My Biker Bodyguard (8 page)

Now, his face dripping with water, his eyes looked and
felt like hot coals in his head. He couldn't bring himself to
walk out of the bathroom.

The double they'd chosen for the night was clean, but
that's where anything good ended. The big room was too
small, and the double beds were too narrow and set too close
together. It would have been an adequate room, with plenty of
space, if Jess hadn't been out there. She made him sexually
claustrophobic.

Through this long, hot and hard day, he'd wanted, needed,
to make some gesture of comfort, but he'd stopped every time,
afraid she wouldn't welcome it. She might be tough, even
stubborn and outspoken at times, but he'd never met a woman
more in need of a friend.

She was like some kid's doll left in the mud; you naturally
wanted to pick it up, clean it, and tuck into a safe bed every
night. And that was why he couldn't walk out of the bathroom.
Offering her friendship and comfort brought him too close to
that line he couldn't cross. Not for her safety, and not for his.

He ran icy water in the sink and splashed it over his face
and head. He would need a haircut again soon. Hot-bodied, he
kept his hair close-cropped, cool and comfortable for California
temperatures.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. They would meet
Dirty Dan and the guys at O'Hare. Dan's idea. He wanted to
make sure Jess got to the airport safely, despite the fact that
Agents Dumb and Dumber were staying in the next room and
would escort them all the way to California.

Mitch dried his face, stared at the tiny, still wet bathtub
and decided against spending the night crammed in there like a
sardine. With a grimace, he opened the door and stepped into a
darkened room. Only the bathroom light kept him from
waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Jess lay beneath the blankets on the far bed, her back to
him. Curled up, she looked small, hardly grown. Not exactly
the brave and bold figure she'd been that morning. His chest
tightened with the need to go to her, but he managed to ignore
it.

