by Beth Andrews
Damn, but she was something, the way she went right for the jugular. There was no bullshit with Nora, no subterfuge. He could almost admire her for it. Almost.
But laying yourself bare that way only made it that much easier for others to take advantage of you. The sooner she learned that, the better off she’d be, he assured himself.
He leaned in even more, not stopping until there was only a breadth of space between them. Still she didn’t shove at him, didn’t freeze…just kept her eyes steady on his.
And he wondered if he wasn’t making a mistake in pushing at her. If somehow, he’d be the one to end up learning a lesson.
He couldn’t stop, though. Not with her scent muddling his thoughts, the warmth of her body beckoning him. He skated his gaze over her face and let it linger on her mouth for one long moment. “Come on, now. I promise to be gentle,” he said, repeating her words in a rough purr.
She smiled, her face lighting up with its warmth.
His stomach tumbled to his shoes. His willpower waned. Want, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, the kind that brought a man to his knees, that left him open and vulnerable, slapped him.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said, sounding very much like they were a courtroom and he was on the stand. “I’m supposed to believe that you want to sleep with me.”
He felt edgy and wound up. Exposed, as if she could see right through him. He hated it.
Easing back, he sent her a hooded look. “What’s so hard to believe? You’re here—”
“Wow,” she said dryly, “I’m surprised you ever have sex.”
“You were all over me a few minutes ago.”
“Yes, I can see how my cleaning your cuts could be misconstrued as a come-on.”
“Look, if you’re not interested, fine,” he said, backing up until he was at the sink again. “Just thought I’d put it out there.” Shrugging, he picked up the tube of ointment, turned it in his hands. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
She laughed tiredly. “No, I certainly can’t. But I can—and do—blame you for that lame attempt at scaring me off when you should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you?” he asked, deciding the best thing would be to skip right over the first part of what she’d said. “No one asked you to play Nurse Nancy.”
“I’m not talking about that…or at least…not only that. I’m talking about how I got you out of spending the night in a cold, dark jail cell.”
“They have this new thing at the jail. Electricity. Oh, and central heating. Besides, from what I heard, Layne was the one who found a judge willing to hold my arraignment tonight.”
“Layne spoke with the judge after I asked Uncle Ken to pull a few strings for me.” She pushed away from the wall, walked toward him slowly. “I stuck my neck out for you, went against my own family for you and you’ve been nothing but miserable.”
Because that was exactly what he hadn’t wanted. Her going to bat for him, asking favors for him. “What can I say? I get a little grumpy after I get the shit kicked out of me.”
“No, that’s not it,” she said, her expression thoughtful. “We both know you gave as good as you got with your father. Just as we know why you threw that first punch. You did it,” she continued in that unflappable tone he found both annoying and appealing, “for me.”
He tossed the ointment onto the counter with enough force that it slid across the slick surface and landed on the floor. “You thinking I’m some sort of hero?” he asked flatly. “For all you know I was itching for a fight, just waiting for the day when I could get back at my old man and got lucky enough to get the opportunity tonight.”
After all, that was what Dale would’ve done. Waited for his chance at revenge. Griffin looked just like his father, why should anyone think he didn’t take after him in every way?
“No, that’s not what happened.” She sounded so certain…as if there was no doubt in her mind she was right. “You were protecting me. And I can’t help but wonder if that’s what you were doing back at the jail, too.”
“Maybe I just didn’t want you around.”
“Or maybe,” she said quietly as she crossed to him, “you were worried I’d run into your father again.”
“Damn it,” he snarled, his stomach tied in knots as he remembered how he’d felt when she’d stood up to Dale over him at the bar. How his father had looked at her. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near him. Nothing about him should ever touch you.”
“Nothing? Not even you?”
He stilled. “What?”
“You’ve never touched me. Not even when you were doing your best to convince me you wanted to swoop me up and into your bed.”
“You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since you walked into my garage, you know that?” He sent her his best go-to-hell look. She just grinned, a sly grin that put him on edge. “I’m going to bed. If you’re not going to join me, I’ll walk you out.”
Without waiting to see if she was following him, he went into the kitchen. He didn’t turn on any lights, but he heard her approaching, the sound of her heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor. He opened the door, gripping the doorknob with enough force to rip the damn thing off. He wanted her gone, needed her out of his house. She was pushy and stubborn and too damned perceptive.
When she reached him, she stopped and laid the flat of her hand lightly on his chest. He kept his eyes straight, gazing into the shadows of his kitchen over her head. His heart raced under her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she rose onto her toes, “but I really feel like this is something I have to do.”
He whipped his head down to look at her, unable to see more than the flash of her eyes, feel her moving ever closer to him. He shook his head once, a quick, decisive no. A warning. A plea.
She ignored them all. “Brace yourself,” she said, her breath washing over him, “this might hurt.”
