“Ms. Meriweather,” the voice on the other end said smoothly. “What can I get for you tonight?”
“This is Lord Montagne Verdi,” Griffin said in his iciest, most austere tone. “Ms. Meriweather has an intruder in her room. I’ve locked him in her closet but I want security up here right away. Understand?”
“Absolutely, my lord! We’re sending someone up—”
He hung up. Across from him, he watched the closet doorknob turn, the man in there clearly testing it. The door rattled, and he heard a soft curse. Griffin moved over to the chair, straightened it, and then sat down, pinning the door shut with his weight.
And he waited for security.
Luckily, the hotel was prompt. A mere minute or two later, there was a quick knock at the door. “Security.”
Griffin got up from the chair and headed to the door, letting them in. “He’s in the closet.”
The security team extracted the man, who was clearly one of the paparazzi. The man babbled and tried to make excuses, but the camera in his hand—and the fact that he was hiding between Maylee’s ugly dresses—told the real story. They took him away and another man stayed behind to take down Griffin’s information. He told them what he knew, then glanced back at his room. His assistant hadn’t shown her face since the others had arrived. “Maylee? Can you come give this man your statement?”
A moment later, she stepped through the doorway of their adjoining rooms. Her hair was still wet, but had been finger-combed into loose, damp waves. She wore one of his button-up shirts, the hem of it grazing her tanned thighs. It was big on her, though when she moved forward, he saw the soft bob of her breasts under the fabric.
And holy Christ, she was sexy in his shirt.
Griffin clenched his fists, willing away the inappropriate surge of lust he felt at the sight of her. Those greenish-brown eyes were still huge and troubled, and when she stuck her hand out for the security officer to shake, he noticed it was still trembling. She was terrified.
Her fear made his protective instincts arise. He put a hand on her shoulder and tugged her closer to him, ignoring the security officer’s questioning look. As Maylee gave her statement, he remained at her side, and she seemed to relax a bit, toying with the too-long sleeves of his shirt as she spoke.
“He told me he wanted me to work with him,” she said in her soft drawl. “That he wanted the inside story. I’m guessing he wanted details on the wedding, or on Mr. Griffin. He said he’d pay me lots of money.”
“And what did you say to him?” the man asked.
She looked surprised. “Why, I screamed. I screamed and slammed the door in his face.”
Griffin smiled faintly.
“Thank you,” said the security officer once Maylee had given her statement. “We’ll turn this information—along with the intruder—over to the police.”
“What are you going to do to ensure this doesn’t happen again?” Griffin’s voice was cold, authoritative, and he gave the man a hard look. “I’m not keen on the idea of my employees being harassed while I’m staying at what is supposed to be a safe establishment.”
“Of course, sir—er, my lord,” the man said, and he looked embarrassed. “We’ll post a security guard on this floor in addition to the ones downstairs. You won’t be disturbed again.”
“See that we are not,” Griffin said.
“Thank you,” Maylee said in a trembling voice. “I appreciate it.” Her arms crossed over her chest, and Griffin noticed that the man’s gaze slid there.
“We’ll call if we need anything else,” Griffin said brusquely. With a nod, he indicated that the man should exit the room.
The security officer left, and Maylee shut the door behind him. Now, it was just Griffin and Maylee in her room. He kept his eyes on her face as she turned around, all soft and curvy in his shirt. Her round face looked exhausted, though she tried to give him a game smile. “I guess we’ve had our excitement for the evening,” Maylee said.
Griffin examined her face closely. “Are you all right?” She didn’t sound like her normal cheery self.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I feel like a ninny. Maybe I should have just talked to him instead of screaming my fool head off.”
“He broke into your room. You absolutely did the right thing.” He squeezed her shoulder.
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I guess.”
Griffin was already impressed at her trustworthiness. She hadn’t even considered giving details to the paparazzi. She’d immediately thought of defending his reputation. That kind of loyalty couldn’t be bought, no matter the price. He’d give her a nice bonus when they got home, he thought. But she still looked so troubled and that bothered him.
I need a hug, she’d told him when she was drugged up on the plane.
He considered her. She still seemed lost and small and lonely.
So he pulled her closer to him and gave her an awkward hug. It wasn’t his normal thing to do. He was terrible at comforting, in fact. But she’d wanted a hug in the past when she’d cried. This he could do, he supposed.
Maylee stiffened in surprise and then melted against him a moment later. She was all warm curves, and he was surprised at how good she felt in his arms. His hand rubbed her back, and he tried not to think about her being naked under the flimsy fabric of his shirt.
Then he released her. “Better?”
A giggle escaped her. “I have to admit, Mr. Griffin, I didn’t peg you for much of a hugger.”
“It seemed appropriate.”
She turned and looked at her room again, then bit her lip.
“What?” he asked.
The knuckle went back to her mouth, and she bit down on it. “I don’t feel safe. I’m sorry. Could you check my room for me?”
He relaxed. “Of course. Go wait in mine.”
She tensed again. “But . . . what if there’s someone in yours?”
She was in there earlier, wasn’t she? He didn’t understand this reluctance, but Griffin nodded and put an arm out, gesturing for her to move in. “Come here, then. Stay by my side.”
