by Marie Jermy
She stared at his large, sturdy hands. Just a few nights before they had lovingly caressed her breasts, but now, with the way he was flexing them, she felt sure they’d be just as happy clamped around her neck, squeezing the life from her.
Great, just great, Jessica sardonically thought. She’d just left one throat-throttling situation for another. But then she corrected herself. Ross couldn’t—wouldn’t—kill her, not when he loved her, although his flinty expression wasn’t exactly showing love at that point in time. Perhaps the answers he so desperately sought would pacify him. She scooted over to his side, her hands reaching for his. “Ross, I haven’t exactly been honest with you.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Let me explain. That BlackBerry I took from Harknett—”
“D’ya know what, Jess?” he suddenly interrupted, his tone hard and bitter. “At this moment in time, I really couldn’t give a damn about Harknett. His BlackBerry. Or you!”
She pursed her lips to stop the sob that had risen in her throat when he yanked his hands away and purposely swung around, turning his back on her. His rebuff was as chilling as the reality that if he hadn’t crashed through her bedroom window she’d been seconds away from being raped.
Jessica couldn’t stop the tears leaking out.
* * * *
Ross knew he was behaving like an insensitive prick, but he just couldn’t help himself. He concluded it was the pungent smells around him that were screwing around with every moral principle his parents had instilled in him.
The slowing of the truck and the sounds from outside indicated they had reached their destination. He went to stand up, but the rear doors opened and the floor began to tilt. Once again, he found himself being unceremoniously dumped.
With a soft cry, Jessica landed on top of him. Then, before he could react, they began rolling down what happened to be the biggest pile of garbage they had the luck, or in their case, misfortune, of being dumped upon. They rolled over and over, faster and faster, until, with a smack, they landed in an eight-limbed mess on the hard floor.
With his eyes rolling around in his head like some daft cartoon character, Ross detangled himself from Jessica and staggered to his feet, wondering if he’d upset anybody named Murphy lately.
“Say, where’d you two come from?”
Ross whirled around, shoving his Magnum into the guts of a worker, scaring the crap out of him. He quickly holstered it and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Broadway,” he quipped. The man’s fearful expression then slowly turned to concern as he eyed Jessica.
“Say, is she all right?”
Another sarcastic quip died on Ross’s lips at hearing Jessica’s whimper. The buttons probably scattered all over her bedroom floor and the fabric ripped from neck to shoulder, she clutched her dress together, covering herself as best she could. With the emergence of purplish-black bruises and the thin trickle of blood from the splinter he’d pulled out, coupled with the wild, tangled mess of hair and the leaking tears that left two clean lines down her dirt-smudged face, she was not all right. At all.
He clamped a lid on his anger. Sliding one arm around her waist and the other under her knees, he gently lifted her up, noticing for the first time she was barefoot. “Have you an office we can use? Maybe some alcohol? Brandy, or whiskey?”
“Vodka?”
Ross nodded and followed the worker across the yard into a shed-like building, Jessica snug in his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest. There was a grubby-looking couch in one corner of the equally grubby-looking office. He settled Jessica onto it, removed and tucked his jacket around her, then poured her a glass of vodka from the bottle he was handed. “Drink it slowly,” he told her, then asked the worker, “Can I use your phone to call us a cab?”
“Sure. Might also be a good idea to call the cops.”
Ross glanced at Jessica. She gave him a small smile, her dirty, tear-stained, yet beautiful face full of gratitude and something that looked suspiciously like love. He went to put his arms around her but caught himself when he remembered she had trampled all over his heart then tossed him aside like someone would discard an empty Coke can.
Strengthening the barriers he’d erected, Ross turned his back on Jessica and curtly told the worker, “I am the cops.”
Chapter 7
When enquiries revealed the detective dealing with the window-smashing, gun-firing and screaming-residents incident was none other than Scott Rafferty, both Ross and Jessica decided to wait until the morning before getting in contact with him. Then, after calling her parents, informing them she and Ross were okay, and suggesting they take a vacation, Jessica accompanied him to his Upper East Side apartment.
