Beneath The Silk. Wendy Rosnau
shirt clung to his chest and disappeared into his jeans as if he were one smooth column of steel.
“This is Sunita Blais. Sunni to her close friends.” Joey reached out and covered her hand with his, claiming her as if she were something he’d bought and paid for months ago. “Sunni, this is an old friend of mine. Jackson’s mama owns this place.”
His mother owned the restaurant?
Sunni caught Rambo’s gaze linger a moment on Joey’s hand covering hers, then his interest shifted to the low bodice of her red V-neck silk shift. He took his time sizing up her cleavage. It was on purpose, she decided. A reminder that he’d already seen her—seen her very close to naked standing in front of her bedroom window.
“You look familiar…Sunni.” He finally pulled his gaze off her chest to study her face. “Have we met somewhere?”
He knew damn well they hadn’t officially met, and yet they had in an unorthodox way she would just as soon forget. She wanted to tell him just what she thought of a man who would feast his eyes on an unsuspecting woman who was in the middle of changing her clothes, but somehow chastising the man who had been following her for the past three days, and quite possibly had been sent to kill her, seemed almost funny.
“Sunni?”
“Hah…” She blinked at the sound of Joey’s voice. It was then that she realized she’d been caught musing, that Joey was squeezing her hand, and both men were staring at her waiting for her response. She cleared her throat, sure her face matched the color of her red dress. “No, we’ve never met.”
A private, just-for-her twinkle entered his eyes, and another avalanche of chills washed over Sunni’s entire body.
“What kind of business are you in, Sunni? Anything I would be interested in?”
He was toying with her. He’d followed her to work, he’d watched her buy groceries. He knew where she banked. And as far as being interested in her business… Men, no matter how diverse their professions, were always interested in what a woman took off last.
Yes, Silks sold feel-good fantasy on a hanger. She hadn’t thought about it in quite that way when she’d opened the doors a few years ago, but it was a necessary marketing tool in the competitive world of retail.
Her private musing had again created dead silence. Luckily, like before, Joey came to the rescue. “Sunni owns an exclusive silk shop at Masado Towers. You’ll have to check it out when you come by to see me. You’re coming, right?”
“Yeah, tomorrow. I just got into town.”
That was a lie. He’d been following her for three days.
Rambo eyed her half-eaten plate of food. “Didn’t like your veal pizzaiola, Miss Blais?”
Nothing about this man should surprise her. But taking notice of what she’d ordered was unexpected. Again she faltered for words, and again, Joey came to her rescue. “Tell Vina the food was as good as ever.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Joey let go of her hand and reached for his half-full wineglass. “Tomorrow, mio fratello, I’ll give you a tour and we’ll catch up.”
Joey had just called Rambo his brother. Knowing that wasn’t true in the literal sense, she decided that he was definitely connected in some way to the mob.
He started to turn away, then stopped, his eyes fastening on Sunni’s cleavage…then on her face. Grinning, he said, “It’s been a pleasure seeing you. I look forward to next time.”
Dangerous or not—this man needed to know she wasn’t going to go down easy. And he needed to know there was more beneath her red silk dress than a memorable set of bubbles. She also had long legs that could run a six-minute mile. And she was no slouch on the firing range with her .22 automatic.
Chin raised, Sunni corrected him. “You mean meeting me, don’t you…Jackson?”
Undaunted by her challenge, his grin opened up. “That, too, Sunni.”
“What was that?” Jackson’s mother asked the minute he returned to his chair.
“What was what, Ma?”
“You were flirting with Joey’s girlfriend. Instead of ogling his lady, you should be pleased that he’s dating again and looking so happy.”
“Don’t you mean still alive and breathing, Ma?”
Lavina’s scowl sent her glasses to the end of her nose. “Jackson, your nasty side is showing again.”
He reached across the table and shoved his mother’s glasses back up. “Joe’s doing what he does best, Ma. What all the Masados do best. I accepted that a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“I admit I worry about those two boys.”
“Joe’s got bodyguards watching his back. Lucky doesn’t need any. Don’t lose sleep over it, Ma.”
“What both of those boys need is their best friend showing them a little more compassion.”
“They need more than that, Ma. They need Frank shipped off to another planet so they can breathe some fresh air.”
Lavina Ward reached out and patted her son’s hand. “Joey looked good, though, didn’t he? So handsome in that shiny suit. Why don’t you get yourself a suit like that?”
“Because I don’t have two grand to blow, Ma.”
“That suit cost that much?”
“He’s Frank’s money machine, Ma. Remember?”
“What he is, Jackson, is your best friend.”
Yes, he and Joe were friends. Lucky, too. They had formed the Brotherhood when they had been three small boys with no last names, just watching cartoons and playing in his ma’s backyard. But then the boys grew into men. Frank put Joe in an expensive suit and Lucky on the street with a gun in his hand, and everything after that had gotten complicated.
Jackson still didn’t understand it, and he knew he probably never would. He was a cop and they were syndicate connected. And still they were his…fratelli.
He nodded to Joe as his friend escorted Sunni Blais out of the restaurant, half listening to his mother.
“I said, I wonder what happened between Joey and Sophia D’Lano. They were engaged for over a year, and then he just up and broke it off.”
“I heard Frank’s still trying to put it back together.”
“See, I knew you were keeping track of things back home.”
His mother’s smile was smug as a bug. “Okay, Ma, so I’ve kept an eye on Joe and Lucky from a distance. What of it?”
“Nothing. It’s just nice to hear, is all.”
Jackson leaned back and studied his mother. Her black hair had turned gray and she was sporting a few more age lines around her soft brown eyes. Still, she was a pretty woman for fifty-seven. Best of all, she looked happy. He supposed he owed that to Charlie. The retired military man had moved in across the street five years ago, and had been trying to attract his mother’s attention from day one. Recently, in their weekly phone conversations, she’d mentioned him with more frequency.
Attaboy, Charlie, Jackson thought—his mother deserved some happiness. She’d been alone for too many years.
Back on track, he asked, “Do you know Sunni Blais, the woman with Joe tonight?”
“Not before last week. She’s the woman the police are investigating in the Tandi murder.”
“Did she do it?” Jackson watched his mother’s reaction to the question.
“How should I know?”
“There’re