As much as he wanted to take her to her room and strip her down, it wasn’t going to happen tonight. “You falling asleep, sweetheart?”
She yawned. “Nope.”
“Right.” Besides, if he put her in bed, then he could follow up with Murphy, make arrangements for someone to talk to Jenny first thing in the morning. Maxwell contacting Jenny was a huge a break in the investigation. But Maxwell’s blatant move had been dangerous. Asher wanted to pace the room like a caged tiger, ready to rip flesh from bone given the chance to attack. Jenny didn’t need to see him worked up.
He scooped her up. “Off to bed.”
She blinked, innocent and uncertain. “You joining me?”
“Not tonight.”
Her face fell. Why had he stayed away from her this long? And how badly had he hurt her over the years? Damn, McIntyre.
“It’s not that I don’t want to. I have to work a little, and you have Tassels and Tangos tomorrow. Gotta get your beauty sleep.”
He walked down the hall with her pressed against his shirt. He’d denied himself this simple luxury for years. Holding her couldn’t compare to any other woman. And kissing her… wow. Not equivalent either. She tasted like honey and smelled like vanilla. A kiss from anyone else was akin to licking cardboard. Lifeless and unnecessary.
After opening her door, he laid her on the bed. “You okay?”
She shrugged, grabbed a huge T-shirt from the foot of her bed, and changed. Her modesty was charming, but he had stolen a glance at her lace bra and thong and loved knowing what was under her cotton nightshirt. Somehow that peep show was even better than what he’d imagined with his earlier thoughts of silk pajamas.
“Not sure I can sleep.” Her voice was worried.
“Forget about Maxwell.” Saying the man’s name made Asher’s blood boil.
Jenny crawled under the covers. “Trying.”
A vortex of emotion swirled in his mind. Like. Lust. Longing. He traced her chin with the back of two fingers. “You are as soft as you look.”
“Stay with me tonight.”
He should walk out. Stay away. Board up her door and call in for reinforcements. But one bat of her eyelashes, and he was done. Kicking off his shoes, he crawled next to her and brought her to his chest. Butterscotch and vanilla. He was in deep. Asher kissed the top of her head. “Sweet dreams.”
***
New York vibed well with Jenny. Even in dirty Penn Station with people cruising past, cops standing around, and pickpockets manning the walls. She rode the escalator up with a duffel bag slung over her back. This is my break. I will get this part, and I won’t worry about Maxwell.
An icy chill ran down her spine. Jenny peered over her shoulder incessantly and tracked for any face that rang remotely familiar. She was terrible with faces, even after Agent Murphy had questioned her bright and early that morning. After I woke up next to Asher.
Both men had pestered her with questions, but all she could remember was a short and stocky man who acted like he had something to prove. He had cut her off and talked down to her. When she had met Maxwell, she’d thought his hard sell was the source of her discomfort. But thinking back on it, maybe her instinct had flared because her Maxwell and Asher’s Maxwell were one and the same. That jerk had been trying too hard to get her alone.
Forget about Maxwell. She mentally rehearsed her favorite lines from Tassels and Tangos until her phone rang. She fished it out of her purse—Asher—and her stomach flipped. Maybe they were really happening. She touched the screen to answer. “Hi.”
“Hey, sweetheart. How was your trip?”
“Easy enough.” She shivered. Asher’s chiseled face had been stuck in her head. She replayed every kiss and touch from the night before. “We were on time.”
“Good.” He took a long breath. “Did I mention waking up next to you made my day? We should do that again soon.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow. “No. You didn’t.”
“Ouch, but you’re not signing up to do it again?” He laughed.
“No, wait. Of course.” She rolled her eyes, snapping out of her fog. “Don’t tease me. This is all a little surreal to me.”
“Why?”
She stood at the crosswalk next to a newspaper stand. Facing her was a slew of New York daily rags. More than half of them had his picture above the fold. “Hold on.” She snapped a picture and texted it to him. “Because I’m a nobody, and you’re a little like a modern-day Prince Charming. Check your text messages.” She waited until he came back to the phone. “See what I mean?”
