Authors: Kristi Lea
An hour later up I64, Jess opened the envelope of
cash from the safe deposit box and counted out seventy-five thousand dollars in
non-sequential, previously circulated one hundred dollar bills. Forty-five
minutes out of Nashville, they bought a car from a guy named Javier. Noah had
picked up enough Spanish from working in LA to understand the gist of the
comments Javier made to one of the other salesmen.
Noah couldn’t agree more. Jessica Kingsbury had
the finest ass he had ever seen, too.
They left Noah’s rental car in the short-term
parking lot at the Nashville airport, where he bought a plane ticket back to LA
dated three days later. He found a bookstore with free internet access, found
an online special, and booked himself a stay at the Opryland Hotel.
Jessica stayed in the parking garage with their
newly purchased powder blue 1998 Honda Civic while he checked in to the hotel
and went to the room with no bags. He left his personal cell phone in the room
and plugged the battery back in. No need to turn it on. By the time a maid
cleaned out the room, Jessica would be long gone.
An hour after that, they found a small budget
motel along I24 north toward St. Louis, and paid for the room with cash. Heavy
drapes in a lurid teal print that blocked all pretense of light from entering.
By the looks of the parking lot, the place was not
very popular. By the looks of the room, Noah knew why. The place was one of
those concrete and steel eyesores with two floors of outside balconies to allow
each room a large picture window. The beds, covered in the same hideous
greenish fabric, dipped in the middles.
“Too bad.” Jess eyed the nightstand that was
bolted to the wall. “The coin slot for the vibrating bed thing is broken.”
Noah’s eyes flew from her face to the small metal
contraption on the nightstand and a hint of deep red stained his temples. Then
he burst out laughing.
He laughed loud and open mouthed and honestly. His
eyes twinkled, and the flush of embarrassment was replaced by the warm color of
humor. The sound broke something between the two of them, and giddiness bubbled
from Jess’s own belly. She laughed until her belly ached and her eyes watered,
and she had to sit. From the edge of the bed, she dabbed the moisture from her
lashes and kicked off her shoes, grateful to have a few moments where she
wouldn’t need them.
On the other bed, Noah flung himself back and
tucked his arms behind his head. “Whenever we travelled as a kid, my brothers
and I would beg and plead with my parents to put quarters in those things.”
She snuck a quick glance at the long length of his
torso. A hint of bare abdomen was visible where his t-shirt stretched up above
the waistband of his jeans. His chest was tanned, the ripples of muscle
sprinkled with traces of curling brown hair led her eyes dangerously lower.
Heat slammed into her, making her catch her breath and wrap her traitorous arms
around her own midsection before she was tempted to cross the divide between
the beds to touch him.
“Did your parents ever give in?”
“Once or twice. We figured out pretty quick that
it was better to save our ‘gimme’s for a pay per view movie instead.”
“Heh.” Jess half smiled to herself, imagining a
youthful Noah bounding around a hotel room.
She and her dad had never gone anywhere. No money
for anything like that. The first time she could remember staying in a hotel
was after her junior prom. Her date had been slipping vodka into her drinks all
through the dance, so mostly she remembered puking half of the night in the
hotel bathroom. She lost her virginity there, or so the boy told her. She was
sore the next day in new places and had vague memories of some groping, so she
had no reason to doubt his words.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Jess gave herself a shake and tried to smile
brightly back at him. “My thoughts aren’t worth that much.”
Noah rolled over on his side and lifted himself up
on one elbow. The laughter in his eyes was gone, replaced by that intense focus
that he always had aimed at her. His look made her feel naked, but
unfortunately, not in the way she had been imagining just a few moments before.
“You know what I would gladly pay for.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Information. Where did you come from, Jess?”
She blew out a breath she hadn’t been aware of
holding. Then she tried to smile again, and give a light little shrug as though
they were at a cocktail party and he had just asked her favorite flavor of
martini. “Nowhere important.”
No way was he buying her act. His eyes narrowed
even further. Jess shrugged again, trying to loosen the hold that his gaze had
on her. It didn’t quite work. “You’re the big investigator. Don’t you know?”
