Two Sexy! Page 11

  “I’ve got news for you, buddy.” Jarett shook him hard. “Tess Canton isn’t a real person. And I seriously doubt if the wardrobe budget of Many Moons allows for real fur. Get a freaking life.”

  He left the man in the hands of a hotel security guard who emerged, then pushed his way past onlookers into the lobby of the hotel. Meg stood to the side, shaking. A couple of coated hotel workers stood near her, offering towels and sympathetic looks.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, clasping her arms.

  The mole that the makeup artist had so skillfully drawn near her mouth was smeared, and one of her contact lenses was missing. She squinted, her sight obviously impaired, but nodded. At the frightened look in her eyes, he pulled her into his arms.

  His heart pounded in his ears as he cupped her head to his shoulder. What if that kook had been brandishing a weapon instead of a cup of red paint? The possible scenarios left him choked with fear, and established just how foolish this entire scheme had been. If Meg had been injured…

  He became aware of flashes going off around them.

  “Miss Gee,” someone yelled. “Are you injured?”

  “No, Miss Gee isn’t injured,” he said, guiding her toward the elevator and shielding her from the cameras as much as possible. He asked a security guard to get the name of the officer who arrived to place the man under arrest—he would make a statement later.

  “Who is Meg?” a male voice asked.

  Jarett stopped and spied the gawky guy with braces who had obviously left the reception to come back and wait for them to return to the hotel. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Outside just now, you said, ‘Meg, go inside.”’ The man cocked his head to one side. “Who’s Meg?”

  Meg had stopped breathing, Jarett realized, waiting for him to answer. “You must be mistaken,” Jarett said carefully.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Thankfully, the elevator door slid open. “Think what you like,” Jarett said. “Right now Miss Gee needs to rest.” He guided Meg onto the elevator and turned his back to the door until it closed.

  He waited until they were on their way up before tipping up her chin. “Meg, I’m so sorry.” He took the towel from her and gently dabbed at the streak of red paint on her face.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said, lifting the dangling end of the towel and dabbing at his cheek—he must have been splashed, too.

  He was struck by the domesticity of the situation, and a fierce sense of protectiveness swelled in his chest. “I could kill that fur freak with my bare hands.”

  She gave him a little smile. “I didn’t realize your job was so dangerous.”

  “This isn’t amusing,” he said. “You could’ve been hurt.”

  “But I wasn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. Then her eyes clouded. “Do you think that reporter suspects I’m not Taylor?”

  He scoffed. “He’s probably from a tabloid and his headline will be Scientists Clone Taylor Gee, or something stupid like that.”

  She smiled, and his heart jerked crazily. A smile like that could brighten a person’s whole life. The elevator bell rang, announcing the twelfth floor. They stepped apart, and Jarett checked the hallway before allowing her to exit. He didn’t breathe easy until they were inside his room with the door closed.

  But when he realized they were finally alone, his lung capacity seemed compromised once again.

  She shed the coat and went straight to the vanity to wash her face. He flipped on a light in the kitchenette, removed his stained jacket, and wet a paper towel to wipe his face and neck free of the paint spatters. He turned on a lamp in the sitting area, then walked to the far end of the room, past the bed, and pulled the curtains closed.

  Just the sound of having Meg nearby, splashing and moving about, made his sex stir, then harden. He looked at the bed and without much effort, he could imagine her lying across the covers, nude and soft and willing. He couldn’t remember desiring a woman so intensely, but the entire situation was getting too complicated. She had a boyfriend, after all, and he had no right to muddy the water further, no matter how much he wanted to make love to her. He’d already jeopardized her career and her safety—at least he could leave her relationship untainted.

  Assuming that she would have even agreed to come to his bed.

  He checked his watch. 10:30 p.m. Jarett sighed and dragged his hand down his face. He needed to do a dozen things—talk to the police, check on Taylor, speak to Rosie, call Taylor’s publicist. And all he could think about was Meg.

