Mischief in Miami

  The other girls might have been a bit bustier, but mine were real.

  A girl with real boobs in Miami was harder to come by than a virgin wife.

  “Sorry,” I said to Mr. Silva, who was having a tough time making eye contact, “I thought I was alone.”

  When his eyes scanned my face, his smile tilted higher on one side. Oh, yeah. He remembered me. “And here I thought I was in the man’s lounge.”

  I stared pointedly at the no-longer-giggling women. “Looks like you’re outnumbered.”

  His gaze faltered again. “Lucky me.”

  I’d given him enough of the show for free. “I’ll let you get back to it.” I turned my back on the trio and wandered over to my stuff.

  I smiled when I heard a couple of female grumbles. He was following me.

  I acted surprised when he shouldered up beside me, of course. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

  I couldn’t even allow myself a small smile. I couldn’t let him know I was pleased. I gave him another fuck-you face. “Not you, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked.” He leaned a shoulder into the wall as I slipped into my heels.

  I glanced at his crotch, where something was prominently on display, and lifted an eyebrow.

  He shrugged and didn’t appear the least bit ashamed. “A beautiful woman with an equally beautiful rack is two feet in front of me. I’d be concerned if my johnson wasn’t at full attention.” That wasn’t just full attention. That bulge was at holy-shit attention. “So, I’ll repeat myself. What are you doing tonight?” If he stared at my boobs any longer, he would bust something.

  That’s exactly where I wanted him. Facing him, I gave him a better view for a split second before slipping my dress over my head. Puppy dogs couldn’t look so sad. “Monogamy. That’s what I’m planning on doing tonight. And tomorrow night. And the night after that. You should give it a try some time.” I tossed my bikini top into my purse and gave him an expectant look.

  “For a woman like you, I just might be tempted to,” was his reply.

  I’d never heard that line before . . .

  “If you ever find yourself so tempted one day,” I said, passing him on my way to the door, “let me know.”

  I felt his eyes watching me intently, like a predator deciding just how to attack. The Mr. Silvas of the world didn’t realize they weren’t at the top of the food chain though.

  I was.

  “Daniel!” he called after me. “And I’ll be letting you know soon!”

  I shot a wave at the girls giving me impressive glares. This isn’t the kiddie pool, girls. You’re swimming with the sharks now. “Sienna,” I replied over my shoulder, giving Daniel his first small smile. Women needed to better understand they couldn’t give anything away for free when it came to a man, a smile included. He had to work for it, he had to earn it because . . . he wanted to work for it, he needed to earn it. “And I won’t hold my breath.”

  I walked out of the country club knowing I wouldn’t have to look for Mr. Silva anymore. Daniel would come looking for me.

  I WAS LOUNGING on the balcony of my hotel room when one of my three cell phones rang. It was the G-designated one. She never just called to shoot the shit, so either something was very wrong or very right.

  I answered the call and hoped for the best. “Bonjour, Madame G.”

  “Closed the Silva case yet?” was her warm greeting.

  I smiled. If something was wrong, G would have gotten straight to it. She wouldn’t have been making—at least, according to G—small talk.

  “Almost,” I replied.

  “Almost as in sometime this week, or almost as in sometime this month?” G’s voice could have been considered feminine if she didn’t deliver each word as if it was a threat.

  “Almost as in tomorrow night if I was confident Mrs. Silva could handle knowing I’d managed to seduce her husband in less than a few days. Out of respect for her, and because this guy is really a tool who deserves every bit of discomfort from the blue balls he’ll get waiting for me, I’m going to wait a few more days to wrap things up.” I sighed when I looked around at everything else I’d be wrapping up. Miami just a few minutes before sunset was like something from a dream. “Although I wouldn’t mind it if you found me another case to work out here.”

  “Speaking of new cases . . . guess who I got a call from this morning?”

  My heart went into my throat. “Young, unhappy wife of an Eight, possibly a Nine, from Miami?”

