by Nana Malone
But now he was being nice. She didn’t understand nice. At least not from him. Competitive yes, conniving, definitely. Nice, not so much. He'd been making it a point over the last couple of days to be nice to her, consult her on a story. Nice. It was weirding her out.
She almost preferred it when they were sniping at each other ... or when he put his hands under her blouse and his mouth on her neck. Mmm. Or how he whispered her name like a ragged caress when he tore his mouth off of her. She shook her head to snap out of the mental sanity vacation. No. No thinking about Griffin and him tearing his mouth away from her lips.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she looked up to find a familiar handsome face at the entrance. He was accompanied by two equally good looking guys. Suits, effortlessly styled hair, model good looks. And clearly one of them had to be a member, so definitely in the wealthy category. Nice friends, Griffin. They had their paddles for the table close to the back.
Griffin didn’t take his eyes off of her from the moment their eyes met. Jaggar bit back a smile. She’d gone for understated in red. Low cut, but not so low as to stand out too much. And while it hugged every curve, not like she could hide them if she wanted, it went to her calves. She'd left her hair tied up in a sloppy side bun. The idea was to go sexy, but she didn't want to stand out too much. After all, she wasn’t there to play.
The light flickered again, indicating that a new dancer was coming to the stage. Jaggar checked her watch again, wondering when she'd see Elsa.
The woman on stage was a stunning redhead. Long and lithe, and despite a smattering of freckles, her skin had a slight tan. She had wide, almond shaped green eyes. Her body moved like a dream as low, thrumming, R & B music started and everyone’s eyes centered on the stage.
Jaggar had always wondered what that must be like, having that kind of attention. Like her mother. Sure, men looked at her. But it wasn't quite like this. The people in the audience were in awe. No one looked at her like that.
The girl was beautiful and stunning to watch and, would you look at that? Flexible too. But there was a certain self-possessed sensuality about her that Jaggar admired. The dancer owned it.
Jaggar took a sip of her ginger ale and even though she knew better, she slid a glance over to Griffin.
Instead of watching the beauty on stage, his gaze stayed glued to her. And the hunger and longing she saw there had her pressing her thighs together, the pulsing answering a call it recognized.
The redhead apparently wasn't used to being ignored. She moved to the stage by Griffin. She was dancing for him. Get in line, Sweetheart.
"Most guys watch the dancers, he's watching you. You must have some kind of magic snatch."
Jaggar sputtered and whirled to stare at the girl who'd spoken. "Excuse me?"
The pretty blonde inclined her head. "No man watches a woman like that unless she's already conquered him. No man watches a clothed woman over a naked one unless he's dying to conquer her again."
"Elsa. That’s sage wisdom. Some kind of stripper mantra?"
"Something my Lithuanian grandmother used to say."
"Your grandmother. Wow. She must have been some woman."
Elsa’s brows drew up as she smiled. "She was. But I don’t think you're here to talk about her. Serena said you wanted to speak to me?"
"Yes, thank you. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Milton Randall."
Elsa sighed and leaned against the bar. "I can’t talk to you."
Jaggar put a hand on her arm. "Look, I know you must have signed some huge confidentiality contract or something, but in a couple of weeks, Randall is going to go on television to talk family values. If you know anything about the real him, talking to me is a good idea."
"And what do I get if I talk to you?"
Jaggar shook her head. "Nothing other than telling the truth."
"I like dancing here. So when Serena said you wanted to talk to me I said sure. This is the best paying gig I’ve ever had. But I can’t tell you what you want."
Damn, if she had nothing to go on, she'd gone up against Ryan for nothing. "Please. If he’s hiding something, I need to know. Can you tell me anything at all?"
Elsa slid her a glance. "No."
Jaggar sagged "Look, if you change your mind, please call me."
She slid her the card. Elsa took it, and then headed backstage.
"You struck out, huh?"
