* * *
Jess's heart hadn't stopped hammering since he'd first touched her. She'd barely found her voice to speak to Jared. The moment had passed in a blur. She'd been rude not to give him her whole attention, but she'd been reliving the kiss she and Mitch had shared at the hotel.
She followed Mitch up the staircase. Alone with him again, she hoped he wanted to continue what he'd begun that morning. She hoped he wanted her, and that hope frightened her. Did the idea of being alone with the big man actually scare her, or had she been too long without a boyfriend? In either case, she saw no reason why two healthy consenting adults couldn't pursue something they both wanted. If he wanted her.
All through the plane ride, all through the limo ride, even as the agents had spoken with the security guy, in the back of her mind, she'd been daydreaming about Mitch. His arms, his mouth, his….
They reached the landing and she forced her eyes off his backside as he started up the second set of stairs. Dangerous territory, considering her mind had taken up permanent residence in the gutter.
Normally her imagination didn't carry her away like that. It had to be some self-preservation code in her DNA kicking into overdrive. A way to keep her from losing her mind, and protect her from all the craziness. This didn't feel that simple though.
Mitch had become a drug, something she hungered after like an addiction. Whenever she got near him, whenever something unnerved her, even if it was him, she wanted to disappear into the dream world he'd given her. Relief from her worries, in Mitch's embrace, was a heaven she didn't want to resist, despite the accompanying burden of guilt.
Jeez, Jess! Just think of your wants and desires while everyone you love is in danger, why don'cha?
Old paintings line the upper hall. Some of them portraits, but none of her mother. The men and women were dressed in costumes that dated from before her mother's time. The quality of the art was astounding though. She'd done enough tattoo portraits of girlfriends, wives, and mothers on the bodies of men to appreciate the talent displayed in the heavily framed paintings.
Mitch stopped at the end of the cream carpet and opened a door. "Here you go."
He stepped far enough inside to set down her suitcase. The blue curtains and blue rug gave the room it's name, but the rich, gold walls hinted at a royal air she hadn't expected.
She stepped inside and Mitch rushed back into the hall. Startled, not ready to be left alone, she called, "Wait."
He paused, adjusting his pack on his shoulder. "What?"
Searching for something to say, something to keep him with her, she waited too long and ended up blurting, "Can you check the locks and stuff on the window?"
He searched her, as if he couldn't decide if she was serious. Then he gave a deep sigh, dropped his pack, and went around the bed to the window. He finished his inspection and turned back. "Looks good. The locks in place, the alarm's intact. You won't need to open it. The house is climate controlled."
He didn't look at her as he came around the bed and she didn't plan or expect to grab his hand. When she did, Mitch flinched, though not enough to make her let go. "When…when will I know it's time for dinner?"
Mitch looked as if she'd just asked him what time they'd go to bed. If she could have answered, she would have told him now. Maybe that made her easy, a slut, but hell, she could be dead by this time tomorrow. A sniper had shot her own mother in this very house.
Don't leave me.
She sent the thought out on a vibration of intent, hoping he'd somehow pick it up psychically. Please, don't go, not yet.
"I'll get you when it's time," he murmured and for a moment, she thought he'd lean down and kiss her.
She kept her gaze steady. If he wouldn't stay, she wanted to go with him, not be deserted in this strange house. But she couldn't think of a single argument that wouldn't make her sound utterly desperate and weak. A frantic wave of fear broke over her and it took everything she could to remain silent.
Take me way from here, even if it's only in my mind.
He took back his hand and shoulders stiff, fled into the hallway. "Settle in. I'm across the hall. If you leave your room, let me know."
"I will." Confused, almost ill, and suddenly angry enough she wanted to test his belief she could break whatever she felt like, she watched him walk away.
What had their kiss meant to him? Did he really think it was that big of a mistake? Downstairs, she'd been sure he wanted to hold her, maybe kiss her too, but then Jared had walked in. What had happened between then and now?
What did you do Mitch, go slumming in Milwaukee?
