Three Little Mistakes Read online

  for my husband

  chapter

  ONE

  JOSEPH

  What the fuck was this girl doing at my club?

  She looked like she couldn’t be a day over twenty, which meant I had an issue with the door. Someone wasn’t checking the IDs, or not looking at the photos close enough. I’d have to talk to my manager about that, again.

  The girl stood in a semi-circle with her friends, a half-empty drink in her hand while she surveyed the selection of men nearby. From my vantage-point on the second floor balcony, I saw the dark roots of her hair, giving way to pale, dusty blonde streaking down that glowed in the low light pulsing from the DJ booth.

  She laughed and touched one of her friends on the arm. Calm. Casual. Like she had every right to be here, and wasn’t jeopardizing my club’s liquor license simply with her presence. Annoyance flared and made my skin hot. Perhaps I should have given my staff the benefit of the doubt. Maybe her fake ID was fucking amazing.

  I turned away from the balcony and glanced back at my tiny, disorganized office. My manager had ordered too much of some import and now the cases were stacked in a corner, and the result was claustrophobic. Dune, a nightclub, used to be the favorite of all my properties, but in recent years there’d been a turn in clientele, and another club began to dominate my focus.

  So dark and illegal, the smell of that place didn’t wash off for days. I fucking loved it.

  The blonde finished her drink, tilting the glass back and obscuring her face. I didn’t like that. It was hard enough to see her across the expanse of the dance floor. Pretty, with a cute, up-turned nose and high cheekbones. Maybe a designer nose. I’d spent the last few years studying women and their quest for beauty. Was the girl lucky in genetics or lucky with rich parents?

  The clients at my blindfold club would eat her up. The younger, the better, for some of them. I didn’t judge my clients’ tastes, as long as the girl was old enough and wanted it. Besides, I’d met plenty of thirty-year-old women with less maturity than ones who were eighteen.

  Hairs lifted on my arm and the back of my neck in hyperawareness. Movement to the left of the girl was too abrupt and aggressive to be dancing. Shit. A couple of douchebags were getting heated. A hand flung in the other guy’s chest and shoved backward.

  If he wanted space, he got the opposite. The offended man was all over the guy who’d shoved him, getting in his face. Stiff posture. Hands balled into fists and, as if sensing the impending fight, the area around the men cleared.

  Except for the blonde.

  Her friends scattered and she tried to follow, but she was the last one to get out of the way.

  “Fuck,” I said into the earpiece I wore. “Someone get on that mess and break it up.” Where the hell were my bouncers?

  The first punch landed on the guy’s jaw, knocking him askew, but only for a second. He reared back and unleashed his own attack, the thick rope of muscle in his neck straining, visible from all the way up where I was.

  The only thing I valued was being in control, so my hands tensed on the balcony railing as I stood powerless to stop what I sensed was about to happen. The smaller of the two men began to retreat, backing up and trapping the blonde behind him, pinning her to the wall.

  “Move!” I ordered into the earpiece to my bouncer, although I really wanted to say it to the girl directly. Move before this gets really bad. Mario’s enormous bald head worked its way through the crowd, struggling to get there in time, but his wide and impressive build made that difficult.

  The bigger of the two men fighting launched forward, pummeling the smaller one. The girl’s mouth dropped open, her face twisting in shock or pain. Maybe she wasn’t receiving the blows directly, but she could sure as hell feel them.

  Mario broke free from the crowd and grasped the bigger guy’s shoulder, jerking him away, but a second too late. The final punch missed its intended target and struck the girl instead. Her head snapped away from the impact, and one of her hands flew up to cover her cheek, which was sure to start swelling immediately.

  Fuck me. If I had any hope of her not getting busted in my club, it died with that assault.

