Jermy, Marie - Together Forever [The Andersons 1] (Siren Publishing Classic) (12 page)

She cried out as her bare right shoulder came into contact with something sharp, then blinked when a light shone in her eyes. For the second time in as many minutes, she gaped at Ross, more so at the small flashlight the fingers of his left hand were curled around.

“Scout’s motto. Always be prepared,” Ross said, answering the question that had been on her lips. “You’ve got a splinter. Keep still and I’ll remove it.”

Jessica looked down at the two inch wooden spike protruding from her skin, whimpering when Ross’s fingertips jerked against it. “That’s not a splinter! That’s a damn tree trunk!”

“Don’t exaggerate. And I said, keep still!”

“I am keeping still!” she shot back. “It’s the truck that’s moving!”

“I suppose that’s my fault as well, is it?”

“Too damned right! If you’d moved when I told you to, we wouldn’t be riding around in a garbage truck, covered in God-knows what—Yow!” she cried when he yanked the sliver of wood out. “That hurt, you moron!” She glared at him, not giving a frig she’d once more called him a moron.

Then, as it dawned on her the only reason they were in a waste-disposal truck was because he had yet again saved her mighty fine ass, Jessica simmered down. She smiled and stroked his cheek, the rasp of his evening stubble on her fingertips sending hot sparks of totally inopportune desire up her arm. He jerked away as if she’d burned him. “Ross, I’m sorry. I—”

“Save it, Jess,” he hissed. “I want answers, not apologies.”

“Where do you think we’re going?”

“Answers!”

“Ross—”

“Back to the depot I should imagine. The truck’s pretty much full of shit. So, getting back to these answers. You gonna give ’em willingly, or would you prefer me to screw them out of you?”

Jessica opened her mouth then snapped it shut again. Just who was the cruel, sadistic, mean-sounding man settling himself into a crushed cardboard box? One thing for certain, he wasn’t the Ross Anderson she’d known all her life. Neither was he the man she’d fallen in love with.

She stared at his large, sturdy hands. Just a few nights before they had lovingly caressed her breasts, but now, with the way he was flexing them, she felt sure they’d be just as happy clamped around her neck, squeezing the life from her.

Great, just great,
Jessica sardonically thought. She’d just left one throat-throttling situation for another. But then she corrected herself. Ross couldn’t—wouldn’t—kill her, not when he loved her, although his flinty expression wasn’t exactly showing love at that point in time. Perhaps the answers he so desperately sought would pacify him. She scooted over to his side, her hands reaching for his. “Ross, I haven’t exactly been honest with you.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Let me explain. That BlackBerry I took from Harknett—”

“D’ya know what, Jess?” he suddenly interrupted, his tone hard and bitter. “At this moment in time, I really couldn’t give a damn about Harknett. His BlackBerry. Or you!”

She pursed her lips to stop the sob that had risen in her throat when he yanked his hands away and purposely swung around, turning his back on her. His rebuff was as chilling as the reality that if he hadn’t crashed through her bedroom window she’d been seconds away from being raped.

Jessica couldn’t stop the tears leaking out.

* * * *

Ross knew he was behaving like an insensitive prick, but he just couldn’t help himself. He concluded it was the pungent smells around him that were screwing around with every moral principle his parents had instilled in him.

The slowing of the truck and the sounds from outside indicated they had reached their destination. He went to stand up, but the rear doors opened and the floor began to tilt. Once again, he found himself being unceremoniously dumped.

With a soft cry, Jessica landed on top of him. Then, before he could react, they began rolling down what happened to be the biggest pile of garbage they had the luck, or in their case, misfortune, of being dumped upon. They rolled over and over, faster and faster, until, with a smack, they landed in an eight-limbed mess on the hard floor.

With his eyes rolling around in his head like some daft cartoon character, Ross detangled himself from Jessica and staggered to his feet, wondering if he’d upset anybody named Murphy lately.

“Say, where’d you two come from?”

Ross whirled around, shoving his Magnum into the guts of a worker, scaring the crap out of him. He quickly holstered it and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Broadway,” he quipped. The man’s fearful expression then slowly turned to concern as he eyed Jessica.

“Say, is she all right?”

Another sarcastic quip died on Ross’s lips at hearing Jessica’s whimper. The buttons probably scattered all over her bedroom floor and the fabric ripped from neck to shoulder, she clutched her dress together, covering herself as best she could. With the emergence of purplish-black bruises and the thin trickle of blood from the splinter he’d pulled out, coupled with the wild, tangled mess of hair and the leaking tears that left two clean lines down her dirt-smudged face, she was not all right. At all.

He clamped a lid on his anger. Sliding one arm around her waist and the other under her knees, he gently lifted her up, noticing for the first time she was barefoot. “Have you an office we can use? Maybe some alcohol? Brandy, or whiskey?”

“Vodka?”

Ross nodded and followed the worker across the yard into a shed-like building, Jessica snug in his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest. There was a grubby-looking couch in one corner of the equally grubby-looking office. He settled Jessica onto it, removed and tucked his jacket around her, then poured her a glass of vodka from the bottle he was handed. “Drink it slowly,” he told her, then asked the worker, “Can I use your phone to call us a cab?”

“Sure. Might also be a good idea to call the cops.”

