“Hey!” Griffin twisted around with a yelp of protest, and she kept tickling as he spun around, trying to get her off. “Stop!”
“No way!” Totally amused that the big, tough man was ticklish, she attacked him relentlessly, laughing at his howls of agony. Katie was laughing so hard she had to sit down, and Griffin was spinning around, trying to protect himself without dropping Clare.
“Enough!” He flipped Clare off his shoulder, and Katie immediately sprayed him with the hose.
“Victory!” Katie shouted.
But as Griffin faced them, dripping like a waterfall, the tempestuous fire of a warrior burning in his eyes, Clare knew the battle had just begun.
And she was so looking forward to every minute of it.
* * *
“I haven’t had that much fun in years,” Clare said as she walked around the front of the house to where Griffin was sitting on the front step, enjoying the early afternoon sun.
Griffin watched her approach, and he felt something primal stir inside him as she neared. She had put on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, and her damp hair was curling around her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her only jewelry was a pair of silver hoops dangling from her ears. She looked unsophisticated, natural and infinitely alluring.
He held up his hand to her, inviting her to join him. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and allowed him to take her hand just long enough for her to sit down beside him. Not quite touching him, but close, so very close.
“You’re welcome.” Griffin rested his arms on his knees. He hadn’t bothered to change after the water fight and had finished waxing his truck while the women had gone inside to warm up and dry off. He had to admit, there’d been something elemental and satisfying about polishing his truck, and he’d enjoyed it far more than he would have expected. “I haven’t had a water fight since I was a kid.”
“Me either.” She lightly brushed her finger over his hair. Her cheeks immediately turned pink when he looked at her. “There was soap in your hair,” she explained, jerking her hand back.
“You don’t need a reason to touch me,” he said quietly, something pulsing deep inside him in satisfaction at her intimate gesture.
“I know. I mean, I guess. Thanks.” She rolled her eyes at herself, as she folded her hands in her lap, a response that wasn’t quite what he’d been hoping for. “I was awake last night when you came by.”
Her confession made him smile. “I figured you heard me.”
Clare pursed her lips, as she fidgeted. “I haven’t dated anyone since Ed died.”
He set his hand over hers, stilling their restless movement, wanting to ease her sudden tension. “That’s a long time,” he said gently, letting her know that he understood what she was trying to say.
“I know.” She studied their entwined hands, but didn’t try to pull away. “I find the entire prospect of you daunting.”
Griffin chuckled as he picked up one of her hands and set it on his knee. “I find the prospect of you intriguing beyond words.”
Clare made a noise of protest. “I don’t think I’m capable of handling you when you say things like that.” But she didn’t remove her hand from his knee.
“Nothing to handle.” Griffin tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear, then took her other hand in his. “Just accept the words and enjoy them.”
She bit her lower lip and lightly scraped her fingernail across his knee. “How long are you staying?”
Griffin rubbed his thumb over her palm, relishing the softness of her skin. “I don’t know. A few days. A week. Two at the most.”
Her eyes darted nervously to his face. “You wouldn’t consider moving up here with Brooke?”
“No,” he said automatically. “My life is in Boston.”
“Okay.” Clare took a breath and flattened her hand on his knee. “I needed to hear that.”
He could feel her tension, and he saw the uncertainty flicker across her face. Shit. “Deal breaker?”
But she surprised him by shaking her head and tapping her fingers against his knee. “I don’t know yet, but I needed to know the truth so I don’t delude myself about the reality of the situation.”
He smiled at her serious expression, so different from the carefree woman who had let herself get caught up in the water fight. “Do you ever let yourself just go and not analyze every decision to death?”
She raised her eyebrows at him skeptically. “Do you?”
Ah…she had him there. “Touché,” he acknowledged.
They said nothing for a few moments, nothing between them but the small circles he was drawing on her hand, and the weight of her hand still on his leg. Her fingers were still again, no longer caressing, but she was still touching him, maintaining their connection. It was a perfect moment of connection, one that made him want more, one that made him take a risk and try for more.
