The Closer (11 page)

And all of a sudden it was too much. Too damn much. She didn't want anything between them. Nothing separating them. She wanted to feel the full, hot, long length of him deep inside her, every ridge and vein, every gloriously proportioned inch.

She pushed her robe aside, baring herself to him, and it drooped around her shoulders, the sash gaping at the waist. His hot gaze feasted on her heavy breasts, then he cupped one and bent his beautiful head and sucked deeply, working his tongue against the sensitive point of her nipple.

Jess gasped, her lids fluttering shut from the pleasure, then she rocked her hips against him, riding the hard ridge of his arousal. It bumped against her sweet spot, sending another insistent wave of longing through her. “I've got a clean bill of health and I've got birth control covered,” she said, her voice low and foggy. “You?”

“I'm clean,” he said.

Oh, thank God, Jess thought, feeling as if she were about to fly into a million pieces. Her skin was too tight for her body, her clit throbbed with every frantic beat of her heart and need hammered through her, raw and desperate.

He reached between them, nudged the boxers down, freeing himself. The first touch of the thick crown of his penis against her weeping folds pulled the breath from her lungs and she didn't get it back until she'd lifted her hips and then impaled herself on him. Their gazes held and locked and for one limitless second the world receded, fell away, leaving only the two of them and this moment—this exquisite joining—and nothing else mattered.

Shaken to her core, Jess ignored the sudden strains of the wedding march as it cued up in her head and bent forward, finding his lips once more.

His kiss was different, still desperate, yes, but there was another quality there as well, one that made her eyes moisten with emotion and her heart sing.

Reverence.

He felt it, too, Jess thought, tightening around him, lifting her hips, then lowering again, the age-old rhythm taking hold as she frantically undulated her hips. Longing tangled through her, pooled and pounded against her womb, and every lurch of him deep inside her, every magnificent thrust of his hips pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

She could feel the tension mounting within him, felt it crackle around her like static, lifting the hairs off her arms, the back of her neck. His clever mouth worshipped her breasts, suckling, licking, laving, and his hands curled around her bottom, urging her on.

“Jesus, Jess— Please— I can't— I'm not going to— Come for me, baby,” he begged her. “Let it go.”

She whimpered. She was close, so close. Still... “You first.”

“Jess,” he said warningly. “Please. I'm dying. You're killing me.”

She rode him harder, tightened around him, then reached around and slid a finger over the tight sack of his balls. “You
first
.”

His eyes widened. He sucked in a harsh breath, then he bucked violently beneath her. She felt him spasm inside her, a thick hot rush, bathing the back of her womb, and she came hard.

The orgasm took her unaware, ripping through her so viciously that her vision blackened around the edges, her heart skipped a few beats and every muscle in her body convulsed so thoroughly she developed cramps in her little toes. A low keening cry issued from her throat and she clung to him, held tightly, afraid that she might fly away or fall apart if she didn't.

Breathing raggedly, her belly still quaking, Jess finally drew back to look at him. His expression was a mix of awe and wonder, latent desire and satisfaction, and something else, something she struggled to define. But if she had to label it...
happy
was as good a word as any.

11

H
AVING
REVIEWED
EVERY
file he'd been given more than a dozen times as well as gone over routine updates on new check-ins and the guest list for the official event—he'd caught flak when he'd insisted that no other invitations were issued—Griff thought he was as prepared as he could possibly be.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all last night—unless one counted the hours of mindless frantic sex, which he did, of course, but not as it pertained to his mission. His dick shifted as remembered heat curled into his loins.

As a rule, Griff didn't go bareback. Too much risk, either from an unwanted infection or pregnancy, neither of which made it onto his list of must-haves. But when Jess had crawled into his lap and settled her sweet sex against him and her robe had opened just enough to see the valley of her breasts and the V of sable curls hovering right over his dick...

He couldn't have made it to the bedroom for a condom if his life had depended on it. (He'd been saving the one with the elephant's trunk.) But...he'd just wanted her, needed her, more than he'd ever needed or wanted another woman before. Something about her just...drew him in, disabled the usual safeguards he'd always had in place, made him want to share his secrets and confess his fears, made him want to forget his plans—his schedule—and live in the moment with her.

That's what last night had been about—living.

Because if anyone knew how to live, it was Jess Rossi. Incredibly, the same hands that could craft some of the loveliest jewelry he'd ever seen could take an engine apart and rebuild it. She liked to drive fast, so she raced, despite the resistance of some of the other drivers. And, just when he'd thought nothing else about her could surprise him, he'd learned that she lived in a tree house.
A tree house, for God's sake!
When he'd asked her why, she'd merely shrugged and said why not.

Why not, indeed?

While most people conformed to convention, Jess fearlessly thumbed her nose at it and did as she pleased. Not in any way that would hurt other people, but in a way that made sure that she stayed true to herself.

