Ed was in party mode the night before his wedding, and they’d all decided to go out for a round of drinks and some dancing after the church. Garrett had planned to go, hoping that he might get to know Tiffany a bit more. It had been a long time since his first thought upon meeting a woman was, how do I get her into bed?
She’d seemed responsive enough at dinner, flirting with him, unless he was seriously out of touch. Then, mysteriously, her attitude had cooled down considerably, inexplicably. Conversation on the drive to the church was limited to brief, general topics. She didn’t laugh at his jokes, and she didn’t meet his eyes once. Her posture was rigid as they had linked arms to walk down the aisle during the rehearsal.
And she hadn’t stopped looking at her watch since they’d gotten there. Was she in that much of a hurry to get away from him?
So what had he done to turn her into the ice queen? And how could he reverse that trend? He wasn’t used to this, feeling unsettled, unsure of what to do next. Berringer Bodyguards was his main focus, and he liked it that way. He knew what to do there, and he did it well. The business was gaining more prestige—especially since his brother had married a U.S. senator’s daughter—and it took even more of his time and energy.
But he wasn’t there right now. He was here, watching Tiffany, whom he’d only known for a grand total of four hours. Less than that if you counted only the time they’d spoken directly to each other.
The rings on her fingers sparkled as he watched her talk, her graceful hands accenting her conversation. He knew in his gut that she would be as expressive in bed. He liked the loosely tied knot of long auburn hair at the nape of her neck and he wanted to untie it. Let it fall down over her shoulders, his fingers. He liked the scooped back of her dress, how it revealed the contours of her shoulders and neck. He liked the idea of planting kisses there.
A fling suddenly sounded like a very appealing addition to his vacation itinerary, but he wasn’t sure she would agree. And now she was leaving, before he could find out what he had done to offend her. Watching her kiss Isabel’s cheek and head to the door, he found himself following her out.
“Hey, Tiffany, hold on a second,” he called to her, watching her pause and turn, her shoulders sinking a little as she seemed to accept her fate.
What the hell had he done to cause this reaction?
“So are you going to tell me what I did?” he asked, looking directly into her gorgeous green eyes. Directness was usually best.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said testily. “And I need to go,” she said, clearly agitated and wanting to leave.
“Hmm. Did you know that while it’s commonly thought that people who don’t make eye contact are unreliable, in truth, someone who is lying will go out of their way to make eye contact, trying to convince you they are being honest?”
He saw irritation flash in her eyes, and her cheeks warmed, making her even prettier.
“Are you saying I’m a liar?” she asked, and tried to break away, but he held her fast. “Funny, I thought the same about you.”
“When did I lie to you? We’ve only known each other for a few hours.”
She glared at him, facing off in the middle of the small parking lot, until she sighed and shook her head.
“Look, drop it. I don’t get involved with married men.”
“That’s a good policy, but I’m not married.”
“Really? Here’s an FYI—just because you don’t wear your ring doesn’t mean you’re not married. Thanks but no thanks,” she said, storming away, back stiff, nose turned up.
He thought she was amazingly cute, even though he had no idea what she was talking about.
“Wait,” he said as he hurried up to follow her. “I’m not married. Who told you I was married?” he asked.
“You. You said you’ve only been in two weddings, your brother’s and your own.” She punctuated the last two words with an accusing finger poked into his chest.
“Ohhhh.” He was used to everyone around him knowing, and saw how she would have jumped to that conclusion. “I’m sorry. I was married. My wife died several years ago.”
She gave him an even dirtier look. “Right. Listen, I get that you want to hook up while you’re out of town, but I’m not interested. And it’s pretty awful to say your wife died just to get some other woman to—”
Garrett reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, sliding out a memorial card with Lainey’s picture, and her dates of birth and death.
“This was my wife, Elaine,” he said softly, showing Tiffany. “And this is her obit,” he added, flipping the picture over where the funeral home had printed a lovely quote that he had selected at the time. He watched Tiffany read the back of the card, as if convincing herself it was real. Garrett knew what it said by heart: Elaine Elizabeth Berringer. Born May 20, 1978. Died November 15, 2006. Remember two kisses, the first and the last.
Tiffany stared at the picture for several long minutes, flipping it over in her hands, and when she looked back up at him, her eyes had welled.
Damn, now he’d made her cry.
“Don’t cry, please,” he said, almost desperately, taking the picture back and slipping it into his wallet. “I just wanted you to know I wasn’t lying. Completely understandable how you would misinterpret what I said earlier,” he added, and put his hands firmly on her shoulders, making her look at him.
Obviously he didn’t quite have the way with women that he used to. “I’m sorry for making you cry, too,” he added for good measure.
“No. I’m the one who’s sorry. I always do this, leap to conclusions, leap into relationships, leap into trouble… I just tend to…leap. And what I said was horrible, considering. I am so sorry,” she repeated. “She was lovely.”