And she brushed her lips against the uninjured side of his mouth.
He froze, unsure of his next move, his next breath. She kissed him again, her mouth clinging to his this time, her lips soft and warm and not at all hesitant. It did hurt, but some things were worth the pain. And having Nora’s lips moving slowly, gently over his was one thing he’d gladly suffer any torment for.
Her kiss was sweet and he got lost in her, in her scent, the heat of her hand, the feel of her body against his. The tip of her tongue touched the corner of his mouth. He jerked back, his breathing uneven, his thoughts muddled.
She lowered back to her heels, her eyes steady on his as if it was every day she rocked some poor sap’s world. “Good night, Griffin.”
And she walked out the door leaving him alone in his dark house fighting the urge to call her back.
* * *
“DUDE,” TANNER BREATHED the next day when he arrived at the garage, “what happened to your face?”
“I ran into something,” Griffin said.
Yeah, something like Dale’s fists. Over and over again.
“Mom is going to freak.”
Griffin would’ve pinched the bridge of his nose except his hands and face—hell, his entire body—hurt. Not enough to give him a good enough excuse to duck out on working on Tanner’s car today. Just enough to remind him, with every move, every breath, that he’d been in a brutal, knock-down, drag-’em-out barroom brawl less than twelve hours ago.
Thank God for extra strength pain meds. The four he’d taken with his coffee an hour ago were finally kicking in.
“By the time she sees me,” he said, “the worst of it will be healed.” All he had to do was avoid her the next week. Maybe two.
Too bad word about the fight was probably already spreading throughout town. No doubt she’d find out and contact him by the end of the day.
“Uh…
did I tell you Mom and Dad are going to stop by after church today?” Tanner asked as the sound of two car doors slamming reached them.
Griffin glanced outside…saw his mother and stepfather walking toward him in their Sunday best.
Shit.
He whirled around, pretended to be busy searching the shelves along the back wall for the box of parts that had come in Thursday.
“That’s your car?” Carol Johnston asked incredulously as she and her husband came into the garage. “Roger, do you see what your son bought?”
“I see it,” Roger said in his slow, laconic way.
“It needs a little work.” This from Tanner.
“A little?” Carol asked and Griffin could easily imagine the raised-eyebrow look she was sending her younger son. “It’s in pieces.”
“It won’t be,” Tanner said and Griffin heard the shrug in his voice. Not much flustered the kid, that was for sure.
Carol sighed. “Griffin, are you sure you’re going to be able to rebuild this…thing? I don’t want your brother putting in good money after bad.”
Feeling like a damned coward, he faced her, didn’t feel ashamed in the least at the relief he felt that she was staring at the car instead of him. “I’m sure.”
“Satisfied?” Roger asked as he bent and checked under the car’s frame, heedless of his dress slacks and tie.
She smiled at Tanner. “It still seems like a risky investment. But if Griffin says—” She gave a soft, horrified gasp when she saw him. “You’re hurt,” she cried, hurrying toward him, her long, brown skirt swishing around her legs, her sensible pumps clicking loudly on the floor. “Oh, my God, oh, honey, look at you.”
He knew it was bad, worse than last night. His eye was completely black and swollen shut, his mouth puffy and sore. Bruises, cuts and abrasions marked his face. He looked like he’d fallen face-first off a three-story building.
As she fluttered around him, gently brushing his hair back, tears in her eyes, guilt settled in his stomach, mixed with anger and resentment to churn there. Damn it, he didn’t want or need her coddling him, didn’t want her sympathy. It reminded him too much of the past, of how she used to have to clean him up, her hands unsteady, tears streaming down her face. She hadn’t protected him.
Worse, it reminded him of the times, too many times, when their roles had been reversed, when she’d been the one bruised and beaten. He’d only been a kid but he’d had to take care of her. Had tried to protect her.
And he’d hated her for it. Hated her for not protecting herself, for not doing enough to get them out of their situation. Hated himself for being so angry with her still, for not being able to forgive her.
He caught her wrists, gently lowered her hands away from him and stepped back. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” she insisted, her lower lip trembling, her hands fluttering in the space between them as if she was unsure of what to do with them. “What happened?”
“I fell,” he said quietly. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”
She blanched, her hands dropping uselessly to her sides. He rolled his shoulders back but the tension tightening his muscles remained. Regret turned in his gut, had a lump forming in his throat.
He wanted to apologize, to take it back but he couldn’t. Not when she’d conditioned him to tell his teachers and the social workers that was what had happened whenever he had a new bruise. He fell. He ran into the door. He wrecked his bicycle.
All to protect that son of a bitch she’d married.
Roger came up behind Carol and laid his hands on her shoulders. When he looked at Griffin, there was no censure in his eyes, only sympathy. Understanding.
Griffin averted his gaze.
“Are you all right?” Roger asked.