Griffin’s voice behind her made her insides go warm and melty. She turned slowly and he was standing close enough for her to smell his cologne. "She doesn’t want to talk. Said she can’t."
"Which means she has a serious NDA clause going."
She finished her drink. "You didn’t have to come tonight. Clearly I could have handled striking out on my own."
He shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted to see you."
"And now that you've seen me, now what?"
He put his hand out. "Why don’t you dance with me?"
Griffin waited for her to take his hand and he held his breath. He wasn’t used to women telling him no. He wasn't used to being patient. What Jaggar had said to him this morning, he'd really taken to heart. Had he been following Ryan's lead all this time? Sure they'd taken some swipes at each other, but he hadn’t just adopted Ryan's passive aggressive shit. Had he?
She glanced down at his open palm. "I don’t think—"
"Don’t think. No one is going to see. I just want to dance with you.” What was his problem? He should have his eyes glued on that dancer. She was sexy as hell, but his eyes were directly on Jaggar. She still had a lot more to offer than the dancer. She had a sharp wit that had gotten under his skin.
With a sigh, she placed her palm in his and he released the breath he'd been holding as she drifted into his arms. Again, holding her felt like heaven. It was easy. Too easy. It felt too good. In the dark of the club where no one else could see them, he let himself relax a little.
For once he didn’t worry about the best angle or how to get what he wanted. All he did was hold her.
Even as one song bled into another. He wanted this girl and for the first time in his life, he had zero idea how to proceed with her. Do you want to proceed? Shit yes. But she didn’t exactly fit into the plan. And her shit with Ryan … his boss had made it clear he wanted him to stay away from her, but why?
What ultimate purpose did it serve? Besides, it wasn't like he could listen to that advice anyway. It was probably far too late for that. Her breathing was steady as he held her close. Her scent swirled around him and he knew he'd smelled that perfume before. He just had no idea where. "What perfume are you wearing? It's been driving me nuts for months."
Her gaze flickered to his then away. "I don’t remember. I get so many testers."
He knew how to read a woman, and this particular one was lying to him. "Oh come on. Why don’t you want to tell me?"
She pursed her lips. "It's called J. Bianca Collins's perfume."
"Oh, I almost bought that for somebody."
"Almost?" She cocked her head, and her smile dazzled him.
"I decided it smelled wrong on her. But you, it's like it was made for you."
She bit her bottom lip. "That’s probably because it was."
Griffin frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"My mother is Bianca Collins. The actress? A few years ago, her marketing people said she needed to get into perfume endorsements. J was one of them."
He blinked. "I'm still stuck on the fact that your mother is Bianca Collins." But now that she'd said it, he understood. She looked like her. The dark hair and eyes, that beautiful bone structure and the oozing, effortless sexuality. "Fuck. How is it that I didn't know that?"
She shrugged. "Because I don’t talk about her."
"Guys go gaga I'm sure. Must make for some awkward conversations. That's cool that she had them name a perfume after you."
She shrugged. “The perfumery brought me in. I got to be part of the whole process. They eve
n took a sample of my sweat to test the best blends."
"Wow, so it was literally created for you. That's amazing." No wonder that shit was like kryptonite to him. It was meant to entice and on her, it was a deadly combination.
"Not so much. She always said it was her least favorite scent she’d ever had done."
Griffin frowned. "Ouch."
She shook her head as if to clear it. "I need to go actually." She tried to pull out of his hold, and he loosened it but he didn’t let go. "Jaggar. I wanted to talk to you about the other night."
"Look, we both said it didn't—"
"I know what I said, but—"
She stepped back again and this time out of his hold. "Doesn’t matter. Good night Griffin." For the second time in two nights, Jaggar Jakes was walking away from him. And he didn’t like it one bit.
9
Jaggar with her hands on him. Jaggar, kissing him. His hands in her hair as he whispered, "You smell so fucking good."