Was that it? She was all right to flirt with, to toy with, when he didn't have all his rich friends around? She unpacked, trying to distract herself from the emotional cyclone whipping her into a good fury. She shoved her best clothing into drawers, stabbed her two blouses onto hangers, slammed the doors on the closet shut. She stormed about the room.
She hadn't brought enough to keep her busy and much too soon, she was left with nothing to do but dwell on him. In a full on fit, she kicked the bed frame. Pain burst into her toe and she sat on the edge of the bed to nurse her throbbing foot.
I didn't ask for any of this.
Yeah, but she had to deal with it, didn't she? With a deep sigh, she flopped backward on the bed and stared at the tray ceiling. Okay, forget Mitch and her attraction to him. Forget that phenomenal kiss. She wasn't meant for him. Hell, maybe she wasn't meant for anyone. Worst of all, she had nothing to do.
He'd given her no task to complete, no job, no work assigned to her, not even a gun to protect herself with. She frowned. In Milwaukee, she didn't think she could ever touch the Magnum again. Even when they'd released her, she hadn't asked for it back. Jack probably still had it. Jack.
My man-radar sucks.
She flexed her hands absently. As awful as shooting that gunman had been, she very much missed the security the weapon had given her. To depend on a man, on anyone, left her feeling way too vulnerable.
If Mitch planned on running hot and cold, he could at least give her a spare pistol or get her a new one. She could practice while they waited for the killer to be caught. He owed her that much. She could depend on cold steel. It didn't play games with her heart.
Chapter Eight Mitch relaxed at the table, happy they weren't in the formal dining room where Beth had been shot. Amused, he watched Jess eat. She waited for Jared to start each course, finding the right fork, spoon, or knife to do the job from his example.
To be honest, he'd hardly been able to keep his gaze off her through the entire meal. Hair down, the red, gauzy blouse drifting from the edges of her shoulders and low enough to expose the shadow of her cleavage, she appeared made for their opulent surroundings. Aside from a hint of that same tattoo he'd glimpsed the night before and the small signs of her discomfort, he'd never have guessed she hadn't been raised under this roof.
Jared, between bites of tenderloin, waved his fork in the air and continued to regale them with all that had happened since Mitch left for Milwaukee. "They've been so disrespectful Mitch. Could you please talk to that detective and make him understand I'm not a suspect here?"
"I'm sure he's just doing his job." Mitch drank water, ignoring his wine. "But I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks." Jared looked at Jess. "When Beth wakes up, she'll be thrilled to hear you've come home."
Jess paused, glass floating in midair on the way to her lips, then drank. She set the glass down carefully, as if afraid to spill the burgundy liquid on the white table cloth. "I'm surprised to be here. I didn't know about any of this until yesterday."
"Beth said your father didn't want any contact between you and her, but I had no idea he kept it from you all together." Jared glanced to Mitch. "He should have told her, wouldn't you say?"
Mitch didn't have a chance to answer.
Eyes fierce, Jess said, "My father did what he thought was best for me. Which is a lot more than…." Her glance fell on Mitch and she b
reathed deep. "I'm here now, that's what matters."
Mitch nodded and swallowed a bite of bread. "She's right. What are the docs saying?"
Jarred hung his head and shook it. "She's no better. She just lingers on and on and won't wake up." He lifted his gaze, settling it back on Jess. "I talk to her, you know. I tell her all about what's being done, about how you were coming today. They say people in a coma can hear, even if they can't respond."
Jess gave Mitch a strange, weighty look over the rim of her glass as she drank it dry. Jared refilled it for the third time.
"Did they know how long it'll last?" Mitch asked, shoving the new potatoes around on his plate, his appetite suddenly gone.
He knew what Jess wanted. Every time she became stressed, she turned to him for more than simple comfort. He had become aware of this in the bedroom, but he was on the job, period.
"The doctors aren't sure," Jared said, drinking more wine. "They're hopeful it won't be much longer."
"That's good," Jess said, though she sounded distracted.
