No Knight Needed

by Stephanie Rowe

  Clare grabbed Emma’s chair. “Move closer so he can’t sit next to me—”

  “What are you, thirteen years old?” Emma pushed her hand away. “That’s way too obvious. Deal with it.”

  “Good morning, ladies,” Griffin arrived at the table, a wide grin on his handsome face. The dimple was in full bloom today, and his eyes were bright and cheerful. He was wearing jeans and his hiking boots again, a white button down shirt, and a hip-length leather jacket that gave him just the right edge of sophistication and ruggedness. He was clean-shaven and looked ready to dominate the day.

  He looked way fresher than Clare felt. She was guessing he hadn’t spent the night in anguished debate over what direction their relationship should take. So unfair.

  “Good morning.” Astrid held out her hand, showcasing three inspirational bracelets that she’d finished only last week. “I’m Astrid Monroe. I share office space with Clare. Sorry I missed you the other day when you came by to sign the lease.”

  He gave her a firm handshake. “Griffin Friesé. Potential murderer, at your service.”

  Astrid grinned. “Always good to advertise. Word of mouth is the most powerful marketing tool.”

  “Yep, it sure is.” He turned to Emma with a questioning look.

  “Emma Larson.” Emma gave him a thoroughly contemplative inspection. It wasn’t quite as friendly as Astrid’s had been, but she wasn’t taking aim with a deadly weapon either, which was about all that would keep Clare safe from him right now, given the hum strumming through her body at his nearness. “It’s nice to meet you, potentially,” Emma said.

  He flashed Emma a wicked grin. “I’m not as dangerous as my reputation, I promise.”

  A small smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “Danger is subjective.”

  “Excellent point.” And then Griffin did what Clare had been both dreading and eagerly anticipating. He turned his full attention onto her. “Good morning, Clare.”

  She clutched her coffee cup. “Hi.” There he was. Inches away. The man who had kissed her last night so thoroughly and so decadently that he’d awoken the woman she’d forgotten she was.

  “Come sit.” Astrid pulled a chair up between her and Emma. “It’s girl time, but as long as you promise to put on lipstick, you can join us.”

  Clare waved her hands in protest. “No, I’m sure he has to go—”

  “Thanks for the invite. I look great in lipstick.” Ignoring Astrid’s strategically placed chair, Griffin grabbed a seat from a nearby table, set it next to Clare and sat down. His shoulder brushed against hers, and he leaned his knee against hers beneath the table. “What’s the topic today?” he asked.

  Clare shifted casually in her seat to put some space between Griffin and herself. How could he have sat next to her like that, when there was an empty chair on the other side of the table? She didn’t have to look around to know that people were watching.

  But she looked around anyway.

  Yes, people were watching. Surprise, that.

  “Men. Sex. Dating. That kind of thing,” Astrid said. “Typical girl talk.”

  Hello? Bring up men, sex and dating in front of Griffin? Clare kicked Astrid under the table, while Griffin burst out in a deep chuckle. “At eight on a Tuesday morning?” he asked. “What about work?”

  “Not nearly as interesting,” Astrid said. “Clare’s an estate attorney. What’s interesting about that?”

  “She’s also a cupcake phenom,” Griffin said as Ophelia set a cup of coffee down in front of him with a wink. He nodded his appreciation at Ophelia as he continued to declare Clare’s talents. “Her desserts are works of art.” He set a proprietary arm across the back of her chair. “And incredibly delicious, as well.”

  “That’s not work,” Clare protested, but she could tell she was beaming from his remarks. She knew she had a special talent for cupcakes, but not everyone really understood how she poured her emotions into them. But Griffin seemed to, and that was a beautiful rarity. “Making cupcakes is pleasure, not work.”

  “It could be both,” Griffin said. “Follow your passion, Clare.”

  Clare rolled her eyes at him. “We already went over this—”

  “Oh!” Astrid smacked the table with a yelp. “I totally forgot to tell you. Harlan told me that The Bean Pot is for sale. You should buy it and turn it into a cupcake shop.”

