RESIDENT EVIL PIERSHERRY

Chapter 23

PER PIERS'S ORDERS, they entered the Grand Traverse Resort
through a back entrance and were immediately escorted to the manager's
office. Sherry had never stayed at the resort before but quickly saw why
Amy had been so impressed by it: with luxurious decor, over six hundred
rooms, gorgeous beach and fairway views, and a full-service spa, the
property was indeed grand in every sense of the word. Even Piers, who'd
said he would move her to a different hotel if he wasn't one hundred percent
comfortable with the security aspects of the resort, seemed to find it
acceptable.
"It'll do," he said in response to her silent question as they walked
through the white marble and cherrywood hallway.
Piers had spoken to the manager on the phone and had explained the
situation in general terms, revealing no details. In the office, he requested a
map of the hotel grounds, which he kept, and emphasized one basic point:
no one outside the three of them was to know the location of Sherry's
room. He asked for a private conference room where he could meet with the
hotel's head of security, one that he and the two agents coming in from
Detroit would also use as a working space throughout the weekend.
Then he asked the manager whether the wedding guests had been
assigned a particular block of rooms.
"Yes, the bride reserved a block in the hotel itself," the manager said.
"The wedding guests will all be staying here."
"Perfect. Delete Sherry's reservation, and book us a new room
under the name David Warner. Put us in the Tower," Piers said, referring to
the seventeen-story building located adjacent to the hotel.
"David Warner?" Sherry asked after the manager left to get their
room keys.
"An old alias of mine," Piers said.
"Ooh . . . an alias. Who does that make me?"
"For this weekend, I suppose it makes you Mrs. David Warner."
"Hmm. I'm not sure I'm the type to take my husband's name. I'm on the fence about it."
"For the next two days, you can be the type."
"Boy, Mr. David Warner sure seems a little bossy."
The manager poked his head into the office. "Sorry--I forgot to
mention: the Tower accommodations are all standard rooms, not suites. I'm
guessing you would prefer two queen beds instead of one king?"
Sherry and Piers looked at each other. Neither spoke.
The manager shifted in the doorway. "I could always switch you back
to the hotel, if you require larger accommodations."
Piers shook his head. "No. I want to be kept apart from the rest of the
wedding guests. And the high-rise is a safer location. No balconies, no
windows accessible from the outside, only one way into the room."
"We'll take two queen beds," Sherry told the manager, thinking that
was the safest thing to say.
He nodded. "Excellent." He took off again.
Twenty minutes later, as they began to get settled in, Sherry
realized that the one-versus-two-beds decision really didn't matter. Bottom
line: she and Piers were sharing a hotel room. And here she'd thought living
together in a five thousand square foot house had seemed intimate.
She watched from the doorway as Piers checked out the closet and
bathroom. When finished, he headed over. "So? Which bed will it be?"
"Excuse me?"
He laughed at her expression. "Which one do you want? I'll put your
suitcase on it so you can unpack."
"Oh. I'll take the bed farther from the door."
"Good answer."
She watched as Piers lifted her suitcase onto the bed, then threw his
duffel bag onto the one closer to the door. She suddenly felt . . . jittery. Up
until now, every time she and Piers had gotten physical, it had been under
crazy, impulsive circumstances. But staring at those two beds, she now
found herself consciously thinking about all those things a single woman in
her thirties tended to think about when sharing a hotel room with a man she
was really attracted to, and who appeared to be really attracted to her, who
she hadn't yet slept with.
Despite all her sass and bravado, she was falling for Piers. Just yesterday--God, was it really only yesterday?--she'd told Collin that all she
and Piers had between them was a physical connection. True, she'd been
lying to herself. And a lot had happened since then. But she'd never found
herself wanting to be wrong about something as much as she did right then.
She trusted Piers with her life. The next question, she supposed, was
whether she could trust him with her heart.
She watched as Piers threw some rolled-up socks into one of the
drawers in his nightstand. He'd taken off his blazer, so his gun harness was
exposed and he was looking extra Special Agent Danger-ish right then. But
that single act--putting socks in a drawer--made him momentarily seem like
any other guy.
"You okay?" he asked, seeing her still standing by the door.
She smiled. "Yeah, sure." She headed over and stood between the two
beds, surveying the scene. "Makes me think of the Walls of Jericho."
"From . . . the Bible story?"
Sherry laughed. "No, It Happened One Night."
"Still not following you there. What happened one night?"
"You know, the movie, It Happened One Night." She saw him shake
his head. "Really? You should check it out--it's a classic. Clark Gable and
Claudette Colbert are on the run and they stop to spend the night at a motel.
They're not married, but they have to pretend they are, so for propriety's
sake Clark Gable strings a clothesline down the middle of the room and
hangs a blanket over it. He calls it the 'Walls of Jericho.' "
Piers stretched out on the bed, tucking his hands behind his head. Of
course, being a man, he was already done unpacking and she had barely
begun. "So in the movie, after he builds the Walls of Jericho, what happens
next?" he asked.
