The house’s former owners, a childless couple who taught in the same high school as Belinda, had covered the clapboard with vinyl siding, updated the plumbing and electricity and had landscaped the entire property as they awaited the adoption of a child from Eastern Europe. The adoption fell through and the wife opted for artificial insemination. After several failed tries, she found herself pregnant with not one, but four babies. They began looking for a larger house at the same time Belinda put her co-op on the market. She made the couple an offer, and three months later she closed on what had become her little dream house.
Ear-piercing screams floated down from the second story. Glancing up, she saw Layla hanging over the banister. “Are you okay?” she asked with a smile, knowing the reason for the screaming.
Layla gestured wildly. “Aunt Lindy, I love, love, love it!” she shrieked incoherently before running back to her bedroom.
Minutes later Belinda stood in the room, her arms encircling her nieces’ waists. The contractor had removed the door leading into the master bedroom and installed doors to adjoining bedrooms that led directly into the space she’d set up as a combined office, study and entertainment area. The furnishings included two desks with chairs that faced each other and built-in bookcases along three of the four walls.
The remaining wall held a large flat-screen television. A low table held electronics for a home-theater system. Empty racks for CDs and DVDs were nestled in a corner, along with a worktable with a streamlined desktop and laptop computers and printer. Although the television was equipped with cable, Belinda had programmed parental controls on both the television and internet. French doors had replaced a trio of windows that led to a balcony overlooking the back of the property.
“I know which bedroom is mine,” Sabrina crooned.
“Mine is the one with the bright colors,” Layla said, her voice rising in excitement.
Sabrina pressed closer to her aunt. “This is the first time we’re not going to have to share a bedroom.”
Belinda gave her a warm smile. She recognized them as individuals and sought to relate to them as such. “I have a few house rules that I expect to be followed. You must keep your bedrooms and bathroom clean. I don’t want to find dirty clothes on the floor or under the beds. The first time I find food or drink upstairs there will be consequences.”
Layla shot her a questioning glance. “What kind of consequences?”
“There will be no television or internet for a week. The only exception is to do homework. You’ll also have to give up your iPods and relinquish your cell phones—”
“But we don’t have cell phones,” Sabrina interrupted, sharing a look with her sister.
A mysterious smile tipped the corners of Belinda’s mouth. “If you look in the drawer of your bedside tables you’ll find a cell phone. The phones are a gift from your uncle Griffin. He’s programmed the numbers where you can reach him or me in an emergency. You’ll share a thousand minutes each month, plus unlimited texting. You...”
Her words trailed off when the girls raced out of the room, leaving her staring at the spots where they’d been.
She’d turned the master bedroom into a sanctuary for her nieces, decorated Sabrina’s room with a queen-size, off-white sleigh bed, with matching dresser, nightstands and lingerie chest. Waning daylight filtered through sheer curtains casting shadows on the white comforter dotted with embroidered yellow-and-green butterflies. Layla’s room reflected her offbeat style and personality with orange-red furniture and earth-toned accessories.
Belinda had moved her own bedroom to the first floor in what had been the enclosed back porch. It faced southeast, which meant the rising sun rather than an alarm clock woke her each morning. Layla and Sabrina returned, clutching Sidekick cell phones while doing the “happy dance.”
“Girls, I want you in bed by nine.”
“Yes, Aunt Lindy,” they said in unison.
She walked out of the study and made her way down the carpeted hallway to the staircase. Giving her nieces the run of the second floor would serve two purposes: it would give them a measure of independence and make them responsible for keeping their living space clean.
* * *
Griffin couldn’t remember the last time a woman had bored him to the point of walking out on a date. However, he’d promised Renata Crosby that he would have dinner with her the next time she came to Philadelphia on business. The screenwriter was pretty, but that’s where her appeal started and ended. From the time she sat down at the table in one of his favorite restaurants, Renata had talked nonstop about how much money she’d lost because of the writer’s strike in Hollywood. He wanted to tell her that everyone affected by the strike lost money.
“Griffin, darling, you haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying,” Renata admonished softly.
Griffin forced his attention back to the woman with eyes the color of lapis lazuli. Their deep blue color was the perfect foil for her olive complexion and straight raven-black, chin-length hair.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled apologetically, “but my mind is elsewhere.”
Renata blinked, a fringe of lashes touching the ridge of high cheekbones. She’d spent the better part of an hour trying to seduce Griffin Rice, but it was apparent her scheme to get him to sleep with her wasn’t working. She’d met the highly successful and charismatic sports attorney at an L.A. hot spot, and knew within seconds that she had to have a piece of him.
At the time, he was scheduled to fly out of LAX for the East Coast. So she had followed him to the parking lot where a driver waited for him and got him to exchange business cards with her. She and Griffin had played phone tag for more than a month until one day he answered his phone. She told him that she was meeting a client in Philadelphia, and wanted to have dinner with him before flying back to California. Of course, there was no client and it appeared as if she’d flown three thousand miles for nothing.