Though Ross sat beside her in the cab, he might as well have been a million miles away. Under lowered lashes, she glanced at him several times, noting the bunched shoulders and the stony expression as he resolutely stared at the back of the cab driver’s head. Still reeling from his earlier rebuff, she shivered, pressed her knees together and clutched his jacket closer to her, somewhat comforted by the remnants of the crisp, woody notes of his aftershave on the collar.
Ross continued to ignore Jessica until he’d slung his holster on the coffee table in the living room. Then he turned to her, hands on hips, eyes narrowed.
“Start talking.”
“Can we at least clean up first?” Ross pursed his lips. “Oh, pop a chill pill,” she retorted, his continuing prickly mood now making her irritable. “I smell. You smell. I could also do with a drink.” He still wouldn’t budge. Cursing under her breath, she went to walk past him, but he caught her arm and yanked her back. His harsh features then softened, and he drew her into his embrace, his strong fingers gently cradling her face.
“I’m sorry, Jess,” he mumbled. “So sorry.”
At last! The Ross Anderson she knew, and had fallen in love with, was back. She smiled up at him and, rising up on tiptoes, brushed her lips against his. He groaned then crushed his mouth to hers in a tap-dancing heart- and bone-melting kiss, his tongue diving between her teeth to explore the soft, moist, inner flesh. Shrugging his jacket from her shoulders, she wound her arms around his neck, her fingers sinking into the silky hair at the back of his neck.
Like bands of steel, Ross’s arms tightened around Jessica, forcing the breath from her lungs, the extent of his arousal pressed against her belly, making her pussy clench with joyous anticipation. He broke off the kiss to nibble down the column of her throat, his fingers weaving through her long tresses to tip her head back, granting him full access to the hollow where her pulse fluttered erratically.
Then, suddenly, he grew still, muttered a succinct curse and pushed himself away from her. Seemed the pissed Ross Anderson was back when he stalked from the apartment, not even answering her question of where he was going.
With just as succinct a curse, Jessica entered his bathroom. She was shocked at the wild-looking woman who stared back at her from the mirror positioned above the sink. She had all the appearance of being run over by a…Well, by a garbage truck.
She quickly shed the filthy, torn dress and panties and stepped into the shower, where she stayed until she felt sure all the stench from the garbage and the man—or whatever it had been that had punched and kicked her, then slobbered over her body as her dress was ripped apart—had been washed down the drain.
Wrapping her hair turban-style in a towel, Jessica encased herself in the large, navy-blue bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and wandered into Ross’s bedroom. Instantly, her heart started tap dancing in her chest. Sprawled on the bed, stark naked, Ross was sound asleep.
She padded over, and carefully, so not to disturb him, sat down beside him, watching his broad chest rising and falling with every easy breath he made. Her gaze drifted to his washboard stomach. Lower still to his slim hips. Even lower to his powerful thighs. Then up to his groin. Though flaccid against the nest of black curls, his cock was impressive.
“Didn�
��t anybody tell you it’s rude to stare?”
Ross’s slow, sexy drawl turned the blood coursing through Jessica’s veins into molten lava. He popped one eye open and grinned. She knew he was laughing at the two pink spots she felt coloring her cheeks.
“Damn! Caught red-handed.” Her own voice sounded breathy. His other eye popped open, and then he completely stole her breath away by sitting up and angling his mouth within millimeters of hers. The most natural thing would have been to kiss him. And if it weren’t for the nasty whiff of rotting food and other delightful garbage goodies that wrinkled her nose, she would have done it. “You stink!”
“Entirely your fault for hogging the shower for two hours.”
The cynicism to his tone told her he was still pissed. “Where did you go? You went shopping!” she cried in disbelief when he gestured to three Bloomingdale bags by a nearby chest of drawers. In typical style, when the going gets rough, Ross goes shopping.
