She cut in before he could tell her that it had worked, that he was ready to sign wherever she wanted him to. Rose was not the youngest or firmest or sexiest woman he’d known, but there was not a doubt in his mind that she was the most beautiful.
“I’m not doing this for you,” she explained. “I mean, not directly at least.”
She bit her lip and gazed at the robe on the floor as if she’d like to snatch it and wrap herself up. Griff suppressed the urge to kick it out of reach.
“I’m doing it for me,” she told him. “I didn’t expect this…this thing with us to happen. I didn’t want it to happen, not at first, anyway. But I don’t seem to have as much control as I’d like to think I have. So if it is going to happen, whatever it turns out to be, I refuse to be doubting and second-guessing myself every step of the way.
“Last night was special for me,” she revealed, looking more self-conscious than when she had dropped the robe. “It was the most intimacy I’ve ever felt…with anyone. It was the first time I realized that sex and intimacy are not synonymous. And it felt…good. Really good.”
She moved a few steps closer, and Griff was seized by another, stronger yearning to touch her.
“I don’t want to have to hide anything or tone it down. I want you to know everything there is about me, body and soul, and I want to know everything there is about you. And we’ll take it from there.”
He stood staring at her, until Rose’s cheeks felt so flushed that she expected any second to combust and melt into the hooked rug beneath her feet. A fate that would not be unwelcome.
“I guess, now that I think about it, it might be a weird Mars-Venus thing, after all,” she conceded. “Just the same, that’s what I want. To be intimate with you…truly intimate…I just want to be myself. If that’s not enough, I’d rather know it now, before…”
She had been about to say before I fall in love with you. But suddenly, being there so close to him, so close to being in his arms and in his bed, and wanting it as badly as she did, she realized it was already too late for that.
“Before we let it go any farther,” she concluded.
Griff rubbed his jaw with the side of his thumb, his eyes narrowed, glittering with either desire or irritation, she couldn’t be sure which.
“Was there a question in there somewhere?” he asked her.
“Yes. At least, there should have been. I just wanted to know—”
“Never mind,” he told her.
There was nothing ambiguous about the look in his eyes as he reached out and ran his palm down her arm. It was desire. Definitely desire. He caressed her again, this time managing to brush her breast with his knuckles along the way.
It was desire at its most basic and unadorned. In fact, the way he was looking at her made her feel like a hot, juicy steak being eyed by a very hungry rottweiler, and her feminist side was duly appalled. It was also quickly overruled by the rest of her.
“It’s not all that important what the question is, since whatever it is, this is my answer…”
He had been lightly stroking the inside of her wrist. Now his fingers tightened around it, and he pulled her close to him, his lips curving into a slow smile of anticipation as he lowered his mouth to kiss her.
His kiss was gentle and giving, moving from her lips to her face and her throat, never rushing, never demanding. A legion of pleasurable sensations came to life inside her, shifting and melting, one into the next like the colored patterns in a kaleidoscope.
He slipped his palms beneath her breasts and bent to kiss them, too.
Rose willed herself to be still…to be quiet…
“I have these scars,” she whispered.
“Shh,” he responded, his breath warm on the flesh he had made damp. “I know.”
Rose closed her eyes and let her head fall back, shivering as his mouth meandered its way back to hers. When he eventually rested his forehead against hers, she was winded from being kissed.
“Good answer, Griffin,” she murmured.
“That’s not all of it.”
Grinning recklessly, he moved her to the bed and nudged her down on her back. He stood over her, watching her watch him remove his clothes…shirt, belt, pants, the rest.
“I’d make you acquainted with each scar individually, but there’re so many, even I’ve lost track. Rest assured I’ve got at least one of every kind there is.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. Last night’s darkness had shielded both of them. Naked, he looked even taller, his shoulders broader, his muscles more pronounced. His physique was close to perfect even for a much younger man. It was the flesh holding all that sinew and muscle in place that bore the marks of every one of his forty, rough, hard-lived years. Belatedly, it occurred to Rose that he might be as self-conscious about his body as she was about hers.
That worry passed quickly as he proceeded to take her on a whirlwind tour of his past mishaps, pointing out the result of each.
“The scars on my knees and the back of my thighs are all from surgery. I’ve got more surgical scars over here. This, on the other hand, is a souvenir from a different kind of knife.” He shrugged off her look of dismay. “What can I tell you? I didn’t spend the past twenty years in the suburbs.”
“There are scars from burns, scars from falls—from various motorcycles, bridges, and balconies—your everyday punctures and lacerations, and somewhere around back of my right shoulder there’s a dent that was once a bullet hole.
“Friendly fire,” he explained before she could ask. “It happened on a hunting trip…and I don’t even hunt. Take my advice,” he continued as he lowered himself to the bed beside her. “Never go on a hunting expedition where there are more kegs of beer than hunters.”
He propped his head on his hand and smiled at her, looking amused and irresistible. And not in the least self-conscious.
“Admit it, Rose, when it comes to matching flaws, you’re going to have to go some to beat me.”
“It’s not the same,” she countered.
