The Closer I Get to You (Cochran/Deveraux Series Book 8)

by Melanie Schuster

  Paris got off his lap and stood with her hand extended. “What would you like to see?” she countered playfully.

  Titus loomed over her and suddenly gave her bottom a light smack that ended with a squeeze. “I want to see this hot, naked and ready for me. Am I going to get my wish?”

  Paris’s mouth was a perfect ‘O’ of surprise but she recovered quickly, removing her top with lightning speed and tossing it at Titus.

  “You’ll get your wish if you can catch me. Are you up to it?” He barely got a glimpse of her sexy green half-cup push up bra before she dashed up the stairs.

  ***

  Even a brief hospital stay hadn’t slowed Titus down. He caught her before she got to the door of her bedroom and grabbed her around the waist, making her burst into laughter. “You’d better be careful, mister, you’re still in a weakened state,” she reminded him.

  “Don’t even try it, baby. Where you’re concerned I have super human strength, come here and let me show you what I mean,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her through the doorway.

  Paris made him sit on the big bed while she slipped out of the knit pants. She stepped out of them and folded them neatly, placing them on the slipper chair in the corner of the room. She looked at him over her shoulder, enjoying the expression on his face as she disrobed. She walked over to the bed slowly, putting seduction into every step. “As soon as I take these socks off, it’s your turn,” she purred.

  Titus was already unbuttoning his shirt. “Leave the socks on for a minute, they’re cute. They look sexy on you for some reason.”

  Paris did as he asked, but she stopped him from undoing his shirt. She stood in front of him, between his long legs that were spread wide. “That’s my job. Let me undress you for a change.”

  Titus took his hands away and allowed her to undo the buttons, although he was hot and moaning when she was done because she was licking his ears and sucking his earlobe while she worked. When the shirt was open, she slid her hands under it, caressing his shoulders as she changed ears. While she was taking the shirt off his body, the erotic teasing of his ear was really getting to Titus. A fine sheen of perspiration formed on his forehead and as soon as he was free of the shirt he put his hands on her butt and began to massage it, caressing and stroking and taking full advantage of the fact that she was wearing a thong panty. He pulled her closer, scooting closer to the edge of the bed so they could feel each other better.

  “Kiss me, baby, I need to taste you,” he groaned. Paris was more than happy to oblige, she loved kissing Titus. They tasted each other, their tongues moving in a sensual dance as they gently sucked each other’s lips.

  “Take off your pants, Titus.” Paris made a soft noise when Titus unexpectedly undid her bra. She cupped her hands protectively over her breasts but there was no point to the modest gesture Titus quickly stood and unzipped his jeans, then sat back down while he kicked them off the rest of the way. He took the straps of the bra off her shoulders with his teeth and pulled the delicate garment away from her body, moving his hands while he did so.

  “Don’t hide from me, Paris. Don’t ever cover yourself around me; I love to look at you too much.” He kissed her again while massaging both of her breasts in his big warm hands, kneading and caressing them with just the right amount of pressure to yield maximum pleasure. His lips trailed down her throat, lingering at the sensitive spot at the base, just above her collarbones. He kissed the silken skin all the way down her chest, licking the space between her breasts before releasing her left breast and taking it in his mouth, applying a deep pressure to the hard, erect nipple that made her cry his name. He moved the thong aside so he could access her wet femininity and give her even more pleasure. His long fingers sought and found her jewel, hot and moist, yearning for his touch. Paris moaned his name again and parted her legs to get the gift he was offering her. She undulated against his hand, holding on to his broad shoulders as the waves of release washed over her. His loving caresses left her shaken and breathless, leaning on Titus and moaning his name. He relented in his loving assault on her and wrapped both arms around her, kissing her neck and shoulder.

  “Come on, Rosy, let’s get in the bed and you can show me how you really feel,” he crooned in her ear.

  When they were under her 600-count sheets and she was snug against his good side, she teased him right back. “By the way, sugar, this is what a bedroom is supposed to look like. This is a lot different than the Batcave, isn’t it?”