"I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see you at our table." Jared offered her a warm smile.
Mitch thought it looked more genuine than all the others. A strange jealousy ran through him. He shrugged it off as ridiculous.
Jared said, "Beth's waited so long to see you."
Jess delicately gulped more wine and Mitch hoped she could handle it. She hadn't drunk anything at the cookout and he had no idea if she could tolerate the amount Jared kept pouring in her glass. She blurted, "Why didn't she ever visit me?"
"She talked about it, but she was afraid that you wouldn't see her. Your father gave the impression you didn't want to see her."
Jess leaned over the table, shoved her plate out of the way, a glazed look in her eyes Mitch prayed came from exhaustion and not the wine. No telling what Jess would do if intoxicated. Sober, she was a handful. Drunk? He didn't want to think of what liquid courage might encourage.
"How did you meet my mother?"
Jarred chuckled. "Now you've gone and done it. We'll be talking until the sun comes up."
Jess sat straighter, and blinked. "I'll tough it out."
When Jared tried to pour Jess more wine and start his story, Mitch decided she'd had enough for one day and interrupted. "It's getting late and I wanted to show her the house yet. You can tell her how you met Beth tomorrow."
Jess looked relieved. "Yes, tomorrow sounds good. It's been a hell of–of…." she stammered, "I mean, it's been a long few days."
Jarred looked regretful, but nodded. "Yes, I understand." He brightened. "Tomorrow we'll have breakfast outside and–"
"That's probably not a good idea." Mitch wondered if Jared could get anymore lax. No wonder Pullman looked exhausted. For a man whose life is threatened by association, Jared didn't seem to be taking it seriously. Too much alcohol could make a man this careless. He'd talk to Pullman, see if they couldn't team up to keep Jared out of the liquor cabinet and on task.
"Of course, how stupid of me." Jared apologized with a sad smile. "You'd think with how awful it was when Beth was…injured, I'd be smarter than that."
"Just be more careful." Mitch placed his silverware on his plate and sat back. "It's getting late and we need to go on that tour. You're free to join us, if you want, Jared. It couldn't hurt for you to have a review."
Mitch stood. Jess rose with him, hand resting on the back of her chair, one hip cocked. It suddenly struck him how very similar to Beth she looked, in that pose, waiting for Jared to speak. He'd seen the resemblance before, but here, it was unmistakable.
Jared shook his head. "I've been over it forty times in the last week. I'll be in my office if you need me."
"Thanks for dinner." Jess lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave. "It was very good."
Jared glanced at her nearly full plate but didn't comment. He stood. "I'm glad you enjoyed the meal, but we're family now, there's no need to thank me."
"Oh." Jess sounded embarrassed and apologetic.
Jared left and Mitch ushered her out of the dining room. Already his imagination had skipped ahead to vacant rooms and darkened hallways. Too bad Pullman, doing the last inspection of the perimeter, couldn't play third wheel.
Mitch wondered if he should bill Jared for the extra risk. Wandering through the house, alone with Jess, was more dangerous than dodging bullets.
* * *
Jess walked as close as she could to Mitch without stepping on his heels. The wine helped her forget about her anger, and remember her attraction. She wasn't finished with him, not by a long shot. No way would she let him treat her like a one night stand that never happened.
She snorted and when he gave her a curious look, she shook her head and waved him on. He wore a black shirt, slacks, and looked even more handsome, even more dangerous in this informal uniform.
Why can't you be ugly?
Heat radiated from him, a balm of warmth against her chilled skin. Her gaze fell to the wide belt around his hips. It held a radio, a gun, and bulged with secret compartments. The sort of thing a spy might wear, or one of those authority types her dad always warned her about.
I want one.
Jess pictured herself back in the parlor with a pair of tattoo guns slung from holsters at her hips, the little compartments filled with vials of ink and a sprocket set adding a touch of chrome. She barely managed to suppress another snort. Oh yeah, the wine had gone straight to her head.