  Realizing what he’d done, the guy threw his arms up and backed away in a silent apology. An “I didn’t mean to hit a girl” was plastered on his expression. Mario yanked the guy farther back as another bouncer appeared to collect the loser of the fight, releasing the girl from the wall. The last thing anyone expected, Mario included, was for her to spring forward at the man who’d hit her. Even over the pumping bass of the music that throbbed in my chest, I’d swear I heard the slap of her palm across the asshole’s face.

  Her friends flooded in, surrounding her and pulling her away. Despite everything, I wanted to smile at this victim who refused to play the part. What a tough bitch.

  But I had to work fast if I was going to stay ahead of this. “Get an ice pack, tell the friends their drinks are paid for, and bring the girl upstairs.”

  I watched my orders executed one by one. All of the friends’ gazes turned up to my balcony, and finally the girl’s lifted too. Her hand fell away from her face to point at the balcony, maybe asking the staff member if that was where she was going or if I was who wanted to speak with her. This action revealed the spot that was already darkening on her pretty, underage face.

  Fucking shit. I swore in my head the whole time she made her way upstairs. I didn’t need attention on this club, because it might lead to attention on other things, and prison was about as appealing to me as it was to anyone else.

  My hand flattened the front of my dress shirt, smoothing it down. I could be charming. My eyes were kind and my smile warm, or so I’d been told, and I played up the old southern accent I used to have when needed. I disarmed. No one suspected the wolf beneath my surface, and only a handful of people knew about him.

  The door swung open and my manager escorted the blonde in, who pressed an ice pack to her cheek.

  “Thanks, Alan,” I said, dismissing him.

  Her eyes blinked, drinking me in, and she seemed to study me just as intensely as I did her. I wasn’t prepared for how . . . well, adorable she was. There wasn’t a better word for it. Thick, glossy hair that went nicely with her fair skin, even though she wasn’t a real blonde. Bright eyes. Lush, pink lips. Oh, yeah. The men at my other club would write blank checks for that face. And Heather had given her notice, which meant I needed to fill a spot . . .

  Stop evaluating her and focus.

  “Are you all right?” I asked. There was no need to force concern. I was genuinely worried about what had happened to her.

  “I’m okay.”

  I wasn’t expecting such a strong voice from a slight girl, but then again, I’d gotten a taste of some of her fire downstairs, hadn’t I?

  “I own this club, and I want you to know I take security very seriously. I’d like to apologize on behalf of my staff for the incident. If you need to see a doctor, someone can—”

  “I said I’m okay.” Her voice was clipped, as if annoyed. If she wanted to blame me for what happened, I understood and respected it. She should have been safe here, and I’d failed that obligation.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  She pulled the ice pack away and held it up. “Someone brought me this, I’m good.”

  But, oh no, she wasn’t. The bruise was already bright red.

  “That’s gotta hurt like hell. I have Advil in my desk somewhere, for the swelling.” I yanked open a drawer and rummaged through it.

  The ice pack returned to the injury. “No offense, but I’m not interested in taking pills from a stranger. I’ve got some in my purse anyway.”

  The drawer creaked as I shut it and set my gaze on her once mor
e, starting at her heels and working my way up. Petite frame and in good shape. A narrow waist that called for hands to latch onto it. To pull her backward onto my—

  My head clouded with lust and left me disoriented. What was with me? What was this reaction?

  “Do you want to call the police and file a report?” I asked. Please say no.

  “No!” She made a face as if her own response had startled her. “No, I’m fine. Wrong place at the wrong time, let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

  She was underage. Her alarmed expression said the cops coming here was the last thing she wanted. Yeah, me too.

  “Look, Mr . . .”

  “Joseph.” It came out of my mouth before I thought better. Last name would have been more professional, but for some insane reason I wanted this girl to know my name. Normally her innocent, fresh-faced look wouldn’t do anything for me, but the strong voice, her sharp eyes, and the unexpected slap had piqued my interest.

  “Joseph,” she repeated. “I’m not going to sue your establishment. To be honest, I’m not supposed to be here, and I’d kind of just like to go home.”