He shoved to his feet, snarling, “Fine. They were meant to be a present, but you can damn well pay for them now.” He stalked from the room. Soon, the sounds of running water drowned out his continual cursing.
Jessica swallowed the admission that she was broke and picked up the bag closest to her. She gasped with delight at what she found in the tissue-papered package. Cream in color, the sheer bra and matching thong with its pretty flower embroidery were elegant, yet sinfully wicked at the same time. They were also her exact size. She laid them on the bed and opened the second bag. Inside, and also in her size, were a pair of black jeans by her favorite designer and a beautiful, peacock-blue, silk sleeveless top with jeweled trims around the neck and hem. The third bag contained a pair of high-heeled Jimmy Choos.
“Thank you for the clothes and the shoes,” she said when Ross returned, the towel wrapped around his slim hips dangerously suggestive. “And thank you for saving my mighty fine ass, yet again.”
“Forget it,” he tossed over his shoulder while he searched through a jean-packed chest of drawers.
“How can I forget it?” She stood and padded over to him, placing her hand on his tanned, muscular arm and slowly turning him around to face her. The spotlights in the ceiling gave his features a harsh, angular quality, which then softened with a smile. “It was bad enough for me, but I can’t imagine what was going through your mind when Harknett’s crony—”
“Does Harknett have a twin brother?” he asked, interrupting her. “Or should I start believing in ghosts?”
“I could really do with a drink.”
Ross narrowed his eyes at Jessica’s seemingly new, annoying habit of not answering questions. “Chamomile tea?” he sneered, referring to what he knew she drank at the office.
“Actually I was thinking of something stronger. Like that bottle of JD. And wind it in, Ross. You know I explain things better when I’ve got something stiff in my hand.” His towel chose that moment to drop to the floor. She pointedly stared at his hardening cock, raising a smile from him. Her hopes were raised, too, before Ross well and truly poured cold water over them.
He donned a pair of boxers and said, “Ah. Had a bit of an accident with the Jack Daniel’s.”
“What sort of accident?”
“The sort of accident where the words bottle, kitchen, smash, and cupboard are all used in the same sentence.”
Her neatly trimmed brows furrowed into a frown as she again placed her hand on his arm. “You smashed the bottle of JD against a kitchen cupboard. Why?”
“I had a sudden urge to throw something.”
“Because of me?”
He stared at her for one very long moment, before replying, “Because of you.” He then swore with brutal force. He jerked his arm away and stuffed his legs into his jeans with equally brutal force. “You’ll have to make do with black coffee.”
“Damn you, Ross,” Jessica muttered as he stalked from the bedroom. What the hell was wrong with the man? Sure, she hadn’t answered his questions, but she was still trying to take in the events of the night herself.
Tugging the robe’s belt tighter, she wandered through to the living room and plopped down on the sofa. She reached for the TV remote, but then thought better of it. To annoy Ross further would culminate, she knew, in wearing the coffee, not drinking it.
Ross ignored the dazzling smile she gave him when he handed her a mug of rich-roasted and well-brewed black coffee. He took a seat in the armchair opposite. “I’m all ears, Jess. Start talking.”
She balanced the mug on the sofa’s arm. “Harknett’s definitely dead,” she began, knowing for certain if she said it was his ghost, and that she was a believer in them, Ross would measure her up for a straitjacket. “I’m not sure if he has a twin brother. It’s possible, but I’ve never come across any reference to one. Have you?”
“No,” he admitted.
“It could have been somebody wearing a mask. You know, like a death mask, made of latex.”
“Bit early for trick or treat.”
“It was just a suggestion,” she bit out, indignant at his mocking.
“Meathead. The crony. Who was he?”
“No idea. Never seen him before. I’d know if I had. I don’t think I’d have forgotten him. Never likely to again.” She shuddered and took a healthy swig of coffee to steady herself. It didn’t work. “Oh, Ross…” He was beside her in an instant, taking the mug from her and wrapping his arms around her. She sniffed into one muscular pec, his chest hair tickling her nose, his clean, soapy smell soothing. “Oh, Ross, he was going to…He was…”
“Shhhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” His fingers on her chin, he gently tipped her face up. Though moist, her amber-flecked, cobalt eyes glowed with determination. “Harknett’s BlackBerry. What’s on it? And don’t even think about lying to me.”
