The Closer Read online

  To be fair, his mother had always been his rock, the one person he could count on, so he didn’t necessarily need one of those...but a brother would be nice. And a sister, too, of course, though admittedly he felt closer to Griff. How could he not, given the surgery? Given the fact that Griff had saved his life?

  “You hungry?” his mother asked, snagging his attention with the subject change.

  He was, actually. He lifted a hopeful brow. “Do we have any tuna?”

  She blinked, seemingly astonished, then laughed. “Tuna? Since when do you eat tuna? You’ve never been able to stand the smell, much less eat it.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve just got a craving for it.” He’d had a few others as well, like carrot cake when his favorite had always been red velvet. It was odd.

  “All right, then. How about I make you a sandwich?”

  Justin aimed a hopeful smile at her. “How about you make a casserole so there’s enough for both of us?” She needed to eat as well and he intended to make her match him bite for bite.

  She stood, a ghost of a grin on her lips. “Casserole it is, then.” She walked to the door, then paused and turned around to look at him. “Keep checking in on Griff,” she said. “It had to be hard for him, hearing from your father after so many years, but you’re not his father—you’re his brother—and I’m sure he’ll come around.”

  Then she obviously knew more than he did, Justin thought, because he wasn’t nearly as certain.

  One could hope, though, and he did. He really, really did.

  * * *

  THOUGH SHE’D NEVER admit it, Jess was actually mildly relieved that Griff was the one behind the wheel as they drew closer and closer to the city. Traffic was a snarled-up mess, lanes were only used as suggestions and she’d seen more single-finger salutes this morning than she could ever recall. She inwardly shook her head. Insane. She cast a glance at her driver—razor-sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, auburn curls—and felt heat bloom beneath her skin, concentrate in her nipples, as desire slammed into her once again.

  You’d think at this point she’d be used to it, Jess thought, that prolonged exposure would lessen the reaction, but...no. If anything, heaven help her, it was worse.

  How could it not be after last night?

  Hour after hour of listening to him breathe, the faintest rustle of sheets when he’d move, and there’d been something particularly stirring—intimate, even—seeing his long muscular leg slung out from beneath the duvet this morning. Of course, if she hadn’t drooled at the sight of his bare chest last night when he’d walked out of the bathroom after his shower, then seeing his mere leg shouldn’t have been a problem. She bit her lip, squashed a sigh, remembering.

  Her imagination, which she liked to think was more than adequate, hadn’t done his body justice. It had miscalculated the breadth of his shoulders—impossibly, they were wider—and hadn’t fully anticipated the scale or delineation of his muscles. His pecs were broad, the muscle curving just so, making his nipples cant at a mouthwatering, purely lickable angle, and his abs were so perfectly proportioned that if she’d seen him in a magazine, she would have sworn by all that was holy that they were airbrushed on.

  A smattering of copper hair dusted his skin, then formed a tight line and slid low. She’d noted two small scars on his abdomen—war wounds? she wondered—and had been curiously moved and heartened by the minute imperfections. It didn’t seem fair that he wouldn’t have any. Additionally, she’d glimpsed a tattoo on his shoulder, a single Latin phrase written in a pretty, scriptlike font—facta non verba—which she’d used her cell phone to translate.

  Deeds, not words.

  A noble sentiment to be sure, but significant enough to ink permanently on one’s body? As an ever-present reminder? Significant enough to him, evidently, Jess thought. Which naturally begged the question...why? Were they just words to live by? Or was a broken promise to blame? Considering how seriously and deliberately he did everything—case in point, the bra had gone into the bathroom with him last night—she imagined the tattoo was a combination of both, leaving her with even more questions. Intuition told her he wouldn’t give up the answers easily, but then when had that ever stopped her?

  His cell chirped from the cup holder—something it had been doing the majority of the morning—and she watched him glance at the display, his lips form a whisper of a smile.

  “Your boss again?” she asked, knowing that it wasn’t. He’d scowled each time he’d received a message from Ranger Security. The last call had been from someone named Charlie, who’d given him the grim news that their supposedly impenetrable computer system had been hacked and that the hacker had “hooted” at her. Her outrage had echoed loudly enough across the line that even Jess had heard it.

  “No,” he said.

  And that was it. He didn’t offer more. Just...no. It was infuriating.

  “Girlfriend?” she queried.

  He offered another faint smile, one that was somehow sexier than the last. “No.”

  So no to the question, but not to whether or not he had a girlfriend? She resisted the urge to grit her teeth. All right, then. Hardball time.

  She arched a brow. “Mother or father? Brother or sister? Granny, grandpa, aunt, uncle, cousin? Friend, enemy or acquaintance?”

  He chuckled, his eyes widening at the barrage of questions, seemingly surprised at her persistence. “Strictly speaking, none of the above.”

  Jess sucked in an outraged breath and leaned closer. “That’s not possible. I’ve listed every potential connection.”

  “Clearly you’ve done this before,” he drawled, his mouth still curved into that panty-melting half smile. “You know, since you’ve put so much thought into it.”