But for how long?
Shirtless, still damp, he took his gun from the holster he'd
draped over the back of the desk's chair and got a new clip
from his bag. Her shorts and pink top lay across her suitcase.
The sight of that discarded clothing almost changed his mind
about the bathtub.
Instead, he checked the window and door, confirming all
the locks were secure. He stowed the gun and clip beneath his
pillow, shut off the light, and sat on the edge of the empty bed.
He unsnapped his jeans, but left them on.
Self-control was something he'd cultivated, not been born
with. Living in the moment had taught him that without an
idea of where you were going, you started down one wrong
road after another, until you found yourself knocking on hell's
door.
For him, the road ended when he'd wound up on the bad
end of a deal gone sour. Framed for a lost pick-up that had
disappeared before he had gotten the order to fetch it, he had
been shot in the leg and told to make good or die. He'd been
lucky, earned himself time by gaining respect early on. Two
weeks later he'd made good and left town. He'd learned how to
get money, save it, and use it to buy a future.
Now, he worked every chance he had, lived modestly
between jobs, and when on the job, never spent more than
needed. Soon, he'd have saved and invested enough to quit and
start seeing the world. He wanted to go everywhere, see
everything, get as much livin' out of life as he could.
Too often, in his business, he met wealthy men who didn't
realize they'd already earned enough for a lifetime of
adventure, exploration, or just flat out enjoyment. They were
obligated to companies, to making another million, to
competition with their peers. Responsibility to family was one
thing, but those who were free of blood ties, like himself, and
still refused to enjoy the world at their fingertips, confused
him.
Mitch twisted and glanced at Jess. In the quiet of his
thoughts he'd sensed her breathing wasn't deep enough. She
was still awake. He wondered what her future plans were. Not
for one instant did he believe she was satisfied with what she
found in her own backyard.
What does she want when this is
all over?
With her inheritance, she could do anything, go anywhere.
She wouldn't have to be alone either. Her sex appeal and that
bank account would attract a legion of willing men to her side.
She could have anything and anyone she wanted.
Imagining what she might do, what she might want, wasn't
going to get him to sleep any faster. He stood, pulled the
blankets back, and slid between the sheets. Let her pretend to
be asleep. It was a hell of a lot safer that way.
From the next room, he dimly heard the sound of canned
laughter. Mitch pictured the agents, shoulder to shoulder, in
their skivvies, watching reruns and sharing popcorn. He
flopped to his back, covering his face with his forearm to bar
the uncomfortable image from his mind's eye. He definitely
didn't want to fall asleep thinking of them.
Then again, it wasn't a good idea to fall asleep thinking of
the woman in the next bed either. He might not be able to
sleep at all, bathtub or no bathtub.
"Mitch?" She whispered so low that for a moment, he
wasn't sure he'd actually heard her, or if, in the dark, he'd
imagined her husky, erotic voice saying his name. She rolled
over on the bed, her eyes open and luminous from the dim
glow of parking lot lights filtering through a part in the drapes.
"Yeah?" He ignored the instant heat in his body.
"What's my mother like?"
He frowned, not expecting the question, but grateful for it
all the same. Thinking of Beth dampened the fires with a
bucket of shame. "You look like her, but she's taller I think.
She stays real busy, so she's in shape. I guess she dresses
nice."
"No," she said softly. He could hear the smile in her
voice. "Not what she looks like, but…who she is."
"Oh." He felt like an idiot. Of course that was what she
wanted to know. "She's a good woman, Jess. I only worked
for her for a few months, but in this business, you get to know
people pretty good. Especially if you're livin' with them. She
treated me decent."
"But she never talked about me?"
She sounded small now, like she'd shrunk over the last
twenty-four hours. He could hardly reconcile that voice with
the woman who'd warned him his welcome expired in two
days.
"I think they didn't talk about you because it would've
been hard to explain and they didn't want to put you in danger
by contacting you now."
"They?"
He tried to recall if anyone had told her she had a stepfather, and couldn't. "Your mother's remarried. Jared
Kramer."
"That's where the name came from." Jess propped her
elbow on the bed and cupped her head in the palm of her hand.
The blanket fell away, revealing the scoop of her nightgown.
His gaze dropped to the shadow of a tattoo where the white of
her breast met the tan line on her chest. He looked away.
"Can I ask you something without you getting defensive?"
Jess asked.
"Yeah, sure." He answered quickly, hoping for a question
that would erase the vision of the rounded fullness beneath that
thin fabric.
"How did my mom get shot?"
That worked. Although the question was asked with
curiosity, not accusation, Mitch felt the sting all the same.
Guilt was a sorry replacement for lust. "I left too much in the
hands of the security team they'd hired before me. I added a
few extras, but I left the most important job to them."
"What was that?"
He rolled to his side and propped himself up the same as
she had. "Your mother lives on about five acres. I
strengthened the perimeter security, but I left the house to the
security team. Whoever had installed the system, didn't know
jack. They didn't wire the second floor on it's own system, so
you can hear by the tone of the alarm where the intruders are.
Someone got on the roof and shot through the skylight in the
dining room."
"That's where it happened? In the dining room?"
"The attack came during dinner."
"Bad luck." Jess winced. "I don't mean that my mom was
shot, that's far worse than just bad luck. I meant it was bad
luck that they were in the dining room at that exact moment."
Mitch thought she didn't sound very convinced that luck
had anything to do with it all. Neither was he. He'd gone over
this in his head a hundred and one times. Each time he came
up with the same answer. Someone who knew the house, knew
the system, had to have ordered the hit.
Maybe it was Grady after all. He certainly knew the place
well. According to Beth, he had spent every summer there
until he graduated from college.
Jess said, "Really, I didn't mean it that way. It's all right.
I don't blame you either, if that's what you're worried about."
She'd taken his silence as a sign her questions had upset
him. He smiled to reassure her. "That's good to know, but I'm
still responsible."
"More responsible than the guy hiring the hits?" She
returned his smile with an ironic quirk of her full, very softlooking and appealing lips.
"Point taken." He wondered if she'd welcome a quick
good night kiss. Back on dangerous territory, he thought, and
twisted on the mattress, turning his gaze to the ceiling. "We
should get some sleep."
He heard the rustle of blankets and felt the weight of her
gaze leave him. A long, low breath escaped as he tried to relax
his mind and body. They fought his efforts and it wasn't until
Jess had been breathing deeply for an hour that he finally felt
sleep creep over him. As he drifted, he tried to imagine
walking away from her when this was all over…and couldn't.
* * *
Jess, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, caught her hair up
in a ponytail as a knock came to the door. Mitch stiffened,
placed a finger to his lips and touched the butt of the gun
stuffed in his shoulder holster. Her tummy trembled like a
spring gone haywire.
"Mr. Conner? Ms. Owen? It's time to leave," Agent Davis
shouted through the door.
They both exhaled in one shared breath. Mitch grinned
and she gave him a shaky smile. He said, "We'll be out in a
minute."
Davis didn't speak again and Jess imagined he'd heard the
call of a wild doughnut from the Serengeti of the hotel lobby.
She and Mitch had already grabbed their share of the
continental breakfast. She'd wolfed three muffins, two cups of
coffee and a banana under Mitch's amused gaze. He'd eaten
almost twice as much as she had, but in his hands, the muffins
looked half their size. If she thought about it, they had
effectively eaten the same amount, per bodily-inch.
"How you holdin' up?" Mitch zipped his bag closed.
"Good." She was, she found, relieved. In the brightness
of morning, yesterday's events felt like they'd happened to a
different person–a movie she had watched. The strange
disconnected feeling, she decided, came from doing something.
As she had busied herself with a shower, dressing, eating,
cleaning up her mess, packing her suitcase, and fixing her hair,
she'd managed not once to think of the man she'd shot, or that
her mother actually wanted to see her, or that her father would
be left alone while she was in California.
She'd avoided thinking of all that until right now. She
gnashed her lip beneath her upper teeth in an effort to fight the
monsoon of emotion all that busyness had kept at bay.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
Oh, that's what happened
.

