The Closer (10 page)

“Bed,” she murmured between kisses. “Now.”

Griff smiled against her mouth, then without warning, he lifted her up, eliciting a little squeak of surprise from her throat. She accommodatingly wrapped her legs around his waist and, as he filled both hands with her wonderful heart-shaped rump, he felt another strike of heat land in his loins. The massive four-poster loomed large in the bedroom, a veritable oasis, and he followed her down onto the decadent softness, ate another sigh of pleasure from her ripe lips.

Seemingly desperate for the feel of him beneath her hands, she tugged at his shirt, pulling it fully from the waistband of his pants, then slid a greedy palm along his side, over his ribs. A low groan issued from her throat, one that, impossibly, made him even hotter.

Determined to feel her as well, Griff left her mouth and pressed a line of kisses along her jaw, down her throat while simultaneously slipping the front buttons of her shirt from their closures.
Creamy skin, the swell of breasts above the lace edge of her bra, a nipple pushing through the silky fabric, pouting for him, ready for him.

He slid his nose down the middle of her chest, breathing her in, then traced the plump curve of her breast with his tongue before latching on to the crest and pulling it into his mouth through the fabric.

She inhaled sharply, mewled low, then squirmed against him even as her dextrous hand found the snap of his pants. He popped the front clasp of her bra to the tune of his own zipper whining, then bared her breasts with his teeth as her hand wrapped around him.

He closed his eyes tightly and shuddered from the intimate contact. Though a part of him longed to take things slow, to gradually discover her, to push her to the absolute brink before following her over, desire obliterated the sentiment, delivering a knockout punch to every inclination to dally.

There'd be time enough for that later.

Right now he just needed her. Needed to feel the rasp of his tongue against her nipples, her firm legs around his waist, her hot, wet heat surrounding him as he plunged dick deep into the welcoming cradle of her thighs. He wanted her hands on his ass, her mouth against his throat and his name screaming from her lips as he pounded into her, slaking the full measure of his lust in her glorious, womanly body.

Blessedly, she seemed to arrive at the same conclusion just as he did and she tore at his clothes, shoving his pants down his legs, then dragging his shirt over his head. Because being naked alone was as out of the question as unfair, Griff reciprocated in kind. Her slacks and panties got kicked to the foot of the bed and her jacket and shirt slung onto the floor, along with her bra.

He drew back to look at her, slipping his hands down over her sweet belly, the generous curve of her hip, and took in the thatch of silky mink curls at the top of her sex. Her breasts were mouthwateringly magnificent, full and crowned with dusky-pink nipples, puckered and waiting for his attention.

He released a shuddering breath as need and something else, not as easily defined and pretty damn terrifying, reached critical mass.

She reminded him of a Renaissance painting he'd once seen in Florence by the Italian master Titian—
Venus of Urbino
. She was sprawled across the down comforter, unapologetically feminine, blatantly sensual and unwittingly erotic. Her dark hair spilled out over the bed, her lovely mouth swollen from his kisses and her sleepy-looking dark gray gaze raked boldly over his body, lingering on his chest, his abdomen, his cock.

It, naturally, hardened further, practically preening beneath that sultry stare.

After what seemed like an eternity, her gaze bumped back into his and the slightest upturn of her lips beckoned with an unspoken invitation. Griff leaned forward and snagged a condom from the bedside drawer—this suite really was well equipped, he thought as he tore into the small foil package, withdrew the protection and quickly rolled it into place.

She glanced at his erection and snickered, which was, for obvious reasons, not the reaction a man wanted when a woman inspected his junk. “Leopard print? Really?”

Having been so distracted by the naked woman lying ready on the bed, Griff had not paused to inspect the protection he'd donned. He did now and felt his lips twitch. He glanced back at her and growled low, his own poor impersonation of the large cat, then determinedly crouched low and carefully sprang onto her, playfully biting her neck as he nudged her entrance.

