"You didn't, though, and no one was hurt," Jared assured him evenly. Someone could have been though. They all could have been smeared on the highway and he was pretty sure he knew who was responsible.
It sure as hell wasn't Marvin, who hadn't signed on for any of this shit. "Did you get a license number?"
"Yes, sir. Considering how much time I spent behind that Ford, I had what seemed like hours to memorize it." He rattled off the number, then gave Jared a level look. "It was an Iowa plate."
"I'M SORRY ABOUT THE ROOM."Jared leaned against the hotel room's doorjamb and watched P.J. set out toiletries on the bathroom counter.
"Yeah?" She looked up from arranging a bewildering array of makeup. "Why's that?"
He scratched his thumbnail beneath his lower lip, thinking she looked like she was about fifteen years old with her hair pulled up in that high bouncy ponytail. "Well, it's not exactly a suite at the Teatro, is it? Or even a particularly great standard room." And she deserved better.
"Yeah, pretty damn inefficient of you not to know this was a big conference week in Houston," she said sternly. Then she slugged him in the arm. "C'mon! You got Marvin through his interview with the cops, poured whiskey down his throat to cure his shakes and drove the bus to Abilene yourself while he slept it off. You got the rest of us on a flight to Houston so he can take his time driving here and got us all rooms in this perfectly fine hotel."
"Which rates maybe two stars, and then only if you squint real hard."
"Hey, that's a star and a half more than anywhere I stayed before this Priscilla Jayne thing started taking on a life of its own. But we were talking about you-about how cool under pressure you are. And about how you're my hero. In fact-" Abandoning her unpacking, she crossed over to him and reached for the fastenings on the button-down pinstriped shirt he wore with his jeans. "I think you deserve a little reward for all your hard work."
He'd been steeling himself to put a little more distance between them, not less. In the past twelve and a half hours he'd managed to put up a good front for P.J. and her crew. It sure as hell hadn't stopped him, however, from thinking almost nonstop about what could have happened during that whole bus-being-run-off-the-road debacle.
And the possibilities of what might have been scared the bejesus out of him. The sheriff in the small town where they'd reported the incident promised to run the plates, but Jared didn't need confirmation to know Luther Menks was behind the run-in. There weren't enough coincidences in the world for it to be otherwise.
The mere fact that Menks would pit his ratty old pickup truck against a megaton bus was scarier 'n hell. No one could accurately predict how another driver would react, but the first scenario to occur to a rational man would involve being run off the road himself.
That seemed to be the point though, didn't it? Menks wasn't rational. And now the damn tabloids had published a picture guaranteed to splash fuel on the fire if Menks read that sort of trash. It had actually been an innocent moment-just Jared giving Peej a steadying hand off the bus when her own hands were full. But the photographer had managed to shoot it in such a way that he seemed to be hovering over her like a lover. Then the paper had given it a screaming headline to ensure everyone thought the two of them were fucking like rabbits.
Imagine what they could have done with the truth. The thought made him laugh without humor.
He hoped like hell Menks didn't read the tabloids. The tenor of the notes the guy had sent P.J. suggested he was about as far from the type to do so as a person could get, which just might be the only break they'd catch in this mess. Publications of that nature were probably too secular for Menks's taste.
It was more likely, in fact, that he'd believe he had God on his side-those same notes certainly put it within the realm of possibility. But that merely upped the psycho factor and made the situation hairier yet, because it meant Menks had no brakes in place to slow himself down. And given the danger that kind of fanaticism presented to Peej, the last thing she needed was to be personally involved with her security specialist. Not only did it lack all semblance of professionalism on his part-something that used to actually mean something to him-but it put her at even greater risk than she already was.
Yet even knowing all that he still found himself saying, "Reward, huh?" and picking her up by the hips to carry her out into the bedroom.
Laughing, she wrapped her legs around his waist, hooked her arms around his neck and pulled herself up to take a bite of his bottom lip. Shuddering with arousal, he started making a mental list of all the moves he needed to put on her before he could allow himself to lose himself in her sweet body.
But when he dumped her on the bed and reached for her little yellow cotton top with every intention of stripping her bare, she slapped his hands away. Giving him a stern look, she scooted to sit against the headboard. "You first."
"Huh?"
"You. First. It's a simple concept, Hamilton. Get naked."
Was she crazy? How was he supposed to stay in command if he wasn't wearing a stitch? Because feeling her skin against his before he'd taken care of her at least once was just asking to shoot his control all to hell and gone.
Slowly unfastening the buttons she hadn't already released, he started knee-walking across the mattress. "I'm gonna get to that. But first-"
"Uh-uh." The authoritative crossing-guard palm she thrust at him from the end of her rigidly held arm stopped him in his tracks. "There's no first about it. Strip, Mister."
Damn."Okay, okay." His mind spinning through possible ways around the situation, he backed off the bed and made a slow production out of shedding his shirt, then peeling down his pants.
"Yee-haw." Fanning herself, she gave him a crooked smile. "That little bump and grind would probably earn you a ten-dollar tip at Chippendale's. Too bad my purse is clear across the room or I'd tuck one in your waistband myself. Lose the boxers, J."
He pushed them down his hips and kicked free. "What time is sound check? Look, maybe we shouldn't be starting something we don't really have time to fin-" Yeah, right. Glancing down at himself, he shut up. Like she was going to believe he couldn't find the time to squeeze in a little tussle among the sheets when his dick was pointed at her like a compass needle at magnetic north.
"Oh, trust me, we have plenty of time." Pushing away from the headboard, she rolled up onto her knees and made her way to him across the mattress. "All we have to do is cut out ninety percent of my orgasms. I think I can survive on one." She reached for him. "Just this once."
Oh, shit, she'd caught on to that? And did she also knowwhy he concentrated so fiercely on her pleasure-had she guessed that he was afraid to get lost in his own? No, wrong word-he wasn'tafraid of anything. It merely didn't pay.
All thought fled his mind at the feel of her hand wrapping around his sex, and the breath he sucked in was so sharp and sudden he damn near strangled on it. But mother of God. Her fingers clamped his hard-on, and she squeezed her fist all the way down to its root. Then slid it up. Then down again.
He couldn't look; he was not going to look. That would be the kiss of death for sure.I am a glacier peak, impreg-
"Whoa!" Breath exploded from his lungs at the hot, wet vise abruptly constricting the head of his dick and he looked down before he could stop himself.
And damn near lost it on the spot.
P.J. held his cock in a two-fisted grip, choking up on it like a batter getting ready to make a grand slam. But it was her mouth and her eyes that riveted his attention. That sweet, sweet mouth that belted out soaring, electrifying music night after night was wrapped around him, her lips a pretty suctioning seal holding his dick hostage. Her eyes were all dark feathery lashes, clear whites and caramel-brown irises, watching him up the length of his body.