Mitch had asked her to think about it. Who was he to ask
if she was all right? What did he think? He hadn't shot a man
for the first time, he hadn't had his family history kept a secret,
he hadn't ever been afraid for his life, like she had. Or had he?

God, she couldn't stay angry at anyone for long, not even
in her own head. Of course she didn't know if any of that was
true. Looking at him now, at how very strong and weathered
he was, she doubted yesterday had been a first anything for
him.

"I'll be all right, as soon as this is over." She sighed. Too
much had happened, really, for her to take it all in, especially
since there was so much she didn't yet know. A sudden tremor
of worry raised gooseflesh on her arms. "Whatever happened
to those two men? The ones from the diner? Did someone
question them?"

Mitch paused in the middle of putting on his jacket, arms
in the air. He slowly lowered them, then opened his big fat
mouth and lied to her. She knew he was going to lie because
his face hardened into a mask of deceit. "They didn't know
anything."

He picked up both his bag and her suitcase in one hand,
slid mirrored sunglasses on, and held his arm out toward the
door. "Ladies first."

She thought about arguing with him, forcing the truth out
of him. A small voice grew very loud in her head as she bent
to retrieve a pillow that had fallen to the floor. Could she
handle the truth right now? If he had lied, then the news
couldn't be good. With a growl, she flung the pillow back onto
the bed.