“That was impressive,” she said, laughing softly. She wrapped her arms around him, slid her nails down his back—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to get his attention. His skin prickled with gooseflesh. “Can you do other animals, as well?”

He drew back, laved her breast with his tongue, then pulled the tight bud into his mouth as he pushed into her. Her breath left her in a soundless
whoosh,
her muscles tightened around him and he squeezed his eyes shut as sensation blasted through him. His chest tightened, a fluttery heat winged through his belly and his cock felt as if it had died and gone to heaven. She was hot and tight and fit him like a glove, as though she'd been made expressly for him. And though they were only joined in the usual place, he felt the connection from one end of his body to the other—on a cellular level—and it was as exquisite as it was terrifying.

Because being afraid of anything, least of all sex, was unacceptable, Griff batted the notion away and coupled his “mountain lion” impression with another ball-deep thrust. He desperately needed some humor to lighten the moment, to try to convince himself that these feelings weren't quite as significant as he suspected.

“Cougar,” he panted, doing it again and again, thrusting harder and deeper, then deeper still. “Leopard, cheetah, lynx, jaguar.”

She smiled and clung to him, drew her legs back, opening farther for him, then grabbed his ass and squeezed with desperate tension, clawing need in her frantic touch. She bent forward and licked his neck, a sleek path along the underside of his jaw, a sensitive area he hadn't known existed until she'd found it with her tongue.

Impossibly, he hardened more, could feel the tightening coil of climax circling in the back of his loins, and another low growl issued from his throat.

“What was that?” she asked.

He laughed, lifted her hips off the bed and plunged deeper. “Me,” he said. “Just me.”

“It was my favorite,” she breathed brokenly, then tightened around him, fisted repeatedly, seemingly determined to make him lose it before she did.

Hell would freeze over first.

He reached between their joined bodies and massaged her clit, circling the engorged little kernel with the pad of his thumb. She sucked in a sharp breath, then swore hotly. “Dammit to hell— That's not— But you can't—”

Griff smiled down at her and increased the tempo. “I can't what?”

She glared at him, the muscles straining in her neck as she wrestled with the sensation. Her breath came in jagged little puffs, her glorious rosy-tipped breasts shook on her chest, absorbing each one of his frantic thrusts, and she clamped her feminine muscles around him once more, fisting tighter in an attempt to hold him, keep him there with her.

Harder, faster, deeper, he pistoned in and out of her, chasing after her release, determined to see her satisfied first, to see the exact moment when she lost it for him, when she came for him.

And it was worth it, Griff thought as every muscle in her body seized violently, bowing her back up off the bed, the hot greedy walls of her sweet sex bearing down on his aching cock. A silent scream ripped from her opened mouth and her cheeks blazed with color as she clung to him, held him, her shaking fingers biting into his flesh. Still convulsing around him, she leaned forward and licked his nipple, drew the small nub into her mouth and captured it lightly between her teeth.

The little shock of pleasurelike pain tore the breath out of his lungs and ripped release from the back of his balls. He shuddered violently as the orgasm tore through him, set his toes deep into the mattress and locked himself into her silky heat. His release triggered another aftershock of pleasure from her and she quaked anew, her breathing ragged and satisfied.

His limbs limp as noodles, Griff lifted himself off her, neatly disposed of the condom into the bedside trash, then hauled her firmly up against him. She made a low, contented sound and settled more comfortably into the wall of his chest.

“What was that?” he teased, referencing her own little noise.

She chuckled softly. “That was the sound of a satisfied woman,” she said. “It's a little disturbing that you don't recognize it.”

Pleasantly exhausted, Griff laughed and slung an arm over his forehead. “Maybe I just need to hear it a few more times. You know, so I can commit it to memory.”

She turned and pressed a lingering kiss against his jaw, her twinkling, sated gaze tangling with his. “That sounds like a plan.”

He grinned. “That's me, baby. The man with the plan.”