“What are your plans tonight?” he asked, surprised that his heart was racing a bit. “Can I take you to dinner?”
Clare’s gaze shot to his, her blue eyes wide with sudden panic, but her fingers dug into his knee, as if she were trying to hold onto him to keep herself from retreating. “You’re asking me on a date?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He held her gaze, willing her not to run away. Now that he’d put it out there, he realized that was exactly what he was doing: asking the woman he was craving out on date. He felt as nervous as a fifteen-year-old hoping she would agree to go out with him.
A smile flirted across her face, and relief rushed through him. She was going to say yes.
But then she sighed and shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “I have plans. Softball game against the Grizzlies. I’m selling cupcakes as a fundraiser for the new rec center.”
Ditched for a softball game? Adrenaline charged through Griffin, a need not to give in, to pursue what he wanted. Hmm...could he change her mind? Griffin pressed his lips to her palm. “Who are the Grizzlies?”
“Men’s softball. Our town’s team is the Pirates.” Watching him nervously, Clare toed her sneaker through the dirt, leaving behind a circular pattern that reminded him of a design she’d put on her cupcakes the other night. Always the artist. “The whole town shows up for their games,” she told him. “This is the first of the season. There will be a barbecue and games and stuff. It’s really fun.”
A small town softball game? Griffin kissed the inside of her wrist. “Sounds like a great party.”
“Don’t be a grump.” Clare whacked his arm, making him laugh and distracting him from his seduction. “It is fun. It might not be some fancy night at the opera in Boston, but it’s great. Sports can be fun, you know.”
“I don’t like opera,” he retorted. “And I’m great at sports.”
“Not an opera fan?” She ran her hand down his arm and tapped his watch, which he knew didn’t exactly fit with this town. “I would have thought you loved to get dressed up in a tux and be with the pretty people.”
“I work. I don’t have time for things like that.” But he had time for Clare’s hand on his wrist, that was for sure.
“Ah...” Some of Clare’s excitement faded. “Yes, work.”
Griffin sat up at her sudden tension. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just had a tough day.”
Protectiveness swirled inside him, and he leaned closer to her. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on.”
Before she could answer, a horn honked and Jackson’s beater truck pulled in the driveway. He hopped out of the truck as Clare quickly pulled her hands away from Griffin. He reclaimed her hand immediately and tucked it under his arm before she could retreat.
“Griff! I’m glad I found you.” Jackson grinned at Clare. “Afternoon, Clare. Looking gorgeous as always.”
Griffin casually slung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her up against him, ignoring Clare’s sharp look to desist. Jackson might be married, but he was a man and he’d noticed that Cla
re was beautiful, so yeah... “What’s going on, Jackson?”
“Bruce Weller blew out his shoulder installing a dock today. We need you to fill in.”
Um...yeah. That made sense. “On your construction project?”
Jackson barked with laughter. “Sometimes I forget that you’re new.” He pushed his ball cap back on his head, his face cheerful and happy as always. “Bruce is our pitcher, but his shoulder’s sidelining him tonight. You pitched in college, right? Can you throw for us?”
Clare looked at him. “You played baseball?”
“Yeah, a bit.” He shifted his arm, pulling her a little closer as he inspected Jackson with renewed interest, impressed that the man had done his research. “How do you know all this about me? Who’s keeping track?”
Jackson grinned. “Trish was worried that Clare had rented a room to a serial killer, so she looked you up on the internet. There was a ton of info about you, but not a single record of charges against you, so she decided you’re safe. It was her idea to track you down when we heard about Bruce. You in?”
Griffin shook his head instinctively. “I haven’t thrown a pitch in almost twenty years.”
“It’s softball,” Jackson said. “I’m sure you can manage.”
“Yeah, yeah, I could manage but—” He thought of the scene Clare had painted for him. A rousing town affair. People everywhere. Women, kids, small town life. It was so not his thing. He had no idea how to be the kind of man who would fit in that scene.