He made a scoffing noise and regarded her reproachfully. “You are so wrong, and I would tell you why if I were in the mood for a discussion. Which I most definitely am not.”
He covered her legs with one of his, bringing the lower half of her body closer, while smoothing his hand over her shoulder and breast, smiling with pleasure at her response.
“Is that a fact?” she drawled, lifting her foot and letting it glide up the back of his leg, then down. “What are you in the mood for?”
He snatched the bait with a grin. “You,” he said, rolling on top of her, claiming the spot she made for him between her thighs.
“Then I guess this is your lucky day.”
“Yeah. And just when I was beginning to believe I’d used them all up.”
She moved against him, teasing them both, inviting the sweet ache of anticipation to take them higher. He responded by rocking his hips, slowly, maddeningly, coming against her in strokes that were sometimes almost unbearably gentle, and sometimes not. Excitement flowed through her, carrying her deeper and away.
With his palms flat on either side of her head, elbows bent, he lowered himself until his matted chest was grazing hers, letting her feel his heat and weight and the contrast between her softness and his strength. His movements were smooth, graceful. The only indication of the effort he was expending was in his biceps, which bordered her on both sides. They were flexed and enormous, glazed with a fine sheen, evidence of even greater power and strength than she had realized.
Rose smiled and arched her back, lifting herself into his caress even as she slid a few inches lower on the bed, adjusting the arrangement of their hips just a little…just enough…just right… And when they came together, him pressing against her belly, hard and hot and fully aroused, she made a breathy sound of delight.
And still he kept his hands off her and she did the same. By unspoken agreement, they made love to each other without using their hands or mouths or tongues. There w
as just his strong body caressing hers, and hers responding and giving back until something exploded, first in him, then in her, setting off a greedy rush toward fulfillment.
Now he claimed her, with his hands and mouth and tongue, marking her as his in the most primitive and elemental way there is, the way he was meant to, driving deep inside and surrendering everything to become one with her for a few seconds, for an eternity, for as long as heaven would allow.
Chapter Twelve
“You do realize, of course, that sooner or later you’re going to have to admit it.”
Rose responded to Maryann’s declaration by pretending to study the map of New England open in her lap.
“You do, don’t you?” her friend prodded, darting Rose a disgruntled look. “Will you please take your nose out of that map long enough to answer me?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t blame me when we miss the exit for Route 104 and end up in Vermont.”
“At least I’d have someone to talk to getting there. I came along to keep you company, and it’s me who feels all alone.”
“I’m sorry, Maryann. I should have mapped out our route before we left. I intended to, but I…got tied up.”
Maryann perked up behind the wheel of the Volvo wagon. “Literally?”
Rose looked at her sternly. “No. Not literally.”
“Shucks.” She sighed. “Well. At least I managed to get your attention. So, are you going to admit it and get it over with or not?”
“Admit what?”
“Admit that I was right…about Griff, about him being your Mr. Right, about everything.”
Rose nibbled her bottom lip, knowing her friend wouldn’t be able to stand the silence for longer than a few seconds.
“Well?”
“I’m thinking,” Rose told her.
“Thinking? Thinking?” She slapped the steering wheel, ran her fingers through her hair, shook her head. “There’s such a thing as over-thinking a thing. What if George Washington had wasted time thinking instead of crossing the Delaware? Or if Neil Armstrong had decided he was too busy thinking to take one giant leap for mankind? Thinking is highly overrated. For all we know, Nero was off somewhere thinking while Rome burned.”
“Fiddling. Nero fiddled while Rome burned,” Rose paraphrased.
“Has that ever been documented?” She tossed back her hair. “Never mind. Nero doesn’t owe me and my gramma Viola anything.”
“And I do?”
“Well…” She lifted one shoulder in a perfectly elegant shrug. “We did put you onto the scent—”
Rose cut her off with a gasp of mock indignation. “The scent? The scent of what? Insanity?”
“The scent of Mr. Right, that’s what.” Her palm came up in a preemptive gesture. “Don’t deny it. You know it’s true, I know it’s true. Heck, I think just about everyone in town knows it’s true. Even Ted,” she added emphatically. “And he hardly noticed when we fell in love.”
“Are you saying everyone thinks I’m in love with Griff?”
Maryann slanted her a sardonic look and drawled, “And wherever would anyone get that idea? You two are not exactly discreet.”
“What does that mean?” demanded Rose, recalling that awkward night in the truck.
“It means, we’re not all blind. Griff’s been in Wickford for…what? Six weeks or so?”
“Six-and-a-half.”
“But who’s counting? And for six of those six-and-a-half weeks he’s been mooning over you like a…teenager.”
“Mooning?” She shook her head with disgust. “I’d hardly call going to dinner and—”
“Every night, and spending almost every other free moment together.”
“You’re the one who was always nagging me to date more,” Rose reminded her. “And slow down…our exit is next.”
“Yes, I did want you to date more and I’m not complaining, believe me. I’m just stating a fact. It’s not bad to have a gorgeous man mooning over you. In fact, it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen—not counting Ted and Lisa, naturally.”