She was remarkable, Griff thought, genuinely unique. And she had a singularly unique way of getting inside his head—terrifying, he'd admit—but also strangely...comforting. She didn't attempt to see through him, but instead really
looked
. It was a minute distinction, but one that was significant all the same.

A knock suddenly sounded on the door. No doubt that would be Andre, he thought. He'd annoyed the stylist to no end last night when he'd called him and insisted that Jess's hair and makeup be completed in their suite, but Griff refused to take any unnecessary risks. And the fact remained that they were safer in the room than anywhere else.

The biggest risk would come when they went downstairs to dress for the runway.

If it had been possible to do that in the room, too, he'd have insisted on that as well, but they were too far from the venue and the less time Jess spent in the bra the better. Since the Owl hadn't made his move last night, then logic demanded that he'd attempt to make the hit today.

Griff was ready.

He'd been over every inch of this floor, this hotel, all the schematics. He'd gone through every background history with anyone associated with this show, right down to the lowliest coffee gopher. He'd done everything he could possibly do to keep both Jess and the piece safe.

Confident of that, at the very least, he made sure the case was securely locked on his wrist and then pulled his gun from the back of his waistband.

“Is that really necessary?” Jess demanded from the bedroom doorway, her eyes wide.

“No chances,” he told her, then carefully opened the door.

“Hello, Griff,” Payne said, Flanagan and McCann on either side of him.

Griff blinked, stunned. “Hello,” he said haltingly, unsure of what to make of their sudden appearance.

The three strolled in, nodded at Jess, who'd been freshly exfoliated this morning and was once again in the robe that he loved.

“After some discussion, we decided that this wasn't a one-man operation,” Payne told him.

“Please don't think that we're questioning your capabilities, but in light of the threat and the fact that you're both part of the show now, we thought you could use additional backup.”

Flanagan's gaze drifted around the room. “And Payne is secretly hoping that his old pal won't have the balls to steal something under his protection if he's actually visible.”

Payne nodded. “There is that,” he said. “I'm not certain that it'll make a difference, but on the off chance that it could...” He shrugged.

McCann settled into a chair, then leaned forward and inspected a map of the hotel. “Better numbers, better odds,” he remarked. “Whereas he might be able to pick off one of us, it's unlikely that he could take down all three.”

He was right, Griff decided, ignoring the twinge to his pride. They were right. He'd be a fool not to welcome additional help. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming,” he said to the room at large. “I appreciate it.”

A second knock sounded and Griff repeated his earlier process, then ushered Andre and a couple of prescreened hotel staffers, their arms loaded down with various cases, into the suite.

“It's you,” Andre remarked, staring intently at Griff. “From the elevator. I never forget a face, even when it's attached to someone else's,” he added with a droll little smile, much to Griff's discomfort.

From the corner of his eye he watched Flanagan grin, McCann lift a brow and Payne's lips twitch. He decided he'd have to figure out what to make of that later.

“And if you're you, then I can only assume that—” His gaze landed on Jess and he slapped his hands together delightedly, making his jewelry rattle. “Oh, yes!” he exclaimed. “Yes, yes, yes! That skin! That hair! No extensions for you, my lovely,” he gushed in rapturous tones. “Where am I setting up?” he asked Griff without looking at him, his gaze still clinging to Jess.

“The master bath, through there,” Griff told him.

“Excellent.” He whirled around and clapped twice. “Chop, chop,” he said. “You heard the man. Through there.”

And then with a smile that was as uncertain as excited, Jess glanced at him, shrugged helplessly and followed Andre.

“I'm assuming he's been thoroughly checked out,” Payne commented.

Griff pulled the appropriate file and handed it to him. “This is what I got from Charlie, along with what I managed to find on my own. Andre Wiltmon, thirty-three, born and raised in Philadelphia.”

Payne blinked, surprised. “He's a Harvard graduate. Journalism.”

“Yes, I saw that. According to his website, he started on one side of fashion, but found his calling on the other. He's got quite a client list.” He reeled off a few Hollywood A-listers. “Oh, and Prince,” he added.

McCann grinned. “That one actually makes sense.”

Seemingly satisfied, Payne nodded and gestured to the table. “All right, let's go through all this one more time, then we'll put together an action plan.”

Griff grinned. Ah, he thought. A plan. Music to his ears.

* * *

P
RACTICALLY
QUIVERING
WITH
joy, Andre leaned back and beamed at her. “You're stunning, darling. Absolutely freaking
stunning
.”

Jess didn't know about that, particularly as Andre had put her back to the mirror and refused to let her turn around. He'd spent the past hour and a half working on her hair and makeup, had wielded the blow-dryer, flat iron and makeup brushes as weapons against mediocrity—his words, not hers—and had elevated her natural-born beauty into something
more
. Jess's lips quirked with droll humor.

Andre was all about more.

One more curl, one more pluck of the tweezers, one more hit of bronzer. More, more, more.

“So what's the story with you and Captain Badass out there?” he asked, smoothing out an errant hair that had caught his critical eye. “Are y'all just making the beast with two backs, or is it more?”