“Ignore it. I do.”
“Ignoring.” Yeah, right.
“So, I made arrangements for a protective detail for Molly while she traveled. And you too.”
She crossed the sidewalk with a gaggle of people, eyeing each one for Maxwell. “What’s that mean?”
“A friend is former FBI, does private security and undercover work. I think he’d fit in, and he can work with you until the Maxwell situation is wrapped.”
“You’re assuming I’ll get the part?”
“Of course I am.”
The audition building was straight ahead, and adrenaline shot through her system. “That’s confident of you.”
“Sweetheart, you should assume the same thing. Anyway, his name is Ricky, and he’ll play your acting or choreography coach. Something like that. I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about, but he knows theatre, and he’ll find you. He’s hard to explain. Never what he seems, so just go with it.”
“You didn’t need to do that, Ash.”
“Of course I did. I would’ve done it even if last night didn’t happen the way it did.”
“All right. I’m here. Talk to you later.” Because we chat on the phone now. That’s your new normal. Own it.
She looked up at the towering building. This was the third time she would walk through the doors, and Jenny was ready to give the audition of her life. The script had been permanently embedded in her mind. It was sexy. Fun. The costumes were outrageous. Bright. Feathery. Full of sequins. The part was hers—it just had to be—and promised to be a big debut.
Jenny pushed through the spinning doors, took a deep breath, and was tapped on the shoulder.
“Took you long enough. I’m Richard.” His name fluttered into the air, full of pizzazz. “You can call me Ricky. All my friends do.” He spun around the lobby. “I love this location. Love! Great audition rooms. Good energy.”
What? Ricky was nothing like she’d expected of Asher’s former FBI friend. Not at all. “You’re Asher’s friend? Were with the FBI?”
“Takes all kinds.” He took her fingers in his hand and held them like they were promenading in a royal court. They walked toward the front desk to check in with security. “Sixteenth floor.” Ricky pointed at Jenny, and they handed over the IDs for a quick inspection. “Third callback. She’s a surefire winner.”
“Good luck, miss.” The security guard handed back their licenses, and they were allowed access to the elevators.
They rode in silence to the sixteenth floor. Somewhere near the seventh floor, Ricky donned his invisible security person hat. “If anyone asks who I am, I’m Ricky, your coach. If something bugs you, doesn’t feel right, or if Maxwell walks in and you remember his ugly mug, you just wave your pretty little hand at me, and I’ll take it from there.”
She blinked. “You’ll take it from there? How?”
“What do you mean, how?” He rolled his eyes but did a little karate chop. “Should I get out my guns and thump my chest? Maybe do a push-up contest? Would that make you feel better? Though I’d much rather get an iced mocha latte and talk about your posture.”
My posture? What’s wrong with my posture? She was sure Ricky hated her all of a sudden. So much for making friends with the guy. And she could see why Asher had struggled to explain her protective detail.
“Don’t gawk, Jenny. Not a great look on you, and you’re super cute. Don’t do
yourself any injustices.” He sized her up. “I can see why Congressman McIntyre is so…vested in you.” He paused again then nodded. “You need a massage. And maybe a snack. A wheatgrass smoothie. Does wonders for the mood, you know?”
Actually, maybe they would be friends. She’d be friends with anyone who suggested a massage, no matter the reason. She checked her phone. Ten minutes until her audition time. “No time, but afterwards, absolutely. Wish me luck.”
Ricky took her hand and swung it. “Break a leg.”
***
Nothing had turned up from the phone number Maxwell had given Jenny. Failure made Asher’s skin crawl, and even though Ricky was with her, he cleared his schedule and hopped on the train to New York City.
In the span of one night, Jenny had gone from being someone he refused to touch to the woman he refused to stay away from.
The high-speed train wasn’t getting him there fast enough, and despite all the campaign calls and emails he could do, he let his mind wander. Tassels and Tangos. What was that about anyway?