  Titus tickled her under the sheets before admitting that yes, it was a far cry from his Spartan digs. The walls were the same peony pink color that Vera had painted them when she lived in the house. Paris’s queen-sized head-and footboard were antique replicas, and she’d put on the linens she liked to use in the springtime, ivory eyelet pillow shams and dust ruffle, and a handmade quilt. It was an antique, in fact; her great-grandmother on the Deveraux side of the family had made it. It was a wedding ring pattern in red and pink flowers with a muslin backing and she had added accent pillows in various shades of pink and red to bring out the print of the quilt and make the bed even cozier.

  She had an antique washstand on one side of the bed as a nightstand, and there was a small chest that matched her dresser on the other side. The dark cherry finish of the dresser, chest of drawers and nightstand contrasted nicely with the pale walls. Her curtains were also ivory eyelet with tiebacks that were clusters of silk flowers and she had French impressionist reproductions on the walls. It was a soft and feminine room, inviting and warm. Titus wasn’t terribly fascinated by his surroundings at the moment, however; Paris had him in hand and was stroking him into a frenzy of passionate desire. At that particular moment they could have been in a tent, the back of a pickup truck or marooned on a desert island, all he cared about was the fact that they were together and her touch was exactly what his body had been craving for what seemed like his whole life.

  Paris suddenly pulled the sheet away from his body and stared at the place her hand was manipulating with her newly acquired sensual skill. “You had a Brazilian?” she asked in a dumbfounded voice.

  Titus laughed at her expression. “No, Rosy, they shaved me when I went into surgery. It feels kinda weird,” he admitted.

  Paris forgot to inspect the hospital handiwork as she continued the firm, gentle strokes that were making him hotter and harder than he’d ever been before. She treated him to the same kind of loving torture he’d bestowed on her, sucking the most sensitive part of his chest and teasing it with her teeth while she explored all of his masculinity with her questing hand. He was so enthralled by her touch he almost didn’t notice when she kissed her way down his body and put her lips where her hand had been. Now the torture began in earnest and his body responded with a volcanic surge of yearning. He called her name hoarsely, one hand tangled in her hair and the other twisting the linens as he fought for control.

  “Paris, oh baby, stop, Rosy, damn, baby, please,” he groaned and she finally relented as he forced her to come back into his arms for a long, satisfying kiss.

  “Feel my heart, girl. Are you trying to kill me?” He kissed her smiling face all over and tried to roll over on top of her, wincing as he did so. Paris was immediately concerned and began to fuss over him. “Listen, beautiful girl, I’m just fine. I’m a little sore, but that’s all. We’ll figure out a way to do this with no pain because I’m not finished with you, not by a long shot. I’ve missed you so much, baby. I want to make love to you the rest of the day and all night long.” His voice was deeper than usual; it always was when they made love.

  How about making love to me the rest of your life? The words were on the tip of her tongue, but Paris managed to bite them back. She would have died of embarrassment if he could have somehow guessed what she was thinking, so his next words were startling to say the least.

  “I think we need to make a change in your living arrangement, Paris. I think I need to move in with you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One />
  Paris would have spent the next few days wallowing in the angst caused by Titus’s suggestion that they live together, but something else took up all her attention. Yes, Titus had suggested they live together, and for what she considered the most prosaic of reasons; because he was concerned about her. She was used to having Aidan in the house with her and he didn’t want her to be lonely for frightened so he proposed that they stay together for a while. She managed to say 'no' rather airily, acting as if it were of no real importance when in reality her heart was crushed. If he wanted to be with her because he had to see her every morning and every night, because he wanted to build a life with her, because he loved her and wanted to be her husband, that would be one thing. But because he wanted to be her guardian with sex benefits? Oh, no way was that going to happen. She would have had a boatload of misery to deal with but the tabloids gave her something else on which to focus.