Garrett’s heart softened even more. “Yes, she was. But it was a long time ago,” he added, experiencing a little kick of surprise at how easily the words fell from his lips, accompanied by a tiny sting of guilt. He’d never before tried to push Lainey’s memory away.
“How long were you married?” she asked.
“Six years,” he said. “I put this in my pocket at the funeral. It took me two years to clear a lot of her things out of the house, three years to take my ring off… I guess I thought I should keep something of her with me.”
Tiffany smiled a little. “That’s sweet, and sad.”
Garrett frowned. First Tiffany thought he was a player trying to have an out-of-town fling behind his wife’s back, then he’d called her a liar and made her cry. Now she thought he was clinging to the memory of his long-dead wife.
When he’d lost Lainey, it was as if Garrett had died, too. He would wake up, move, breathe, eat because of the demands of his body and because he knew his family worried about him. They grieved, too, and he didn’t want to cause them any more pain.
Gradually, it got easier, better. The business had saved him. His brothers, his family, had saved him. His heart had scarred over sufficiently that he could go on. But he hadn’t really moved on.
Meeting Tiffany made his blood move again, coursing through him with new vigor. He was excited for the first time in a long time, his heart doing more now than just keeping him alive.
And he was alive. He’d never known that fact more keenly than when he looked down into Tiffany’s face, her beautiful green eyes still a little blurry with tears.
Garrett pulled her closer, experimenting, operating on instinct and sheer male desire. It coursed through his blood like a river that had been held back for too long. He could only think of one way to convince Tiffany that he was very much living in the present, not the past.
He kissed her.
It was as simple as that.
Or so he thought, until her arms crept around his neck and that lovely, lush, curvy body pressed into his and she was kissing him back.
“Yeah, just like that,” he breathed against her mouth, and dove back in, plundering the inside of her mouth with his tongue. Suddenly starving, he
couldn’t taste or touch enough of her.
Walking her back, he pressed her up against the car, loving how she kissed him as hungrily and desperately as he did her. He moved his hands over full breasts that strained the tantalizingly thin material of her dress. Her hands stroked his back, and then went down to his butt, her fingers gripping him and pulling his hardness closer into the soft cushion of her hip.
She sighed into his mouth. It was such a pure, uninhibited sound of pleasure that he wanted to lift up her dress and take her right there. Garrett—known amongst his family and friends for his level-headedness, his deeply ingrained sense of responsibility and self-control—was ready to get as deep inside this woman as he could, here and now.
Voices behind him reminded him they were still in an all-too-public place for that. He backed away slightly, clearing his throat.
“I don’t usually, I mean, I shouldn’t have—” she said. Her tone was husky, breathless, turning him on even more.
“Come back to my room with me,” he interrupted, kissing her again, unable to get enough of how she melted into him. “Please,” he added, doing what he had been fantasizing about and sliding his hand up to her neck, releasing her hair from its knot.
As it fell down around her shoulders, her eyes darkened as they held his, but she shook her head.
“I have to go. I have…work.”
Work? At this time of the evening?
“Skip it.”
“I can’t,” she said, pushing gently away.
“Then meet me later.”
She stared at him long and hard, and shook her head again. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“I don’t care. Here’s my hotel and room number. I’ll wait.”
She nodded, clearly torn, which gave him hope. Then she got in her car, drove away, leaving him standing, watching, and hoping that she’d take him up on his offer.
Otherwise, it was going to be a very long night.
* * *
TIFFANY KNEW SHE was doing it again as she rode in the elevator all the way up to his room. It was only an hour after she’d left him, but Marcus’s car was gone, the room empty. She’d knocked on the door, hoping that the woman he’d been meeting might answer, and maybe she could get a lead that way, but there had been no answer.
Her second detective job was a bust, and rather than go home and be depressed at her failure for the rest of the night, she decided to let Garrett take her mind off things.
Tiffany was being impulsive. She wasn’t thinking about consequences or complications.
But what was the harm? Garrett was in town for the wedding, and people hooked up at weddings all the time, right? So she had a little fling with an usher over the weekend. So what? Then he would go back to the east coast, and she would go back to her life as it was. No one would be the wiser.
Everything would be fine.
Besides, his kiss had been soooo good.
Walking down to his room, she steeled herself once more to knock on her second hotel room door of the evening, and hoped for better results this time.
What if he had changed his mind?
He opened the door, looking delicious in loose jeans, a T-shirt and bare feet. His smile and the warmth that flooded his eyes told her he was glad to see her. He held a book in his hands—he’d been reading, apparently. She loved that he read.
“Hi,” she said, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.
“Hi. That didn’t take long,” he said.
“Yeah, I managed to finish quicker than usual,” she said, not intending to tell him what had really happened.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, standing aside to let her in, and massive doubt assailed her.
After what she’d been through with Brice, and after what she’d seen even in her short stint as a detective, was this smart? Meeting a man she barely knew at his hotel room, and no one even knew she was here?
Rationality prevailed; Garrett was not Brice. Or Marcus Hooper. He was a good friend of Ed’s, and lowlifes didn’t usually rent suites in upscale hotels.
