Jermy, Marie - Together Forever [The Andersons 1] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Marie Jermy

  “What the hell was that for?”

  “I was hot. You were heavy. And I wanted you to move.”

  “Couldn’t you have just asked?”

  She trailed her fingers through the whorls of moist chest hair. “I would have done that, but I got the impression you were still cavorting with the little green men on Mars.”

  “You’re a regular riot.”

  “I know. Now move. Or I’ll start plucking you like a chicken.”

  Ross moved swiftly from the bed and into the bathroom. Jessica laughed. He laughed along with her as he stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. He looked like he had been spit roasted. He splashed cold water over himself to cool off, then turned his attention to his cock. It was throbbing. But not in an unpleasant way. It was throbbing because he’d just had the most incredible sex, ever. And the orgasm…Well, the blow-job orgasm had been damned good, but the one that followed with his cock buried in her pussy had been intergalactic.

  Flicking the light off, Ross left the bathroom and entered the bedroom. Jessica was curled up under the sheets, her long hair fanned over the pillow, her eyes closed. So much for spending the night pleasuring her. He quashed the pang of disappointment and climbed in behind her, sliding his arms around her waist.

  Only she wasn’t asleep, because she turned around and kissed him on the mouth. He let her kiss him, loving the gentle caress of her lips, the softness of her tongue, her sweet breath flowing through him, before drawing back.

  Light from the streetlamp outside filtered through the closed blinds, making it possible for him to see the amber flecks in her deep, blue eyes were glowing. His heart went haywire as a new rush of blood hardened his cock. This time, however, he quashed the desire to make love to her again. She’d looked weary before, but now struggling to keep her eyes open, she looked exhausted. Still, it didn’t stop him from opening his mouth. “Marry me, Jess.”

  Her eyes widened, and her jaw slackened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve known you all my life,” he said, his voice roughened by emotion. “I’ve been in love with you all my life. And now, I want you as my wife for the rest of my life. Marry me.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Take your time. I’m willing to wait.”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned slightly. “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  “That was quick.”

  “Well, why wait.”

  Ross drew Jessica’s head to his chest. Why wait, indeed.

  * * * *

  Jessica snuggled closer to Ross, wondering if she’d lost complete leave of her senses. In the space of a few hours, she had kissed Ross, had sex, good sex, amazing sex with him and agreed to become his wife.

  It was completely insane.

  The only sane part was, at some point between their first kiss to her first orgasm, she’d realized that that warm feeling in her chest wasn’t indigestion, but because of the fact she felt the same way as he did. She loved him and had done so for a very long time.

  Chapter 3

  Enveloped in warm arms, Jessica snapped awake when her dream of floating down the aisle toward Ross was rudely interrupted by what sounded like a jet engine roaring above her head. No, not a jet engine, but Ross snoring. One tweak to his nose and he stopped. His arms tightened around her, pulling her face flush to the solid wall of his chest. Turning her head slightly so the crisp hair didn’t tickle, she inhaled his smell and closed her eyes, impatient to get back to her dream.

  Two seconds later, Jessica reopened her eyes when she heard the faint “Mommy Mommy” ringtone of her cell. She glanced up at Ross’s alarm clock. 2:00 a.m. Who was ringing her at such an ungodly hour? She shimmied down Ross’s body and, lifting the sheet free, slipped from the end of the bed and padded into the living room to find out.

  Flicking the light switch and blinking in the brightness, she located her jeans by the side of the sofa and removed the phone from the pocket. “Hello?”

  “Miss Ferris, Senator Williamson. You have exactly thirty minutes to drive over to my house and tell me why my senior aide is currently lying on a mortuary slab.”

  Jessica swallowed the sweet “Screw you” when he added, “I’ll pay double your fee if you also tell me why you were investigating him.”

  Now there was an offer she couldn’t afford to pass up. Because she had lied to her parents. With little or no work, Magnum Investigations was sinking faster than the RMS Titanic. Also, she was in serious debt, the hole she’d dug herself in being far bigger than she’d imagined.

