More, Derry, more. It made her want to vomit.
Clenching her teeth, Jess set more drinks on their table, dirty martinis this time. Each time she served a round, the women made loud sexual comments, for which Derry rewarded each of them with kisses, under-the-table groping, and banter of his own.
“Dirty drinks for dirty girls,” he said, lifting one for each of them.
Jess suppressed a snort, but Derry must have noticed her involuntary eye roll and asked, “Don’t you like to get dirty, Jessica?”
There was absolutely nothing she could say without risking her job or her cool, so she said nothing.
“Stop teasing her,” said the tall, auburn-haired one in insincere, European tones. “Our conversation is too mature for her tender ears.”
Jess managed to keep her face and voice expressionless. “Can I get you anything else?” Her gaze skittered across Derry’s for a moment, just long enough to see an aggressive hunger there that made her legs wobble.
She wanted to fling up her hands to protect herself. Or reach for him.
The seconds ticked by in silence. She was beginning to understand why this job paid so much. She was beginning to wonder if it was worth it.
“No, we don’t need you. Isn’t that obvious?” That came from Isla Monroe, Hollywood’s newest It Girl. Jess had seen her in a movie recently and vowed to never see her in another.
Jess spun away without a word, digging her nails into her palm to stop herself from crying. No, not tears. Violence. She’d never wanted to rip a woman’s eyeballs out of her head as much as she did at that moment. Both women. And then drag Derry away by the ear.
She stopped in the middle of the club floor and stared into space. Drag him? Drag him where?
The answer struck her as a high-res, full-sensory fantasy, right between the eyes.
Right between the legs.
She saw him in her bed. That glorious physique, naked. His limbs, stretched wide. His eyes and voice, imploring. His cock, his huge, demanding, beautiful cock, hard and ready for her. Begging for her.
The psychological stimulus had a predictable but unwelcome effect on her body. She was short of breath. Covered with sweat. Quivering.
“You don’t need to do overtime on your first night,” Lilah said in her ear, taking the tray from her. “Did you realize what time it was? I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”
Jess grabbed Lilah like the lifeline she was. “Thank God,” she said.
“Are you all right? You’re shaking.”
Jess couldn’t tell her. This guy was going to be her brother-in-law. “I forgot to eat earlier. I just need a sandwich or something.”
Hauling her to the bar, where she handed Carl the tray, Lilah patted her arm. “You didn’t forget. You were too nervous, weren’t you?”
“Get me out of here, will you?” Jess whispered. “I’m about to fall over.” That was true enough. Every time she came within twenty feet of Derry Stanton, her knees buckled.
“Of course.”
In five minutes she’d changed out of the borrowed club outfit into her own comfortable clothes, accepted Molly’s congratulatory hug, and was waiting with Lilah for the service elevator to bring them down to the ground floor.
“I was going to take you out for a drink to ask you,” Lilah said, “but you’re exhausted and I can’t wait.”
“Ask me what?”
Lilah licked her lips, her eyes pleading. “Will you be my maid of honor? At my wedding?”
The fact that she would worry about such a thing made Jess laugh. “Of course I will, stupid! Who else would do it?”
Lilah flung her arms around her and squeezed. “It means a lot to me.”
“I might as well be in one wedding in my life,” Jess said. “None of my friends would ever ask me. I’m much too cynical.”
“You’re just going through a phase.”
“Get used to it, sis. It’s going to be a long phase.”
Lilah got that older-sister look on her face that said she knew better. “We’ll see.”
“You will,” Jess said. But she was too tired to argue tonight.
Lilah pressed the button for the elevator again. “This thing gets slower every night. You’d think a club of billionaires could speed it up a little.”
A whistling and creaking noise indicated the car was finally arriving. Then they heard voices. Or were those screams?
Just before the doors opened, Jess decided the sounds were feminine squeals of delight, and she braced herself for the sight that was about to unfold. Because she knew who it was. Before she saw him, she could sense his nearness.
Him.
Sure enough, the doors opened, revealing an orgy in progress. A tangle of bare limbs, an expensive skirt lifted above an even-more-expensive ass, two huge hands squeezing a breast on two women while a third, reaching around from behind, stroked the bulge between his legs.
“Derry,” Lilah said. “Save it for later, will you?”
With his open mouth hovering an inch above a puckered nipple, Derry slid his gaze from the movie star’s breast to his future sister-in-law. He promptly straightened, closing his mouth and moving his hands over a woman’s ass cheeks to the prim curve of her waist. The third woman, frowning at the newcomers, stepped out from behind him. Gillian. She looked at Jess with a self-satisfied but tense expression, like she was afraid of getting caught but liked being afraid.
“Lilah,” Derry said. “I beg your pardon. I forget myself.”
“Not much to forget,” Jess said, stomping onto the elevator in her own comfortable boots. They gave her another inch or two of height, which she appreciated around his hulking frame and the other women, one of whom she would have to work with on a regular basis.
As the doors shut, she felt, rather than saw, Derry’s annoyance. Two feet behind her, three women in his grasp, he seethed.
“Come on, Derry, there’s nothing wrong with a little kiss,” Isla cooed.
“Not to happy, healthy women,” he said.
Jess shot him a contemptuous glance. “You seem to be confused about why it’s called a service elevator.”
“Boy, it’s been a long night,” Lilah said, hitting the button for the ground floor.
Lowering his voice, Derry said, “It will be.”
By the time they finally reached the lobby, the three women in his arms had renewed their efforts to procreate in public. Jess marched off the elevator and through the lobby, determined to reach the street before anybody saw the flush in her cheeks.
It wasn’t arousal. It was fury. She pushed the rotating door around with both palms and sucked in the cool night air.
“Hold it,” Lilah said on the sidewalk, tapping her arm. “My shoe came untied.”
Helpless to flee while Lilah bent over to tie her laces, Jess had to stand there and watch Derry lead his harem out of the building into a waiting limo. A big, bald, suited driver nodded curtly at Derry, who gave him a drunken salute. The driver looked like he could double as a WWF wrestler. His face was as expressionless as a pancake.
Bodyguard? How could a guy like Derry—a veritable bear of a man—need a protector?
One by one, the women shot Jess amused, contemptuous glances as they climbed inside. Her last vision was the movie star’s waxed vulva. And Derry’s hand, sliding up her thigh in its direction, just as his driver slammed the door shut.