“You do seem rather distracted,” she crooned, deliberately lowering her voice.
Griffin stared at his fingers splayed over the pristine, white tablecloth. “That’s because it isn’t every day that a man becomes the father of twin girls.”
An audible gasp escaped Renata. “You’re a father?”
Griffin angled his head and smiled. “Awesome, isn’t it?”
Pressing her lips together, Renata swallowed hard. When she’d inquired about Griffin Rice’s marital status she was told that he wasn’t married. Had her source lied, or had Griffin perfected the art of keeping his private life very private?
“I’d say it’s downright shocking. You didn’t know your wife was having twins?”
“I’m not married.”
“If you’re not married, then you’re a baby daddy. Or should I say a babies’ daddy.”
Griffin registered the contempt in Renata’s voice. Although he wasn’t remotely interested in her, he was still perturbed by her reaction. After all, he’d only agreed to have dinner with her to be polite. Raising his hand, he signaled for the check.
“I’m going to forget you said that.”
Renata concealed her embarrassment behind a too-bright smile. “I’m sorry it came out that way. Please, let me make it up to you by sending you something for your girls,” she said in an attempt to salvage what was left of her pride.
“Apology accepted, but no, thank you.” He signed the check, pushed back his chair to come around the table and help Renata. When she came to her feet, he offered, “Can I drop you anywhere?”
Renata was nearly eye to eye with Griffin in her heels. She knew they would’ve made a striking couple if some other woman hadn’t gotten her hooks into him. She’d met more Griffin Rices than she could count on both hands. Most were good-looking, high-profile men who were willing to be seen with women like her, but when all was said and done they married women who wouldn’t
cheat on them, or whom other men wouldn’t give a second glance. As soon as she returned to her hotel room she planned to call an entertainment reporter and give him the lowdown about Griffin Rice having fathered twins.
“No, thanks. I have a rental outside.”
He took her arm. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Griffin gave Renata the obligatory kiss on the cheek, waited until she maneuvered out of the restaurant’s parking lot and then made his way to where he’d parked his car. He wasn’t as annoyed with Renata’s inane conversation as he was with himself for wasting three precious hours he could’ve spent with his nieces. Glancing at the watch strapped to his wrist, he noted the time. It was eight thirty-five, and he wanted to talk to Sabrina and Layla before they went to bed for the night.
He exceeded the speed limit to make it to Belinda’s house in record time. She’d bought a house a mile from where Grant and Donna had lived, the perfect neighborhood for upwardly mobile young couples with children. Grant had tried to convince him to purchase one of the newer homes of the McMansion variety, but Griffin preferred the charm of the nineteenth-century homes along the Main Line. Though less exclusive than it once was, the suburb west of the city was still identified with the crème de la crème of Philadelphia society.
Whenever he closed the door to his three-story colonial on a half-acre lot along the tree-lined street in Paoli, he was no longer the hard-nosed negotiator trying to make the best deal for his client. Sitting on his patio overlooking a picturesque landscape of massive century-old trees and a carpet of wildflowers had become his ultimate pleasure. He opened his home on average about three times a year to entertain family, friends and clients. Living in Paoli suited his temperament. After growing up in a crowded, bustling Philadelphia neighborhood he’d come to appreciate the quietness of the suburb of fifty-four hundred residents.
Griffin maneuvered into Belinda’s wide driveway and shut off the engine. His dark mood lifted when he saw soft light coming through the first-floor windows. It was apparent Belinda hadn’t gone to bed. He rang the bell, waited and raised his hand to ring it again when the door opened and he came face-to-face with Belinda as she dabbed her face with a hand towel. Judging from her expression it was apparent that she was as shocked to see him as he to see her in a pair of shorts and a revealing tank top. And, with her freshly scrubbed face and headband that pulled her hair off her face, she appeared no older than the high school students to whom she taught American history.
“What are you doing here?” Belinda asked, her voice a breathless whisper.
Leaning against the doorframe, Griffin stared at the rise and fall of her breasts under the cotton fabric. He swallowed a groan when a part of his body reacted involuntarily to the wanton display of skin.
“I came to see if the...my daughters are okay.”
Belinda was surprised to hear Griffin refer to his nieces as his daughters. It was apparent he intended to take surrogate parenting seriously. “Of course they’re okay, Griffin. If you hadn’t run off you would’ve known that.”
Griffin straightened. “I had a prior engagement.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Call it what it is.”
“And that is?”
“You had a date, Griffin.”
A slow, sexy smile found its way over Griffin’s face. “Do I detect a modicum of jealousy, Eaton?”
“Surely you jest, Rice. Let me assure you I’m not attracted to you, and there’s nothing about you that I find even remotely appealing.”
