Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series)

by leclair, laurie

  “Love it.” Rico rushed to her and picked her up, swinging her around. “You did it, girl. You’re a professional designer.”

  When he finally put her down, she swiped away tears of happiness. “Do you really think so, Rico? Do you think this will let everyone know that I do deserve to work at King’s?”

  “Ah, honey,” he said, “you’re on your way. You’ll be a hit— you just watch and see.”

  Priscilla prayed he was right. But deep down, she longed for something else, too. She longed to please Griff and make this place a real home for him. Could she ever fill that cold, empty spot in his heart with love?

  ***

  Griffin worked tirelessly, putting in long hours and dodging intimate questions about Priscilla and his relationship. However, he could not quiet his thoughts. When would Priscilla find out he’d blocked her mother’s number from her phone? When would she begin to question him and his motives?

  He punched in the button for the elevator. It opened within seconds.

  “Hold up, Griff,” Charlie called to him from the glass executive doors. “Got a minute?”

  “Sure,” he said, turning around and going back in. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, there’s just something you should see.” She led him down the hallway to her corner office. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.” Once there, she waved him to her desk. “Have a seat and look.”

  He sat in the chair and immediately bumped his knee on the big, oak desk, jarring both him and the piece of furniture. “Damn,” he muttered.

  “Sorry, buddy,” she said. “I don’t know what Daddy had in mind when he got this, but it must have been small for him, too.”

  Griff stilled. “Your father bought this?”

  “Uh huh. One of the first things he could afford to get for his office here. It’s the only thing I begged to keep.”

  Inspecting the desk, the sturdy wood seemed bigger and bulky from the front. Now, behind it, he mentally measured the drawers: the top row small, the others deeper. Something just didn’t seem right about it.

  She nudged his arm. “Take a look at the computer screen.”

  Looking up, Griff gazed at his beautiful wife’s smiling face. Her picture in the upper corner of the page welcomed customers to her designing blog for King’s. He could barely take a breath.

  “Scroll down and see.”

  Griff did and, after reading her jaunty introduction, he chuckled. “She wrote this.”

  “Cute, isn’t it? Perfect tone.”

  “Just like she’s talking to you,” he murmured, impressed.

  “I had the webmaster load it earlier today. But, look at the comments. There’s dozens already. She’s a hit even before we reveal the first room in your house. They can’t wait to see what comes next.”

  “Or what she says next.”

  “She connected with them.”

  “She’s easy to fall in love with,” he said softly, feeling another stone or half a dozen break and fall away from his cold heart.

  ***

  Walking in the back door of his house, Griffin spotted Priscilla’s pink tote hanging from one of the bar stools. “She’s home,” he said, pleased to know she was there.

  The house was quiet as he made his way to the hallway. A large tarp hanging from the ceiling cut off his access. But it was the white sign with big black letters taped to it that made him chuckle. Off-limits.

  “Pixie,” he murmured, shaking his head at her use of his slogan.

  Griff backtracked and went up the back stairs, shrugging off his suit jacket, and then tugging off his tie and last, unbuttoning his shirt. The bedroom light was on, but the room was empty. On the way to his closet, he noticed the open door and light spilling from it. He slowed his steps as his heart thudded.

  She was there, sitting on the floor near an open drawer of the built-in drawers in the middle of the closet. Griff couldn’t breathe. In her hand, she held the cardboard box he’d stuffed there when he moved in months ago.

  A hundred thoughts tumbled through his mind. But he bit down on the rush of angry words when he saw her swipe tears from her cheek. “It’s long over,” he said, breaking the quiet.

  Startled, she jerked her head up. “Griff. I was unpacking my things. You said I could have the drawers on the other side. Some of your T-shirts were there, so I was just moving them here. I found this…”

  Coming into the closet, he tossed his jacket and tie on the counter and then lowered himself to the floor so he leaned against the drawers. He propped his left forearm on his raised left knee. Closer to her now, he gazed into her teary green eyes. Her empathy nearly choked him.

  “You never said anything.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  She opened up the case, pointing it toward him. “Really? A Purple Heart, Griff.” She put that one down and picked up the next medal and the next one. “These are a big deal.” She rustled through the box and pulled out some letters of recognition. “These are something to be proud of.”

  “We were a team. We got out alive. That’s what’s important.”

  “But not without the scars,” she said softly. Reaching out, she slipped her hand inside his open shirt and placed it over his wound. Her fingers trembled.

  Closing his eyes, he let her warmth seep into him. Memories flashed: the rounds of fire, shoving his men back, the bomb going off, ripping his skin apart. White-hot, searing pain. “Mine just show more than others.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “Is this when you became a McGruff?”

  He tried to smile at her nickname for him. “That solidified it. But the roots of it began years before.”

  Weeks in the hospital with nothing to think of but stopping the intense pain had Griff playing mind games, anything to shift the focus. He settled on the losses in his life, especially his father; that cut deeper and wider than all the others combined.

  His attention soon turned to his father’s downfall and the one person in this world who caused it: Agnes King. From that moment on, he vowed revenge.

  It had saved him from one living hell and threw him into another.