  “On my way,” she said, and flipped the phone shut.

  She quickly dressed and, finding some paper and a pen, returned to Ross. He had rolled onto his back and resumed snoring. She smiled as she brushed the hair from his forehead. He really did sound like a jet engine. Not that she could complain—when she snored, usually when she had a heavy cold, she was prone to waking herself up.

  She scribbled a note but faltered at the very last word. She’d agreed to become Ross’s wife. Oh, boy. Visions of the newspaper article announcing their engagement swam before her eyes. Jessica “Failure” Ferris, daughter of Ray Ferris, the renowned but retired PI, multimillionaire, and benefactor to countless worthy causes, announced her plans to marry Ross “Ace” Anderson today…

  How on earth was she going to keep her debts and the dire situation at the agency from Ross? Just like her father, if Ross knew, he would want to help. Though she admired that knight in shining armor complex, as she saw it, the debts were her problem, Magnum Investigations her screwup, and she didn’t want anybody, let alone two out of the three men she most adored—her brother, Daniel, being the third—to see her for the failure that she was.

  An idea then materialized. She had Harknett’s BlackBerry. If she figured out the password, she could use it to solve some of her problems, if not all. Nailing Harknett’s drug-dealing ass to a cell door might give her recognition as a good PI, and the work could flood in. It wouldn’t happen overnight obviously, but if she was careful, Ross would be none the wiser.

  Doubts then crept in. Lying to one’s husband was not always the best start to married life. But then again, she’d already lied to Ross about why she was investigating Harknett in the first place, so surely a couple more wouldn’t hurt? Besides, to see the disappointment on his face, for him to know she wasn’t all that he wanted and deserved, was something she couldn’t face.

  Coward! an inner voice sounded, but brushing aside the continuing doubts, Jessica laid the note on the pillow next to Ross, kissed him on the forehead, and left his apartment.

  Despite New York being known as the city that never sleeps, traffic was light, and Jessica made good time from the Upper East Side where Ross lived, across the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge to Staten Island. Set back from the southern coastline and reached by a tree-lined drive, Senator Williamson’s imposing, gray-brick mansion with its equally gray-pillared portico gave Jessica the creeps.

  No lights were on, and darkness blanketed her as she alighted from her Mini and rang the bell. A few minutes passed, then the porch lights blinked on and the door opened. Dressed in purple silk pajamas under a red-and-gold paisley robe, Jessica thought the only thing missing from Senator Williamson’s pompous-looking face was a big red clown’s nose.

  “You’re late.”

  Jessica made no reply and followed the senator to the rear of the house and into a wood-paneled study. Mock-candlestick wall lamps supplied muted illumination, and shadows lurked in every corner. He pointed to an overstuffed chair across from the leather-topped desk and closed the door.

  “Okay, Miss Ferris, why is Blade on a mortuary slab?”

  Jessica shuddered when a cold draft blew across her nape. She turned her head to the window. It was closed. Hmm, drafty as well as creepy.

  “Well?” the senator prodded.

  “Because he pulled a gun on me.”

  “I see. Why were you inv
estigating him?”

  “Double my fee,” Jessica said, not giving an inch.

  There was a click, like that of a cocking hammer, followed by the pressing of a cool, hard barrel to her left temple. Oh, this was so not happening. Twice in one night. Come on! She turned and stared at the gun—a thirty-eight if she was to hazard a guess—that the senator held.

  “Nice,” she said, trying to keep the fear from her voice. Earlier at the bar, she had her own gun and Ross, but now she had neither. “I take it you’ve got a permit for that?”

  He ignored her and again asked, “Why were you investigating him?”

  His tone implied he wouldn’t be asking a third time. “Because he has connections to drug trafficking.” She cocked her head, away from the barrel. “But I suspect you already know that.”

  A smirk twisted the senator’s pompous face as he moved to sit behind the desk, the gun still held steady at Jessica. “I not only know about it, but I want the BlackBerry you took from Blade’s body so I can continue with it.”