Griffin tossed and turned, trying desperately to hold onto the dream. The dream he hadn't been able to shake since they'd kissed the other night. He'd been having the dream even when awake. Last night it had been worse. Much worse. With her smelling so good and looking like sin on a stick and her body pressed to his as they danced. Damn. He tossed again.
A distant knocking broke him out of his sleep spell and he blinked a bleary eye open, body flushed, eyes tired. Body ... hard. Damn it. He’d kept a low profile yesterday taking care of the normal household chores just so today he could sleep in, work a little, but mostly laze about trying to figure out what made the Randall story stink so bad. Jaggar was right. Something was off.
But now some idiot was banging something. Probably his upstairs neighbor having sex with the chick of the night, before kicking out the poor girl this morning.
Griffin has seen way too many walks of shame to harbor any delusions as to what that distant knocking was. Headboard, meet wall. Although this time, the sounds of knocking were not punctuated with, "Oh yes ... baby ... yes ... right there."
Not that he was jealous or anything. He flopped again and tried to drag his pillow over his head when his phone buzzed. Fuck.
Didn't the rest of the world know he was trying to sleep? When he picked up his phone, he scowled at the time. That was funny. The time said six, which was ridiculous because nobody would dare wake him up that early... Had he somehow slept through the whole day? No, that thing said 6:00 a.m.
The little message icon said Jaggar and he scowled. What did she want? And why was she testing him? He ignored it and turned back over. It was bad enough she invaded his dreams, Griffin didn’t need her invading his sleep time … unless she wanted to talk dirty.
Then the damn phone started to ring. Fuck. He snatched it up and burrowed under the covers. "Go away. This is not work time. This is my sleep time. What do you want?"
"I want you to open the door. We need to talk."
Griffin frowned. "The door?"
"Yeah, that’s me who's been knocking."
"I hate you," he grumbled.
Her throaty laugh was low and made his skin pulse. Shit. This was the last thing he needed. The faster he answered the door, the quicker she would go away … or fuck him. Either worked.
Throwing away the covers, he snatched a breath strip from the tiny container he kept by his bed. It was the only concession that he bothered with. She was at his door. She could deal with his shirtless form.
His feet slapped against the cool wood floors as he padded downstairs. When he swung his door open, he mumbled, "What?"
"Hey. Sorry about the early morning call, I just—"
She stopped and stared.
"What?"
Jaggar's gaze lingered on his face, then down to his chest and flickered back up to his face. "You were asleep."
"That's what normal people do on Sunday morning at six fucking o’clock."
“Sorry about that." She stared at his bare chest again. "But this is important. I got to thinking yesterday about Elsa. I felt like maybe she was trying to— do you want to put on a shirt?"
Heat bloomed in his chest. "No. Fuck, I need to be horizontal if you’re going to talk at me."
10
"Excuse me?"
Jaggar stared at his back. Why did he have to be so damn perfect? She could see every single tattooed muscle. Wait, that was a revelation. Griffin Styles had tattoos. Sheee-it. Never mind that she'd already been obsessed with his lips and he kissed her like a man completely comfortable with picking her up and screwing her against the wall situation. But, now he had fucking tattoos on top of that already gorgeous, chiseled body. She was screwed. Yeah, you wish.
Man, had she ever been wrong about him being a glorified Ken doll. The way his threadbare sweats hung on his hips, the man was no eunuch. He was sexy as hell, and hung like he ought to know what to do with it.
She swallowed hard. "Wait, I'm just supposed to follow you?"
He called out. "Yep, that's the general idea." His voice was low and inviting, as if to say, ‘Come little Red Riding Hood. All the better to fuck you with, my dear.’
"Look, I've been up half the night calling every source and contact I have. I'm going to make another run at Elsa. I have a hospital contact who puts her right in with the family. You want in?" Except, even as she spoke, her gaze followed his spectacular ass.
Stop it. Shit, she had to stop. She was just horny. She didn't want Griffin. She’d never wanted Griffin. Liar. Okay, yeah so she'd always wanted Griffin, and now he was leading her through his house and upstairs to his bedroom. Either that or his dungeon of doom and she would never be seen or heard from again.