  Slowly, he opened his eyes and gazed into Priscilla’s, seeing the outpouring of love she offered. The last of the boulders surrounding his heart broke away, crashing into smithereens. A raw ache took its place.

  He knew deep down his time with her was limited. Griff also knew that once she discovered the truth about his recent and ongoing misdeeds against her family, that what he’d gone through already would never compare to the kind of hell he was about to face when she left him. No one he loved stayed.

  ***

  Shaking at the raw intensity rolling off him, Priscilla slowly stood, holding her hand out to him. He rose and took it. Facing him, she backed out of the closet and into the bedroom, drawing him with her to the bed. “I…want to make love to you. Can I?”

  His gray eyes, dark and churning with emotions, held her stare. Griff didn’t answer. However, he released her hand to cup her face between his palms. She wrapped her arms around him. His kiss, sweet and tender, stole her breath away.

  “I take that as a yes,” she murmured.

  Griff’s silence didn’t scare her. It made her understand how overwhelmed he must feel, how vulnerable.

  “I’ll protect you,” she promised, dropping a light kiss on his scar. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I trust you,” he whispered, “with my heart.”

  ***

  The next day, Priscilla still shook with the fierceness of his declaration. In his own way, Griffin had told her he loved her. She hugged the knowledge to her as she went through the housewares department of King’s, selecting accessories for his living room.

  Several of the employees spotted her, waved, or the few brave ones came up to her.

  “We heard. You and Griffin. My, what a shock,” the department manager, Ms. Shepard, said.

  To me, too, she thought. “Thank you. I’ll let him know you�
�re pleased for us.” She deliberately evaded the underlying questions obviously on the tip of her tongue. How? When? Where? What the heck? Griff was rubbing off on her. In a good way.

  A younger girl passed by, saying, “What a hottie.”

  “Yes, he is.” This she could openly acknowledge.

  “So, dear, do tell, how the King daughters all happened to snare a man in so short a time?” Ms. Shepard asked.

  Alarm bells rang in her head. Heat crawled up her neck. “Just lucky, I guess.” She was proud of herself for not giving a smart aleck answer, but the temptation stayed with her, burning deep. “Haven’t you ever heard of love at first sight?”

  The older woman’s face sagged as she blinked several times. “Is that what you told your mother? I can’t believe Mrs. King would buy that tall tale.”

  Priscilla gulped hard. She hadn’t spoken to her mother, hadn’t heard a peep from her since the announcement days ago. That troubled her. Not because she longed to talk to her, but because when her mother stayed silent that meant she was cooking up a scheme. When would the ax fall this time? Her middle sank. Pasting on a smile, she said, “To know Griff is to love him.” She pointed to a bright green vase. “Do you have this in any other color?”

  “Oh!” The woman jerked around to see. “Yes. We’re restocking now. It won’t be a moment.”

  “Thank you. I’ll let Griff know how helpful you and your staff have been in assisting me with the remodel.”

  Ms. Shepard placed a hand on Priscilla’s arm. “You know, dear, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just so sudden. You seem happy enough. Who am I to question it?” She flushed.

  Feeling sorry for her, Priscilla said, “I know you and the other employees have always looked out for my sisters and me. We appreciate all you’ve done for us.”

  The woman let out a pent-up breath. “Thank you. Griffin doesn’t have to know about our little talk, does he?”

  “Not at all.”

  “What don’t I need to know?” Griffin asked, walking up to them.

  “Oh, my,” Ms. Shepard exclaimed, now losing all her coloring. “Congratulations, sir. You’ve got yourself a sweetheart here. What a delight.” To Priscilla, she said, “I’ll go check on the vases, dear.” She scurried away, mumbling under her breath.

  “Griff,” Priscilla said in a soft, dreamy voice, staring into his gray eyes now filled with light. “I think you scare her.”

  “I seem to scare most people.”

  “Not me.”

  His smile came easily, taking her breath away. “No, not my Pixie.”

  Butterflies fluttered in her middle. “Are you flirting with me, McGruff?”

  “I don’t flirt.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Hungry?”

  “For you.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “Now tell me who’s flirting with who?” he muttered. “Lunch? I skipped dinner last night and barely had time for breakfast this morning.” His eyes burned with renewed desire.

  Her body hummed in response. “We could get takeout and go back to the house. You know, I still have some things I could finish for the reveal…”

  Griff checked his watch. “I only have an hour.”

  “That’s enough time.”

  “Not for me.”

  She moaned, swaying toward him.

  Putting his arms around her, he promised, “Later, we’ll have all night. Now, we need food and to move; we’re attracting attention.”

  Priscilla glanced around, suddenly aware of several employees staring, and then looking away when she caught them. Warmth stole into her cheeks.

  Facing Griff, she said, “That’s called a rain check, isn’t it?”

  He chuckled. “Come on, Pixie. I’m starving.”

  She slipped her hand in his, shivering at the feel of his warm skin and knowing how good his hands felt on her when he caressed her all through the night. Walking beside him through the store, she beamed at his large, comforting presence.

  Being with him made it seem like nothing could go wrong.