Damn it all to hell and back again
.
"What really happened, Mitch?" she asked. He didn't
move and the sunglasses hid his eyes. "Tell me. I hate that I
know you're lying. I hate that I think I know what that lie
means. Don't make me wonder, it's worse than hearing the
truth."
He nodded, set the bags down, and took off his glasses.
His eyes were troubled when he looked up. "They didn't make
it. Both of them. We didn't get anything from them."
She drew in a deep breath and nodded, her gaze going to
the blue carpet.
Okay, I can handle this
. "So I'm guilty of
murder now."
Mitch reached her side almost before she'd finished
speaking. He touched her chin, carefully, kindly. "No, you
protected yourself. It's not murder. If you need a word, call it
manslaughter. But not murder. Don't do this to yourself,
Baby, they aren't worth it."
"Don't call me baby," she muttered absently. There was a
difference, she discovered, in looking at it from that angle.
Manslaughter still felt like a sin, but no longer a mortal one.
She wished she'd had some religion in her life, she wanted to
know for sure, but church wasn't a big Owen family ritual.
Weddings and…funerals only.
Jess looked into his eyes, and was startled mute by how
close he stood. Her skin felt charged and she wondered if she
touched him, would a shock bounce from her fingers to his
flesh?
His head lowered, a shift in his shoulders brought the
scent of leather, skin, and man into the chaos of her senses.
The back of his fingers brushed her jaw line, urging her
forward with a light touch, but with so much impact, it reached
her toes.
Jess gazed at his mouth and her head tilted up all by itself.
His dark eyes offered escape. Who could care about anything
in a moment like this? Time didn't matter, life didn't matter,
breathing didn't matter. She only wanted this, only wanted his
touch. Wanted him.
He drew closer. Soap. Sunshine.
His kiss.
The soft rustle of bending leather. His hand, gentle on her
neck. The too-fast pounding of her heart in her ears.
His mouth covered hers, tantalizing her with the promise
of more if she wanted it. Oh, how she wanted it. Her body
hung from that touch, dangled in a sea of need behind the
connection of his lips against hers.
She grabbed the back of his neck, felt his arms tighten and
lift her against his chest. The kiss deepened as she opened to
him, gave him possession of more than just her tongue, her
mind, her thoughts. She gave him her entire needy, greedy
soul.
He was so strong, his shoulders so wide, it stole her away
to a place where the FBI didn't exist, where killers and clothes
were banished. To a place where skin and flesh and arms and
legs tangled erotically in a world made soft by satin and….
He drew away, buried his face in the crook of her neck.
"Jess," he breathed the word, his lips on the sensitive skin
where her jaw joined ear and throat together.
"Oh boy." Reality soon cleared the gauze of lust from her
thoughts. She shouldn't be doing this, she shouldn't be begging
for this with every ounce of her being. Not with the agents
waiting outside. Not when she'd see her dad soon.
Mitch straightened, heaved a deep breath, and refused to
look into her eyes. He rubbed the top of his head briskly and
replaced the sunglasses. Facing the wall, he said, "Sorry about
that."
She crossed her arms, the points of her breasts hard
against her arms. She shook once, trying to regain function of
her limbs and brain. "Me too."
Except she wasn't sorry, not one damn bit. She'd wanted
that kiss, wanted to know what it would be like since the
moment she'd seen him outside the garage. It didn't matter that
her heart pounded too fast or that her lungs were a good deal
smaller than they'd been five minutes ago.
He nodded, she wasn't sure at what, and lifted the bags.
"We should go, or we'll miss the flight."
Jess opened the door for him, and found she couldn't look
him fully in the face either. She was afraid he would see the
need in her eyes. "Can't miss our flight."
"Nope, sure can't."
The sound of a smile in his tone gave her the courage to
venture a glance at him. He grinned. She smiled back, though
she had the sinking feeling the flight would be anything but
comfortable for her. She thanked heaven she could hide her
arousal easier than a man could.
As he stepped outside, she looked at his jeans. What she
saw made her grin widen to a satisfied smile.
* * *
That kiss had been a mistake. Mitch didn't know how it
had happened. He'd wanted to comfort her, not maul her. He
could still feel the press of her body against his. Jess didn't do
anything by halves and that kiss had felt like all or nothing.