“Did you hear about Senator Williamson?”
“Or changing the subject.”
“I wasn’t changing the subject.” Jessica pulled away and shifted to the far end of the sofa, curling her legs beneath her and clutching the robe closer. “I was there when he shot his wife. Poor woman.” She shuddered and reached for the coffee again, taking a large gulp before replacing it on the table. “That night, in your bed, Williamson called me. Demanded I come to his house and tell him why I’d been tailing his aide. I went.”
“Why didn’t you tell him where to get off? It’s what you usually do.”
“I was curious.” She faked a casual smile. There was no way she was going to tell Ross about her financial situation. Her debts. Her problem. And hers alone. He wasn’t buying it, though, especially if the cynical expression was anything to go by. “Like I said, I was curious,” she stated firmly, angling a scowl in his direction. “I do wish I hadn’t gone. I nearly got my ass shot off. Again. Harknett had connections trafficking drugs. His BlackBerry probably lists all his contacts—”
“So us tailing Harknett because he was a lying, cheating scumbag was bullshit?” he asked, interrupting her.
“You know it was, Ross. You’re not stupid.”
“You’re sure about that? You did call me a moron. Remember?”
Her scowl deepened. “Do you want to hear this or not?” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Like I said, his BlackBerry probably lists all his contacts. When Williamson asked, I told him about what his aide was getting up to—”
Again, Ross interrupted her. “And how did you know? Oh, c’mon, Jess!” he huffed when she didn’t answer. “Don’t you think you at least owe me an explanation for why I saved your life, and for why it was threatened in the first place?”
Jessica’s sigh was deep and long. “I was on a dinner date. Harknett was seated at the table next to us. He was dining alone. It was during dessert when my date went to the bathroom that Harknett received a phone call. The restaurant was really busy, and I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but I distinctly heard the words ‘half a kilo’ and ‘China’. I put two and two together and made drugs.”
“Who were
you with? Is it somebody I know? Were you seeing him when you jumped into my bed?”
What was this? First, she’d encountered a ghost. Second, the Grim Reaper. And now, a monster of the green-eyed variety? Ross’s jealous side, a side she never knew he possessed, was uncalled for, and she felt compelled to explain who her date had been. “I was with Mike.”
“Mike? As in Mike Travis, my partner? You do know he’s married. With three kids. All under the age of seven.”
“Separated, Ross. I only saw him that once. As a friend. So take that home-wrecker accusation off your face.” He duly did as asked. “I didn’t say anything to Mike about what I’d overheard. I thought he had enough on his plate.”
“So you came to me instead.”
“And why not?” she quickly countered. “Unless something’s changed within the last two weeks, any crime involving drugs still falls under police jurisdiction. And you’re a cop.” She paused for another gulp of coffee. “Getting back to Williamson—”
“Not so fast, Jess,” he again interrupted, still not happy. “Why the bullshit? Why not tell me about the drugs in the first place?”
Jessica chose her words carefully. To admit she wanted recognition as a PI would be to admit Magnum Investigations was going to the wall. And there was no way she was going to tell Ross that, either. “Because I wasn’t sure if Harknett was trafficking drugs or not. Mike told me you’re thinking of applying for the lieutenant’s job when he retires. I didn’t want to ruin your chances of promotion by getting it wrong.” Well, okay, that part was true. She wasn’t that selfish not to help Ross up the career ladder, and busting a major drugs ring, she knew, would be several rungs in the right direction.
Since Ross seemed to accept her explanation, Jessica continued. “I didn’t think there was much harm in telling Williamson what I knew. And I certainly didn’t think that he, in turn, would whip out a gun, point it at my head, and demand the BlackBerry back because he was going to fill Harknett’s shoes.”