  Meg walked out, drying her face. She wore her glasses and a white hotel robe that swallowed her. “Give me a few minutes to change clothes,” she murmured, “and I’ll be out of here.”

  “No,” he blurted.

  She looked up from the towel. “Hmm?”

  He shoved his hand into his hair. “I mean, you should take a shower. If you want to, that is.”

  She glanced at the door that separated his room from Taylor’s. “I don’t think so, Jarett,” she said quietly. “It’s time to end this before we get in any deeper.”

  Even with the distance between them, her energy drew him. He took a couple of steps toward her. “Are you talking about the body double scheme we pulled off?”

  She twisted the towel. “What else would I be talking about?”

  His arousal pressed against his fly. He knew he should keep things strictly business between them, but he couldn’t. He wanted her—more than he’d ever wanted anything. He wanted her hair falling down and her glasses steamed up. He wanted to give them both a night to remember before they returned to the real world.

  He crossed the room in a few strides and stopped in front of her. “Were you talking about this?” He curved his hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her lips up to meet his in a hard, hungry kiss. For a split second, he thought he’d gone too far, that he’d ruined whatever might have been, but then her arms came around his neck, and she opened her mouth to him.

  His body leapt in relief and anticipation and raw desire. He groaned, wrapping his arms tight around her waist. She moaned in response, offering him her tongue, pressing closer to him. Blood pumped through his body, rocketing to his loins. He slid his hands up her back, over her shoulder blades, and into her hair, displacing pins whenever he encountered them. The silky tresses slipped out of their confines and fell down her back.

  Restraint, he told himself, restraint. Jarett lifted his head and inhaled through clenched teeth, then nuzzled Meg’s ear, neck, collarbone. God, she felt so good, smelled so good, tasted so good. He practically shook from wanting her.

  “I need to see you.” His voice rasped against the swell of her breast.

  She suddenly stepped back, her hair wildly mussed, and her glasses askew. Her small hands were splayed against his heaving chest, and she looked as if she might bolt.

  Jarett set his jaw to keep from pulling her back to him. He knew how it must look to her—she probably thought he did this sort of thing all the time. But he couldn’t very well tell her that she was special, that she was different, because then she might expect something more than a one-night stand. And that was something he couldn’t give her.

  13

  THROUGH THE THIN FABRIC of his shirt, Meg felt the vibration of Jarett’s heart beating against her palm. Her own heart was pounding in her chest, whipping adrenaline through her body and short-circuiting her reasoning. There was no future here, only an encounter.

  An encounter with a gorgeous, warm man who made her feel fantastically feminine and totally desirable. Hadn’t she come to Chicago looking for a few days of excitement? And hadn’t Jarett Miller served it up in spades? He wanted to make love to her, and his desire left her weak with wanting, an experience she’d never felt before.

  Her inexperience was another cause for concern. Jarett had probably made love to some of the most beautiful, worldly women in the world. What if he found her clumsy?

  She looked into his eyes, hooded with longing, and s
he suddenly realized one truth—they would be remarkable lovers. It was unexplainable, the way their bodies gravitated toward each other, but there it was. Pheromones? Maybe. Magic? Definitely.

  Next week she would return to Peoria and, most likely, would agree to marry Trey. They would probably be happy. But she had tonight to be all the things she couldn’t be with Trey—daring. Sexy. Naughty.

  She looked down, then untied the robe and let it fall from her shoulders. She wore a matching panty and bra set, black and teal, and black thigh-high stockings with garters. The demibra was brief, the panties miniscule. She lifted her gaze slowly. If he laughed, she would crawl back to Peoria.

  But he wasn’t laughing. His jaw tightened as he scoured her figure head to toe. She drew in her breath, flush with feminine pride, and the tips of her straining breasts popped over the edges of the bra. Jarett inhaled sharply, then stepped closer and tore off his shirt in one motion.