"Things get pret-ty steamy from there. Clark Gable asks Claudette
Colbert if she's interested in learning how a man undresses. And then he
takes his clothes off in front of her."
"Sounds like a chick-flick. I bet Wilkins has seen it ten times."
"And good for him. I think most men could learn a thing or two from
so-called 'chick-flicks.' "
"Like what?"
"Like how women think. What turns them on." "If I want to know what a woman's thinking, I'll just ask her." The
corners of Piers's mouth lifted in a sly grin. "And if I want to know what turns
her on, well, I'll just ask her that, too."
"Hmm." Sherry grumbled her way into the bathroom. Impossible
man--being all reasonable and everything. She unpacked her toothpaste,
toothbrush, shampoo, and conditioner. She set them off to the side on the
marble vanity, as if to suggest they were the only four products she would
need the entire weekend. Hey--he was a man, he didn't need to know there
was a whole routine involved behind the curtain. And about fourteen other
bottles in her suitcase.
When she came out of the bathroom, she saw Piers standing by the
windows that spanned the length of the room. He gestured. "Come over here
for a minute."
She went over. He surprised her by pulling her into his arms, her back
against his chest so that she looked out the window with him. Their room
overlooked vibrant autumn-colored rolling hills and orchards, and the East
Grand Traverse Bay.
"I like this view," he said, his voice husky against her ear.
Sherry leaned her head against his chest--it was rare to have such a
quiet moment with Piers in contrast to the chaos that had overshadowed their
lives for the last couple of weeks. She pulled his arms tighter around her.
"Me, too."
FOR THE DINNER that followed the rehearsal, Amy had reserved the
entire space at Aerie Lounge, which was located on the sixteenth floor of the
Tower. A convenient short elevator ride from Sherry and Piers's room. Not
so convenient for Sherry, however, was the fact that the cousins had
cornered her by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay, wanting to
play Twenty Questions about Piers. Having recognized him from the
bachelorette party, they'd been on her case ever since she'd walked into the
rehearsal with him.
Sherry was relieved when she felt a hand at her elbow and heard a
familiar voice to the left of her.
"Sorry to interrupt, ladies. I need to borrow Sherry for a few
minutes." "Please make it more than a few," she whispered as Collin led her to
the opposite side of the room.
She kissed his cheek in an official hello. Since Amy had asked Collin to
be a reader at the wedding, he had been at the rehearsal, too. But she'd
been running around with various maid of honor tasks and hadn't gotten the
chance to talk to him there.
"I meant to tell you at the rehearsal: you look very dashing tonight.
Love the navy sport coat and tie," she said, gently tugging it.
"Richard gave it to me last Christmas," Collin said.
Sherry saw the hurt in his eyes and knew how rare it was for him to
show that. "Are you doing okay?"
He nodded. "Just . . . working through some things. Gay man in his
thirties, dateless, the fifth wheel at his friend's wedding. That kind of stuff."
His eyes held hers. "And aside from all that, I miss him."
"Richard is a fool," Sherry said. "And you're not a fifth wheel.
Technically, I only have a fake date to this wedding."
Collin scoffed at this. "Looking like that, that won't be the case for long."
He checked out her caramel-colored cocktail dress and heels. Her shoulder
had begun bothering her midway through straightening her hair, so she'd
pulled it back in a chignon and focused on smoky-eyed makeup instead. "I'm
surprised Nivans let you out of the room like that," he said. "At least without
being a good hour late to the rehearsal."
"And risk Amy's wrath? No way--that woman scares even me," Piers
said from behind them.
As Piers joined them, he momentarily rested his hand on the small of
Sherry's back. She faced the party, so no one saw, but her body went
warm just at the brief contact.
"I thought you could use a drink." He handed her a glass of red wine.
Sherry smiled--partially because she'd been meaning to make it
over to the bar for twenty minutes before being cornered by the cousins, and
partially because she couldn't get over how sexy Piers looked in his gray
blazer and open-necked black shirt.
"Thank you," she said.
Piers leaned in, and for a second Sherry thought he was going to
kiss her. "You didn't tell me this wedding was outside," he said quietly.
"I didn't think about it. From everything Amy's told me about the setup,
I barely consider it an outdoor wedding. Will that be a problem?" The last
thing she wanted to do was make his job even harder.
"I promised I'd get you to this wedding. I'll handle it." With his back to
the other guests so none of them could see, Piers laced his fingers with hers
and pulled her closer, speaking low enough so only she could hear. "Collin is
right, you know. You're living very dangerously looking the way you do
tonight, Sherry Birkin." He brushed his thumb over hers before leaving.
Sherry watched as Piers headed over to a bar table by the door
where the two FBI agents from the Detroit office sat. She sipped her wine
and took her time simply enjoying the view of him.
He'd brought her a drink and complimented the way she looked. This
fake date of hers was starting to seem more real every minute.
