Too Grand for Words (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (19 page)

“That’s not true,” Mandy chided her. “It was his call. Moira was just trying to save the police officer’s life. Joseph made the decision to be a hero, and almost got himself killed.”

Steven tried to follow the conversation, looking back and forth between the women. “All right, ladies,” he said, breaking in, holding his hand up for them to stop. Moira walked toward them, and although he didn’t know the whole story, he was getting the gist of things. They all needed to calm down and clean up. He wandered a few steps away from them and called the Grand Palms.

“How’s everyone doing?” Moira asked, joining the group.

When he’d finished making the arrangements, he disconnected the call, and turned back to the group. Moira gazed into his eyes. Sweat beaded across her brow, her curls strayed in the wind, and a smudge of dirt crossed her forehead. He had no doubt left in his heart that she was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. He stepped toward her and gently brushed her forehead with his finger, rubbing away the soot. “We’re going back to the Grand Palms. You’ve all got rooms there, and I’ve arranged for you to replace what you’ve lost. After cleaning up you can go shopping,” he said absently, his gaze still locked with Moira. “A car’s coming to get you now.” He turned to the marines. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” one of them said. “We’ve got buddies over at the Tropicana.”

“All right.” He shook their hands then herded Moira’s crew to the street. He guided them toward a throng of people to get lost in the crowd so the media wouldn’t see him. But there always had to be one fucking guy with good eyes.

“Mr. Porter!” A reporter with a white shirt, wrinkled from the jacket he no longer wore, and a gray tie skewed around his neck, ran toward him.

Steven recognized the surprised and hungry expression on the guy’s face. “Mr. Porter, were you in the resort, is anyone hurt?”

The hopeful look on his expression made Steven want to shake him by the throat. “As far as I know everyone made it out,” he said calmly. He scanned the street. Where the fuck was that limo? Moira’s crew circled him, Patti, Sasha, and Mandy stepped between the reporter and him. Marcus took a position on his right side, and Moira slid in front of him. If he didn’t know better he’d swear they were trying to protect him, intervene. The reporter attempted to walk around them, and both Patti and Sasha shifted their positions. The reporter got the message. The guy’s cameraman caught up, the heavy unit perched on his shoulder, focused on them.

“Were you women with Mr. Porter?” A feral look crossed the reporter’s eyes. “In the hotel?”

When Moira spoke, Steven could hear the irritation in her voice. “What are you trying to intimate, exactly?”

He stuck the microphone through Mandy and Sasha. “You do know who he is?” the reporter asked.

“Mr. Porter helped us evacuate people from the building,” Moira said.

He curled one arm around her chest, and pulled her close.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” the reporter asked, watching him closely.

“Are you deaf, I just finished telling you Mr. Porter helped save lives just now? Who cares what my name is.”

The reporter blinked, not expecting her sharp tongue. Hell, he didn’t expect it. Her sensual voice was gone, replaced by an offensive, “bring it on, asshole,” tone instead.

“So you’re saying Mr. Porter acted like a hero today?” the reporter stated.

“Of course he’s a hero,” Callie exclaimed. She’d taken up a position on his left side. “He’s our friend, and he helped us until the emergency response units arrived.”

Oh shit.

The reporter turned his attention on Callie. “And where are you from, ma’am?”

She snorted. “Ma’am? We’re from Vancouver.”

He squeezed Callie’s shoulder, hoping she’d get the hint. They weren’t used to the media. Every word was an inch closer to saying something that would be stretched out of proportion.

“Mr. Porter—”

He cut the guy off. “They’ve had enough.”

The limo rolled up, and he hustled them to the car. Moira tried to get in, but he threw his arm around her shoulder. “You’re coming with me,” he whispered in her ear. The reporter had followed them with camera rolling.

“Steven, no, you have to meet your brother. We’ll be fine.”

“We’ll meet them later on. We need a shower, together, now,” he said quietly, feeling the burn in his thighs turning into a different type of heat, and it had moved to between his legs. He turned to see the reporter had inched closer. “We’re leaving, and you’re staying,” he said, glaring at him.

“Listen, I know you guys must have had a harrowing experience in there, but one more question,” he said, pushing the microphone in their faces. “Is this woman someone we should know about, Mr. Porter?”

He stopped. It wasn’t often anyone in the media made him think about his response. They were easy to handle, but this time it was the question. What the hell was he going to say? But he didn’t have to.

“Mr. Porter is a friend,” Moira explained.

The reporter watched him carefully for the slightest change in his expression. “You heard her.” Steven looked into her eyes, sure what he felt, reflected in them. “Let’s go.”

* * * *

Within a half an hour, they’d made it back to the Grand Palms, received room cards from the resort host who he’d arranged to meet them out front, and had Moira in his arms in the privacy of her room.

“Steven, I need a shower,” she said, pushing away from him.

“And I need you,” he growled. He slipped his hands beneath her shirt, and pulled it over her head. Nipping at her neck, he worked his way down to take her breast in his mouth, biting her nipple, and flicking the pain away with his tongue. His hands replaced his mouth, filling his palms with both breasts. Moira’s fingers crawled to his chest and quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Folding the material away, her fingers slid across his skin. Excitement engorged his shaft, his erection growing hard. He needed her more now than ever before. His hands wound around her ass. Slowly, he slid her up his body, then carried her to the writing table and chair in the room.