“I know that you’re not from Florida. And that
there were no babies named Jessica Hughes born anywhere in the US between 1980
and 1989. So either you’re a lot older than you claim to be, or you are using
an assumed name.”
“Or I wasn’t born in the U.S.,” she pointed out.
He nodded slowly. “True. But nor could we find any
matching immigration records.”
“You are thorough.”
“That’s the idea. So what did I miss? Who are
you?”
She smiled ruefully. “I don’t think it’s in my
best interest to tell you the truth.”
Something flared hot in his eyes and then he
blanked it out. “True. But I still want to know. My neck is already on the line
for bringing you this far. Surely I deserve some small scrap of information.”
She closed her eyes. It was definitely not in her
best interests to tell this man anything. But so far, he had done nothing to betray
her. Hadn’t turned her in. Hadn’t even truly held her against her will. Maybe
she could trust him. Just a little. At some point, he was bound to find her
past anyway. “Jo Lynn Huckabee. From North Carolina.”
He didn’t say anything.
She opened her eyes. He had turned back onto his
back, hands back under his head as he seemed to be contemplating the ceiling.
She continued, “I remember seeing the movie
Who
Framed Roger Rabbit?
When I was in high school—you know, the one with all
the cartoons? Roger Rabbit’s wife was named Jessica. She had this incredible
red hair and wore the prettiest red dress. I know it was just a drawing. But
she got all that attention from the men, and the rabbits I guess, in the movie.
But well, I kind of wanted to
be
her. So when I left home, I started
calling myself Jessica. Charles had paperwork done before we got married,
quietly. Very quietly. I think maybe some of the name change happened in
another country, but I never looked. He said it was all completely legal.”
“And I’m sure he had your best interests at
heart.”
The ice in Noah’s voice twisted into Jess’s chest
and she bit back a retort. It was always the same old shit from everyone. She
was nothing but a trashy gold digger. Something lower than a trophy wife.
Trophies, at least, were prizes worth winning. No, Jess wasn’t even one of
those. Even something as fickle as Hollywood society shunned her, ignored her,
openly disparaged her.
She wiped at both of her eyes with the heels of
her palms and dragged her fingers through her short hair, trying to compose
herself. If only you could arrange a life the way you could arrange the
elements of a painting. Just the right perspective, choose the colors to set
the tone. Arrange all the elements for balance and movement.
Next time
. She would make a better life for
herself next time. Hugging her legs to her chest, she curled into a ball and
rested her cheek on her knees.
The other bed creaked under Noah’s shifting
weight, and then her own mattress sagged as he perched next to her.
“What did he do to you that was so bad?”
God, how the pity in his voice made her want to
scream, so she bit her lip instead.
“You know he can’t hurt you anymore.”
She turned. “Hurt me?
Hurt
me? Do you think
that is what I’m running from? I am afraid my dead husband will
hurt
me?”
Jess jumped to her feet and tried to walk away.
The damned room was too small. Maybe twenty feet from the door to the bathroom
sink. He followed her, a few steps behind.
“Do you have some kind of Superman complex?” she
flung at him. “You’ll just swoop in and save the fair maiden from the railroad
tracks.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at
her, but she didn’t back down.
“What if you have it wrong? What if, instead of
being the helpless victim of an older con-man, what if I’m the mastermind
behind the blackmail? What if, instead of me marrying Charles Kingsbury for his
money, he was after mine? Or, even crazier, what if we married for love and not
money? What then?”
“What if you just tell me what you know about
Kingsbury and Senator Wilson and I get you into protective custody. Surely you
know how Kingsbury hid the money he was making from the blackmail schemes. Name
names, and I can help you.”
She sputtered, grasping for thoughts that slid
away from her half formed. Finally she managed to whisper, “Is that why you
haven’t turned me in? You hoping to catch some bigger fish and thought you
found yourself a willing worm?”
“Why not? One little wiggle from you is all it
takes to hook a man.” His voice was low, hoarse.