She turned to Collin. "It means that I'm the stupidest person in the
world, right? That I'm actually excited and happy despite having a psycho
killer stalking me?"
Collin peered down at her. "I think you know what it means."
He clinked his glass to hers.
LATER THAT EVENING, Piers sat in bed, the pillow propped behind
his back, while he talked on his cell phone. He'd called Wilkins to see if there
had been any developments in the investigation, hoping that something had
panned out with one of the Chicago cops his partner had spoken to. So far,
unfortunately, none of them appeared to have leaked any information about
Sherry's involvement in the case.
"How's it going on your end?" Wilkins asked. "You having any fun up
there?"
Of course, Sherry chose that moment to poke her head out of the
bathroom. "Hey--is there a trick to getting hot water in this place?"
"You have to let the faucet run for a good five minutes."
Piers turned back to his phone call.
"You're sharing a room with her, huh?" Wilkins asked.
Piers thought of how Sherry looked in that caramel-colored dress.
He'd never seen her wear her hair like that before, nor that sultry thing she'd
done with her eye makeup. She'd looked sophisticated yet incredibly beddable, and as a result, he'd been at half-mast all evening. Full-mast when
he'd watched her eat the maraschino cherry from Collin's drink. Thank God
he'd been standing behind a table at the time.
He ended the conversation before Wilkins started asking those kinds
of questions Wilkins liked to ask, questions Piers had no intention of
answering. He was a private person to start with, and when it came to
Sherry, even more so. He hung up the phone and rested his head against
the headboard.
He knew what he had to do. It killed him, but he knew.
He grabbed his computer and tried to distract himself with work. He
didn't have a whole heck of a lot of success with that, which was exactly the
problem.
Sherry finished up in the bathroom and stepped out. The first thing
Piers noticed was her outfit.
He frowned. "Don't you have anything less skimpy than that?"
Sherry glanced down at her sleeping attire, one of those velour
tracksuit things. "I'm wearing pants, a T-shirt, and a zip-up hoodie."
Piers grunted his displeasure.
Sherry came around the side of her bed that was closer to his.
"Somebody seems a little cranky."
Yes, somebody was. Because somebody was trying to do the right
thing despite the fact that somebody else apparently wanted to torture him
with--sweet Jesus she was bending over the bed right in front of him to adjust
the pillows, and those velour pants stretched tight across her amazing ass
that would fit perfectly in his hands as he licked--
"That's it, lights out. We have a big day ahead." Piers flicked off the
lamp on the nightstand and the last thing he saw was Sherry's bewildered
expression before the room went dark. He didn't care. If he so much as
looked at her right then, he'd be done for.
"So I take it that means we're going to sleep now." Through the
darkness, she sounded somewhat amused.
Piers debated over his next course of action. He got out of bed and
went over to hers. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see
her underneath the covers, outlined by the moonlight. He sat down on the bed next to her.

"I'm trying to stay focused here, Sherry. My first priority this
weekend has to be to keep you safe."
"Of course--I was just teasing, Piers."
"I need to be extra vigilant tomorrow, especially now that I know the
wedding is going to be outside. That changes the game--more than ever, I
can't be distracted."
"I understand. Really, you don't have to say anything else."
In the moonlight, her eyes shimmered up at him like stones in a
stream. Unable to resist, he reached out and touched her long, dark hair that
fanned over the pillow. "I think I'll be glad when this wedding is over."
He could see her smile. "You and pretty much every person who's had
contact with Amy over the last eight months."
"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page with this." Piers pulled the
blanket up to her shoulders. "Now--no matter what happens next, keep these
covers up. Think of it as the twenty-first century version of the Walls of
Jericho."
She looked at him in confusion. "Okay . . ."
"Promise me, Sherry. No matter what happens."
"I promise. But why?"
"Because I'm going to kiss you good night." With that, he leaned
forward and captured her mouth with his. She threaded her hand through his
hair and kissed him back, meeting his tongue hungrily with hers. The next
thing Piers knew, he was on the bed with her pinned beneath him.
Underneath the blanket, she spread her legs and he sank between them
greedily. He was hard as a rock and throbbing being this close to her, and
when she arched her hips against him, he nearly lost it.
"You're going to ruin me as an agent," he murmured huskily. "Once I
get inside you, I'm not going to be able to think about anything else except
doing it again and again." His hands went to the edge of the covers. Bullets
hadn't stopped him, and this was a blanket. "I'll make it so fucking good for
you. . . ." He kissed her neck, her throat, wanting to go lower, wanting to taste
her everywhere.
Sherry exhaled unsteadily. "You are so not playing fair." But she
didn't let go of the covers.
Piers buried his head in the pillow, struggling for that last shred of control. He lifted himself off the bed and grabbed his gun off the nightstand.
He handed it to her. "Take it."
Her eyes went wide, a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Okay. If I
have to shoot you to keep you away from me, I think we should just throw in
the towel and say screw it to the wedding."
"It's not for me. I want you to keep your eye on the door for the next five minutes. I'm going to take a cold shower."