“I hope you’ll give my request some thought,” Mitchell said quietly.
The VP shot Omari a look; he returned it with equal venom. What had happened between those two, Jenessa wondered.
“I’ll need to speak to him first,” Sharona ground out.
That seemed to satisfy Mitchell. “We’ll be right over.”
“Alone,” Sharona clarified.
He looked momentarily taken aback. “Alone?”
She lifted her brows. “You got issues with that?”
Omari cut in. “‘S okay, man. I got this. I’m sure you got . . .” a probing look at Jenessa “. . . stuff to handle.” His back stiff, and like a dignified penguin, he followed Sharona out into the pale sunshine, leaving Jenessa alone with Mitchell.
The quiet was huge enough to fill a cathedral. She realized she was twisting her fingers around the jade bracelet on her wrist. She made herself quit.
He spotted the gesture, and the smile he gave her was one of gratitude and victory. She knew what he was thinking; she hadn’t taken it off. That must mean something, right?
He took a step closer, and then another, until he was close enough to touch her if he wanted. He didn’t. Instead, he said with authority. “You have two options: my hotel, or your place.”
Surprised laughter burst from her mouth. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, I’m serious. We’ve got business to take care of. C’mon; I’m parked right outside.”
She still wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “You mean . . . now?”
“Yeah, now.”
“But . . . it’s eleven-thirty in the morning!”
“We’re playing hooky.” He dipped his head so his mouth could be closer to her ear. “I missed you. I want you. I’ve put up with this crap for long enough. It ends today.”
Although she’d just escaped tropical jungle heat, she was shivering. Excitement and delight and lust and love and hunger. I missed you. I want you. Oh, mercy.
“Your hotel’s closer,” she said.
21.
Jenessa watched as Mitchell rammed the dead-bolt home on the inside of his hotel door. The room was bright and airy; and crisp winter sunshine streamed in through the windows. Swiftly and decisively, he drew the curtains, shutting out the light, but not the idea that they were about to have middle-of-the-day sex—on a workday to boot.
They’d talked very little in the car on the way over, but the silence was electric rather than uncomfortable. He rested his hand lightly on her knee as he drove, just letting it sit there, not teasing, not sliding higher. He probably meant it as a warm, reassuring gesture, but the effect it had had on her nerves was cataclysmic.
She stood motionless as he helped her off with her jacket. He looked around for a second, as if trying to remember where the coat hooks were, and then shrugged impatiently and tossed it onto a chair. He did the same with his. Then carefully, methodically, and with unswerving focus, he began to undress her. She was wearing a black-and-white houndstooth-patterned dress with more than a dozen buttons down the front. He set about unbuttoning them as though undergoing a speed-and-dexterity test. By the time he hit the sixth button and her dress popped open to reveal the satin cups of her push-up bra, she was quivering.
“Sure you got enough buttons there, Jen?”
She couldn’t get her heart to stop racing, and he was making jokes! As he stooped to conquer the last of her buttons she looked down at him. His frown of concentration was so familiar, and so endearing. Everything he did, he did with a hundred percent of his being. It had only been a few days since she’d seen him, but her soul felt parched for his company. It had been Chinese water torture; each minute away from him, each hour, had fallen in slow, agonizing drips until she was half-insane with missing him.
He finished playing the button game and peeled off her dress. Now she was standing there in just her bra, half-slip, and panties. He yanked off the half-slip as if it were an annoyance. “Why do you women wear these things?” he muttered.
He stood in front of her again. The anguish that filled her heart bubbled up and began spilling from her lips. “Mitchell, I’m so, so sorry.” She stroked his jaw, a delicate touch with her fingertips. “It seems that all I ever do is apologize to you.”
His eyes shone gold and emerald. “Not now.”
“Yes, now!” she protested. “There’s so much I’ve done wrong. So much I need to make up for. And I need to tell you—”
“Lots of stuff I need to tell you, too, but right now I’m going to say it with my body, not my mouth.” He paused and wrinkled his brow. “Well, I plan on using my mouth lots, too. But in ways that are a lot more fun than talking.” He demonstrated by planting a slow, sweet, intense kiss on her lips. Her lips parted immediately under the pressure, and her eyelids drifted shut. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and kissing him back ardently.
Maybe there was something to this no-speaking idea of his, after all.
The kiss went on and on, a healing touch. He placed one hand on each cheek of her bottom and pressed against him. His hard body was like a muscled wall. She pulled her mouth away. “Take . . .” She realized she didn’t have enough air in her lungs to speak. She sucked some in and her oxygen-starved brain began to focus. “Take . . . take off . . .”
He released her only briefly. “Gotcha.” He began removing his clothes, yanking at his buttons so hard that one of them popped off and hit the wall with a barely audible clink.
“Sir Mitchell and Anti-Button Crusade.” She laughed.
“Buttons are a menace,” he agreed, “especially when they stand between you and something you badly want.”
“And I badly want you.” She clicked open his belt buckle and undid the fly of his jeans with expert hands. His erection straining against the fabric of his underwear— but not for long. Soon enough, she had those off, too.