Immediately, Maylee trotted to him and moved under his arm. Her breast brushed against his side and her fingers went to the waistband of his sleep pants, as if she could somehow hold onto him in case he tried to escape her.
It should have been irritating. Griffin hated clinging, and he hated hovering. But . . . for some reason, having Maylee against his side, warm and soft and sweet, was rather nice.
Together, they checked out her room, opening up the wardrobes, going through every cabinet, the closet, and even checking under the bed. There was nothing. Griffin checked her front door again and tested the locks twice, then latched the chain. “From now on, you should keep this locked. You can just exit out of my room.”
She nodded at him. “Thank you.”
He glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. You should probably head to bed.”
Her face went white again but she nodded, releasing him. Those soft fingers slid away from his waistband, and for a moment, Griffin felt regret, which was foolish. She was his assistant. A very temporary one.
“Thank you again,” Maylee told him, her voice soft. She gave him another smile, but it didn’t hold its normal brilliance. “I really do appreciate it.”
“I know,” he said, his tone a bit more abrupt than it should have been. She was fragile at the moment, damn it. There was no point in him biting her head off. He gave her a quick nod. “Get some sleep. We have a full schedule tomorrow.”
“Of course,” she murmured, and stepped away.
After a moment’s hesitation, he gave her another nod and retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him. Griffin leaned against it for a moment, exhaling heavily.
Good God. He should have been upset about the fact that the paps were all over him on this trip, enough to warrant sneaking into his assistant’s room to hash out a deal. He should have been furious that someone had breached their privacy.
/> But his brain kept focusing in on Maylee’s bare legs under the hem of his shirt, the soft curve of her breast pressing against his side, those fingers brushing against his waist as she held onto his pants.
His cock was hard as a rock. Griffin reached into his pants and adjusted himself, but it was no good. This wasn’t going down anytime soon, not with Maylee’s softness and near nudity in his mind. He kept flashing back to her running into his room, dripping with water, the towel barely containing her heaving breasts—
Griffin headed to the bathroom. He shut the door, stripped out of his pants, and climbed back into the shower. Running the water on hot, he soaped up his body for the second time this evening, then took his cock in his hand and began to stroke it, thinking of Maylee in his shirt. Thinking of pushing her back on his bed and watching the fabric slide up, revealing the full length of her thighs, the pale floss between her legs that would be the color of her brows, and slick, soft lips waiting for his cock—
He came with a grunt, his hand rough as he stroked himself to orgasm. Fucking pathetic that he had to jerk himself off in a hotel bathroom at the thought of his assistant.
He was going to kill Gretchen Petty when he returned, that was for damn sure.
Five minutes later, he was dressed in his sleep pants and climbing into bed when there was a knock at the adjoining door. He tensed, alarm shooting through him, and headed to the door. “Maylee?” he called, worried. Had someone tried to break in again?
When he swung the door open, she was standing there, still in his shirt. A pillow was clutched to her chest, and she looked up at him, eyes red and shining with unshed tears.
“Can I . . .” She paused and gulped, then continued. “Can I come sleep with you?”
***
Lordamercy, but Griffin Verdi was a pretty man when he was in a state of undress.
Not that he wasn’t normally pretty, Maylee reasoned. In his jacketed suits and his proper ties, his hair slicked down so not a bit was untamed, he looked right nice. Of course, when he was all done up, he was also incredibly unapproachable. Now he was freshly showered, his hair wet and a bit messy, and he wore no shirt.
Which allowed her to gawk at all those muscles that a bookworm shouldn’t have.
Griffin had a real nice chest. Real nice. Broad, with strong, triangular shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist. His chest was mostly smooth, and had a thin line of dark hair creeping up from his navel that she found rather fascinating. He also had a black skull tattoo with money sticking out of the eye sockets on one shoulder that surprised her—His Royal Stuffiness certainly hadn’t seemed like the tattoo type.
But she liked seeing it. It made him human. Like maybe he wasn’t quite so stiff and proper as she’d pegged him.
It was that tattoo that had given her the strength to knock on his door again after he’d gone back to bed. She’d hesitated, terrified he’d say no and then give her a verbal putdown to let her know what he thought of her suggestion. And in her rather shaky state of mind at the moment, it’d probably break her.
But at her ridiculous question, he hadn’t laughed, hadn’t mocked, or anything of that sort.
He’d simply opened his door a bit wider to let her in.
And Maylee felt so relieved that she could have kissed him. She didn’t, but she would have if he’d have been even the slightest bit receptive to something like that from a country girl like her.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she stepped into his room. She’d been here earlier, and she had been a bit agog at how much nicer his room was than hers. He had fancy couches and fancy tables and an enormous window with a balcony that would probably have an incredible view of the city. The window was shut, the curtains drawn. It was late and getting later by the minute.
He ran a hand through his messy, half-wet hair and glanced around the room. “I can take the couch. You can have the bed.”