“We’ve got no one else,” Jackson said. “We’re lean this year. You don’t pitch, and we forfeit.”
Griffin scowled at Jackson, feeling like he was losing the battle to control his evening. “You realize that’s not my problem, don’t you?”
Clare whacked him. “That’s not nice.”
“Sure is your problem.” Jackson was undaunted. “You live here now.”
“I rent here and I’m leaving—”
“But for now, this is your town.” Jackson slammed his hand down on Griffin’s shoulder. “See you at 6:30 for beer and warm up. First pitch is at seven.”
“Beer before the game?” Now, that was a new one. He didn’t even drink at a business dinner, let alone before trying to perform anything. Especially something he hadn’t attempted in several decades.
Jackson winked at him. “Birch’s Best sponsors us. It’s our moral obligation.”
Clare touched his arm. “Come on,” she said. “It’ll be fun. You’ll totally impress Katie with your athletic prowess.”
He laughed at that one. “I’m not so sure I have enough prowess left to impress a teenage girl.” Damn. It had been a long time since he’d even thought about holding a ball in his hands.
She patted his stomach. “Look at that. Rock hard abs. You’ll do fine.”
Griffin’s body tightened with sudden awareness at the feel of Clare’s hand on his stomach. Rock hard abs, eh? Damn, he liked the sound of that. And he decided to ignore Jackson’s snort of derision. “Well, I am a physical specimen,” he admitted.
Clare’s burst of laughter was a musical delight that made him feel like a king for being the cause of it.
“You’ll have fun. Katie and I will cheer you on. The town will love seeing you play for them.” She grabbed his hand and tugged his arm tighter around her shoulders, giving him a flirtatious look that pretty much would have brought him to his knees if he weren’t the physical specimen that he was. “Anyone who pitches for Birch Crossing gets a free pass for indiscretions like murder. Public goodwill would be totally worth a couple hours of your time.”
Ahh... now he got it. If he showed up, he wouldn’t be such a pariah, and then, maybe, just maybe, Clare wouldn’t get so much grief about him. If that made her feel better about the fact he wanted to toss her over his shoulder and cart her off to her bedroom, well, then, hell. How could he turn it down? “Okay,” he said, not taking his gaze off her. “I’m in.”
For her, he would do it.
Chapter Fourteen
The high school band was playing.
Flags were waving.
Toddlers were running the bases.
A dozen grills were cooking up burgers, and three picnic tables were loaded with potato salad, fruit salad, coleslaw, baked beans and a dozen other homemade delights. A tent with a hand-printed sign proclaimed that Birch’s Best had set up shop, and there were plenty of guys in red tee shirts and matching caps already camped around it, beer in one hand, baseball gloves in the other.
Griffin had to admit the atmosphere was pretty contagious, and he was feeling a little fired up to hit the ball field. It had been too damn long since he’d gripped a ball, given grief to teammates and flexed a little muscle, and there were even fans. Damned if he wasn’t happy Clare had made him come.
“There’s your group,” Clare said, pointing at the beer tent. “Go suit up, and I’ll see you later.”
Griffin set the huge carton of cupcakes down on the beside the jewelry display Astrid was in the middle of arranging on a pink pashmina she’d spread on her half of the table. Clare had been a machine all afternoon, pumping out the cupcakes, and he and Katie had helped.
Turned out, his organized attorney had totally forgotten that the game was tonight, and she had failed to engage in her usual three-day pre-opening night cooking spree. Griffin had to admit that a high-stress cupcake deadline with flying icing, spinning Kitchen-Aides (not bad for a guy who didn’t even know what a Kitchen-Aide was twelve hours ago), and tissue paper was one of the most entertaining afternoons he’d ever experienced.
With Clare and Katie around, it hadn’t been that hard to fill the day without work. It had been a damned fine time, in fact. “You need help unpacking?”
Clare smiled and shooed him off. “Your team’s waiting for you. Go play.”
