Free Beneath the Silk by Wendy Rosnau Page B

stepped out of the shower, drawing the towel around his iron-hard belly. “This better be good, Sis, because… What’s wrong? You look like someone just aimed a loaded gun at your head.”
    This man certainly had a way with words, Sunni thought, her gaze tracking several water beads that were on their way down his hairy chest heading south toward his navel.
    “Sis…”
    “It’s Mac. He’s… Something’s wrong with him. I’ve got to go now. I’m going now. Work … that’s where I’m going now. Late … I can’t be late.”
    Sunni knew she sounded like a robot ready to short-circuit, knew nothing she had said made sense. Retreat was the only thing that would save her now, and she forced her feet to move. In the living room she found Mac still spinning. Only he’d added a piercing bark to his antics as he chased after his tail. He had obviously lost a few brain cells in one of the battles Jackson had referred to earlier—brain cells and fur, along with part of an ear.
    She raced out of her apartment and hurried to the elevator, refusing to look back as Jackson called out to her. She poked the button, anxious to escape. The elevator doors opened just as he stepped out of her apartment. Sunni’s eyes widened—if Edna was watching, she’d just been granted an eighty-six-year-old woman’s fantasy and dying wish all at once—Jackson Ward in a lavender loincloth was one awesome sight.
    “Come on back inside, Sis,” he called out to her. “Sometimes he acts that way. He’s just excited to see you.”

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    Chapter 6
    « ^ »
    M asado Towers was definitely a hotel for the rich and famous. The five-hundred-room hotel advertised three restaurants, two lounges, boutiques, swimming pool, and fitness and conference centers. And that was just for starters.
    The building had been deep in construction when Jackson had left three years ago. At that time it was hard to tell what it was going to look like. But it looked fabulous—the outside structure, three marble-and-granite towers to add to the Chicago skyline; the inside finished off in Italian marble, old-world murals, rich wood and mansion elegance.
    Again, like he had the first day he’d stood inside the gold-plated front doors, Jackson felt a sense of brotherly pride for what Joe had accomplished. Smiling, he gazed at the private glass elevator that climbed more than forty stories, knowing exactly where it led and the idea that had inspired it.
    Yes, the hotel was five-star all the way, complete with a lobby surrounded by water gardens, live foliage and polished marble walkways you could see yourself in.
    He glanced across the little stone bridge to the elaborate display window where a full-size stuffed Zion stood stalking a beautiful female mannequin outfitted in a red silk nightgown. Still smiling, he admitted Sunni Blais, like Joe, sure knew how to make a statement. And an entrance and exit, he mused, remembering the look on her face when she’d raced into the bathroom, then exited a few minutes later just as quickly.
    While he stood enjoying the memory, a low growl sounded at his side. He glanced down, saw Mac’s eyes lock on Sunni’s lion and swore. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “No smart-ass stunts. Got it? As it is you’re going to have to work damn hard to get on the good side of Sis after what you pulled this morning. And she doesn’t even know about the lamp yet.”
    A few minutes later, Jackson, with Mac at his side, stepped off the glass elevator on the thirty-ninth floor. At the end of the hall was a pair of shiny gold doors, and next to it sat a muscled-up bodyguard in a shiny black suit.
    They were eight feet from the door when Mr. Muscle stood. Jackson said, “Tell Joe—”
    “Don’t have to tell Mr. Masado nothing,” the man’s steroid-inflected voice rumbled. “You and the fur ball have been on camera since you entered the elevator.” That said, the guard swung open the heavy bulletproof door to allow them