And right now his only plan revolved around her, the bottle of massage oil he'd noticed in the drawer and a tiger-striped condom. Beyond that, who knew?

But he suspected Jessalyn Rossi was going to be a significant part of his future.

10

H
OURS
LATER
,
AFTER
she'd attended several press events, met the much nicer Clarice and underwent a necessary but mortifying “fitting” for the bra, during which Griff naturally had to stand guard, Jess was mentally and physically exhausted. It wasn't that she minded him seeing her breasts—she rather liked the way he looked at them, actually, the way that hot hungry stare made her feel—but having him watch as Clarice and a seamstress literally adjusted her nipples for her and tsked over the removal of the push-up padding was more than a little awkward.

“I'm thrilled that you're doing this,” the seamstress, Marjory, had told her. “It's a giant step forward if you ask me, having a normal-size model on the cover of the magazine. You'll be an inspiration to women everywhere.”

Jess had merely smiled. She didn't know about that, but she appreciated the sentiment all the same. It had certainly beaten the hell out of Ms. Blaylock's opinion, that was for damn sure.

She mentally gave the hateful woman a single-finger salute, and happily took another bite of her cheeseburger. Griff sat next to her on the small sofa, his gaze roaming over more intel Ranger Security had provided. The soft glow of the fire cast a halo of coppery light around his head, illuminating his curls. He'd stripped off his shirt and pants, revealing gleaming skin over mouthwatering muscle, and lounged comfortably in his boxers, his long masculine feet kicked out in front of him. Aside from when they'd dozed this afternoon, it was the most relaxed she'd seen him. She loved the sleek turn of his bare shoulder, the exact spot where it met his neck. It made her hot. Hell, who was she kidding?

He
made her hot.

He sent her a slant-eyed look, humor lighting his gaze. “You're staring.”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and dragged a fry through a puddle of ketchup. “What do you expect? You're practically naked.”

“You could be, too, if you wanted. You'd get no objection from me.”

She'd just bet she wouldn't. She'd never felt more beautiful than she had this afternoon, when he'd been hovering above her, his big powerful body thrusting into hers while he raked her bare skin with his blistering gaze. Her lady bits quivered, remembering, and a hot rush of sensation tingled in her sex.

It had been unbelievably exquisite, the exact moment when he'd pushed inside her. She'd been breathless, shattered, rebuilt and reborn all in an instant. It was as though every minute leading up to that one had been for nothing—utterly pointless—and every moment going forward would be forever tied to it, as well.

It had been a significant turning point, she thought, but whether that would be for better or for worse remained to be seen. Though she'd love to explore this...
thing
between them—to see if the fiery connection could burn indefinitely or if, like a dying star, it would simply blaze magnificently for a little while and then fade away into insignificance—she wasn't sure it was such a good idea.

Aside from the fact that she didn't know whether Griff would even want to continue their—relationship? acquaintance? affair? whatever the appropriate label—beyond this weekend, the logistics alone would be a nightmare. Granted, other couples managed to make long-distance relationships work, but she imagined that there was an endgame plan, one that ultimately resulted in one or the other party relocating.

Unfortunately, that was out of the question for both of them.

Griff's job and family were in Atlanta. Her job and father were in Shadow's Gap. Neither scenario was likely to change, and it was a long damn way from Georgia to West Virginia.

Even if they wanted to try to make it work—and admittedly she was just smitten enough to be so inclined—chances were they'd only be setting themselves up for heartache later. Or, at the very least, she would. Though she hadn't known Griff long enough to really know him—his likes and dislikes, foibles and fetishes—she still knew enough about him to recognize the key elements of his character, the kind of man he was, the kind of man he strived to be...and, frighteningly, that was enough for her to be half in love with him already.

Point of fact, she'd never been in love before and, while most of her friends were married and had children, Jess had never felt as though her life was lacking or unfulfilled because she didn't. She was happy with the status quo. Though she'd dated enough men who'd passed muster—who weren't intimidated by her hobbies or independence—she'd nevertheless never met one who made her want to don a veil and give up birth control. Were a husband and family of her own anywhere in her future? She didn't know. She supposed it could happen. But if it didn't, she'd never doubted that that would be all right, as well. She cast a covert glance at the man next to her.