Tipsy, she didn't know if she was coming or going. She blinked hard to focus as he explained some thingamajig. Not only had the wine released her inner lunatic, but it had killed her ability to concentrate. She sighed with relief as they entered yet another sitting room with sofas and a large fireplace flanked by wingback chairs. Her relief ebbed as she saw the tiny room he meant to take her into.
"This is the first floor saferoom. Once you get inside," he pulled her into the closet-sized space, "hit this button."
He pushed the red button set into a metal panel. With a buzzing electric hum, a door instantly dropped from a recess in the ceiling and punched into its track in the floor. She felt the impact on the bottom of her feet, but it was nothing compared to the impact of being completely alone in the red-glow of emergency lights with her bodyguard.
He went silent. No longer did he explain switches and buttons and monitors, no longer did he bug her to pay attention, he simply stared at her.
"This is where you'll go, if anything happens. Once the door goes down…." He raised his hand, then dropped it, a look of regret in his eyes. "When the door goes down, no one can come in, unless you let them in."
"And if I want to let them in?" she whispered. She stepped into his space and captured his gaze with her own. "How do I open the door for them?"
The double meaning left her vulnerable, waiting for him to accept or reject her invitation. How had she gotten herself here again? She didn't have to wait long. Mitch drew closer, his head dipping, a smile on his tempting lips. At the last moment, he reached around her and flipped something on the wall. The door whooshed back into the ceiling. Disgruntled and unable to be fully angry in the glow of his grin, she frowned.
"Like that." He straightened, and although his smile didn't fall, it never got as high as his eyes either.
The moment broken, she fought to listen, to ignore her embarrassment and the effects of the wine as he went through the emergency procedure and the different ways she could get help from inside the room.
He showed her the radio that went directly to the security station, a telephone, and the different monitors showing each room with an emergency beacon. If all else failed, she could activate the beacon, letting people familiar with the system know she was in the saferoom and needed assistance.
He sounded almost mechanical as he went through everything, as if he'd memorized the manual overnight and wanted to make sure even the smallest details were covered.
Great, Robot Mitch. Flip a switch and you got hunk extraordinaire, flip it
again, and you get the Encyclopedia of home security.
"If all that doesn't work, the house is probably on fire." Mitch said.
Startled from her thoughts, she gaped at him. "Fire?"
"Yeah, if there's a fire, you're screwed." He nodded to the steel walls. "Your goose would definitely be cooked in here."
Appalled, she inspected the walls and ceiling. There had to be some way out. "Are you serious?"
"No. I'm not serious." When she just stared at him, his grin widened. "Gotcha."
For a beat, she debated kicking the living crap out of him, then a chuckle burbled up from her chest that she couldn't contain. She smacked his arm playfully. "Y'know you're a jerk, right?"
He pulled back, laughing. "Hey, don't beat up the bodyguard."
She squared her shoulders and poked him in the chest. "How about you pay me for protection? Then I'll lay off."
Some of the humor left his smile. "Now you're into extortion? What's next, racketeering?"
She gave him her best flirty smile. "I'm into whatever you want me to be into."
"Stop that Jess." Angry, he went out the door.
Following him, infected by his anger, she refused to let him get off that easy. What? Now that the tables were flipped, he couldn't hack it? "Stop what, Mitch? How about you stop it? How about you tell me why I'm fair game in Milwaukee, but out in L.A. you act like I'm some disease!"
He spun around and shoved his hands deep into the expensive looking trousers. They made large fists inside the fabric. "I just want you to stop…stop getting under my skin, dammit!"
She froze. "I get under your skin?"
He rubbed the top of his head without answering and backed up to lean on the edge of the sofa, arms folded across his chest. "Listen, I'm not about to play games with you. I think you've been through enough of that."
Overcome by an unexpected wave of gratitude, any lingering anger fled. She hadn't known how badly she'd wanted to hear him acknowledge that it had been wrong to keep secrets from her, that she hadn't deserved it. "Thank you."
My Biker Bodyguard Page 10