Jessica took a breath and suddenly noticed just
how close Noah was. Close enough to see the artery throbbing on his neck. To
see the ripple of every muscle in his arms as he stared at her, tense and
agitated. To see how his eyes flashed with darkened pupils and his breathing
came quick. To smell the subtle spice of his deodorant, the trace of soap, the
hint of sweat.
“So what if I am playing Superman? Is it so bad to
let yourself be rescued?” His quiet words slipped over her like silk. “Let me
help you and maybe we can fix this. Help put your life back together.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know what my life
was like. I don’t want to go back to that again.”
“If you run now, you will be running all your
life. Wilson, or whoever is after you won’t let a border stop them.”
Jessica took a step backwards, away from his
words. Away from him. She crossed over the threshold between rough low carpet
and the cold tile next to the sink and dressing area. “And what about you?”
He ceased his advance, toeing the line between the
floors. “What about me?”
“If I run now, would you let a border stop you?”
Shadows seemed to flicker in his eyes as he
weighed her words for a long airless moment before he crossed the divide
between them.
He tucked one hand behind her head and gently
tilted her face backwards, upwards to meet his. His kiss was hot, urgent,
pleading. Her body melted under the assault, turning equally hot, urgent, and
pleading. Pleading with her to disregard the danger. Danger to her escape.
Danger to herself. Danger to her heart.
She was beginning to love danger.
Jess opened her mouth under his and pressed
herself forward into his arms and kissed him back. She ran her hands up his
chest, savoring the play of muscles beneath his shirt, sliding her palms around
the back of his waist to pull him closer.
He felt so very much alive, his heart pounding
next to hers and the heat of his skin burning through her everywhere their
bodies touched. It felt like forever since a man had held her, touched her,
caressed her breasts and cupped her backside. It felt like forever since she
had wanted to be held like this.
She couldn’t get enough. Enough of his kiss.
Enough of his hands on her hips. She tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling
it upwards to expose the hot flesh of his abs, his back, the crisp hair that
teased a line downwards to the bulge in his jeans.
Noah pulled back, and she stilled her exploring
fingers. He tilted up her chin up until they were eye to eye, breath to breath.
“There’s only one thing that would stop me.”
She licked her bottom lip and tasted him. “What?”
His drew his gaze upwards from her lips and
searched her eyes. His expression was intense, desperate, focused. “You’re the
only one who can stop me. If you say the word, I won’t touch you again.”
His thumb and forefinger still caressed her chin
and Jess closed her eyes and let herself lean into the heat and strength of
that hand. He didn’t move.
Sleeping with Noah Grayson would not get her
safely out of the country. It would not get the FBI off her tail. It would not
get her the fresh new start she craved. It would not hide her from Wilson, or
the paparazzi, or find her missing necklace. It would not right any of the
wrongs she had done.
Sleeping with Noah Grayson would probably rank
pretty high next to her other many mistakes in life. But somehow she felt that
she would regret missing the opportunity more than she could ever regret taking
it.
“Touch me, Noah. And don’t stop.”
***
The nape of Jessica’s neck smelled like soap and
vanilla and tasted like heaven. Noah traced small circles with his tongue up
towards her ears, relishing every shiver that ran through her beautiful body.
He bit back a groan as she tilted her head back to
allow his lips further access, arching her back and pressing her hips against
his. The friction teased his already throbbing cock and he grasped her by the
waist, trying to slow the mounting pressure. To hold Jessica Kingsbury, whose
eyes had haunted his dreams for months, in his arms was a feeling he wanted to
savor.
Her hands found the hem of his shirt, and she slid
them upwards against his skin as he nipped lightly at her earlobe. He swallowed
her gasp in another kiss, exploring the soft contours of her lips, her teeth,
her tongue.
Every moan that he tasted, every impatient shimmy
of her body against his was pure paradise. She threaded her fingers into his
hair to hold him captive at her mouth, leaving the muscles of his back missing
her touch. He returned the favor in kind, sliding his hands up and under her
shirt, softly tracing the lines of her ribcage, the dips and swells of her
hips.