The Closer. Rhonda Nelson

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СКАЧАТЬ morning.”

      Her eyes twinkled in admiration at his vague little dig, and she gestured toward her father. “Dad appreciates punctuality.”

      Rossi snorted. “I appreciate a lot of things, for all the good it does me.” The older man found Griff’s gaze once more, then he hurried forward and extended his hand. “Frank Rossi,” he said. “You must be Griffin Wicklow, of Ranger Security.”

      Griff nodded. “I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

      Rossi glanced at his daughter. “This is Jessalyn, my oldest daughter and, as I’m sure you’ve deduced, she’ll be accompanying you to the show.”

      Yes, Griff thought as he turned and offered her his hand, as well. He’d worked that one out within seconds of walking into the store. What he hadn’t worked out was how he felt about it, though if he was hard pressed to pick a predominant sentiment, excited probably worked better than anything else.

      Alarmed was a very close second.

      With a quirk of her sleek brow, her palm connected with his. Though the ground didn’t shake beneath his feet, he felt some sort of internal quake all the same, and a bizarre tingling rushed through his fingers. Her hand was soft, her grip strong and puzzlingly, a line of small calluses curled around the top of her palm, nearest her fingers. Gratifyingly, her smile faltered a bit and a hint of uncertainty lit her misty-gray gaze.

      “Mr. Wicklow,” she said with a nod, making the opal dragonfly earrings dangling from her ears sway. A matching larger pendant hung from a thin gold chain around her neck, suspended between her breasts. He envied the jewelry.

      “Griff, please.”

      “Well, I imagine you’re eager to get on the road,” Rossi announced with a bracing breath, thankfully ending the awkward moment. He gestured toward the rear of the store. “If you’ll just follow me, I’ve got everything all packed up and ready in the back.”

      Equally chagrined and concerned that he’d needed to be reminded of their schedule, Griff nodded and followed both Rossis behind the counter. While the sales floor was immaculate and poshly decorated, the back was less tidy and decidedly more shabby. The heart-pine floors were scuffed from generations of wear, faded wallpaper peeled in places from the walls and, though he was sure there was some order to the chaos—there had to be, didn’t there?—there didn’t seem to be one designated work area. Tools and invoices and bits of metal, clasps and links of chain...they were everywhere.

      Just looking at it made him twitchy.

      Rossi ran his hands reverently over a black plastic case, then glanced up at Griff. “Would you like to see it?” he asked eagerly.

      It would have been rude to refuse. “I’d love to.”

      The older man almost ceremoniously flipped the latches and then carefully lifted the lid, revealing what was inside. Though he hadn’t expected to feel anything beyond dim curiosity, Griff found himself awed nonetheless. He felt his eyes widen and he instinctively moved forward, drawn in by the sheer beauty, to get a better look.

      It didn’t so much look like a bra as a work of art. Shaped like a butterfly, the body of the insect was a glittering stunner made out of various black stones, emeralds and rubies, as well as many other stones he didn’t recognize. The wings were unbelievably detailed, with authentic-looking variations of colors and lines and flared out over the cups in a dazzling display of black, purple, pink, green stones, with row after row of diamonds inset to give it additional depth.

      “Wow,” he said, for lack of anything better.

      Seemingly pleased, Rossi chuckled. “Two hundred hours in the design, more than a thousand in the execution. You’re looking at six months of my life there,” he said, “and the key to the continued success of the Rossi family tradition. Guard it well.”

      “Of course, sir,” Griff responded.

      “It’s incredible, Dad,” Jessalyn Rossi said, her voice soft with admiration. “Definitely some of your finest work.”

      The older man actually blushed. “You’re the one who gave me the concept. And given the success of your own insects, as well as the fact that you’re the heir apparent, I thought it was a good choice.”

      Something in his tone must have caught her attention because she stilled and looked up at him. “You make it sound like you’re getting ready to retire.”

      He shrugged innocently. “Who knows? I might.”

      She rolled her eyes and gave an indelicate huff. “Yeah, right. I’ll believe that when I see it.”

      Rather than respond, her father tucked the creation more firmly into the black foam that held it secure, then carefully closed the lid, snapped the latches and locked them with a key he produced from his pocket. He handed it to Griff, along with the case. “Jess has a spare key, in the event you need it.”

      Griff couldn’t imagine why he would, but nodded all the same.

      Jessalyn Rossi leaned over and gave her dad a hug. “I’ll keep you posted,” she told him.

      “I have no doubt,” he replied, a smile in his voice.

      She withdrew and looked up at Griff. “I just need to get my things out of the car.”

      Griff nodded and, case in hand, followed her back out of the store. She quickly unlocked the car, then leaned in—giving him another unobstructed view of her lovely rear end—and grabbed a single suitcase and a purse. She straightened, then glanced over her shoulder and shot him a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you’d want me to drive?”

      Griff smiled. “No, thanks. It’s against protocol.” He didn’t know whether that was true or not, but it sounded better than when “hell freezes over.” He was already feeling too left of center. Off balance. Allowing her to drive would no doubt compound the issue. As a matter of fact, he could safely say that he imagined everything about Jessalyn Rossi was going to compound the issue.

      Because, God help him, she was the issue.

      3

      ER...SO MUCH FOR Paul Blart: Mall Cop, Jess thought as every hair on her body tingled with hypersensitive awareness. Honestly, when she’d turned around and saw him standing in the shop, a sonic boom of white-hot sexual attraction had blasted her so thoroughly it was a miracle she hadn’t been blown backward, spread eagle, like something out of a superhero-comics movie. Her skin still felt singed from the heat, her middle a simmering muddled mess.

      It was unnerving, to say the least.

      A healthy twenty-year-old woman, Jess was accustomed to looking at the occasional handsome man and experiencing a passing whiff of feminine interest. The recognition would flit through her mind as quickly and unremarkably as a half-formed thought, one that was soon dismissed and replaced with something else. Her gaze shifted to her left and a shivery breath slowly leaked out of her lungs.

      Griffin Wicklow was another matter altogether.

      One whiff of him, so to speak, and she’d turned into the proverbial bloodhound. And if the hammering of her pulse and the tightening of her nipples were any indication, a female СКАЧАТЬ