His campaign consultant called again. It had to be the tenth call in a row. He growled, not wanting to take it, but did. “Yeah, McIntyre here.”
“You’re in New York?”
“Almost.”
“What about your fundraiser tonight with—”
“I cancelled that.”
“I know you cancelled it. Any particular reason why, or should I worry you’ve lost your mind six weeks out from Election Day?”
Asher laughed. “You’re the second person in as many days to tell me I’ve lost my mind.”
“Not funny.”
“I’ll make it up. I swear.”
“This is why you pay me the big bucks. Already worked that out for you. All you have to do is make an appearance at some swanky dinner tonight at some fancy New York City restaurant. Try to smile at the big donor’s very pretty daughter a few times, and we’re good.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We aren’t anything. I’m done with the arm candy.”
“I didn’t say you were her date tonight. I’m saying that her big-money daddy wants you two to meet, and he was hosting the fundraiser in DC that you’ve decided to skip. So there isn’t much to discuss here, Congressman. Make the guy happy.”
Asher growled to himself. Election Day loomed. He couldn’t afford rookie mistakes, and pissing off a major donor was amateur. “Fine. Done.”
He hung up the phone. It rang again. But it was Jenny.
“Asher?”
The giant pressure leaning on his chest melted at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“I got the part,” she nearly screamed into the phone. “They gave it to me.”
“You earned it.”
“I earned it.” She made an excited noise, and he was pretty sure that Ricky was jumping up and down with her.
Only Ricky could pull a move like this one. Such a chameleon. One of the toughest brutes Asher had ever met. That man could morph into any role he chose.
“Guess what?”
She giggled at something in the background. “What? Tell me.”
“I’m on my way to see you.”
“Really?”
The excitement in her voice was so genuine, it reminded him of how she was the opposite of every manufactured meeting, date, interview that he’d dealt with lately. “Really.”
“Oh, but they’re starting right away with costume and publicity shots. I have a whole schedule of things to do this afternoon.”
“I have a way of being invited to places I don’t need to be. No one really tells me no. So, I’ll be there. Don’t worry.” The perks of being the up-and-coming senator—it should all go according to plan.
Forty minutes later, he’d covered a few blocks in the Fashion District, where her rehearsals were. Ricky had sent him the details, and Asher hauled to see her. His suit looked out of place, and his tie strangled his neck. At a red light, he stood next to a few hipsters and a man pushing a cart of dresses.
Dodging a wayward taxi inching through the horde of bodies, Asher breathed in the city and let excitement charge his blood. Energy revitalized him after the hours on the high-speed Amtrak train.
He found the building, was waved through security, hit the sixteenth floor, and pushed past a gaggle of models who all looked like Barbies. He stepped over a red-head kid in pigtails lying on the floor, reading a commercial script for apple juice.
This place is a madhouse. He rounded the corner toward the room number Ricky had texted him, pushed the door open, and—
Holy hell…
Dry mouthed, Asher slammed to a halt, nearly stumbling over his own feet. Jenny was busy talking to the seamstress at her knees, who sewed something shiny onto something that glittered. Under the glaring lights, Jenny sparkled.
But the glittering getup—the sky-high heels, corset, and fringe—had nothing on her flat stomach, perked breasts, and legs that every model in the hallway would commit homicide for. Asher stared, drinking her in, too shocked to move or even wave hello.
A man carrying a clipboard swaggered around Jenny, inspecting her. He pushed his glasses into his hair, put his knuckles to his chin, and studied. Asher contained a primal roar. The bastard might not live through the day. He fisted his hands into his pants pockets and needed to calm the urge to rip the guy’s eyeballs out.
Ricky bounced over, a feathery mess slung over his shoulder. “Costumes are going well. This is the last one to get fitted—”
“Who’s that?” Asher growled.
“Talking to Jenny? That’s the director, Colton. Cole for short.”
“Well, Cole’s too close to her.” Asher took a step forward, fists still in pockets, rage bubbling as the man adjusted a strap on Jenny’s leg.