“You okay?” he asked.
She broke out in a smile, feeling strange. “Yeah, sorry. I just don’t normally, um, well…do this kind of thing.”
He smiled, too. “Yeah, me either. And if you want, we could just go down to the bar for a drink, and talk. That would be fine,” he said, making her relax even more.
“No, I’m fine,” she said, meaning it and walking inside, giving a low whistle as she took in the huge room. She’d noticed it was a suite, but this was living in style, for sure.
“I splurged since I was going to be here for a month. I didn’t always want to be eating out, or cramped up in a little room.”
“Makes sense,” she said.
“I didn’t think it would be quite this luxurious, but it is pretty nice, I agree.”
A large chandelier sparkled in the light, and Tiffany was transfixed on that for a moment.
The suite had three rooms and a kitchenette, including the main living area, a large master bedroom and bath. The small kitchenette was tucked into the side of the main room, and on the other side, tall windows revealed a fantastic view of Union Square and the San Francisco skyline. Tiffany crossed to the window, drawing back the curtain.
“I never get tired of looking at this city,” she said in awe.
Garrett walked up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking at the view with her. “It is pretty spectacular. I can’t wait to get to know it better. And you. I’d like to get to know you better, too,” he said, his voice soft and low.
“What would you like to know?” she said, her voice huskier than usual. His touch seemed to do that.
“Let me make you a drink—I was having a bourbon. You want one?”
“That would be nice,” she said, turning as he crossed to the bar where a bottle of expensive whiskey had apparently just been opened. “Neat, please.”
He smiled. “A woman after my own heart.”
“I overheard you telling Mary’s husband you’re a bodyguard?”
“Yeah. It’s a family business. I started it, and then my three brothers joined in,” he said, handing her a glass and tipping the edge of his against hers before taking another sip.
“So how many more like you are there at home?” she said, making him smile.
“Three more, though I’m the oldest.”
“And you’re all bodyguards? Pretty exciting work.”
“Sometimes,” he agreed as they crossed to the sofa and sat. “Sometimes it can be boring.”
Tiffany found that hard to believe. Let him do a twelve-hour shift showing diamonds to socialites if he wanted to know about boring.
“What do you do?” he asked.
“I work for our family business, too. A small jewelry store downtown.”
“How long?”
“Just a few months now. It pays well, and I do like shiny things,” she said, laughing and looking at the chandelier again, and then at her own rings. She’d worn a few of her favorite rings, and a bracelet, and she really did love how they added a special something to the moment. “Love of jewels runs in the family. My mom even named me and my sisters after jewelry.”
“Ah. Tiffany’s. And your sisters are?”
“Ruby and Jewel.”
“So there are more like you at home?” he said, echoing her tone, making her laugh. He was way too charming.
She smiled. “Two more, both married. And our youngest brother Nick.”
“It sounds like you enjoy the work.”
“It’s okay. It pays the bills for now and helps out my parents, and I’ve been able to replace all the stuff I lost, but I want to move on to something better soon,” she said vaguely, toying with the idea of telling him she really wanted to be a detective.
What if he laughed? Worse, what if he told someone at the wedding? Better to let that stay a secret, she decided, though the urge to tell someone was eating at her.
Garrett
frowned. “Lost? Did you have an earthquake?”
She smiled. “Well, we do have those here, but in this case it was because of a robbery.”
His face became very serious then, and he looked her in the eye. “You weren’t hurt?”
“No, I wasn’t even home. But I did have to replace everything I had, right down to the toaster.”
“I didn’t think toasters were hot on the black market,” he said.
“Yeah, me, either.”
“No insurance?”
“Unfortunately no,” she said, expecting him to offer the same look of surprise and recrimination that others did when she revealed her lapse in personal responsibility, but he just nodded sympathetically. No way was she going to let him know it had been her former boyfriend who had ripped her off. She might as well wear a T-shirt that said I Have Poor Judgment.
“That sucks” was all he said, his tone nothing but sympathetic.
“Yeah, it did,” she said, and took a sip of her drink, though the smooth whiskey didn’t even touch the heat caused by the way his fingers were suddenly stroking the back of her neck, ever so gently. She swallowed hard, the touch making her glad she was sitting as she was sure her knees would not work if she was upright.
He slid closer, put his drink on the coffee table in front of him, and then hers.
“That’s nice bourbon,” she said, turning to face him slightly.
“It is, but I’m betting it will taste better on you,” he said, sliding his hand around her neck and pulling her close for a deep kiss. Tiffany was pretty sure she forgot to breathe, and was okay with that. He pulled back, obviously feeling the same way.
“Okay?”
“Better than,” she said, desperately wanting more.
This is a good thing, she thought as he nibbled at her neck, his thumb moving over her nipple in a way that made her knees tremble.
“Oh,” she moaned, thinking everything was more than fine as Garrett slid a hand up inside her skirt, brushing his knuckles along the very damp material of her thong. She turned more fully to him, her hands gripping his shoulders.
Yours for the Night Page 3