He was naked and splendid; long, lean, hard, and so wonderful she smoothed her hands down his chest, feeling the ripple of taut muscle. As she came into contact with his abdomen something twitched beneath the surface of his skin. “God,” he breathed.
“You’ll be calling out for Him a whole lot more in a few minutes,” she warned.
“Think you’re that good, huh?”
“I know I am.” She dropped to her knees and began to prove it. He was hot in her hand, and in her mouth. Every protest she wrenched from him was a minor victory. His pubic hair was neatly trimmed, and crisp against her cheek. The smell of him, the taste of him, was both familiar and a revelation.
“Stop,” he begged, although she knew damn well he wanted her to do no such thing. “Cut it out!”
In his dreams.
She worked on him relentlessly until he gave up and gave in. After his final shudder, he grunted, “Damn, girl,” and leaned against the wall for support. The flavor of victory was delectable.
It was her turn, and she was taking what he owed her. She slid her hand between his legs and began stroking him insistently. He opened his eyes in disbelief. “What’re you doing?”
“Recharging your batteries,” she said saucily. “Jen still wants to play.”
She didn’t have long to wait. A sensual smile warped into a wicked grin. “Standby power on. Turn around.”
“Turn? . . .”
Not a man to repeat himself, he grasped her by the shoulders and spun her around until she was the one needing wall support. Her face was pressed right up against it, and he was hard and strong against her back. He lifted her with one arm, and when she was in position, drove swiftly into her, making her yelp.
“You started it,” he reminded her. Then he began an onslaught on her senses so wild and loud she was sure the neighbors would come a-knocking. He was pure strength, pure energy. While one hand held her steady, the other was free to wreak havoc, tormenting her nipples, skimming over her belly, dipping in between her legs to stroke her into delirium. The combination of deep penetration and his expert fingertips got her to
a point where her entire being became nothing more than a vibrating ball of energy.
When he finally threw her, sobbing and gasping, onto the bed, she was so sweat-slicked she was afraid she’d slide right off. He flopped down next to her, struggling for air as she was. They were both laughing like fools.
“You got a thing for bath oil,” she commented. They’d defied the logic of physics by squeezing themselves into the small hotel bathtub. He was sitting with his knees poking up out of the water, and she was wedged in between his legs, her back against his chest.
“Hmm?” he asked sleepily, and well he might be sleepy, considering the thousands of calories he’d expended over the last couple of hours.
“One of the first gifts you gave me. You remember, Secret Santa? Body oil.”
He remembered. “Lemongrass.”
“This one’s orange blossom, I think.” She lifted her fingers to her nose and sniffed idly, but her skin still smelled more of him than anything else.
“I haven’t got a thing for body oil,” he clarified. “You ladies do.”
“So you got me some.”
“Yeah.”
“Trying to bribe me, huh?”
“Trying to catch your interest.”
She leaned against him, enjoying his solidity and strength. “It worked.”
He pressed his lips against the side of her neck. “Sure did.”
The knowledge that he still wanted to kiss her and be close to her after such a marathon session of exchanging pheromones made her smile. “I’m glad I’m here,” she whispered.
“I’m glad you’re here, too.”
She longed to simply drift off in his arms, at least until the water went cold, but they’d been talking about other stuff. Serious stuff. She dragged her thoughts back to the subject at hand. “So, Omari did what he did because he was mad at Sharona?”
He sighed. “That’s what he told me. She was trying to get him to spy on the others.”
“In exchange for his job.”
“Yup. I’m sure it was pretty tempting; his chances of getting another decent job are low. But he’s a straight-up guy. A suggestion like that would offend him to the bottom of his soul.”
She didn’t know the man, but if Mitchell respected him, that was enough. “So he did something dumb. Is he in a lot of trouble?”
“His job’s shot for sure, but I’ll do whatever I can to keep Bianchi’s from pressing charges. He might even walk away with his pension, if I can convince the VP.”
She shook her head. “Sharona’s a bitch.”
“A truer word has never been said.”
In the silence that followed there was only one thing on her mind. Another offer Sharona had made. Another spirit she’d tried to break. Hers. She was half afraid to voice her thoughts, dreading the possibility that opening up the subject again would tear apart the threads of their fragile new beginning. But if she didn’t, it would always be hanging between them.
“Mitchell, you know I would never have . . .” She couldn’t finish.
His arms tightened around her. “I know, sweetheart.”
“You mean more to me than any job, any deal Sharona could have put on the table. I need you to believe that.”
“I do. I did even when you first told me.”
Her mouth twisted in disbelief. “You didn’t look like you believed me.”
She felt his chest heave against her back as he sighed. “I know; I was a jackass. I felt I was playing a losing game. That even though you wanted to have fun with me for a while, it could never be permanent.”
“Maybe it was like that,” she said slowly. “For a while.”
“What happened?”
“Then I discovered how wonderful you are. I fell in love with you.”
“Love’s a good reason to play for keeps,” he observed.
With great effort, she got to her knees and turned around in the tub, congratulating herself for not falling on her face as she did so. She needed to look him in the eye for what was to come next. “Remember what you told me the first time we kissed?”