Glad she picked all.
He motioned for her to stay in the alcove of the lobby
doors and wait. With Jess's keys, he unlocked the Mustang.
Mordstrom, dabbing powder-sugar lipstick, waved from his
government-issued car. Mitch stowed the bags in the back seat
and closed the door. His gaze fell to the puncture wounds
along the side panel. The bullet holes were a sober reminder of
the line he'd crossed.
Never get involved with a client or a member of their
family
.
The outcome, never good, usually included a bad
reputation that spelled death for future business. Gorgeous,
sexy, or willing didn't matter. He couldn't touch any woman
under his protection.
He eyed the street, the parking lot, the few guests
wandering to the lobby for their breakfast. No threats in sight.
He couldn't allow himself to get sloppy, to let anything but his
brain do the thinking.
Clear your head, Mitch, this is not cool.
Especially at a time when it didn't seem to matter how
careful he was. This case left him feeling like a grade-A
screw-up. If he didn't blame himself, he had to believe the
powers that be were against him, tempting him into laziness
and…lust. Then again, blaming an unseen force was like
accusing the baby of stealing the candy first.
Jess stood, half hidden near the lobby doors, hands tucked
into her back pockets, waiting for his nod. Her t-shirt blazing
white in the hot sun, the crown of caramel-colored hair pulled
high and glowing bronze, made her appear an angel set down
on earth. Maybe it wasn't too hard to believe that someone
upstairs tempted him after all.
Mitch nodded, releasing her to come across the parking
lot. She straightened and strode to him, her hips slightly
forward in that way she had.
He didn't believe in fate and karma and all that new age
stuff, but he knew he had won fights when he shouldn't have,
beat the odds when most couldn't have, and escaped the mob in
New York where men better than him had become underwater
members of the concrete-shoe society. This had to be a test.
Jess went right by him, got into the driver's seat and
slammed the door. The window rolled down and she held out
her hand for the keys. "I'm driving."
Mitch leaned down and through the open window, noticed
her mouth was rosier than usual. He remembered the cause,
and grimaced. Definitely a test. "Sorry, Darlin', but I need to
drive."
"Don't call me darlin'" She smiled, that adorable dimple
flashing. How could anyone look so sweet, but so seriously
determined at the same time? "Give me the keys, or I'll hotwire
her and leave you standing here."
He searched her face, saw she was serious beneath the
warmth in her voice, and growled. If he didn't know she
handled the muscle car like an ace, he never would have
agreed. Because Jess could be bullheaded, he took the path of
least resistance. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Sure do." She took the keys from him and gestured with
a bob of her head to the passenger seat. "You comin' or what?"
"I'm comin'." He went around the nose of the car and
glared at Mordstrom and Davis who both grinned. The agents
had seen the whole thing and were taking great pleasure in
watching Mitch jump into the passenger seat. He stifled the
urge to give them the bird, and instead, snapped his sunglasses
on.
Mordstrom answered by revving his engine once. Jess
turned the ignition, taking his cue and going a step further. She
returned the rev with a roar form the Mustang and a grin of her
own. The heavy engine made the agent's car sound like a
wheezing cat. Mitch smiled and wiggled his fingers in a tootleloo wave at the disgruntled looking men.
Jess spun out backward and paused, letting Mordstrom
nose his car alongside her so Davis could speak through the
passenger window. "We'll be riding behind you. Use your
signals and keep us in your review mirror at all times."
"Will do," Jess said, but she sounded ready to race him out
of the parking lot.
"I mean it, Miss Owen." Davis all but shook a finger at
her. "Maybe you should let Mitch drive, men are better at this
type of thing."
Mitch groaned and tightened his seat belt.
"And what type of thing is that, Agent Davis?" she asked,
much too sweetly.
"Well, defensive driving." Davis frowned, obviously
realizing he was on dangerous ground, but unwilling to give in.
"You just keep us in your rearview mirror."
"And you just keep up with me." Tires squealed on
asphalt as she popped the clutch and shot them forward. Blue
haze filled the air, obscuring the agents for a moment before
they goosed their car onto the road.
Mitch couldn't help it. He threw his head back and
laughed. "Damn, I take it back. You're not impossible, you're