  “What?” Clare burst out laughing. “You’re kidding. A cupcake store in Birch Crossing? That’s crazy.”

  “Oh...I love that idea,” Emma said. “That would be amazing.”

  “What’s the Bean Pot?” Griffin asked. “And who’s Harlan?”

  “Harlan’s my brother, and he does some real estate work on the side. The Bean Pot used to be a coffee shop just down the street,” Astrid said excitedly. “The owners retired to Florida about ten years ago, but they always come back up in the summer when the lake is packed with visitors. They called Harlan and said they didn’t want to do it anymore, so they asked him to put it on the market.”

  “That would be so perfect,” Emma chimed in. “That location is great. And there’s a kitchen in back, because they used to make those really good coffee cakes there, remember?”

  Clare did remember. “Didn’t one of those end up in my hair when we were sixteen, because Pete Harmon asked me to the junior prom instead of Emma?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.” Astrid leveled a finger at her. “You’re a no-good, man-stealing ‘ho, you know.”

  Clare burst out laughing at Griffin’s shocked expression. “She only talks like that to those she loves. When she calls you a bastard, you know you belong.”

  Griffin grinned. “Well, damn, and to think I was angling for a more standard signal like, ‘great guy,’ or ‘brilliant addition to our town,’ or something that is clearly too mundane.”

  “I abhor the mundane,” Astrid said cheerfully.

  Griffin raised his coffee cup. “Amen to that, sister.”

  Astrid clicked her cup, and Emma added the same. “To abhorring the mundane,” Emma said.

  Griffin looked over at Clare. “You joining us?”

  “I’m a trusts and estates attorney,” she explained. “I can’t afford to abhor the mundane.”

  Griffin locked his fingers around her wrist, placed her coffee cup in her hand and raised it up. “My darling, you could be a tax attorney in a black suit and glasses and you would be as far from the mundane as it is possible to get.”

  Clare couldn’t stop the huge smile that spread over her face, or the warm gooey feeling that filled her belly. She wasn’t sure if it was the endearment or the compliment, and she wasn’t sure it mattered. The whole statement was simply melt-worthy.

  “Oh, now, that’s just really sweet,” Astrid said.

  “And correct,” Emma said. “Clare Bear is not mundane.”

  “No,” Griffin said. “She’s not.”

  “You guys are crazy.” Clare surveyed the three grinning faces, all of them holding up coffee cups. Even Emma was relaxed, and Clare realized that Griffin had won over both her friends. The man was a heroic rescuer of stranded teenagers, he was an amazing kisser, he was fire-starter to her hormones, and he could charm the girls over coffee and muffins.

  “To cupcakes,” Griffin said.

  “To cupcakes,” Emma and Astrid echoed. All three of them were beaming at her as if they knew some secret worth gloating over.

  “They’re just dessert,” Clare protested.

  “No,” said Griffin. “They’re passion.”

  “Oh...” Emma nodded. “He’s right you know. Just like my art and Astrid’s jewelry.”

  Astrid grinned and slid a key across the table toward her. “Harlan slipped me the key to the Bean Pot when I told him that you might be interested.”

  “I’m not interested.” But Clare couldn’t help but stare at the shiny silver key that looked like it had just been cut. It was sitting on the table so close, just waiting for her to pick it up. A sudden yearning pulsed
through her. What if there was a way to make a living by doing what she loved? What if—

  An envelope dropped on the table in front of her, and she looked up to see Jackson Reed standing behind Emma. “Morning, Clare. Here’s Jeff’s estimate for your roof.” He gave her an apologetic shrug. “It’s not as low as you were hoping for, but it’s the best he’ll offer. Let me know if you want to do it.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Clare picked up the envelope with a resigned sigh. This was her life, this was her reality. Would a few cupcakes pay for her new roof? No chance. Was she going to force her daughter to sleep in the car so she could play in the kitchen? No, she wasn’t. She was going to do her job and take care of her daughter. The Bean Pot would just have to go to someone else. “I’ll look at the bid and get back to you.”