With a flip of the feathers, Ricky tapped Asher on the chest. “Mr. Congressman, get it together.”
Asher stifled another urge to maim and growled again instead. “Richard—”
“Maybe you need a smoothie too. She’s in such a better mood since I gave her a snack.”
He eyed his buddy. “I’m impressed, by the way. Have me fooled.”
“Whatever.” He flicked his hands out with the feather rope then drew it back at Asher’s scowl. “What, you don’t like my boa?”
Jenny looked over, finally noticing him, and laughed. She did look in a good mood, much better than the last time he’d seen her when she’d been gnawing on her nails over Maxwell.
He nodded at her half-naked, jewel-costumed body. Jenny had stunned his thoughts silent.
“What do you think?” She gave a spin, ignoring the seamstress trying to keep up with her.
He pinched his eyes closed. What did he think? Thinking about her was his problem. He could ditch big money’s daughter, find a hotel room, and they wouldn’t leave for a week.
“I need to speak with Jenny.” Asher stepped toward her. “Alone.”
Cole took a step back from her, eyebrows bunched, but stopped and walked forward, extending his hand. “Congressman McIntyre, so nice to meet you.”
Asher moved across the worn, wooden floor and completed the obligatory hello. The seamstress smiled and waved as she passed. Even Ricky stepped out, which surprised Asher.
Mirrors surrounded him on three sides. Floor-to-ceiling windows served as the fourth wall.
“How do I look?” Her fingers knitted together like she was suddenly nervous under his attention. “I’m going for hot, but, ya know… So?”
“You want hot? Pretty?” Were there even words for how she looked? “How about you try every man’s lifelong fantasy? You’re making Victoria’s Secret angels look like knobby-kneed bums.”
She laughed, and her already-red cheeks flamed. “Thanks.”
“My lifelong fantasy.”
Teetering on breakneck high heels, she stopped fidgeting and looked up from under the sexy veil of her eyelashes. “Really?”
Asher stepped to her. He dropped his han
d to her flat stomach between the corset top and the sequin bottom, and his finger traced softly. Her skin was velvet. They were suspended in the moment, Asher holding Jenny to him with the strength of a gaze.
Her chest rose and fell, mirroring his tempo. Jenny sucked her bottom lip, nailing him with textbook bedroom eyes. Her palm found his, smoothing it from her hip, over her bare stomach, and stopped on the corset. She leaned against him, pushed onto her toes, and pressed her lips against his ear. Warm breath caressed him, and his mind spun.
A knock on the door, and Cole popped his head back in. “You guys good? Photographer’s here for her promo pieces.”
He dropped his finger but ignored the director. “I need to get you out of here.”
The room filled.
“Asher,” Ricky sang to him. “I got you a smoothie. Wheatgrass with strawberries. It’ll help your mood, whatever’s wrong with you.”
She shook her head. “I have to work. And then there’s a happy hour I have to go to. We’re celebrating… me, I guess.”
He stepped back, drawing a fresh breath and hoping for some perspective. “I have a dinner thing to go to too.” Ricky stood next to them with a green smoothie. It looked disgusting.
“Try it.” Jenny smiled. “Pretty good, actually.”
He shook his head. “No, thanks.”
“Take it anyway.” Ricky pushed the cup into his hand and turned to Jenny. “I’d say the congressman looks horny, but that’d cross the line, wouldn’t it?” Ricky winked at Jenny and walked away.
She covered her mouth, shocked and laughing. “Oh my God. How well do you two know each other again?”
“You could call us old poker buddies.” I’m going to kill him. “All right. You do your thing; I’ll hit this dinner and find you afterwards.” He turned and walked away. Each step felt heavier than the last. Jenny was permanently seared into his retinas. But he had to take one last look. He turned and stared over his shoulder. “See if you can bring some of that outfit home tonight. I’ll put it to good use.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Chased - A Titan Novella (Titan (Novella)) Page 3