  Jessica kept the surprise from showing. She, of course, didn’t have the BlackBerry with her. She’d hidden it in her apartment when she’d gone home to change before going to Ross with her Jack Daniel’s apology. She didn’t think the senator had viewed the tapes from the bar’s security cameras. So how did the senator know she’d taken Harknett’s phone? She thought the only person to know that was Ross. Well, her father did, too. However, since he knew nothing about Harknett, that ruled him out of the equation of who had told the senator. Not that Ross would tell, either. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Come now, Miss Ferris, I’m the one holding the gun. Give me Blade’s phone and I won’t have to mess up your pretty head.”

  Jessica opened her mouth to again issue another denial when, accompanied by another cold draft, this time laced with lavender, the senator’s wife, Laura Williamson, burst into the study. The door was flung so hard the handle imbedded itself in the wood-paneled wall.

  “I’m leaving you, Charles! I’ve found somebody else, a younger model. One who treats me like the woman I am. And I love him!” She immediately turned on her heel and left.

  Jessica didn’t know what surprised her the most, Mrs. Williamson’s proclamation or the swiftness with which the senator bounded around the desk to go after her. Moments later, raised voices and a scream prompted Jessica into action. Forgetting the threat made to her life, and fearing for Mrs. Williamson’s instead, she flipped her cell phone open and dialed 9-1-1.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” asked the operator.

  “Can you send a unit to Senator Williamson’s house? He and his wife are having an argument. And he has a gun!”

  “Can I have your name, please, ma’am?”

  “Jessica Ferris.”

  “And you are where, ma’am?”

  “Actually inside the senator’s house.” She gave the senator’s address details.

  “I’m going to kill you!” the senator shouted.

  “Listen, hurry up—”

  Several gunshots rang out.

  “Oh, shit!” Jessica swore, common sense abandoning her as she rushed from the study. Just a few feet away, blood pooling around her head, Mrs. Williamson lay prone on the floor. The Senator was on his knees bent over her, the gun in his hand. “Shit! He’s just shot her!”

  “Ma’am, can you get to safety? Units are on their way.”

  “We’ll finish this when you return,” the senator said to his dead wife, stroking her hair and covering his hand in blood.

  Jessica didn’t know what to make of that comment. A dead body and Senator Williamson blocked her escape so she returned to the study, closed the door, and, snatching up a paperweight, hid behind the desk. Yeah, right, as if either would offer protection from a gun-toting Senator Williamson. She’d be dead before she could pitch.

  However, ten minutes later, and after a flurry of activity on the other side of the door, the only person to enter the study was Detective Scott Rafferty.

  “Miss Ferris? You’re safe now.”

  Jessica rose to her feet. “The senator?”

  “In custody. I have a few questions, Miss Ferris.”

  She groaned under her breath. She had the feeling the “few questions” would turn into a grilling. A more appealing plan of action came to mind. Return to Ross, screw up the note she’d left on the pillow, wrap her body around his, and make love to him until he cavorted with those little green men from Mars again. “Can’t it wait? It’s been quite an ordeal.” Her gaze flicked past Rafferty onto Mrs. Williamson’s body, covered in blood and the center of the CSI’s attention.

  “I’m sure, but no, it can’t wait.” Rafferty closed the door and gestured for them both to sit. He took a small notepad and pen from his inside jacket pocket. “First question, what are the circumstances for your presence here?”

  “I’m sorry, Detective Rafferty, but I’m not at liberty to divulge that,” Jessica replied, skirting the truth. “Client confidentiality and all that.”

  “Call me Scott. So the senator was a client?”

  She mustered a polite smile but didn’t answer and, instead, asked a question of her own. “How come you’re here? I didn’t think you worked on Staten Island.” This time, it was Rafferty who didn’t answer, and she could only wonder at his unfathomable expression as he stared at the closed door.

  “What happened, Miss Ferris?”