  “Sounds good.” To her surprise, Jackson didn’t leave. Instead, he nodded at Griffin, as if they knew each other. “Hey, Griff.”

  Griff? Griffin Friesé was so not a “Griff.”

  But Griffin shook Jackson’s hand in one of those rough and tough handshakes between men who understood each other. “Morning, Jackson. Give my best to Trish.”

  Jackson’s smile lit up his face. “Will do, my man. Will do.” He nodded at the rest of them. “Take care, ladies. Be nice to Griffin. It’s one against three at this table.”

  Astrid laughed. “I think he can take care of himself.”

  “Agreed.” Jackson grinned at them all, then headed out the door toward his truck.

  “How do you know Jackson and Trish?” Clare asked.

  Griffin shrugged. “Small town. He’s a good guy.”

  Clare smiled at his perceptiveness. “He is. Trish is wonderful, and he’s so good to her.”

  Griffin got a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched Jackson get into his truck. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

  Emma pushed the key closer. “Take it, Clare. Just go take a peek at the store. That doesn’t mean you have to do it.”

  “Trust me,” Astrid said. “Turning your passion into your work is amazing. I’ll even help you with the internet stuff. I bet you can get a serious online client base—”

  “No.” Clare folded the roof estimate in half and put it her purse. Yes, for a moment, she had been almost tempted. But she was too sane to get caught up in irresponsible fantasies. “Now isn’t the right time. Maybe when Katie is done with college and—”

  “You’ll be fifty by then,” Astrid said.

  Clare snorted. “I’ll barely be coming into my prime.” She stood up. Nothing like a bill for necessary house repairs to motivate a woman to hustle off to the day job. “I have to go to work. I’ll see you guys later.” She turned to Griffin. “I’ll see you later—”

  He stood up. “I’ll walk you.”

  Excitement rippled through her. “It’s okay. I can manage.”

  “Doesn’t matter if you can manage or not.” He set his hand on the back of her chair and moved it out of her way. “I’m still walking you.”

  “I’m not ready to leave yet,” Astrid said as she picked her coffee back up. “You kids go on ahead.”

  “Yes.” Even Emma leaned back in her seat, apparently giving Griffin the green light as well. “I’m not done either. See you later. So nice to meet you, Griffin.”

  “My pleasure.” Griffin smiled at them both, and then set his hand on Clare’s back as she began to weave her way through the crowded store.

  His action announced to the world that she was his.

  She wasn’t. She absolutely wasn’t.

  But she couldn’t quite get herself to move away from him. It just felt too lovely to have his strong hand supporting her.

  Griffin reached past her to open the door for her, and as he pulled it open, Eppie walked in, wearing her rainbow straw hat with artificial tulips. Her sharp eyes took in Griffin’s possessive stance, and she gave Clare a long, hard look.

  Clare stiffened and tried to duck away from her escort, but Griffin swept her past Eppie before she could extricate herself from his grasp.

  “Good morning, Eppie,” he said as he passed her. “You look lovely today. Where did you get such a fashionable outfit? You look like an apple blossom on a sunny day.”

  Eppie’s brow furrowed in confusion at the enemy’s politeness, and then they were out the door.

  * * *

  Clare burst out laughing as soon as she and Griffin were outside Wright’s. “An apple blossom on a sunny day? Seriously? Eppie had no idea how to respond to that. How on earth did you come up with that?”

  Griffin grinned. “I’m an expert at getting people to part with things that matter to them. Money, their business, whatever it takes. Apple blossoms seemed like it might work for her.”

  Clare waggled her finger at him as he guided her across the street. “You are a dangerous man, Griffin Friesé.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “That I am.” He kept his touch light, but there was no mistaking the possessiveness of his hand still strategically placed on her lower back.

  She giggled again, feeling so liberated by the interaction with Eppie. Somehow, with one well-placed comment, he’d managed to spare Clare any judgmental comments by the older woman. “Well, I appreciate it. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” Griffin followed her up the steps of the charming white building that housed her office, and for a moment, she contemplated inviting him in. She had no clients for an hour—

  Seriously, Clare?