  Some beady-eyed little sneak had managed to get pictures of her standing next to the EMT vehicle in her bloodied nightshirt and what a pretty sight it was, she was screaming at the attendant like a fishwife. There was also a nifty shot of her asleep on Titus in the hospital; it looked like she was sprawled across a dead man. Oh, they were just peachy stories, really they were. Her phone hadn’t stopped ringing as each one of her brothers checked in separately and in groups; they were fond of yelling over the speakerphone. At least their hearts were in the right place, they were more concerned with litigation than her reputation, they planned to sue the tabloids and everyone connected with the stories for lots and lots of money. Her father was concerned, Aunt Ruth was concerned, Angelique and Donnie were concerned and it seemed all of her fans were worried, too, to judge by the enormous amounts of e-mail she was receiving. At one point the entire telephone system of The Deveraux Group had to be shut down due to the influx of frantic phone calls. Finally Paris called a meeting with all her cousins and her staff. She also invited Titus to attend.

  They converged on the largest conference room in the complex and when everyone was assembled, Paris got right down to business. She directed her first remarks to Clay, Malcolm, Martin and Marcus as the principal governing board of the corporation.

  “I want to apologize personally for all the hysteria that has plagued us as a result of the George Wilson situation. Obviously I wish it could have been handled differently, but if wishes came true I wouldn’t have thighs like the ones everyone in North America has now had the opportunity of viewing,” she said dryly. “I suggest there’s no reason whatsoever to let this go on, we need to take control of this at once and I suggest counteracting their coverage by telling the truth on my show.”

  She let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “I say I do a show that explains what was happening and how it was handled and let that be the end of it. You know what they say, ‘if you can’t hide it, paint it red and put it on the porch’. So let’s just put it out there and be done with it. Part of the thrill of stories like this is the speculation and rumor, once the truth is told the already dubious credibility of the tabloids is shattered and the little ferrets go on to the next victim. It’s not a perfect plan, but it’s all I’ve got right now. What do you think?”

  The silence that followed was deafening in its intensity. Paris’s heart was beginning to sink into her shoes when Clay’s deep voice drawled, “It’s a brilliant idea, Paris. Doing this will show you as a smart, level-headed woman who managed to live without fear even when she was being stalked by a crazy man.”

  Martin agreed as well. “He’s right, and you’re right, you need to confront this and put it behind you. You can't pretend like it didn't happen and this is the best way of handling your business. We’re all behind you on this, Paris.”

  Malcolm and Marcus added their enthusiastic support, too, as did her staff. Twyla was taking notes and adding it to the week’s production schedule. They decided to do the show on Friday so they’d have a week to publicize it. Titus didn’t have much to add to any of the proceedings, but he shocked Paris down to the toes of her expensive shoes when he said he’d be happy to participate in any way that he could. The meeting was dismissed and Paris and her staff went to work on the segment. Titus had to go out of town for a couple of days, but he assured her he’d be back in time for the broadcast. As everyone was leaving the conference room he stayed behind to give her a long hot kiss before departing. “I’ll call you tonight,” he promised.

  ***

  The day of the live broadcast arrived and Paris was as calm as she could be under the circumstances. A lot was riding on what she did today and she intended to do very well indeed. She had to present her side of the story in a calm and non-sensational fashion and she only had one chance to do it. She was looking her best in a fabulous cobalt blue jacket with black wide legged trousers that had a deep cuff. Her hair and makeup was looking its best as Aja had worked her usual magic. She checked her reflection to make sure the clasp on her pearls was in place and her teeth were free of lipstick. She could hear Twyla doing the pre-show audience warm up and prepared to take the stage. It was showtime.

  “Hello! How is everybody today?” Paris said with her usual warmth. She waited for the audience response and then smiled mischievously. Suddenly the two back walls, which doubled as screens when a movie clip or video was being shown were, showed the two most embarrassing tabloid photos of Paris.

  “So,” she said slowly. “What’s new?”

  The audience laughed as Paris turned to the screens with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure that by now most of you have seen these lovely photos. You may have heard some things regarding the story and read some other things and I thought you might like to hear the truth of the matter. So I’m going to take a little time from today’s show to set the record straight, if that’s okay with you. What do you think?” she asked the audience, which exploded in applause and shouts of encouragement.