  She had, actually, but what difference did that make? She leaned back into her seat, picked a tiny piece of lint from her slacks. “I like to know things.”

  “Things that aren’t any of your business?”

  She grinned, not the least bit repentant, and shrugged. “Especially those things. Oftentimes I find they’re the most interesting.”

  A bark of laughter burst from his throat. “The most interesting?” he parroted, shaking his head. “You’re—” He struggled to find the right word, one that would fit her description, without being insulting, she imagined.

  She took pity on him. “Honest,” she finally supplied.

  He laughed again, the sound deep and low. It was nice, that laugh. Genuine and steady.

  It wasn’t always that way. She’d once been set up on a blind date with a guy who was quite good-looking, but laughed like a little girl who’d taken a hit of helium first, staccato and high-pitched. It was creepy, that babyish girlie sound coming from a grown man with day-old stubble. She inwardly grimaced. Needless to say, it had been a deal breaker.

  “Honest works,” he said magnanimously, nodding wonderingly as though he was still unsure of what to make of her.

  “So?” she prodded.

  “So what?”

  “The text?” she reminded him.

  “Oh, right.” He checked the rearview mirror, something he’d been doing frequently since they’d left the hotel this morning. “It was my half brother. Justin.”

  Ah, she thought, inclining her head. Half brother—not technically a brother, but close enough. “Is that who you were talking to last night?”

  She’d wanted to ask at the time but had been sidetracked with talk of the Owl and all his exploits. They’d spent the better part of an hour going over the files Ranger Security had forwarded to him, as well as doing their own internet searches. Given the thief’s practically legendary status, Jess knew that she should probably be worried, but strangely enough...she wasn’t. Whatever happened—whether the bra was ultimately stolen or not—she knew that Griff would move heaven and ear
th to protect it, or if need be, to get it back.

  Deeds, not words, she thought again. The phrase perfectly described her security expert. He was a former ranger. She’d learned that last night, when he’d been extolling the virtues of his firm and all the reasons why she shouldn’t be concerned with the so-called threat against the bra’s safety. She hadn’t thought about it then—she’d been too distracted with other things, like the shape of his mouth and the Owl—but now she wondered... What had made him leave the military? Was he burned out? Tired of war? Or did it have something to do with those scars she’d noticed last night?

  From what little she knew about the military, the men who went through the grueling process of Special Forces training were typically the ones who were committed to their careers, the soldiers who put in their twenty years, then retired and went to work in the private sector or for the government. They didn’t simply exit without good cause. Her speculative gaze slid to Griff.

  And this one certainly wouldn’t have done so.

  More questions, Jess thought. He was a bona fide mystery man.

  “What’s makes you think I was talking to Justin?” he asked.

  “Because you mentioned the ‘bro code’ and were giving him girl advice,” she said. Rather good girl advice. She’d been impressed and said as much. “You were right. Girls do appreciate that kind of sentiment, like knowing that a guy’s thought about what would make her happy.”

  He shook his head, seemingly further mystified by her behavior. “You caught every word, didn’t you?”

  “Not on purpose,” she said, feeling a bit defensive. “But I couldn’t just go deaf because you were on the phone. If you’d wanted privacy, why didn’t you go out into the hall?”

  He’d been too busy watching her comb through her hair, that’s why, and she knew it. She hadn’t opened the bathroom door to give him any kind of show, though admittedly his lingering gaze had been gratifying. She’d opened it because the overhead fan had been broken and she’d needed some cooler air. And after he’d watched her—the weight of those glorious smoldering eyes following her every move, sliding along her body—she’d needed more than cool air, she’d needed a cold shower.

  Mercy.

  It was going to be a miracle if she got through the next few days without embarrassing herself. Or having some sort of psychotic break due to chronic, intense sexual frustration.

  “It was Justin,” he grudgingly admitted. “And, yes, he’d asked for my advice.”

  She smiled, pleased that he’d finally answered her. “He’s younger, right? Your tone had the older-sibling ring to it,” she added. “That’s something I’ve got a good deal of experience with.”

  “You’re the oldest?”

  “I am. There are two years between me and my brother, and four between me and my sister. One or the other is always calling about something, though usually it’s Bethany. Once the baby, always the baby,” she said with a fond sigh.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sounds like my little sister.”

  So he had a sister, as well? But she wasn’t a half, or he’d have made the distinction. “How old are your siblings?”

  If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she would have missed the slightest tightening of his jaw and the effort it took to relax it. How odd, Jess thought, feeling a strange tension hover around him. Much as she liked to know things, she wasn’t in the habit of introducing subjects—or pressing them, for that matter—that were a source of pain. Griff didn’t looked pained, per se, but this was clearly an area of his personal life he didn’t relish discussing. She’d just opened her mouth to tell him to forget it, when he spoke.

  “Glory is twenty-one,” he said, narrowly avoiding a biker who’d swerved into their lane. “She just graduated from nursing school.”

  “That’s quite an accomplishment. You must be proud of her.”