“All right.” Griffin paused for a second, then he grabbed Clare’s wrist and yanked her over to him and planted a kiss firmly on her pert little mouth.
She smacked him in the chest as she pulled away, but her eyes were dancing. “Griffin!”
“I’m a sports hero now. I need my legion of adoring fans.” He winked at Astrid, who was cheerfully eavesdropping on their conversation.
Astrid had turquoise and gold ribbons woven into six tiny braids barely visible in her thick hair. Cute, but not nearly as adorable as Clare with her tossed-up pony tail and hoop earrings. Her faded jeans clung to her hips with tempting perfection, and he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the pink toenails peeking out from her braided sandals.
He raised his brows at Clare in a challenge. “Someday, maybe you won’t be embarrassed for the world to know that I think you’re sexy as hell.”
Her cheeks turned fiery. “Go play baseball, for heaven’s sake.”
He didn’t move, thoroughly enjoying teasing her and not feeling particularly inclined to walk away from her just yet. She was simply too damned intoxicating. “A kiss at home plate if I hit a home run?”
“No!”
“I’ll kiss you,” Astrid chimed in.
He didn’t look away from Clare. “I want Clare.”
Clare rolled her eyes, but her smile widened. “I’m beginning to figure that out.”
“Griffin!” Jackson waved him over, and the rest of the guys on the team were giving him impatient looks. “Come on!”
“Right. Gotta run.” Well aware that he had an audience of all the most athletic men in the town, men who might decide to make a move on Clare at some point, Griffin grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him, kissing her again, firmly and deeply, leaving no doubt as to exactly who Clare belonged to, at least for tonight.
He was still grinning when he headed over to the boys.
* * *
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re in trouble,” Astrid said as Griffin walked away. “You’re being hunted, big time.”
“I know.” Clare made a face as she began to unload the cupcakes from the box, her heart still thundering from Griffin’s kiss. Th
e man was incorrigible! How dare he attack her like that in public? But she couldn’t keep from smiling to herself. It had felt kind of amazing to be claimed like that. Ed had never wanted her enough to claim her. She had to admit, it was pretty cool.
“Really?” Astrid raised her brows at Clare’s grimace. “It’s that disturbing to have a man like him after you?”
Clare finally burst out grinning, unable to contain her giddiness. “It’s scaring me to death, but it’s totally amazing. I’ve never felt like this.”
Astrid smiled as she began arranging her silver charm bracelets on a blue tie-dyed cloth. Each one had a different inspirational word, thought up one night by the three friends during a wine and cupcake brainstorming fest. There were the typical ones of love, peace and dream, but a few creative ones had been thrown in. Surprisingly, “irreverence” and “be amused” had wound up to be two of Astrid’s top sellers. “It’s some kind of rush to be pursued by a man who makes your spine tingle,” Astrid said as she slid the “snuggle” and “dance” bracelets over her own wrist. “You deserve to be pursued. You’re very worthy.”
“It’s dangerous.” Clare set a pink and gold tablecloth over her half of the table.
“Definitely.”
“He’ll break my heart.”
Astrid set a glittery earring tree on the table. “I’m afraid it’s looking that way.” She straightened one of the pairs of earrings that had gotten twisted.
Clare arranged a gold tassel along the edges of her display. “And I’ll never get over him if I sleep with him.”
“Who could?”
Clare leaned on the table as she watched Griffin strip off his tee shirt so he could put on the team uniform. His body was hard and well-muscled, his shoulders broad. The man had a washboard stomach, and his biceps were ripped. Ed had been an eighteen-year-old actor. Muscles had not been part of his vocabulary.
But Griffin...he was all man.
Ed had wooed her with magic words and the excitement of an outsider bringing freedom to the life of a small town girl. He’d barely had to do anything to win her over. He’d been a boy with dreams and a used VW Beetle that had all his belongings in the back seat, and that had been enough for a seventeen-year-old innocent who wanted to spread her wings and fly.
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