crazy."
She grinned at him before she whipped the wheel and
plastered him to the door in a too-tight turn. "Thanks."
Forget gorgeous, sexy, and willing. He preferred sassy as
hell. He'd gladly give up his reputation for that. What did it
matter in the long run? People needed protection, the world
was a dangerous place, and as long as it was, he'd have a job
wherever he went.
Once they entered the on-ramp, Jess let the Mustang out
full bore. He expected a cop to pull them over any second.
Looking through the rear window, he didn't find a patrol car,
but he did see Mordstrom and Davis, though small and about a
half mile back.
Facing forward, he smiled at her. She was capable of
anything. "Remind me to never piss you off."
* * *
Jess waited, her airline ticket clutched in her fist.
Mordstrom and Davis hung back, one on each point of entry to
the waiting area just before the gate. She couldn't walk through
until her father got there. She couldn't leave without seeing
him one last time.
"He'll come." Mitch shoved his hands deep into his
pockets, as if now that their luggage had been checked, he
didn't know what to do with his hands. She wondered too, if he
regretted checking his gun into baggage. Mordstrom and Davis
had kept theirs and she'd seen Mitch's envy.
Jess turned her attention back to the entrance. The
constant watch of the agents, Mitch's suddenly overt
surveillance of everything and everybody, proved how
dangerous this was. Every brown-haired man that passed her
became the man she'd shot in front of the diner. Every stranger
without luggage, a ticket in hand, or some indication they were
merely passengers of the same flight, raised her suspicions. A
threat could come from anyone.
Although she'd never flown before, the idea of flying
didn't frighten her as much as the idea that another passenger,
or even the pilot, could be someone with enough smarts to get
something lethal, but undetectable onto the plane. Someone
who might be already waiting for his chance.
God, she wouldn't be able to eat or drink until they got to
L.A., afraid she'd scarf poison or swallow acid or something
equally awful.
"Relax," Mitch said, eyeing her. "He won't miss saying
goodbye to you."
Jess hadn't been thinking about her father at that moment,
but she nodded and exhaled. As soon as her lungs emptied, she
saw them. She grinned and Mitch followed her line of sight.
He shook his head, a wide smile on his face. "Jesus, no
wonder they're late."
Her father, Dirty Dan Owen, led a small army of blackleather clad, tattooed, and long-haired men through the airport.
All ten wore matching expressions of doom and damnation.
Airport security must have had a field day with all the metal
gear hanging from jackets and jeans and wallets. She bet
they'd been searched from head to toe. Every single man,
down to skinny Trash and up to hulking Tiny, who made even
Mitch look petite.
"Dad," she hollered and jogged to meet him. He'd brought
a parade to send her off. How she loved him for it.
"There's my girl." He lifted her off her feet in a bear hug.
"The guys heard what was up and wanted to make sure you got
on board okay."
Jess kissed his cheek, her throat suddenly too small.
"Thanks, Dad." Avoiding her tears, avoiding the moment that
would come too soon, she turned to J.D. "You gotta watch out
for him, take care of him. You know what he'll get up to if I'm
not around."
J.D. nodded and slapped her father on the back. "He's in
good hands, Jess, don't worry none. You just watch your
back."
Trash came forward with a small bag in his hand. "Here,
thought you'd like it for the trip."
She took it and looked inside. Her favorite candy bar and
a pair of earrings rested on a comic book. She fished out the
earrings, matching pink pigs with little leather jackets, and
laughed. "Earrings?"
Trash shrugged. "I hear planes do weird things to your
ears, thought a pair of hogs would help."
She laughed and hugged him, rubbing a knuckle into the
top of his head as she did so.
"Ow!" he howled, but he grinned when he stepped back.
Tiny and Kooch surrounded her next. Tiny waved a
finger in her face. "It gets dicey out there, you call us. We'll
take care of everything."
Kooch narrowed his eyes at Mitch. "Don't know why you
want to go off anyway. We take care of our own."
"Thanks guys," Jess said, patting Kooch on the arm. "It's
better this way all around." Turning to Tiny she said, "If I need
you, I'll call."
"Don't forget." Tiny admonished, his long, dirty blonde
hair fanning around his face as he bent and lowered his voice.
"You watch out for that guy, he doesn't look like he could
protect you from a cockroach."