Her eyes widened at his suggestion. Sir Stuffy was going to give up his bed for her? Immediately, Maylee felt guilty. That hadn’t been her intention. She’d simply been scared to stay alone, sure that she’d have nightmares about strange men jumping out of her closet with a camera. She looked over at his bed. It was enormous. “I thought we’d both sleep together.”
“Did you.” The two words were flat.
Maylee blushed. “Not like that. But look at this bed. It’s the size of my apartment back home. We can just put some pillows in between us and it’ll be right as rain. Kinda like camp. You know?”
Griffin simply stared at her.
“And that dinky little couch looks mighty uncomfortable,” she admitted. “Especially for a man your size.” Oh, lordamercy, now she was blushing again. Why had she said man your size? She was not going to look at his happy trail. She was not. “I mean, if anyone should take the couch, it should be me.”
The room fell silent. Griffin considered the bed, then her, then gestured at the pillow she was clutching. “Go get your pillows out of your room.”
She trotted back into it happily and grabbed all the pillows, then returned to Griffin.
He took them from her and tossed them onto the bed, making a barrier between them. “I’ll sleep on the right,” he said, the imperious note back in his voice. “It’s closer to the door.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“And I’m going to read for a while longer. I trust that won’t bother you?”
She shook her head. “I’m kinda too wound up to sleep. Mind if I get my knitting?”
He shrugged his shoulders and climbed into his side of the bed, grabbing his book and opening it back up again, ignoring her. This was perfect, really. If he was going to pretend like she wasn’t there, she wouldn’t feel so weird about asking to sleep with him.
Maylee bounded up from the bed and went to her room, grabbed her knitting, and scurried back into his room. For some reason, her own hotel room didn’t feel safe anymore, but the moment she walked through his door, she felt like she could relax. Breathing a happy sigh of relief, she bounded back into bed, dragged the blankets up around her, and then sat up, crossed her legs, and began to knit. The feel of the yarn and the needles was soothing to her, as were the repetitive motions. It allowed her to calm down and relax, and she began to chain her yarn with easy motions.
She glanced over at Griffin, but he was silent, reading a book with tons of tiny words on the page. Looked like heavy reading. Huh. Interesting that he was so smart when he didn’t have to be. She went back to her knitting.
A comfortable silence fell between them for a long time.
“Why are you afraid to sleep by yourself?”
Maylee glanced over, and was startled to see that he was looking in her direction. His thick book was flat on that divine chest, and his hair had dried into a light brown tousle that looked different now that it wasn’t slicked down by a pound of hair gel. He looked different. Younger. Easier to approach.
Cute, even.
She felt herself blushing, though she continued to knit, her needles moving. “You really want to know?”
“Would I have inquired if I didn’t?”
“You might if you were just being polite.”
He snorted. “I can assure you that I don’t ask people about themselves unless I’m interested.”
She supposed that was the case. “I guess I should be mighty flattered then, huh? And it’s nothing big, really. My apartment got broken into when I first moved to the city. I’d only been in New York a few days. I went on a job interview and when I came back, someone had broken in my door and gone through all my stuff.”
“Did you go to the police?”
“I went to my landlord,” she admitted, looping her yarn around one needle as she spoke. “He told me that since he was only charging me three dollars a square foot, I shouldn’t expect much. So I just had him fix the door and I got myself a baseball bat, but it was scary for the first few days.”
He was silent. She looked over from her knitting to see hi
m frowning at her.
“What?” she asked.
“I don’t know what part of that story is the most ridiculous. I’m trying to decide.”
“I can’t help if I was scared,” she said defensively. “It was the first time I’d ever left home, and then someone came through and raided my stuff. It was rather alarming for a girl from Arkansas.”
“I would suppose so.” He sat up and leaned against the headboard. “That’s not the ridiculous part. You’re being charged three dollars a square foot?”
She nodded at her knitting. “It’s a room in Bushwick. No windows or anything, which makes me sad, but I’m told it’s quite a steal at $450 a month.”
“A flat in Bushwick, Brooklyn? That sounds horrific. I think my closet is larger than a hundred and fifty square feet.”
She laughed. “I don’t doubt that, Mr. Griffin.”
As she glanced over, he rubbed his chest idly. Oh, that bare chest with all those muscles. She needed to quit peeking over or she was likely to get herself into trouble.
“Just call me Griffin if we’re going to sit here in bed together,” he mused, rubbing his chest. “Feels weird otherwise. So you’re renting a hole of an apartment in a terrible part of the city. Does Hunter not pay you very well?”
Oh, dear. “Mr. Hunter pays me very nicely, sir. I just try to live frugally so I can send money home to Mama and them.”
“God, your language is appalling. Mama and them, indeed. That’s not English.”
“It is.”
“Really? Where in the grammar books do you suppose they cover ‘and them’? Who, pray tell, is ‘them’?”
“My sisters and my Nana and my Pepaw—”
He waved a hand. “You know what? I’m sorry I asked. Never mind. Please, continue with your horrific tale of woe.”
Maylee was silent. He was mocking her, wasn’t he? She couldn’t exactly tell him off, so she just said nothing at all.
He sighed and rubbed his face. “So you send money home? Why not get a job closer to where you were?”
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