  He pulled her against him, rubbing her exposed nipples across the springy dark hair on his chest. The sensation was exquisite, sending shards of desire to the juncture of her thighs. She buried her nose against his collarbone, inhaling the musky male scent of him. He wrapped his arms around her and unhooked the bra, freeing her breasts against him.

  She pulled away long enough to discard the bra, and he held her at arm’s length. “You’re so beautiful, I don’t want to stop looking at you.”

  A rush of self-confidence made her feel bold. Meg wet her lips. “Is that all you’re going to do—look?”

  He groaned and swooped down for a kiss, then picked her up and strode to the bed. He set her on the edge, then pressed her back, moving on top of her, kneading her breasts before lowering his head to take a swollen tip into his warm mouth.

  Meg cried out softly into the darkened room. “Oh, Jarett…. That feels so good.”

  He laved one nipple, drawing on her breast with incredible intensity, flicking his tongue against the sensitive peak. Incredibly, Meg felt the beginnings of an orgasm humming in her womb. She moaned and drove her fingers into his thick hair, urging him on. He moved from breast to breast, licking and strumming and tweaking until she writhed against him.

  She reached down to stroke his thick arousal through his pants, gratified at his groan in response. She pulled at his waistband, frustrated with the cumbersome fingernails. He lifted his head and body long enough to shed his pants and boxers, then rejoined her on the bed.

  At the insistence of his erection against her thigh, Meg almost lost her nerve. It was all too…reckless, as if her body had separated from her mind and was rushing headlong into a situation that she might not be able to return from. But she wanted to make him feel just as heady, so she folded her hand around his shaft and squeezed, stroking him up, then down. Moisture oozed against her fingers, and she lubricated the length of him, her body blooming in anticipation of having him fill her.

  A long moan escaped him, and he fell against her, kissing her breasts and lightly biting her neck, then her ear. She arched her back and moved her hand in response to his breathless encouragement.

  “Yes…there…ahhhh.”

  Then Jarett inhaled sharply and stilled her hand with his. “I’m human,” he whispered with a laugh. “And I’m not ready for this to end.”

  She smiled against his shoulder, happy that she could pleasure him, and surprised to find that she enjoyed hearing him talk to her while they stroked each other.

  He moved down her body and she closed her eyes against the longing that pooled in her stomach at his obvious destination. He kissed and caressed his way down to the tiny triangle that covered her mound, then slid his fingers under the fabric and into her slippery folds.

  She bucked against the excruciating pleasure and clawed at the covers beneath her. The alien sensations loosened her knees and her tongue. “Jarett…please.”

  He fumbled with the garters, gasping against her thigh. The sound of ripping fabric rent the air, and suddenly, his mouth was upon her. Meg sank her teeth into her lower lip to stifle a scream of delight. She squirmed against the covers, moving up and back until her shoulders rested against the padded headboard. He followed her, his mouth fastened against the sensitive bead that he now ruled. She swallowed convulsively, gasping for air as her body prepared for an urgent orgasm. The delicious wave flowed, then ebbed, then flowed higher, plunging her over the edge with an intensity that made her open her knees shamelessly, giving him access to all of her.

  “Jarett…Jarett…ohhhhh.” She pulsed against his tongue, releasing her body’s tension. Squeezing his shoulders with her knees, she moaned to the rhythm of her descent from paradise.

  He kissed the insides of her knees, then pushed himself up. He was looking for something…a condom she realized with great relief, glad she didn’t have to ask. The air was cool against her wet private parts until Jarett returned to lower himself into the cradle of her knees. He kissed her shoulders and her breasts, the head of his warm arousal throbbing against her entrance. Then he moved up to cover her mouth with his, to offer a taste of her own musk to her tongue. As he probed the recesses of her mouth, he moved into her an inch, then retreated, two inches, then retreated. Impatient for him, she clawed at his back, releasing a gratified groan when he rocked his hips and entered her in one long drive.