  Chapter 18

  Nearly an hour later, Griff paid the bill and left a hefty tip at Marcus and his partner’s pub and grill. The busy, lively revamped place had caught on with the lunch crowd. Marcus had barely enough time to say hello, and then rush off to give the new cook their order.

  “I’m stuffed,” she groaned, trying to move. “Grilled meatloaf sandwich is now on my all-time favorite list.”

  “Along with how many others?” Griff asked with a smile in his voice.

  “I’ll let you know when Bruno and I work our way through the new menu.” She giggled, heading out the door in front of him as he held it open.

  A still running car in the street blocked the Vette at the curb.

  Priscilla stopped in her tracks at the sight of the black limo. Her mother, holding her small white dog, exited, and then strode toward them. Her steely gaze trapped Priscilla, keeping her rooted to the spot.

  Griffin stilled; his whole body stiffened. She could sense it. He must have become aware of standing in the way of the other departing customers; he gently guided her a few steps away. He kept his arm around her, holding her as she began to tremble.

  “Mrs. King,” he said when she drew near. The dog strained toward Griff. “I’m sure you don’t want a scene.”

  “You’re a fraud,” she nearly spat out, holding the dog back. “I will prove to the world you are nothing.”

  His fingers tightened on Priscilla’s waist. She jumped in, saying, “Mother, did you follow us? Did you just come here to say that? You don’t know Griff.”

  “You don’t need to defend me,” Griffin said mildly, but the muscles in his arm wrapped around her tightened even more. Actions spoke louder than words.

  “You,” her mother said, looking her up and down, “are such a disappointment. You know nothing of who he is. You let him into this family. You exposed us to this riff-raff.”

  “He’s my family.” Her words rang with conviction.

  “Did you know he came to me, wanted to bargain?” Her smile stretched wide and she raised an eyebrow at Griffin.

  “I don’t believe you,” Priscilla said. “Griff would never do that. He’s not like that. He’s not like you.”

  Her mother’s face fell. Turning to Griffin, she said, “You will rue the day you crossed me. Mark my words.” To Priscilla, she said, “When all this falls apart, you will come crawling back to me.”

  Her middle churned as she watched her mother march away. Her sister, Francie, had been right. If their mother couldn’t control something, she’d end up trying to destroy it. Priscilla realized this was only the beginning.

  ***

  Griffin led a pale, shaking Priscilla into his office. “Peg, can you bring some hot tea?”

  “Sure thing, Boss.” His assistant shot Priscilla a look, and then she scurried to the nearby cabinet in her office.

  “I can’t believe she’d attack you like that,” Priscilla murmured again, leaning on him as she walked to the couch and then dropped down on it.

  Mrs. King purposely followed them, he realized, setting him up in front of Priscilla. Of all the lines of attacks she could have taken, this wasn’t the one he thought she’d choose. His mind worked on two levels: First his overall concern for Priscilla and her reaction. The other ran through several scenarios of Agnes King’s next move.

  In the scheme of things, this was not her style. She liked the spotlight. She liked to play the victim. But she’d opted for this, essentially a one-on-one confrontation. Now, Griff deduced she’d done it to gauge her control over her daughter. Did her word hold any merit?

  Her fishing expedition accomplished nothing more than hurting his wife.

  “Griff, why does she have to be like that?” She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with pain and confusion.

  His heart ached for her. Guilt stabbed at him. He’d done this; he’d drawn the first blood and this was the counterattac
k. “I’m sorry,” he said, apologizing for more than just her mother.

  He’d told Priscilla he’d protect her. He failed.

  “I wish I could make this all go away. Turn back the clock.” Turn it back on so many things. “I can’t.” Genuine sorrow shot through him.

  Sitting beside her, he took her cold hands in his. “I’ve never seen her so…so hateful before.” She shrugged. “Is it the liquor? I could smell it on her breath.”

  “She’s—” He stopped himself from saying something vindictive. “She lost control,” he amended. “Everything is spinning away from her grasp. Sometimes that makes people do things you wouldn’t normally expect.” He knew desperation when he saw it. Agnes King would go to any lengths now.

  “Holy moly, this is hot,” Peg said, carrying a tray in and placing it on his desk. “You okay, Prissy? You need anything?”

  He debated whether or not he should tell her. The more people he got to surround Priscilla, the better. “Mrs. King confronted us.”

  “The Barracuda? She can ruin anyone’s day.” She plopped down on a chair in a huff and folded her arms across her chest. “What did she have to say, anyway? As if what she says matters.”

  Inside, he smiled at his assistant. “From what I could gather, she doesn’t like me very much.”

  “Or me,” Priscilla chimed in. “Not when I make decisions she doesn’t like.” She sighed, her shivering subsiding. “I remember her telling me whenever she scolded me for doing something she didn’t like, time and time again she’d say I wasn’t living up to the King name. That always worked on me.” Her voice trailed off. She swallowed hard.

  Peg cursed. “For criminy’s sake…”

  Griff gazed at Priscilla’s profile, her downcast face. His heart squeezed. That’s where it stemmed from, her quest to make a name for herself, to put her own mark on the store. She longed to earn the right and prove she deserved the beloved King name, claiming her place in the family. “She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know you have the heart of a King.”