The Closer by Rhonda Nelson

frantically mashing buttons until the television turned off. “Sorry,” he muttered hoarsely. “I, uh, I...” he stammered.
    She’d done more blushing in the past twenty-four hours than she had in her entire life, Jess thought, feeling the sting of heat climb her neck. “Aren’t those ordinarily part of the pay-per-view service?”
    He cleared his throat, carefully set the remote aside and walked over toward the shower. “It’s complimentary with the suite,” he said, his voice still a bit strangled.
    She crossed her arms over her chest, nodded once. “Oh.”
    He still hadn’t looked at her. “Inspiration for the honeymooners, I reckon.”
    She felt a droll smile curl her lips. “One would hope that honeymooners wouldn’t need any inspiration.”
    She certainly didn’t. In fact, if she were any more inspired she’d be in serious danger of self-combustion. She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, tried to think of something besides how Griff would taste against her tongue, how he’d feel in her mouth. Her belly melted into a muddled mess and an achy heat swept through her loins, making her resist the urge to squirm. Her nipples beaded behind her bra, ruching into sensitive peaks that craved the rasp of his tongue, the warmth of his mouth. Her hands shook and she clasped them together to disguise the tremor.
    He still hadn’t turned around, was still pretending to look at the shower. He had a white-knuckled grip on the case and his shoulders were tight with tension. She caught his profile when he shifted and noted the immovable line of his jaw, the firm set of his lips.
    Clearly, he was mortified, and her continued presence seemed to be compounding the issue. Rather than make things worse by prolonging the awkward porn discussion, she jerked her finger toward the bedroom and headed toward the door.
    â€œI’m just going to go ahead and put my things away,” she said haltingly.
    He nodded. “Excellent. I need to...uh, make sure this area is secure.”
    Jess frowned. There was only one door and no windows, so she didn’t know how it couldn’t be “secure,” but inclined her head all the same.
    How sweet that he embarrassed so easily, she thought with a small smile. He was truly one of a kind.
    And he wanted her.
    The only question that remained was...what was she going to do about it?
    * * *
    M ONUMENTALLY RELIEVED THAT she’d left the bathroom, Griff gritted his teeth and glanced helplessly at his crotch, willing the stubborn hard-on to recede. He’d been playing mind games with his dick for hours, conjuring images of gore from the last Walking Dead episode he’d seen in order to make the damn thing wilt every time it stirred into action. His gaze slid to the door Jess had just gone through.
    And with her around—her succulent mouth, her sly misty-gray eyes, her lush breasts and mouthwatering ass—he’d spent more time thinking about putting a screwdriver through a zombie’s eye than his job, which was a whole other problem.
    But between the friggin’ honeymoon suite—a room designed exclusively for sex, for God’s sake—the baby-making music in the elevator, the horny teenagers rubbing all over each other, that huge-ass bed and the porn...
    He’d just about reached the end of his rope.
    And to think that he’d thought this trip was going to be simple. Easy, even.
    He smothered a laugh, then pushed away from the shower glass and shoved an unsteady hand through his hair, scouring the lowest part of his soul for the last bit of his willpower. He needed to focus on something besides the thought of Jess’s lovely mouth sucking him dry. Honestly, if he didn’t know better, he’d be certain that someone was screwing with him, testing him, setting him up.
    Ridiculous, he knew. He was just looking for an excuse, someone to blame—other than