  “The senator and I were having a private discussion when Mrs. Williamson came in and stated she was leaving him for a younger model.”

  “A younger model?”

  “That’s what she said. They began to argue, then he pulled out a gun and shot her.” A wicked thought of handcuffing Ross to the bed warmed her body when she felt another draft, this time seemingly emitted from Rafferty himself. She quickly studied him. His charcoal-gray suit was as immaculate as the last time she’d seen him some hours ago. His eyes were just as black and dead. As dead as the man himself? In lieu of recent events, she filed that thought in the drawer marked “imagination running riot.” “Can I go now?”

  “Not until you fill in with a bit more detail. What were you and the senator discussing?”

  “No comment.”

  “No comment?”

  “Yes. Like I said before, Detective Rafferty—”

  “Scott.”

  “Like I said before, Scott,” Jessica said tightly, “client confidentiality and all that.”

  “I see. This argument, what was said?”

  “I don’t remember exactly.” She pressed a weary hand to her forehead, hoping Rafferty would take the hint. He didn’t. “He was shouting. I think he called her a bitch. She said he was a bastard and that she didn’t love him anymore. She loved this younger model. I then rang the police, and that’s when he shouted, ‘I’m going to kill you.’ Then he shot her.”

  “Where exactly were you when this argument taking place?”

  “Here. The senator and his wife were outside in the hallway.”

  “So you called the police from here inside the study?”

  “I was sitting in the chair you’re in,” Jessica clarified with a tight smile.

  Rafferty’s smile was equally as tight. “Did you see the gun?”

  “Yeah. A thirty-eight.” She instantly spotted her mistake. “I mean, after he said, ‘I’m going to kill you,’ several shots were fired. I ran out and saw the gun in his hand.”

  “Did Detective Anderson tell you it was a thirty-eight?”

  “Do you see him here?”

  “What’s your relationship with him?”

  “None of your damned business!” she retorted. “Can I go now?”

  “No. After he fired the gun, what did the senator do next? Did he say anything else? Did he come after you?”

  “No, he just stayed by his wife’s side. He did say something that was weird. He said, ‘We’ll finish this when you return.’” Rafferty’s pen faltered, and another u
nfathomable expression crossed his face. “Can I go now?” she asked hopefully.

  “Yes.”

  Finally! Before Rafferty had the chance to add a “but,” Jessica left the house, weaving through the mass of police officers and CSIs in attendance. Luckily, squad cars hadn’t hemmed in her Mini, but as she approached, she scowled at what looked to be a parking ticket under the wipers.

  She looked around. All right, which overzealous cop had—No, wait a minute. It wasn’t a parking ticket, but a folded, ten-by-eight, black-and-white photograph. Of her. Taken, she guessed, at Ross’s apartment earlier that night, as not only was she wearing the same clothing, but she also had the bottle of Jack Daniel’s clasped in her hand.

  She again looked around. Nobody was watching her. Nobody seemed interested that she was standing there openmouthed and with a face turning several shades of white. It had to be a joke. Then again, nobody was laughing, either. Her funky ringtone then sounded. Boy, wasn’t she popular tonight? “Hello?”

  “Miss Ferris, William Tate from Brooklyn Security. I’m here at the Magnum Investigations’ office. Seems you’ve had a break-in. The door’s wide open, and the alarm has been deactivated. I’m just about to call it in to the police.”

  Jessica almost laughed. She was surrounded by cops, one of which she couldn’t wait to get away from. What were the chances of Rafferty attending? Nil, she decided, but still wasn’t going to risk it. “No, don’t do that. I’ll be there in forty,” she told him.

  And she was.

  With white hair and owlish features, William Tate, Jessica decided when she met him outside the door to Magnum Investigations, would have looked more at home at home, feet encased in cozy slippers and surrounded by a dozen grandkids, than patrolling office blocks as a security guard. He fairly beamed at her. She checked the lock, which showed no signs of being forced. However, the glass panel in the top half of the door was smashed.