“What are you doing?” Her arms slipped around his neck.

He planted her feet on the chair. Fingering the tab on her zipper, he pulled, revealing her soft skin. Taking his time, he peeled her jeans down her legs. “Just helping out a friend,” he growled.

“Steven, what did you want me to say?
You
didn’t even know what to say.”

He hooked his fingers around the lace panties that clung to her hips, drawing them down to the chair. Running his hands back up her skin, he stopped at her waist. “The truth would have been good.” Grasping her ankle, he guided one foot to balance on the glass of the tabletop.

“What’s the truth?” she asked quietly, as he gently kissed her thighs.

“That I’m the man who can love you like you should be loved.” His lips followed the gentle curve of her hip until he reached her clit, and he sucked it deep into his mouth, tasting the wetness that had already dripped between her thighs. His tongue plunged inside the fold of her sex, and she fell back the few inches against the wall. Her legs trembled in his hands with every flick of his tongue. He licked the sensitive tip, waiting a second and then brushing it again, taunting her.

“Oh God, Steven.” Her palms flattened against the wall for support.

Leaning away, he loved her with his fingers, able to watch her face and her body trembling beneath his hands. “Oh yeah, sweetheart, you look so beautiful when you’re like this.” He felt the familiar burn inside him begin to eat up his logical thoughts.

Yanking her into his arms, he swung her onto the bed. “I need to be inside you, Moira.” She was so wet the sweet silkiness rolled down the cheeks of her ass. He groaned with the sight, slid his fingers through her wetness until they were drenched, and then palmed his shaft, lubricating himself. A shot of pleasure scorched through him, and it made his entire body shudder.

Her lips parted as her lids became heavy with passion, watching him. “Baby, do what you want,” he growled. He pumped himself slowly as she curled around onto her knees. When her lips slid over the head of his shaft, his body jerked with pleasure. Her wet tongue felt so good with its sensual touch. He covered her small hand as she stroked the length of him, showing her what he liked.

She reached between her thighs and covered him again with her silk. “Oh yeah, Moira. Fuck, that is hot when you do that.” He drew away from her mouth and pulled her up the bed. He breathed out, trying to get control, but the raw need for her sat deep in his stomach. “You want me, just as much as I want you,” he said, gently rubbing the tip of her nub with hard then soft strokes, keeping the heat burning in her, seeing it in her green eyes.

“No, I don’t,” she said weakly.

His tongue teased the sensitive area above her hardened clit, and she gasped, her legs drawing apart. “Your body can’t lie to me, even if you want to. You burn hot, sweetheart, and I want that heat.” He bent her knees, opening her wide for him. He knelt in front of her, and took his shaft in his hand, guiding the tip into her. Her silk covered the end of him, and he shuddered with restraint. But there wasn’t much left in him, not after today. “Baby, I want to be deep inside you,” he growled, slipping his head in and out of her with slow, erotic thrusts that made her hips rise to meet every plunge. Her lips parted as she propped herself on her elbows, her head falling back.

“Tell me what you want, Moira, tell me what feels good, baby.” He could barely talk, the passion coiling tight inside him.

“Deeper, oh God,” she cried out when he filled her.

Deeper and deeper he buried himself in her tight channel. The friction made his desire fly off the charts. Her muscles responded, clamping down on him with sweet acceptance. “That’s it, baby, squeeze me. God, that feels so good,” he groaned. Thrusting inside her, he lost his mind with every delicious stroke. Every second brought him closer, until they both shuddered with release.

Before he could even think straight, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. “Moira—” Emotion welled up inside him, practically drowning him.

“You have to stop doing this,” she said, her breath choppy.

He released her, and she leaned back, propping herself up with the palm of her hands. “Doing what?” he said, his pulse coming down. He couldn’t help rolling his hips, enjoying the feeling of still being inside her, his body shaking with aftershocks from the orgasm.

“Being with me, being close to me.”

“Why?”

“You’re going to get hurt, Steven.”

A chill ran through him as he pulled out of her gently. “Moira, are you talking about this dark cloud Callie thinks follows you around?” His finger jumped to her mouth. “Wait, not now. Let’s have a shower first, and then we’ll talk.”

“Good idea. Go to your room and have a shower.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” He plucked her into his arms and carried her to the bathroom.

“You think you can just push me around like a rag doll, don’t you,” she chastised him.

“For the love of God, woman, haven’t you figured out who’s in charge here?”

She scowled at him. “I suppose you think you’re in charge.”

“That’s right, I am, and you like it.”

* * * *

She lay back on the bed, wrapped in a towel, happy to be clean again. The luxurious smell of the soap that Steven lathered her in, and then washed away with water and kisses, made her completely relaxed. She closed her eyes as a wave of sleepiness took over her. Someone knocked on the door, and Steven answered it. She didn’t even bother to open her eyes. The only thing that might make her move right now was another fire. Then again, with her luck, that was always a likely possibility.