"Okay. Tell me what you get. But first. Sleep."
That was it, no more late night documentaries about serial killers. It made her imagination run rampant. She followed him upstairs, finally taking into account her surroundings.
He had a two-story loft situation. All the furnishings were masculine and contemporary, but there were splashes of color everywhere, an accent wall here, a fun funky pillow there.
"Griffin. Seriously, you're going to lie down?"
She followed him into his bedroom and her mouth hung open. The room was completely white and airy and bright. His sheets and duvet were a mess of tangled knots and Griffin lay facedown in the pile. "Seriously, Griffin. It’s about Elsa. You'll want to know this."
"All I want to know right now is coffee.” His toned shoulders lifted. "A naked woman wouldn’t be bad either.”
Her vajayjay practically screamed out, ‘I volunteer, I volunteer as tribute.’ What was a little self-respect if she could roll around with him and finally feel just how good he was with his hands? Jaggar cleared her throat. "Styles, are you even listening?"
With a groan, he flipped himself over. "Damn it, woman." Now her spectacular view was of those incredible abs and that tattoo on his right pectoral. Wow. It was quite possible this way was more compelling even. "Okay, come sit down. Tell me what you found."
"O-on your bed?"
"Yeah. You busted in on my quiet sleeping retreat so if you want to talk to me, come, sit down and I can listen better. Also, the rays of sun are diffused behind you and it makes it hard to look directly at you as I'm blinded so … "
"Oh, for the love of God.” She went around the other side of the bed and sat.
He shook his head. "Lie down Jaggar, you know you want to. The bed is soft."
Damn, it was soft. And it smelled like him. She would never get the smell off of her. It would be like the top she was wearing the night he'd kissed her ... the one she still hadn't washed yet.
"I'm not lying down. Come on, this is really inappropriate."
"Are you the sleep police? Just lie down. I won’t touch you if that’s what you want. Though, most women when they lie in my bed, they want me to touch them."
She smacked his arm. "Griffin!"
His laugh was rich and clear. "Kidding. God, you must really think I'm a huge asshole."
She shrugged even as she made a move to lie down. "I don't think. I know.” But he didn't even hear her. He was already asleep.
Forty-five minutes later when Griffin woke, Jaggar was curled into his side. He hadn’t meant to touch her. Honestly he hadn’t. Except, somewhere between sleep and wake, he'd reached for her. She’d been soft and sexy and she smelled so fucking good.
She hesitated for a second when he pulled her to him, but then her lips parted on a gasp. He waited a moment, giving her the out, but she licked her lips and angled her head. Griffin being Griffin, took full advantage. For once, he didn’t want to overthink everything. He'd wanted her for as long as he could remember, and it was too hard to fight that pull now.
When he slanted his lips over hers and delved into her waiting warm depths with his tongue, she met him slide for slide, dip for dip, and stroke for stroke. She tasted like mint, and strawberries and heaven. And he wanted more. So much more.
Slipping his hands into her hair and gripping gently, he angled his head to deepen the kiss, bringing her body flush against his. His cock strained against the soft cotton of his sweats when he slid his hand down and raised her leg over his hip, nestling his cock against molten heat.
"Oh my God, Griffin." Her hands slid into his hair, and she scored her nails over his scalp keeping him close as they fought for dominance in the kiss.
He tore is lips away. “Jesus, Jaggar. Why do you taste so good?” He whispered.
Her only answer was the rotation of her hips making his cock beg for mercy and release. He planted his hands on her hips, squeezing the soft flesh of her ass as he ground against her.
This is what he'd been wanting. This is what he'd been needing. Her. Just her. Always her. In a swift movement he had her rolled onto her back, and with one hand he clasped both her delicate wrists up above her head. With a harsh breath, he broke contact, forcing himself to stop kissing her.