  “You’re right except for the Miami part. She’s from Seattle. She was just down in Miami for the weekend.”

  “And . . .?” It would be a big job, and I wanted it.

  “And if she decides to contract the Eves, you may end up with the job,” she replied. “You know as well as I do that if I find another Eve’s physical assets to be a better fit, you won’t get the Errand.”

  I rolled my eyes only because G wasn’t in front of me. If I ever tried that in front of her, I’d be the one found dead in a back alley a week later. “Come on, G. You know as well as I do I can transform myself into whatever version of a wet dream Mr. Eight or Nine needs. I want that Errand.”

  “Then let’s hope Mr. MoneyBags likes a tall, slim, busty build because stylists and surgeons can morph you to a certain degree, but no one except for the Maker could turn you into a short, athletically-built Asian. Sorry, love.” G didn’t sound irritated, she rarely showed emotion, but I knew I’d be pressing my luck if I pushed again.

  All I could do was hope the big Eight or Nine forthcoming was an aficionado to my brand of woman. Plenty of men were, but that didn’t mean every man was. That didn’t mean he would be.

  “Anything else?” I asked, knowing there wasn’t. G was all business, all the time. In fact, I didn’t know a single personal thing about her, including her real name.

  “Nothing else for now.”

  “Good night, G. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

  G chuckled a few notes. “And I’d say good luck if I thought you needed it.”

  After I hung up, I laid back down on the lounger to try to soak up the last few rays of sun. Not even a full minute later, a knock sounded on the door inside my room. No one knew I was there and I hadn’t ordered room service, so I was tempted to grab the little Lady Smith I kept hidden in the nightstand for emergencies. After a quick look through the peephole, I saw I didn’t need to answer with guns blazing.

  I could have slid into a cover-up, but it was South Beach. People would have gone to work in their swimsuits if it was allowed. I swung the door open and tried not to smile when the bellman’s mouth about dropped to the floor. I was only twenty-five, but I was only intimate with men ten, twenty, and sometimes even thirty years older than me. It was nice to be reminded I could turn the head of a guy my own age.

  “Can I help you?” I asked after a few seconds.

  The bellman shook his head a couple of times and picked his jaw up off the floor. “This was left for you at the front desk.” He held out an envelope.

  I gave it a curious look. G wouldn’t leave me mail at the front desk and Mrs. Silva better not be, so who in the world would have left that for me? “Who left it?”

  The bellman shrugged. “I don’t know. My manager just asked me to run it up here.”

  I could stand there staring all day, or I could rip it open and unveil the mystery. Grabbing my wallet off of the desk, I tipped the bellman, thanked him, and closed the door.

  I tore that sucker open quickly. The sooner I figured out who had sent it, the sooner I could figure out what the hell to do about it. Of all the things I imagined could be contained in that envelope—blackmail, photos, a microchip—the last thing I’d expected was a couple of tickets to Nice, France, complete with a note scratched down on the back of a business card.

  In case the mood to swim topless strikes you again. I wouldn’t want to miss it.

  The business card said Daniel Silva, Owner and
Manager of The Pleasure Room, complete with his business and cell phone numbers.

  The first thing that hit me was that he’d been ballsy enough to send me his business card. I didn’t doubt a simple “Daniel Silva” typed into a search engine would result in a life history, including a mention of a Mrs. Silva. So why had he done it? Because he didn’t think I’d Google him? Because he wanted me to have his phone number? No, I guessed he wanted to impress me. A business card said what he couldn’t without sounding like a pretentious asshole. He was the owner of one of the nation’s most notorious nightclubs. He had money, status, and power.

  If Mr. Silva knew I already knew exactly how much was in his bank account, along with the balance in his offshore accounts, I doubted he’d send me tickets to the south of France.