But if there was ever a guy who could make her second-guess herself, then it was Griffin Wicklow.

She was playing with fire, Jess thought, dancing too damn close to the flames.

His cell vibrated on the coffee table, drawing her attention and, though she didn't intentionally read the display, she noticed it, anyway. Justin again. He seemed to text a lot, which described nearly every teenager in the modern world, she knew, but she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it for Griff's little brother. Her antennae had been twitching where the boy was concerned.

Griff casually leaned forward, picked up his phone and read the text. To the untrained eye, one might have thought his expression didn't change, but Jess perceived the slightest tightening around his mouth.

“What's wrong?”

Seemingly startled, his gaze swung to hers. “Nothing,” he said. “It's just a text from Justin. He wants me to call him again.”

“Oh, okay.” She leaned forward, preparing to stand. “I'll give you some privacy then.”

He grabbed her arm, tugged her back onto the couch. “I don't need any privacy,” he told her. “I'm not going to call him back right now.”

Something about the “right now” sounded off, as if he'd tacked the words onto the end of the sentence for her benefit. “Why not?” Jess asked. “We're finished for the evening. There are no more press events or fittings.”

“You should have gone to dinner with Mr. Pershing and Mr. Nolan,” he said, evidently trying to change the subject. He had diversion tactics down to an art form. “You didn't have to refuse on my account.”

“I didn't,” she lied. There was no way in hell she would have left him alone to guard the bra. Not that he wasn't fully capable of taking care of himself or that she expected to be a whole lot of help if they were attacked, but the idea of being away from him to deal with it on his own had been out of the question.

She strongly suspected he'd been left too much to deal with on his own.

He grinned at her, lifted a disbelieving brow. “You're telling me you'd rather have a room-service cheeseburger than a gourmet meal at one of the finest restaurants New York has to offer?”

“Truthfully, no,” she admitted with a regretful shrug. “But the company is much better here.”

His smile widened, evidence that he'd liked her response.

“You never answered my question,” she reminded him.

His grin momentarily froze. “What question?”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Really? We're going to play this game again?” She heaved a disappointed sigh. “It would be so much more efficient if you'd just tell me what I want to know.”

“Efficient?” he repeated, nearly gaping at her. “That's the word you've decided best communicates your nosiness?”

“Of course not,” she said. “It's the one I thought would most appeal to you.”

Impossibly, he looked even more shocked. He shook his head. “You're shameless, you know that?”

She nodded once. “I am. Now, what's the problem with calling your brother?” Family was family. She didn't buy into this “half” business. “Is he irritating? Annoying? Do you not like him? What?”

Griff sighed, looked away and passed a hand over his face. She could tell he was debating the merit of telling her to mind her own damn business versus confiding in her. She desperately hoped that he chose the latter.

He released another breath, then shot her a dark but resigned look. “No, he's not irritating or annoying,” he said, much to her triumphant relief. “And yes, as it happens, I do like him.” He looked away, staring at the fire. “He's a good kid.”

Jess felt her brow furrow with confusion. “Then I don't understand. What's the problem?”

He dropped heavily back against the couch. “The problem is that he wants a relationship with me, and it's going to cause pain to other members of my family.”

Ah
. She inclined her head. “Your mom and sister would object?” While she wasn't in possession of all the facts and history, that seemed a little harsh. It wasn't Justin's fault that his father was an ass any more than it was anyone else's.

He shook his head. “No, they wouldn't—that would be petty,” he added, then hesitated. “But my mother never got over my father and, while Glory never really knew him, I know that his absence hurt her. Justin is the kid my father raised, and his mother is the one my father didn't leave.” He lifted a shoulder, his gaze haunted with helplessness. “Whether it's fair or not, Justin's a reminder of all that. I can't just ignore it because we share DNA.”