Jess felt her eyes widen and she made a little strangling sound. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Don't play coy with me, missy,” he said, wagging a pair of eyelash curlers at her. “I'm not blind. I saw the pair of you in the elevator, remember, when you were trying to inspect his tonsils with your tongue. But if that wasn't a big enough clue, then the condom wrappers in the bedside trash and the empty bottle of massage oil on the nightstand definitely told the whole story. Besides, sex has a certain smell,” he continued almost philosophically. “It hit me like a two-by-four the minute I walked into the suite. And through the bedroom. And in here as well, if I'm being completely honest.” He smiled down at her, lifting an impressed brow. “You've been a busy girl. I'm surprised you've got the strength to do the show.”

Oh, good Lord, Jess thought. She'd been mildly concerned about Griff's bosses showing up unannounced, but had hoped that they'd be so distracted by their need to protect the bra that they wouldn't notice that there wasn't a blanket on the living room sofa or that two people had obviously slept in the bed the previous night.

But if Andre had noticed, then she was relatively certain that they had, as well. She hoped she didn't get Griff into trouble, she fretted. She wasn't sure what sort of fraternization rules they had, but she'd be willing to assume all the blame to keep him from any sort of recriminations.

“Well?” he prodded. “Is he a keeper or are you going to throw him back?”

He was definitely a keeper, but circumstances being what they were, she didn't see how they'd be able to continue seeing each other beyond this weekend. The realist in her wouldn't let her think otherwise. And because of that, she planned on taking advantage of every minute she spent with him. She wanted to make love to him over and over again, but more important, she wanted to give him a little bit of happiness, to put that expression she'd noticed on his face last night more often—if not permanently, then at least enough to make it familiar to him.

If he took anything away from her this weekend—aside from her heart—then she wanted it to be a lesson in joy, in chasing after his own, specifically.

“Fine.” Andre huffed playfully. “Don't tell me then. But I saw the way he looked at you and I will say this,” he offered. “I think that hook is good and set. You could easily reel him in if you were so inclined.”

“How's your little dog?” Jess asked, deliberately changing the subject.

He blinked, smiled. “She's fine, thanks for asking. Now, are you ready to look in the mirror?”

Her stomach gave a little jump. “I don't know, am I?”

In answer, Andre whirled her chair around and crouched over her shoulder. “Ta da!”

Jess watched her eyes and mouth round simultaneously and she sucked in a strangled breath. “Holy crap on a cracker,” she breathed.

“I
know,
” he said with a pleased nod. “You're breathtaking. You're going to knock the shine right off that bra, sweetheart.”

She didn't know about that, but she definitely looked better than she ever had in her life. Her hair was full, with big smooth curls, and it hung neatly over her shoulders and puddled just shy of the tops of her breasts. Her makeup was flawless. Dramatic, but still subtle—a neat trick, she had to admit—and she had a definite glow about her, as though she were lit from within.

“Wow,” she said shakily, meeting his heavily lined gaze in the mirror. “Thank you.”

He managed a humble nod. “You're welcome.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Now, pull it together, darling. It's showtime.”

Oh, dear Lord. She'd actually managed to forget why they'd gone to all this trouble. The reminder made her stomach lurch.

Having exchanged the short robe for a longer one to make the journey from here to the ballroom—which curiously enough made her more squeamish than walking a runway in nothing but a bra and a pair of boy-short panties—she stood on shaky legs and followed Andre back into the living room.

Conversation stopped and four sets of eyes swung in her direction, but Griff's naturally were the pair she sought out.

He'd stopped midsentence, his jaw hanging open, and his blue-green gaze flared with appreciation and heat. “Jesus, Jess,” he breathed, evidently forgetting himself.

“You look beautiful, Ms. Rossi,” Payne told her, pushing to his feet, and the rest of them followed suit.

“Gorgeous,” Flanagan chimed in.

“Lovely,” McCann added.

Jess swallowed, felt a blush climb her neck. “Thank you.”

Andre bussed the lightest kiss against her cheek. “I need to go down and check on the other girls,” he said. “I'll see you downstairs.” He looked at Griff. “Would you mind having my gear delivered backstage, please? You banished my helpers,” he drawled. “Otherwise they could have done it.”

Griff nodded. “I'll see to it.”

With another encouraging look in her direction, Andre took his leave. Griff made the call to see to the stylist's things, then took a bracing breath and arched a brow. “Ready?”

“I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be.”

Griff took the spot next to her, then Flanagan led, Payne flanked Griff and McCann brought up the rear. They took the service elevator down to the ballroom floor, where a pair of Clandestine associates with clipboards and stressed attitudes met them and led them to the staging area. Half-naked models were everywhere—a visual reminder that she didn't look anything like them at all, quickly undermining her confidence. Music blared to a near-deafening level and lights swung in every direction, giving a nightclub vibe. Griff followed her into the flimsy dressing room—she'd insisted that he be the only one with her when she changed—and removed the cuff from his wrist, then the bra from the case.