“I’m sure I said a lot of stuff.” But from the glint in his eyes she could tell he knew what she was talking about.
“You said this wasn’t a game.”
“What is it, then?”
She brought her mouth close to his and kissed him lightly on his lower lip. “An adventure. A journey.” Then she added cautiously, almost shyly, “A love match?”
“You asking me if I love you?”
She tried to cover up her vulnerability with bravado. “Seems like I damn well have to, Mister. You haven’t been forthcoming with the information.”
His eyes slid away from hers and he stared into the middle distance as he thought hard. “Yeah, Monique pretty much pointed that out.”
She lifted a brow. “Monique, huh?”
“Everyone needs someone to confide in.” He patted her hip comfortingly. “But don’t worry; there’s nothing there anymore. Trust me.”
She wasn’t surprised to learn she trusted him with everything; her heart, her body, her soul . . . even Monique. Although wild horses could probably get her to admit she was curious.
“We’ll talk about her, if you want,” he offered. “But not today.”
Her curiosity was nowhere near as big as her faith. She shook her head, damp ringlets clinging to her cheeks. “No need. What’s past is past.” There were more important things at stake, if they were going to try to make this work. If he loved her.
He read her unspoken question. “Isn’t my being here enough?”
“Not nearly,” she insisted. She was going for broke. If he said no, her heart would be smashed. But if he said yes . . .
“I’ve only said ‘I love you’ to one woman in my entire life.”
“I know,” she said gently. “But she’s gone.”
“I understand that. I miss her, but I understand. I’m afraid . . .”
“That it’d make you love her less?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not something I can put my finger on.” Then he went on thoughtfully, “But any way you look at it, I never compared you to her. You’re unique. You’re you. And that’s why I . . .” He paused.
That pause told her everything. Through some inexplicable awareness, she knew. He did love her—he just didn’t know how to say it. Relief and elation fought inside her for precedence. She’d have to help him along, help him find a way to speak out, at least the first time.
He was a reasonable man; so she’d have to win him over using reason. She stroked his jaw gently. The rasp of stubble under her fingers reminded her of the few days of misery and disorder she put him through. “The universe is a pretty big place.”
His lips curved. “I suspect it’s a tad more than ‘pretty big’.”
“My point exactly. And there’s only one thing bigger.”
She could tell he knew where she was coming from because he was smiling. “And what’s that?”
“Love. It goes on and on. It doesn’t run out. It’s like sand on the beach, or stars in the sky. You can look forever and keep finding more and more.” She wiggled until she was straddling him, her breasts pressed against his chest and her face close to his. “You loved Wendy. You love your sister, you love your niece. If you want to love me, just open your heart. Then love will come pouring in.”
“You’ve put forward a very convincing argument, Miss Sterling.”
“You know I’m right. So repeat after me: I love you.”
He didn’t hesitate for more than a second. “Jen?”
Her face was the picture of innocence, as if she hadn’t been the one to instigate it. As if she didn’t know what he was about to say. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
She put one hand behind her ear, feigning deafness. “Sorry?”
“I love you.”
She was grinning, enjoying this. “Say again?”
He grinned back. “Now you’re just messing with me.”
>
The tub was getting cold. She stood up. Water streamed from her body, and she tilted forward so that some of the droplets pouring from her breasts and the triangle between her legs dripped down onto his upturned face. “Dry yourself off and get on to the bed, Mr. Cooper. ‘Cause I plan on messin’ with you a whole lot more tonight.”
Epilogue
Coral stood at the bottom of the steps, wavering. Tempted to run, but there was nowhere to run to. She looked up at Mitch’s front door: it was only four or five steps away, but getting to it would be like climbing to the top of a pyramid. In spite of her gaunt frame, her legs felt heavy as she took each step. Like a kid in kindergarten, she counted as she climbed: one . . . two . . . three. . . .
The door seemed huge, and she was half afraid it would fall on her if she touched it. But it was the only thing that still stood between her cursed existence and the hope of salvation. She pressed the buzzer.
It opened almost immediately, too suddenly for her to heed her panicked instinct to spin around and run. Mitch was standing there, looking smooth and relaxed in dark slacks and a light sweater. Her big brother; always handsome, always confident, always in control. She wanted to fall into his arms.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Behind him, she could see fresh-painted walls, new furniture, new fixtures. She felt fleeting shame when she remembered his home had been destroyed by fire—one she’d caused. Then there was a flash of blonde hair and his girlfriend . . . what was her name? Jennifer? . . . came and stood behind him. She placed her hands on his arms. Her expression was guarded. Coral didn’t blame her.
The warmth of the interior poured out to meet the February chill outside. Coral longed to be in there, curled up and safe, like a cat by the radiator.
“Ruby’s not here,” Mitch said. “She’s working on a school project.”
Coral felt a sharp pang of pain, followed by a flood of relief. Ruby didn’t need to see her like this. She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t come to visit her. I came to see you.”
“Why, Coral?” he asked tenderly.
The Irresistible Mr Cooper Page 20