Jess winced, offered a sympathetic smile. “A sticky wicket then?”

He nodded. “Very much so.”

“And I take it Justin wants to be a part of your family? At least get to know you and your sister better?”

“He does.”

“Well, you can hardly fault his good taste, can you?” she teased. “I mean, who wouldn't want you for a big brother? Come on. Former ranger, security expert, man with the plan,” she said. “And I don't know your sister, but it sounds to me like you helped raise her. If that's the case, then she's got to be pretty remarkable, as well.”

“She is,” he said, his gaze twinkling with admiration.

Jess hesitated. “Can I make a suggestion?”

He lifted a sardonic brow. “Would it matter if I said no?”

“Ordinarily, no,” she admitted because it was the truth. “But in this case, yes, it would.” She grinned and leaned forward, as though sharing a little secret. “I'll admit that I've pressed you for answers, but we both know that if you really didn't want me to have them, then I wouldn't.” She snorted indelicately and rolled her eyes. “You don't just play your cards close to your vest, you hide them beneath the table, and I am more than a little confident that even a firing squad at the ready couldn't make you give up your hand unless you chose to do so.”

A bark of uncomfortable laughter erupted from his throat. “You think so, do you?”

“I don't think,” she corrected. “I
know
.” And he hated it, Jess thought, but she decided against pointing that out, as well. She liked unnerving him, but scaring the hell out of him was another matter altogether.

“You were going to make a suggestion?” he prompted, clearly uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken.

“Yes, I was,” she said. “I understand your position and the fact that you don't want to needlessly hurt your mother or sister, but...they're adults, Griff, and Justin isn't.” She bit her lip and softened her gaze. “He's a kid who's been through hell and you're his hero. And I just want to point out one more thing and then I swear, I'll shut up about it, but ask yourself this. If your father has been such a wonderful dad to him—when historically he's proven that he's not—then why is Justin trying so desperately to have a relationship with you? Is it because you gave him a kidney? Or could it be something else?”

He stilled, his gaze turning inward, then he looked at her and shook his head. “I...I don't know,” he said. “Those are very good questions.”

“I don't think that you have to make a choice between Justin and your mother and sister,” she continued. “I think you should ask yourself if
you
want a relationship with your brother. And if that answer is yes, then let the chips fall where they may. Your family loves you. I can't imagine that they wouldn't want you to be happy.”

She imagined it had been so long since he'd considered his own happiness, that putting others first had simply become second nature, that he no longer even considered his own wants and needs. Which was honorable, she'd admit, but hardly fair.

He glanced over at her, a wan smile on his distractingly sexy lips. “I'm sure you're right. Thanks,” he added, almost as an afterthought, as though he wasn't accustomed to sharing his gratitude.

Jess grinned at him, then stood and straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her forehead against his. “Anytime,” she said, meaning it. She'd gladly be his confidante, particularly when she grimly suspected that he didn't have one.

She brushed her lips over his, reveling in the feel of his hands as they settled on her hips, and felt him instantly harden beneath her. Need coiled through her belly, making her breath stutter out of her lungs. She'd showered earlier and hadn't bothered to dress for bed, but had simply donned the hotel robe.

Best Decision Ever, she decided as his warm palms slid over her bare rump. Oh, how she loved his hands. They were large and long fingered, the backs of his knuckles sprinkled with fine auburn hair. Her feminine muscles tightened, slickening her folds, and she deepened the kiss, sucking his tongue into her mouth, deliberately mimicking a more intimate act. He groaned against her tongue, pushed his hands farther beneath her robe and then slid his fingers around until his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts. Gooseflesh skittered across her rapidly heating skin, pebbling her nipples. She dragged her lips from his, strung kisses along his jaw, the arch of his cheek, then nipped at his earlobe. He pushed up against her in response, the thin fabric of his boxers the only barrier between them.