  He gasped into her mouth, gently biting her lower lip. She gripped him with her female muscles, loving the angle her half-sitting position offered. He moved slowly at first, testing her depth and width, and her tolerance for thrusting. She urged him on with her body and her moans, meeting him stroke for stroke. Her legs began to quake as another climax took hold of her, wracking her body with spasms. “Jarett…”

  “Meg…”

  “…I’m…ahhh…”

  “…come…with…me…”

  “…ahhhhhh…”

  “…ohhhhhh…”

  Their bodies collided again and again, then met for one final union. He sank against her, exhaling in satisfaction. Meg was too weak to move, and too satisfied to care. They recovered gradually, their hands fluttering over each other’s bodies as their strength returned.

  Meg opened her eyes slowly, then straightened her glasses. The weight of Jarett’s body on hers seemed nearly as intimate than the act they’d just shared. She stroked his back, pleased that he hadn’t rolled away.

  Never had she imagined sex could be so thoroughly exhilarating. But swift on the heels of her revelation came the bittersweet realization that they had made love with the abandon of two people who would never see each other again. The sobering thought brought mobility back to her limbs. She nudged herself up, bringing Jarett out of his sensual haze as well.

  He grunted, then carefully pulled away from her and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, shivering. “But it’s getting late.”

  He hesitated, then murmured his agreement. He stood and walked toward the bathroom, scooping up his clothes along the way. Meg watched his retreating back, marveling over his chiseled, masculine figure. Sudden longing stabbed her—she wanted him again. Already. How brazen was that?

  And not very becoming of a woman considering a marriage proposal. She sat up, a stone of remorse in her stomach, and rummaged for her underwear. No, not her underwear—Taylor’s underwear. She picked up a strand of hair from her shoulder. Taylor’s hair. She held out her hand. Taylor’s claws. Jarett hadn’t made love to her—he’d made love to a replica of Taylor. The door connecting their rooms mocked her. Taylor was sick, so…

  No, Jarett said he wasn’t Taylor’s boyfriend.

  Although he hadn’t denied being the woman’s lover.

  Meg scrambled to her feet and shucked the thigh-high stockings, then strode across the room to retrieve the bag holding her clothes. Trying to ignore her tender areas and sore muscles, she dressed in record time and braided her hair, finishing just as Jarett emerged from the bathroom wearing only his pants. He surveyed her from brai
d to khaki dress to low-heeled shoes, then scratched his temple. “I guess you’re ready to leave.”

  She pushed the end of the braid over her shoulder and straightened. “Yes.”

  He nodded, then retrieved his shirt where it had landed on the back of the club chair and pulled it over his head. She looked away from the expanse of rippling muscle, her skin tingling. He was so confident with his body, a man accustomed to giving and receiving physical pleasure, no doubt.

  And while she was immensely grateful for his expertise, a small part of her wished their lovemaking could have been as significant to him as it had been to her.

  “Something to drink?” he asked, opening the refrigerator.

  “No thanks.” She just wanted to get the good byes over with.

  He withdrew a bottle of water and opened it on his way to the telephone. After a swig, he turned on a desk lamp and punched a button. “A cab please, at the rear door. Thank you.”

  The rear door—she’d forgotten she needed to be smuggled out. “Thanks. I’ll be going.”

  “I’m riding with you,” he said, sitting in one of the chairs to pull on black socks.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  The black boots came next. “Yes, it is.”

  She didn’t argue, but wrapped a scarf around her “see-me” hair and tied the ends under her chin. He pulled another black jacket from his closet to replace the paint-stained one and shrugged into it. Beautifully.

  Jarett stopped at the door, with his hand on the knob. He nodded to her scarf, and offered her a slight smile. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like a schoolteacher?”

  She flushed and pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “I am a schoolteacher.” And with that realization, she plummeted back to earth.

  Jarett asked her to wait while he checked the hallway. When he gave her the all-clear sign, she stepped outside, holding the small bag close to her. She watched the door to Jarett’s room close, and knew her adventure had ended. No more fancy dresses, no more limousines, no more bodyguards.