rule that was explicitly spelled out in the lease and articulated equally clearly by the apartment manager, Mrs. Ortiz, a woman who reminded Cilla eerily of Mrs. Danvers in the old Rebecca movie.
But Flash hadn’t given Cilla much choice. When she’d moved in a few months ago, the calico had migrated from its former home on the fire escape to the living room via an open window. And stayed.
It had to be for either the food or the conversation since the cat wouldn’t allow her to stroke, cuddle or even pick her up most of the time.
“You’re supposed to share,” Cilla pointed out.
Flash’s bland expression clearly said, “You snooze, you lose.”
Her phone rang and the caller ID lady chimed, “Call from Wilder, Gabe.”
Cilla sprang from the sofa and raced for her desk. Gabe headed up G.W. Securities’ home base in Denver. Two months ago he’d given her a new beginning by hiring her to manage his branch office in San Francisco when she’d moved on from a personal security agency in L.A. Gabe wouldn’t be calling her at home on her night off if it wasn’t important.
Maybe he even had a job for her. Business had been good lately. G.W. Securities offered a variety of services to corporate as well as private clients. Lots of people wanted to give security systems for Christmas, and she enjoyed the challenge of working on their design. But there were times when she missed the action that came with providing personal security.
Mentally crossing her fingers, she grabbed the receiver on the third ring. “Gabe.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“Not at all.” The cheese and crackers were gone, her favorite movie was over, and working would give her a perfect excuse to avoid her bed.
“I need a favor,” Gabe said.
Cilla’s heart sank. Not a job after all. “What can I do?”
“I want you to meet someone at the airport and make sure he gets home safely. He’s not a client. He doesn’t even know I’m making this phone call.”
Hearing the worry in his voice, Cilla reached for a pen and paper. “Who is he and what time does his plane touch down?”
On the other end of the line, Gabe expelled a breath. “Thanks, Cilla. It’s Jonah Stone and he’s due to arrive in San Francisco at 10:15. There was a lengthy delay because of the weather here in Denver. I was hoping the flight would be canceled, but he’s on his way.”
Jonah Stone.
Just the mention of his name had her heart skipping a beat. His image flashed into her mind—all that glorious dark hair, the handsome face with its sharp cheekbones, clearly defined chin with just that hint of a cleft, and the dark gray eyes… Just thinking about him made her knees weak and she carefully lowered herself into her desk chair.
“Jonah’s not going to like that I’m sending you,” Gabe said.
Cilla didn’t imagine that he would. She’d had a chance to explore every inch of that taut, toned, amazing body. Jonah was a man who could handle himself on a physical level pretty well. That was definitely part of what made him so damned attractive.
More than once since their night in Denver, she’d regretted the fact that he was on her Forbidden Fruit list. More than once, she’d run over the reasons why. She’d done a little research on him. According to Gabe, the man had a real talent for hacking and electronic security, and right out of college, he’d helped Gabe establish G.W. Securities and continued to work there while he’d recruited backers for a supper club in San Francisco. In the past six years, he’d opened two more clubs and others were in the planning stages. A man that successful had to put business first just as her father had.
And still did. Bradley Michaels was handsome, charming and currently working as the CEO of his fourth company. There’d been no time in his life for her mother or her. Not even at Christmas. Christmas had been his time to focus even more on the business and entertaining. After five years of playing second fiddle, her mother had divorced him, and since then Cilla’s contact with her father had been limited to phone calls on her birthday and Christmas.
“I’m worried about Jonah,” Gabe said.
“Why?”
“Because he’s worried enough to cancel his plans and fly back to San Francisco early. He received a threatening note today. It was inside a green box tied with red ribbon and hand delivered to him while he was at a Christmas party he and Father Mike Flynn and I were throwing for the Boys and Girls Club we run here in Denver. I have some people still working on the box and the ribbon, but there were no prints, and I’ve had no luck tracking down the sender. He or she wore a Santa suit and sent it in with one of the kids. An early present for Mr. Stone. I’ll send the contents of the note right now in a text.”
Cilla grabbed her cell phone. “It’s the first one he’s received?”
“No. I asked him that right away and he admitted getting one yesterday during the height of the cocktail hour at Pleasures.”
“I’ve got the text.” Then she read it aloud.
“‘’Tis the season for remembering Christmases past. Pleasures and fortune are fleeting. You destroyed an innocent life in pursuit of yours. You’ll pay for that soon. Five nights and counting…’”
Today was the twentieth of December. Cilla did the math in her head. “Five nights until Christmas.”
“Yeah. The first had the exact same message except that it read, ‘Six nights and counting…’”
Holding the phone pressed to her ear, Cilla rose and began to pace. “The first one is delivered to his club here in San Francisco, the next to Denver. The sender wants him to know that someone’s keeping close tabs on him.”
“We think along the same lines,