  The second thing that hit me was that, somehow, he’d figured out where I was staying. That was disturbing on a bunch of levels. He’d either had me followed, followed me himself, or had someone looking into me. I didn’t like the idea of being looked into, especially when I was the one who was supposed to be doing the “looking into.”

  It wasn’t the first over-the-top gift I’d had thrown at me, but it was the first time the Target had tracked me down and had it delivered to my room. Well, neither would do.

  Ten minutes later, I’d changed, packed, and was at the front desk checking out.

  “Is there anything else we can do for you, Miss Stevens?” the receptionist asked.

  “Yeah.” I handed her the envelope I’d addressed before leaving my room. It contained two tickets to Nice, along with my own note that read: In case the mood to try monogamy strikes you, here’s my number. “Do you think a bellman would be up to hand delivering this if I gave him a nice tip?”

  She inspected me purposefully before taking the letter. “I think the bellman would be up to hand delivering this if you asked one of them real nice and nothing else. But if you want to leave a tip, I’ll make sure the bellman gets both.”

  “For the bellman,”—I slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter, and then one more—“and for you.”

  She was about to open her mouth when I cut her off. “I appreciate your help and hospitality.” I headed out the doors before she could object, but I’m pretty sure I heard a few mumbled words of thanks.

  I still wanted to be on the beach, but I wanted to put some distance between the last hotel and my new one. After circling Ocean Drive a couple of times, I settled on a quieter hotel that wasn’t right in the middle of it all. It wasn’t quite as luxurious as the last hotel, but the suite was bigger. Once I’d unpacked, I wandered into the bathroom to take a bath.

  I avoided the full length mirror on the wall as well as the one over the sink. I knew that for most women, mirrors were either their best friends or their worst enemies, but for me, they were more like ghosts. I was conscious of them, but I did my best to ignore them.

  I’d been soaking for all of five minutes before one of my phones chimed. I groaned, but I fumbled through my handbag until I found the ringing phone.

  Shit. That was fast.

  I took a moment to compose myself before answering. “Hello.”

  “I’m struck with monogamy.”

  Of course he was. Most men are struck with anything if you give them enough motivation.

  “And why do I find that hard to believe?”

  “Because you’re you and I’m me,” Daniel said. “That’s why.”

  That was the first true thing I’d heard him say.

  “I take it you’re calling because you received my envelope.”

  “Those were first-class tickets, you know? A woman’s a fool to turn those down.”

  “Or maybe you’re the fool for giving them to a woman you barely know,” I replied.

  He didn’t have an immediate response. “Maybe, but I feel a little foolish when I’m around you.”

  Good. Then I was doing my job.

  “You act a little foolish when you’re around me,” I replied. Then, because the sooner I closed out the Silva file, the sooner I could be finished with the Mr. Silva, I turned the faucet on with my toe so water started trickling into the tub.

  “Do you need any help?” he asked, his voice low and confident.

  Cocky bastard.

  “None that requires your assistance,” I nearly snapped back.

  “So what am I supposed to do now that I know, wherever you are right now, you’re naked and probably soaping that beautiful body of yours?”

  Add brazen to the cocky bastard lineup.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t you go find one of those four girls I’ve seen you with over the past few days? I’m sure they’ve got something that could help you out.”

  Daniel chuckled. “They’ve got something that could help me out, but not the thing to help me out.”

  “If you hadn’t tracked me down at my hotel to deliver airline tickets to Nice, I’d ask you who you think’s got the thing to help you, but that would make me seem dumb or naive.”

  “Which you are neither,” he answered.

  “Flattery gets you nowhere with me.”

  “And honesty won’t either.”

  Hmm.Another kernel of truth from the mouth of Daniel Silva. “I’m afraid you’re right.” I turned the water back off.

  “Which is why I must have the opportunity to see if I’m wrong. Just in case. We owe it to ourselves.”

  “We owe what to ourselves?” I asked. I’d heard the answer to that question so many times, I could mouth it word for word before the Target even replied.