  Instead of grabbing him by his sexy leather jacket and dragging him inside, she stopped on the porch. It was time to tell him he had to move out. The fact she was even contemplating an on-the-desk-ravishment meant that she was losing her mind. She set her hands on her hips. “Griffin—”

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue last night.” His eyes were dark and penetrating again.

  “Oh, well, sure. I mean, you sounded like you were in trouble.” She cleared her throat, trying to steer the conversation and her thoughts away from his soul-melting kisses. “But—”

  He slipped his hand behind the back of her head, his fingers massaging her neck. “I really enjoyed kissing you.”

  She swallowed, her heart starting to race. Why did his hand have to feel so unbelievably amazing against her skin? Between the shivers racing down her spine and the desire spiraling through her belly, she could barely even remember how to talk, let alone resist him. “Um, thanks, but—”

  “And I look forward to tonight.” Then the rapscallion kissed her.

  In broad daylight.

  In the center of town.

  At rush hour.

  With half the town passing by, or across the street at Wright’s.

  And dammit, if she didn’t kiss him right back. With great enthusiasm, unabashed passion and altogether too much tongue tango.

  She melted right into the kiss with a delighted sigh, and her entire body spiked with desire when he locked his arm around her lower back and hauled her against him. The kiss turned hot and fierce almost instantly, their bodies pressed against each other with a desperate wanting far too intense for eight o’clock in the morning on a public street. Within moments, she was out of breath, her body was trembling and she was utterly lost in the demands of his mouth and his body—

  “We can’t do this here.” Griffin swore and pulled back, raw lust burning in his eyes.

  Clare clung to his arms, fighting desperately to catch her breath, to gather herself, to keep herself from screaming, “Yes, we can!” and dragging him right off the porch into her office.

  He tunneled his fingers through her hair, his eyes gleaming with anticipatory delight. “I’ll see you tonight.” Meaning was heavy in his words, and her whole body shouted with eagerness.

  Clare shook her head. “No, we can’t. It was a mistake—”

  “Not by me.” Then he kissed her again, a dominating kiss of promise and intention that swept away her resistance and replaced it with a quivering ball of burning need.

  He pulled back, a satisfied gri
n on his face at her utter capitulation to his kisses. “Until tonight, my darling.” Then he turned and took the stairs two at a time, hitting the sidewalk before she had time to protest.

  Oh, no. This was so not happening. “Griffin—”

  He turned toward her, walking backward as he headed down the street. “Live a little, Clare. Life is too short.”

  Then he was gone, loping across the street toward his truck.

  Damn the man. But Clare couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she touched her lips. What had she gotten herself into?

  Nothing. She wasn’t getting into anything. She was going to work late tonight.

  Really she was.

  She was entirely unprepared to handle this kind of thing with this kind of man in this kind of town.

  And she never, ever went into anything unprepared.

  At least not anymore.

  She’d learned her lesson.

  Really. She had. Really.

  Chapter Twelve

  Griffin was not generally a patient man.

  He made things happen.

  But apparently, in the town of Birch Crossing, it was Norm Wright who had the power. And Norm was apparently a man with more patience than a turtle.

  Griffin braced his arms on his thighs as he restlessly swayed the bench swing that Ophelia had directed him to when he’d shown up at nine, which was the time that Wright’s officially closed.

  It was now nine forty-five, and he could still hear Norm inside discussing the loon nesting situation with a man that seemed to be about his same age. Twelve nesting pairs last year, five babies, but only eleven had been sighted this spring so far. Where was the missing pair?

  Griffin groaned and dropped his face to his hands.

  “Here now, Griffin,” Ophelia came out the door, wiping her hands on her white apron and holding a beer. “Have a cold one while you wait.”

  “Thanks.” Griffin accepted the beer and read the label. “Birch’s Best?”

  “Local beer, made by some fellows down the street.” Ophelia winked at him. “Much better than some German import, but it’ll give you a kick in the pants that might keep you up all night. You sure you’re up for it?”