  “I am,” he said. He let out a small, almost bracing, breath. “Justin is seventeen and I’ve known him less than a year,” he said levelly. “But I probably wouldn’t have known him at all if he hadn’t needed my kidney.”

  * * *

  JESS GASPED SOFTLY and her eyes widened in shock, before melting with admiration and concern. He was hard pressed to decide which sentiment affected him the most. Or why she should affect him, when no one else had.

  “Your kidney?” she breathed. “You gave your brother your kidney?”

  Griff had no idea what had prompted his admission to her when he’d been doggedly silent on the subject with everyone else, but there it was. He’d done it. Whether it was the long hours trapped in the car with her, the longer night when he’d been achingly aware of virtually every breath that moved in and out of her lungs, or her simple “I like to know things” confession that he’d found refreshingly glib, he couldn’t say. He just knew that he could tell her—wanted to tell her—which was as liberating as it was terrifying.

  He nodded. “Six months ago.”

  “Ah,” she breathed knowingly, as though something had just occurred to her.

  “What?” he asked, sliding her a suspicious look.

  “The scars,” she said, gesturing to his abdomen as a blush rose on her cheeks. “I, uh, noticed them last night.”

  She had, had she? Griff thought, pleased to know that he wasn’t the only one who’d done a little looking. And those scars were negligible, little more than scratches, really. She had to have been looking quite closely to notice them. He felt a smile move over his lips, knew that more than a smidgen of masculine pleasure clung to it, as well.

  Her color deepened and she looked away.

  “So he’s fine, then? Your brother?”

  “He is.” He explained what happened, how Justin had gone from being a healthy teen—an all-star baseball player—to deathly ill in a single week. “It was bad. Dialysis was a stopgap measure, but it wouldn’t have worked long term. His kidneys were too damaged from the virus.”

  “He’s lucky that you were a match,” she said. “And only seventeen.” Her speculative gaze swung to his. “That’s a pretty big age gap between the pair of you.”

  An image of his father’s car as it disappeared down their old street surfaced and he beat it back, along with the bitterness and frustration it brought with it. “Twelve years. Justin was born less than six months after my father left.”

  She scowled. “I don’t like your father.”

  Griff chuckled at both her expression and her comment. “Neither do I.”

  “I’m sorry,” she told him, shooting him a repentant look. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No worries,” he assured her. “There’s not much to like. I hadn’t spoken to him since the day he left until he contacted me about Justin. Neither of them—Dad and Priscilla, his latest wife—were a match. If either of them had been, I’m certain I wouldn’t have ever heard from him again.”

  She was quiet for a moment, her jaw momentarily locked tight. “So is that why you left the military? To do the surgery?”

  He nodded. “I could have stayed, but I wasn’t sure what my future would have looked like. I’d be driving a desk or training, more than likely, and that’s not my style. Besides, my mother and sister had been hounding me for years to come home.” He shrugged. “It seemed like the right time.”

  She grunted under her breath. “It doesn’t sound like you had much of a choice.”

  He hadn’t, really, but ultimately, what difference did that make?

  She lifted a brow. “Your sister wasn’t a match?”

  Traffic inched along as they entered Times Square, making him twitchy and impatient. “She was never tested. Once I’d been deemed a viable donor, there was no point.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her ordinarily open gaze curiously closed and unreadable. Finally, she swallowed and
when she eventually spoke, her voice was raspy and not altogether steady. “You’re a remarkable man, Griffin Wicklow. I hope your family appreciates the sacrifices you’ve made for them.”

  He shifted, uncomfortable with the unexpected praise, and looked away. “I only did what anyone would do.”

  She shook her head and smiled sadly. “I don’t think so. It’s easy to do the right thing when there’s no personal cost,” she said. “But doing the right thing when the price is more than just an organ, it’s a career? A way of life? An identity, even?” She caught his gaze, held it, making his heart kick hard against his rib cage. “That’s extraordinary.”

  She got it, Griff thought in amazement, an odd airy vibration resounding through his middle. When no other woman, least of all his mother or sister, had understood what coming out of the military had meant to him, this woman—who’d known him less than a day and with fewer facts—genuinely got it.

  That was extraordinary. She was extraordinary.

  And, as he wheeled the SUV into the hotel driveway, watched as red-clad valets hurried forward to assist with their exit, Griff knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was in trouble. In fact, he could safely say that the Owl was the least of his worries.

  Jessalyn Rossi, on the other hand, posed an imminent threat.

  7

  THANKS TO THE skinny, mostly braless models littering the lobby of the hotel, Jess was keenly aware of the additional bulk on her ass and tried to compensate by sucking in her stomach as she and Griff made their way to the check-in counter. Because she was fully under his protection now as well, she’d been forced to resign herself to rooming with him last night, so hearing that the same arrangement was in place now that they’d arrived in New York wasn’t a surprise.

  Finding out that they’d been booked into the honeymoon suite, however, was.

  “The honeymoon suite?” she hissed at him before he could respond. “Really?”