  The girl had given me an out, but I couldn’t let it go. “Can I see your ID?” When she shot me a dubious expression, I added, “I still have to document this, in case something happens down the road or you change your mind about bringing charges.”

  I was sure the expression I gave said this wasn’t negotiable. Her hand dug in the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the driver’s license, extending it. I crossed the space to her, and now the full claustrophobic effect took hold. This girl in front of me was small, and yet she filled the room. Her gaze was fixed on me, and a fleeting emotion passed through her. Anxiety? Did I make her nervous, or had my request simply done that?

  The ID was real, and most definitely not hers. I tightened the hold on the plastic card until the edges bit into my fingers. “I’m keeping this,” I said, glancing at the name, “Molly Givens.”

  “What? Why?” Her expression didn’t falter. Didn’t change a hair.

  “Because you shouldn’t be in here when you’re not twenty-one.”

  Her face soured. At first, I thought she looked pissed at being busted, but no. This was something else.

  “All right, Joseph,” she snapped. “Maybe that’s not my ID, and I know I look young, but I promise you, I’m over twenty-one. I turned twenty-one two years ago.”

  “You’re using a fake ID when you’re twenty-three? That makes sense.”

  Her jaw tightened. “It does when you’re me.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite.” She’d never know the truth there. “Who are you?” I scrutinized her once again. Were they filming some big blockbuster in Chicago right now and she was a rising star? She didn’t look familiar. But the longer I stared at her, the more I began to think she might not be lying about her age. The hardened expression aged her dramatically. Didn’t make her any less sexy, though. Maybe more.

  “Don’t worry about who I am. Do you have a back exit I can sneak out of?”

  I let the commanding statement go, but countered with my own. “Sure. But I need one thing first.”

  She shifted uncomfortably on her heels, her body language hinting at her unease. “Okay, what?”

  “Your name,” I said.

  She groaned. “You can’t have it.”

  Oh, shit, that turned me on. I loved a puzzle, and everything about this girl was a contradiction. A legal drinker using a fake ID. A delicate-looking girl who shrugged off a punch to the face. The fact that my cock was twitching in my pants when she was way off my type, not to mention fifteen years younger than I was.

  “Why not? I told you mine.”

  “No, forget it.” Her expression was a mixture of annoyance and worry.

  “You won’t even tell me your first name? Am I asking something too difficult? Tell me.” And . . . there it was. The edge to my voice that signaled I was about to shift into a more dominant persona. The one which craved absolute control. Demanded total submission. Her mouth dropped open at the order.

  “My friends . . . call me M.”

  “Em? Short for Emily?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, my name is not Emily. Can you show me the way out?”

  A dark voice in my brain whispered, I can show you lots of things, little girl. I wasn’t quite ready to let this conversation be over. “You still haven’t told me your name, though.”

  The ice pack came off her eye and slammed down on my desk. “Not going to happen.” Defiant. Hot. I enjoyed her fire. Shit, I wanted another taste. What would she be like in a darkened room, bent over a bed? Would her eyes burn as I sank inside her, one of my hands fisted in her hair?

  Why the fuck did I need to know so badly?

  “All right, Madison,” I said, assuming it was a name that started with an M. “If you won’t tell me your name, at least let me drive you home.”

  “My name’s not Madison.” Her expression went blank. It was unreadable, and I didn’t like that. I was excellent at knowing what went on behind other people’s eyes. “You want to drive me home? You look busy with those P and L statements.”

  What the hell was she talking about? I followed her gaze toward my computer, where like an idiot, I’d left Dune’s profits and losses spreadsheet open. I minimized the window as quickly as possible, and when I straightened, I expected to see her halfway out the door.

  Instead, she’d taken a step closer. One thin eyebrow arched as she scrutinized, peering at me like I was suddenly intriguing.

  “I guess the reports can wait?” Her voice softened. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but it sounded sexier like that.

