He’d been marked hard by his heritage.

“Yeah, way back in the day.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Back in the day.”

Silence fell between them again, a silence underscored by the low growling rumble of the car- and anticipation. She felt it descending like a curtain, hot and silky, around them. He’d kissed her, and she wanted him to kiss her again-Esme the Desperate.

Oh, babe. Johnny looked down at the top of her head where she was bent over his arm, her fingers still warm on his skin. She had no idea how beautiful she was; she never had. Being smart, that had always been her personal claim to fame, and she’d completely missed what everybody else understood-that she was gorgeous.

She didn’t know it, but Kevin Harrell hadn’t been the first guy he’d fought for her. A number of young punks had set their sights on her over the years, la rubia, the blonde, starting way back in seventh grade. He didn’t know about the jerks in grade school, but he’d never doubted for a second that there had been a few. Lucky for them, he’d been at St. Catherine’s while Esme had been at Bennington. The playground had been safer for it.

Despite his chosen profession, violence wasn’t ever his first choice for conflict resolution, unless it was armed conflict-then violence came swift and hard. Winning was the only parameter in armed conflict, in combat. But the whole guy thing with girls was so physical it naturally lent itself to physical confrontation. Guys always wanted to get in a girl’s pants, and other guys knew this, and that’s why they got so pissed off. So when a thirteen-yearold cholo at Campbell Junior High had started talking like he’d had her in the band room, Johnny had called him out. It hadn’t taken more than a little half-assed scuffling to solve the problem, but a pattern had been set.

There was more than one reason she hadn’t had a date in high school. Most of it had been her reluctance, and her shyness, and her holier-bettersmarter-than-you attitude, and the rest of it had been him. He’d traveled the world with the U.S. Army, but from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, in Ms. Trent’s class, his reaction had been pure barrio boy, and he’d never outgrown it, not where she was concerned.

Esme Alexandria Alden, the Unattainable One- when he’d left her in the car in the alley at Duce’s, he’d made it clear to the Arañas not to touch her. Next time he would be adding “Don’t breathe on her.” Those cholos had been breathing all over her by the time he’d gotten back to the Cyclone.

Yeah, he knew exactly why he’d followed her into the Oxford. He knew exactly what he wanted.

And now here she was, so damn close he could smell her, and not just the honeysuckle and summer garden scent of her perfume. He could smell her-the underlying female scent of warm skin and soft breath, of the back of her neck and the lace of her lingerie, a push-up bra and panties curved around just about everything he wanted to get his mouth on.

And she wanted to be kissed.

With Solange rumbling beneath them, and desire building between them, with the night in front of them, and long years of fascination behind them, she wanted to be kissed.

Geezus. He didn’t know if he had it in him-to kiss her. To just kiss her. He’d done it in the alley, but he’d barely touched her, and this time she was already practically in his lap, the heat of where she was touching his arm quickly and inexorably spreading, covering the whole front of his body, a good portion of it settling in his groin, which wasn’t going to do either of them any good parked at the side of the street with traffic going by.

And yet… and yet if he tilted his head slightly to one side he could see down the front of her jacket, and there wasn’t a barrio boy alive who could resist such a beautiful pair of tetas.

She was so lovely, the lace demicups of her bra working overtime, the nape of her neck exposed, golden tendrils of hair sliding loose from her up-twist and lying like a path to be followed across her skin.

He lifted his free hand and cupped the tender line of her jaw, but this time when he lowered his mouth he pulled her close, really close, meeting her more than halfway across the console and sliding his other arm around her waist, under her jacket, and yeah, he had to skirt her shoulder holster, and yeah, he was being damn careful, but he was also kissing her flat-out, tongue to tonsils, baby, his mouth angled over hers, teasing her, and tasting her, and sucking on her just enough to let her know this was not finished between them, not tonight.

Geezus, she had a beautiful mouth. He loved the way her teeth fit together. He loved the softness of her tongue. He loved the way she was kissing him back.

Yeah, she’d grown up in the years since they’d gotten hot and heavy in the mighty Roxanne. She knew where they were going this time, and from the way she was clinging to him, she knew he was the guy to take her there.

First, though, dammit, he had to get her up to Genesee, and get the cash to neutralize Bleak. But in between Genesee and Bleak, he was taking her to his place in Commerce City.

Yeah, with a soft, hot blonde by his side, with Easy Alex next to him, he could face it. He could face going home.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“That goddamn Cyclone sleeper, you mean?” Bleak said into the phone. “Yeah, yeah, Dovey, I’ve seen it running through Commerce City. Hell, it’s been in this town longer than I have. I’ve seen it parked at that damn garage over on Vine and Hoover. What the hell is Esme Alden doing in a big old Merc like that? Who’s this guy with the car?”

“His name is Johnny Ramos, Mr. Bleak,” Dovey said. “He’s one of the Locos. His brother, Dom, used to run the gang.”

Not what Franklin wanted to hear.

He swiveled around in his chair, taking his feet off the desk and planting them firmly on the carpet.

“Is she fucking him, Dovey? Is that what you’re telling me?” That some-fucking-how, this little bit of information about Burt-fucking-Alden’s daughter being the girlfriend of one of Baby Duce’s boys had not been unearthed some-fucking-where along the line?

This was not good. Crossing Baby Duce was out of the question. That was how guys got whacked.

“I don’t know, Mr. Bleak. I didn’t get a clear look at him until they got to his car, and then I recognized him, and yes, sir, maybe they’re dating or something. They used to have a thing going in high school, and he sure grabbed hold of her and started hauling her around like she belonged to him.”

Not what Franklin wanted to hear.

He sliced his gaze to the photograph of Katherine Gray on his desk. She was a first-class looker. There wasn’t a man on earth who wouldn’t recognize her for what she was-a grade-A, first-class looker. But maybe a piece of late-night cable TV ass was going to be pricier than Bleak was willing to pay.

Not that it mattered now. Goddammit. He was already into this deal up to his neck, whether he got to have lunch with Katherine Gray or not. The Chicago boys were going to be pulling up in front of his damn warehouse at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and Franklin needed to be waiting for them with cash in hand.

Which he had, except for Burt Alden’s eighty-two thousand dollars.

Goddammit.

“Mitch and Leroy are on this car now?”

“Yes, sir. They caught a look at it on Market, then lost it, so I told ’em to head over to Delgany, to Duce’s, and just see if that’s where Ramos had gone. He’d sure been heading in that direction, and it’s Friday night, still early, time for the homeboys to check in.”

Franklin pushed out of his chair and walked over to the windows overlooking his betting room.

“The car was there, in the alley, but I told them not to take her at Duce’s,” Dovey said.