  “To find out if the chemistry that sparks to life when I just look at you transfers into everything else.”

  Translation: I want to fuck you sideways, backward, frontward, and maybe even while you’re running because I’m an impulsive little boy stuck in a man’s body who never had anyone tell him no when he was growing up.

  “What are you asking, Daniel?” I said with a sigh. “Because I’m not going to the French Riviera with you. I’m not really your south of France type of girl.”

  “Every girl is your south of France type of girl.”

  “Not this one. I think you’ll find me different from every other girl you’ve ever known.” He had no idea just how different. The wives knew about us Eves, but the husbands never did. Other than getting caught on camera with a siren they just couldn’t say no to, the only thing they realized at the end of it all was that half of their fortune was leaving with their wife.

  “So does different-from-every-other-girl Sienna want to have dinner with me tomorrow?” He still sounded pretty damn sure of himself, but not as much as he had in our earlier conversations. I had him back on his toes, following after that carrot I’d dangled just in front of his face. I could ease off of the hard-to-get act.

  “If by dinner you mean food and a good bottle of wine and nothing more, then okay,” I said.

  Another silence on the other end, but it was quickly over. “Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. I’ll send a driver to pick you up.”

  “Since someone went all secret agent on me, I moved. You don’t know where I am.” I smiled. I loved it when I could stay not one, but two steps ahead of the Target.

  “Sienna, I know exactly where you are. I know exactly when you checked in,” he replied in a low voice. It wasn’t creepy, just . . . menacing. Dominant. “I even know what room you’re in.”

  Just then, someone knocked on the door. I flinched, but I thankfully didn’t make any audible noise.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Daniel said before ending the call.

  Another knock sounded before I’d crawled out of the tub and into a bathrobe. If that was Daniel on the other side of the door, I wouldn’t be happy. I would be supremely pissed.

  However, if that smug face of his was waiting for me, I couldn’t do what a normal boy pursuing girl relationship allowed. I couldn’t slap his cheek or yell at him to go get bent, because our relationship wasn’t “normal.” This wasn’t a sur
reptitious man meets woman, woes woman, pisses woman off kind of thing. This was a job. I was an actor on a stage giving the performance of my life.

  Still, I sighed with relief when I checked the peephole. Only a bellman. He’d better not have an envelope with a couple of first-class tickets to Tahiti in his hand or else I’d send them back, too.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” the elderly bellman greeted as he held out a large silver box.

  Daniel was persistent. Most of them were. It made my job easier.

  “Thank you.” I took the package and set it on the sofa table before rushing back to the bathroom to pull a tip from my wallet. I was going through tip money faster than normal on that trip, thanks to Daniel and his extravagant gifts.

  “Anything else I can get you this evening, ma’am?” the bellman asked, nodding his head as I handed him the tip.

  “Yeah,” I said. “If any more gifts, envelopes, or packages arrive for me, please just don’t accept them. It saves me from having to send them back.”

  “Can do, ma’am,” the bellman said with a chuckle as he headed for the elevator. “Man troubles?”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “Always.”

  IT WAS A dress. A nice one. The price tag had been removed, but I didn’t need it to know that Daniel had spent five figures. It was red, curve-hugging, and cleavage-showing. Mrs. Silva really did know her husband. It was a gorgeous gown, something I could have picked out, but as I got ready the next night for our dinner date, it stayed in the box.

  If I wore that dress, it would be a mini-surrender. It would be a victory, and I couldn’t give him that victory yet. I had to keep him motivated, and if I caved even a bit, he would believe the ball was back in his court.

  Which it wasn’t.

  With men like Daniel, I had to keep them in such a crazed state that when the time came, I could dictate the time and location of our “consummation,” and they wouldn’t only be there, they’d be there bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Keeping the Target motivated, crazed, and eager to please was the very crux of the Eve business. Spontaneous sex or giving-yourself-to-the-moment didn’t get husbands caught cheating on film.