  “First of all, those are not my thighs,” she said with a straight face. “They obviously doctored that photograph with someone else’s thighs because those can’t possibly be mine.” More laughter resulted from her tongue-in-cheek delivery. The rest of the show went very smoothly as she explained the facts behind the situation and fielded questions from the audience. Everything was going perfectly until someone asked the inevitable question, “Who is the mystery man in the pictures?”

  For the first time, Paris hesitated, and then answered with confidence. “He owns the investigation firm that handled the case. He’s not able to be here today,” she said smoothly, only to be interrupted by the voice she heard in her dreams every night.

  “I’m late, but I made it,” Titus said as he walked onto the set. He went over to the sofa where Paris was sitting and sat right next to her, draping his arm across the back of the sofa and giving her a warm smile that made the women in the audience go “ooh” on a long drawn out note. To Paris’s grateful surprise, he explained his firm’s role in the case and made it sound very matter of fact and low-key. He also complimented Paris for her bravery throughout the ordeal. “You were a real trooper, Paris. You kept it together under some very stressful circumstances and to a large extent that’s what helped this situation along. I’ve worked on a lot of other similar cases and when the target panics and goes off on a tangent, it complicates everything.”

  He patiently answered more questions, right up until someone hit on the one thing Paris hoped to avoid. “So are you and Paris involved?”

  She gave her best enigmatic smile, the one meant to convey absolutely nothing. “We’re very close,” was all she would say.

  Titus had his own take on the question, however. He turned to Paris and planted a kiss on her cheek. “We are definitely involved,” he said firmly. “Very seriously involved.”

  Paris looked bemused as the audience erupted into applause and Titus’s only response, other than a truly smug grin, was to lean over and kiss her soundly.

  ***

  A few hours later, Paris still wasn’t sure how s
he felt about the kiss. Was he declaring himself on national television or just making a grand gesture to save both of them from embarrassment? After all, he’d presented himself as her fiancé in Baton Rouge, and she’d said she was his girlfriend in Charleston. Until they could straighten those little white lies out he probably decided to go along with the general assumption. It was pure Titus logic, she figured. There was nothing romantic or impulsive about it, although it would have been wonderful if there had been. Everyone thought the show went well, and Paris was just pleased to have it behind her. Her birthday was coming and she was going to have fun, after all this was a milestone. She was going to be thirty years old and that deserved a celebration. She glanced at her wristwatch and realized why she was so tired. It had been a long day and she was going home. She had almost reached the elevator that would take her to the parking garage when Titus appeared next to her. He smiled down at her, using his index finger to brush a lock of hair from her face.

  “You look tired, sweetheart. If you don’t have any other plans for the weekend, I want to do something special with you.” It sounded like a wonderful idea to Paris and she allowed him to escort her into the elevator as their adventure began.

  ***

  Paris looked at Titus with her heart in her eyes. Her cheeks were still pink from what had happened a few hours before and she didn’t quite believe him when he said everything was fine. “I’m really sorry,” she said for the tenth time. And for the eleventh time he assured her that all was well.

  “Come here Rosy, and let me tell you once again that it doesn’t matter in the least. All that matters is that we’re here together. That’s the important thing. The other thing well, that couldn’t be helped. I just wanted to be with you and spend the weekend helping you relax and I think we can accomplish that quite nicely right where we are, don’t you?”

  Paris leaned into Titus and let him hold her even closer. They were sitting on big pillows in front of a crackling fire at the Deveraux weekend home on St. Simon’s Island. Titus’s plan for the weekend involved taking Paris to an exotic “couples only” hotel in Atlanta. It was set up to cater to all kinds of erotic fantasies and each suite had a theme, like Arabian Nights, or Night in Tunisia, whatever suited the taste of the customer. Titus had booked a suite with a Garden of Eden theme and like all the suites it was exquisitely decorated. It included an indoor swimming pool with hot tub, Jacuzzi and every creature comfort imaginable. Paris had looked around the suite with a big smile of anticipation of her face, a smile that faded when she failed to see something essential, something she had to have in order to enjoy anything about the weekend. She had turned to Titus, biting her lower lip with concern.