“Naturally,” she said with a grin. “Define ‘mooning.’”
“The man gazes at you, for heaven’s sake. Gazes. With those eyes…oh, his eyes.” She patted in the general area of her lungs as if to restart her breathing. “And when he can’t be with you, he wanders around town looking lost—at least, he did, until this week when he turned into Handyman Hank. What’s that about?”
“The house needs work, lots of work, and Griff decided to try doing some of the small stuff himself.”
“To pass the time when he can’t be with you,” Maryann pronounced. “And when he is with you, he finds reasons to touch you, and when he’s not touching you, he looks like he wishes he was. It’s your classic mooning.”
“It’s ridiculous is what it is.”
“It’s true. He’s mooning over you and you know it, and that’s why you get all fluttery like this.”
“I am not getting fluttery. I never get fluttery,” she insisted. “Is that really what people are saying? That he’s mooning and I’m fluttering?”
“Of course not. At least, not the fluttering. Everyone knows you two are seeing each other, of course, but so far I’m the only one who’s picked up on the fluttering. Probably because it’s such subtle fluttering, on the inside.”
“And how do you know what I’m feeling on the inside?”
“Because I’m your best friend, remember?”
Rose shrugged. She was right about that, at least.
“And also because I have firsthand experience in this area.”
“You flutter around Ted?”
“Sometimes,” she retorted with a touch of defiance. “I have other things on my mind these days, but when we were first dating, I fluttered practically nonstop. Tell me this, when Griff is close to you, or goes to touch you, does your skin feel him even before he’s made contact?”
“Yes,” Rose admitted, understanding exactly the phenomenon her friend described.
“And sometimes right in the middle of talking to him do you forget what you were going to say?”
“God, yes.”
“And when you are just sitting quietly together, do you find yourself thinking that he has the most fascinating breathing pattern of any human being who has ever lived?”
“Oh, God, Maryann, I am fluttering.” She closed her eyes briefly, then turned to look at her friend. “I’m in love with him, aren’t I?”
“’Fraid so.”
Their eyes met for only a second, but it was more than they needed to achieve total understanding.
Maryann grinned. “I swear, Rose, if I weren’t driving I would hug you. So, have you told him?”
“You mean in words?”
“Yes, Rose, in words.”
“No.”
“Well, exactly when—”
“When the time is right,” Rose said firmly. “As I’ve told you a zillion times, even a best friend doesn’t get a full rundown of some things—no details, no specifics, no dimensions.”
“Spoilsport,” she grumbled, then smiled again. “But I’ll rise to the occasion and be gracious.”
Before Rose could do more than turn to eye her warily, she added, “If you’ll do the same. Come on, Rose, admit Gramma Viola and I were right, or, if you won’t do that, at least admit you’re happy.”
“I’m happy,” Rose told her without hesitation. “Very happy. Oh, hell, Maryann, I’m delirious.”
“I know…and I’m delirious for you.” She exhaled, squirming a little in her seat. “Thank God we got that settled. Now, will you please get back to that map and figure out how far it is to the next rest area? I’m rethinking the wisdom of having ordered that extra-large iced coffee for the ride.”
“We’re only about ten miles from Dana Edgerton’s house. I’m sure she’ll let you use her bathroom. She sounded very nice when I spoke to her on the phone.”
“Ten miles? Don’t you mean ten miles of winding, bumpy road?
”
On cue they hit a bump, and Maryann winced. “Distract me,” she ordered. “Tell me again how you found out this woman we’re going to see has one of these special old birds.”
Rose smiled at Maryann’s description, and pointed ahead to where 104 forked to the right.
“Luck. I happened to see the small ad she placed in the Treasure Chest. That’s a small paper for collectors,” she explained. “She’s collected this series of birds for as long as Devora, but she also collects several other pricey items and decided to concentrate all her time—and money—in a different direction. Because this is such a specialized item, she figured she’d try selling the pieces herself before going the auction route and paying a big commission.”
“Makes sense,” Maryann observed.
“We decided that because it is a private sale and we don’t live too far apart, we would both feel more comfortable handling it face-to-face. This way I get to inspect the piece personally, and Dana gets cash.”
“And lots of it,” countered her friend, her expression becoming wistful. “Just think, with that much money you could buy those snakeskin boots I want, in every color.”
“Except, I don’t think Griff is the type to wear high-heel snakeskin boots in any color, and Ted will end up buying you every color, anyway.”
She didn’t deny it. “Are you still planning for this to be a surprise?”
“Yes. I made an outrageous killing on that chintz I just sold, and Griff is always buying me flowers and dinner and frozen burritos, and I just want to do something for him.”
“Hey, I understand completely. It’s that fluttery thing.”
“Probably,” Rose conceded.
“So if this pans out, there will be only one bird still out there?”
“That’s right. When I asked Dana if she had it, she gave this mysterious little laugh and said she didn’t, but promised to tell me an interesting story about it when she saw me. That’s another reason I was eager to meet her. I’m hoping to pick her brain for a clue where to look next. Everything I’ve tried lately has been a dead end.”
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