Ross glanced at Jessica. She gave him a small smile, her dirty, tear-stained, yet beautiful face full of gratitude and something that looked suspiciously like love. He went to put his arms around her but caught himself when he remembered she had trampled all over his heart then tossed him aside like someone would discard an empty Coke can.

Strengthening the barriers he’d erected, Ross turned his back on Jessica and curtly told the worker, “I am the cops.”

Chapter 7

When enquiries revealed the detective dealing with the window-smashing, gun-firing and screaming-residents incident was none other than Scott Rafferty, both Ross and Jessica decided to wait until the morning before getting in contact with him. Then, after calling her parents, informing them she and Ross were okay, and suggesting they take a vacation, Jessica accompanied him to his Upper East Side apartment.

Though Ross sat beside her in the cab, he might as well have been a million miles away. Under lowered lashes, she glanced at him several times, noting the bunched shoulders and the stony expression as he resolutely stared at the back of the cab driver’s head. Still reeling from his earlier rebuff, she shivered, pressed her knees together and clutched his jacket closer to her, somewhat comforted by the remnants of the crisp, woody notes of his aftershave on the collar.

Ross continued to ignore Jessica until he’d slung his holster on the coffee table in the living room. Then he turned to her, hands on hips, eyes narrowed.

“Start talking.”

“Can we at least clean up first?” Ross pursed his lips. “Oh, pop a chill pill,” she retorted, his continuing prickly mood now making her irritable. “I smell. You smell. I could also do with a drink.” He still wouldn’t budge. Cursing under her breath, she went to walk past him, but he caught her arm and yanked her back. His harsh features then softened, and he drew her into his embrace, his strong fingers gently cradling her face.

“I’m sorry, Jess,” he mumbled. “So sorry.”

At last! The Ross Anderson she knew, and had fallen in love with, was back. She smiled up at him and, rising up on tiptoes, brushed her lips against his. He groaned then crushed his mouth to hers in a tap-dancing heart- and bone-melting kiss, his tongue diving between her teeth to explore the soft, moist, inner flesh. Shrugging his jacket from her shoulders, she wound her arms around his neck, her fingers sinking into the silky hair at the back of his neck.

Like bands of steel, Ross’s arms tightened around Jessica, forcing the breath from her lungs, the extent of his arousal pressed against her belly, making her pussy clench with joyous anticipation. He broke off the kiss to nibble down the column of her throat, his fingers weaving through her long tresses to tip her head back, granting him full access to the hollow where her pulse fluttered erratically.

Then, suddenly, he grew still, muttered a succinct curse and pushed himself away from her. Seemed the pissed Ross Anderson was back when he stalked from the apartment, not even answering her question of where he was going.

With just as succinct a curse, Jessica entered his bathroom. She was shocked at the wild-looking woman who stared back at her from the mirror positioned above the sink. She had all the appearance of being run over by a…Well, by a garbage truck.

She quickly shed the filthy, torn dress and panties and stepped into the shower, where she stayed until she felt sure all the stench from the garbage and the man—or whatever it had been that had punched and kicked her, then slobbered over her body as her dress was ripped apart—had been washed down the drain.

Wrapping her hair turban-style in a towel, Jessica encased herself in the large, navy-blue bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and wandered into Ross’s bedroom. Instantly, her heart started tap dancing in her chest. Sprawled on the bed, stark naked, Ross was sound asleep.

She padded over, and carefully, so not to disturb him, sat down beside him, watching his broad chest rising and falling with every easy breath he made. Her gaze drifted to his washboard stomach. Lower still to his slim hips. Even lower to his powerful thighs. Then up to his groin. Though flaccid against the nest of black curls, his cock was impressive.

“Didn’t anybody tell you it’s rude to stare?”

Ross’s slow, sexy drawl turned the blood coursing through Jessica’s veins into molten lava. He popped one eye open and grinned. She knew he was laughing at the two pink spots she felt coloring her cheeks.

“Damn! Caught red-handed.” Her own voice sounded breathy. His other eye popped open, and then he completely stole her breath away by sitting up and angling his mouth within millimeters of hers. The most natural thing would have been to kiss him. And if it weren’t for the nasty whiff of rotting food and other delightful garbage goodies that wrinkled her nose, she would have done it. “You stink!”

“Entirely your fault for hogging the shower for two hours.”

The cynicism to his tone told her he was still pissed. “Where did you go? You went shopping!” she cried in disbelief when he gestured to three Bloomingdale bags by a nearby chest of drawers. In typical style, when the going gets rough, Ross goes shopping.

He shoved to his feet, snarling, “Fine. They were meant to be a present, but you can damn well pay for them now.” He stalked from the room. Soon, the sounds of running water drowned out his continual cursing.

Jessica swallowed the admission that she was broke and picked up the bag closest to her. She gasped with delight at what she found in the tissue-papered package. Cream in color, the sheer bra and matching thong with its pretty flower embroidery were elegant, yet sinfully wicked at the same time. They were also her exact size. She laid them on the bed and opened the second bag. Inside, and also in her size, were a pair of black jeans by her favorite designer and a beautiful, peacock-blue, silk sleeveless top with jeweled trims around the neck and hem. The third bag contained a pair of high-heeled Jimmy Choos.

“Thank you for the clothes and the shoes,” she said when Ross returned, the towel wrapped around his slim hips dangerously suggestive. “And thank you for saving my mighty fine ass, yet again.”