  “Yes, Mary.”

  “You can keep guessing all night, but you won’t figure out my name.”

  I couldn’t choke back the sarcasm. “All night, huh?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched up in the faintest of smiles. “You offered to drive me home, didn’t you?”

  Just wait a fucking minute here. Was she hitting on me? I ignored the voice in the back of my head that warned no smart girl would get into a car with a stranger. “Is that a yes?”

  The faint smile widened into a seductive one. “Sure, why not?

  Alarms blared louder in my mind, but I disregarded them. “I’m keeping the ID, Marissa.”

  “Good for you, Joe.”

  I tensed. “No, not Joe. That,” my voice was firm, “is not my name.”

  Surprise swept across her face and left puzzlement in its wake. “Okay, sorry. Joseph.” She brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Thanks for the offer. That actually will be a big help. Is your car parked close?”

  “Yeah. Did you check a coat downstairs?”

  “I did. Let me grab it and tell my friends I’m leaving.” She held up her phone and snapped a picture of me without warning. What the hell? “So they know what you look like in case I don’t show up for class tomorrow,” she explained, her fingers tapping rapidly on the screen, undoubtedly texting it to someone. “Although you look like a nice enough guy, Joseph what?”

  “No way, honey. You haven’t given me your first or last name.”

  Her face twisted into a scowl, even though her eyes never left the screen of the phone. “Don’t call me honey. It’s M.” Her gaze lifted finally, rising up to meet mine. “Joseph Monsato. It’s on your club’s website.”

  When had I lost control of this conversation? From the moment she’d crossed the doorway, she’d been in charge, not me. Things would change once she was in the passenger seat of my Porsche. I tugged the suit jacket hanging on the back of my chair and slipped it on, striding over to her.

  M had a stone-cold poker face, but her body betrayed her. The proximity to me did make her nervous. Her shoulders lifted in a breath, even as her eyes didn’t widen or dart away. The tension in her shoulders and neck said she was on high alert, which was smart. I was interested in her, and already power was shifting my direction.

  “Joseph Monsato.�
� I used a warm tone. “Nice to meet you, M.”

  The poker face cracked a little. “Right, yeah. You, too.”

  “Do you want to introduce me to your friends? Would that make you feel safer?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  She shook her head quickly, probably thinking about how strange that would be. “We can just go. I feel safe.”

  Did she? I smiled.

  chapter

  TWO

  M was waiting for me in the narrow hallway beside the metal back door, and the February wind howled outside. She cinched the belt of her long wool jacket tighter and flashed a hesitant look.

  “You sure this is okay?” she asked. “Your bar will be closed by the time you get back.”

  “It’s fine. I have a club manager, and I’m not usually here on Thursday nights anyway.” I pushed open the heavy door and gestured for her to go through. It had begun to snow, and fat snowflakes wafted down on the alleyway. Her chin tucked to her chest as we went out into the cold, and I hit the unlock button on my keyring, flashing the lights of the Porsche. “That’s me.”

  She paused as if uncertain when I opened the passenger door for her.

  “Second thoughts?” I asked. If she said yes, would I be disappointed? Would I find a way to persuade? I was used to getting what I wanted, and this? Yeah, I wanted it.

  “No, no second thoughts.” She slipped into the passenger seat and her gaze focused on me. “How does this overpriced car handle the snow?”

  I should have been offended, but instead I was thrilled to get attitude from her. The taste I wanted, although now I’d had it, I craved more. Most people didn’t give me lip. They either worked for me or wanted something, so they were professional and respectful. “The Porsche does just fine, and don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

  Did I? I’d come to Dune tonight to have a hard discussion with Alan about the covers at the door declining, and instead, I was leaving. Cold air blasted us as I started the car and flipped on the seat warmers. We’d been alone in the office, but the door had been open, and now with snow blanketing the windshield, we were trapped, sitting close beside each other on freezing leather.