Griffin brushed past her, walking into the entryway. “Sheath your claws, Belinda. What you should do is channel your frustration in an anger management seminar because we’re going to have to deal with each other until the girls celebrate their twenty-third birthday. You don’t like me and I have to admit that you’re certainly not at the top of the list for what I want in a woman.”
Belinda affected a brittle smile. “At least we can agree on one thing.”
“And that is?” he asked, lifting his expressive eyebrows.
“We won’t interfere in each other’s love lives.”
“You’re seeing someone?”
“Does that surprise you, Griffin?” she asked, answering his question with one of her own.
Belinda’s revelation that she was involved with a man came as a shock to Griffin. He never saw her with a man, so he’d assumed that she spent her nights at home—alone. “I hope you’re not going to schedule sleep-overs with your man now that the girls are living with you. It wouldn’t set a good example—”
“He’ll only come when the girls stay at your place,” she interrupted.
Griffin didn’t know where he’d gotten the notion that Belinda wasn’t seeing anyone. Although he would never admit to her that he was attracted to her in that way, it didn’t mean that other men weren’t. Earlier, he’d sat watching Jonathan Connelly unable to take his eyes off her. And Griffin didn’t blame the man because Belinda Eaton was stunning.
If she hadn’t been so unapproachable he would’ve considered asking her out. Even when they’d come together as best man and maid of honor for the wedding of their respective siblings, he’d thought her shy and reticent. But then he hadn’t expected more from a nineteen-year-old college student who’d lived on campus her first semester, then without warning moved back home, driving more than thirty miles each day to attend classes. When asked why she’d opted not to stay on campus, her response was as enigmatic as the woman she’d become.
Griffin remembered why he’d come to Belinda’s house. “May I see the girls?”
“I’m sorry. They’ve already gone to bed.”
He glanced at the clock on the table filled with potted plants. “It’s only nine-fifteen. Isn’t that a little early?”
“No, it isn’t, Griffin. My mother had a problem with getting them up on school days, so I’ve instituted a nine o’clock curfew Sunday through Thursday and eleven on Fridays and Saturdays.”
“That sounds a little strict, Belinda.”
“Children need structure.”
“Structure is one thing and being on lockdown is another.”
Belinda walked around Griffin and opened the door wider. “I don’t want to be rude, but you really need to go home, Griffin. I’m going to be up late grading papers, and hopefully I’ll be able to get a few hours of sleep before I have to get up earlier than usual to drive the girls to school. I need to stop in the school office to update their emergency contact numbers and bus route.”
After seeing that Layla and Sabrina had completed their homework, she’d eaten leftovers, applied a facial masque and sat in a tub of warm water waiting for it to set. By the time she’d emerged from the bathroom the girls had come to kiss her good-night. They’d gone to bed, while she would probably be up well past midnight.
Griffin heard something in Belinda’s voice that he’d never recognized before: defeat. Although they shared custody of their nieces, it was Belinda who’d assumed most of the responsibility for caring for them five of the seven days a week. And for the weeks when he had to travel on business, it would be the entire week.
“What time do your classes begin?”
“Eight. But I have a sub filling in for me.”
Griffin knew he had to help Belinda or she would find herself in over her head. It was one thing to raise a child from infancy and another thing completely when you found yourself having to deal with not one but two teenagers with very strong personalities.
“Let me help you out.”
Belinda stared at the man standing in her entryway as if he were a stranger. “You want to help me.”
Slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers, Griffin angled his head. “Yes. I’ll take the girls to school and take care of the paperwork. That way you don’t have to have to miss your classes.”
“It’s too late to cancel the substitute.”
Attractive lines fanned out around his eyes when he gave her a warm smile. “Use the extra time to sleep in late.”
His smile was contagious as Belinda returned it with one of her own. “It sounds good, but I still have to get up and prepare breakfast.”
“Can’t they get breakfast at school?”
“Donna wouldn’t let them eat school breakfast because they weren’t eating enough fiber.”
“I’ll fix breakfast for them,” Griffin volunteered.
“It can’t be fast food.”
He winked at her. “I didn’t know you were a comedian. Why would I give them a fast-food breakfast when it has a higher caloric content and more preservatives than some cafeteria food? I’ll cook breakfast for them.”
Belinda hesitated, processing what she’d just heard. “You’re going to come here from Paoli tomorrow morning in time to make breakfast and take the girls to school?” The ongoing family joke was that Griffin Rice would be late for his own funeral.
“Yes.”
Belinda waved a hand. “Forget it, Griffin. I’ll get up and make breakfast and take them to school.”
“You doubt whether I’ll be here on time?”
She leaned closer. “I know you won’t make it.”
The warmth and the subtle scent of lavender on Belinda’s bared flesh wafted in Griffin’s nostrils, making him more than aware of her blatant femininity. For years he’d told himself that he didn’t like his sister-in-law because she was a snob—that her attitude was that she was too good for him because she came from a more prestigious family.
Forever an Eaton: Bittersweet LoveSweet Deception Page 3