“I’ll live.” He flicked his mother a glance. “I’ve had worse.”
Worse like the night his father had come to the tiny apartment he and his mother had moved into after she’d finally left Dale. He’d tried to stand up for her that night, had tried to protect her and had ended up being beaten unconscious.
But before he’d slipped into oblivion, he’d heard his mother cry, heard her begging Dale to stop. Promising him anything, everything, to leave Griffin alone. She’d been helpless.
His mother stared at the floor, looking older than she had when she’d first arrived. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said, shoving his sore hands into the front pockets of his jeans, “me, too.”
It was the best he could do.
“Are you in trouble?” Roger asked. “Because of the fight,” he clarified when Griffin looked at him quizzically.
Griffin narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say I got into a fight.”
“Word travels,” Roger said, dropping his hands from Carol’s shoulders and stepping up to stand next to her. “Adam Zurich came up to me after church, told me he was at the Yacht Pub last night and that you’d gotten yourself into a little scuffle. One that required the police to break it up.”
“The police?” Carol asked, her eyes widening. “What happened?”
Tanner joined his parents, stood on his mother’s other side. She slid her arm around his narrow waist. They were a good-looking family, despite Roger’s shiny bald spot and his mother’s extra twenty pounds. Roger was tall, tanned from working on the docks and usually smiling.
Completely different from her first husband. Then again, she didn’t look much like the woman who’d been married to Dale York. After the divorce, she’d cut her long, brown hair pixie short and never grew it past chin length again. She had laugh lines around her eyes, creases around her mouth from years of smoking.
Tanner was the perfect blending of his parents. His father’s build and hair color, his mother’s eyes and nose. It was clear they belonged together. Belonged to each other. They were a unit. A family. One Griffin had never felt a part of, despite their best efforts to include him.
He’d never cared before, but now he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d missed out on something.
Carol stared at him in concern, Tanner in curiosity. Another reason to keep his distance from any sort of relationship. No one to answer to.
“The cops just wanted to talk to me,” he lied, leaving out the parts concerning handcuffs, his ride in the back of the squad car and the locked cell.
Leaving out the part about who he’d fought.
Roger studied him as if seeing past all his bullshit. “Adam also mentioned the name of the man you got into the fight with.”
“Adam was just full of information,” Griffin grumbled. He jerked his head at his mother. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
“I thought you’d want to.”
This visit suddenly made sense. His stepfather had known what went down last night and wanted to give Griffin the opportunity to come clean to his mother. To tell her before she heard it through Mystic Point’s grapevine.
He was giving him the chance to do the right thing.
Roger really was one of the good guys. Quiet. Hardworking. Honest and honorable and he’d been more than fair to the rebellious teen he’d gotten saddled with when he married Carol.
He was everything Griffin’s own father wasn’t.
“Griffin,” Carol asked, “who were you fighting with?”
He shifted. His mother didn’t often use that reproachful tone with him. But when she did, it made him feel about ten years old.
“Dale.”
She inhaled sharply. “Dale attacked you?”
“Not this time. This time I beat him to the punch. Literally.”
“This is nothing to joke about,” she snapped. “My God, you know what he’s like. He could’ve killed you.”
Yes, he knew very well what his old man was like. “I handled it.”
“Why would you antagonize him that way?” she continued worriedly as if he hadn’t spoken. “If you ran into him at that bar you should’ve ignored him. Walked away.” Her eyes welled. “Why didn’t you just walk away?”
“Why didn’t you?” he asked softly. Why had it taken her so long to leave Dale?
Her mouth wobbled but she firmed it.
Roger stepped forward, laid his hand on Carol’s lower back. “Adam also said two of the Sullivan girls were there and were involved.”
“You got into a fight with your father over a woman?” Carol asked, her voice rising.
“It wasn’t like that. Dale got grabby with Nora Sullivan so I stepped in.”
That seemed to calm her though she looked less than completely pacified. “Which one is Nora?”
“The youngest.”
She glanced at Tanner, who’d gotten bored with the conversation and was kneeling by the car, then took a hold of Griffin’s arm and tugged him toward the door. “Are you and this…Sullivan woman…close?”
“No.”
But they had been last night. They’d been real close when she’d kissed him. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since.
He wanted to call her. Had even picked his phone up before realizing he didn’t know her number. And that was when he’d started thinking about what could happen if he stopped by her house, found himself thinking of excuses that wouldn’t make him look like a complete idiot.
Except everything he thought of only proved he was an idiot.
“I barely know her,” he told his mother.
“Just…promise me you’ll do your best to stay away from Dale.”
“I’m not going to hide from him.” This was his town and he’d be damned if he’d let his old man take that away from him.
She twisted her simple gold wedding band. “I’m not asking you to. Hopefully he’ll get whatever he came back for and leave before too long.”
“Or maybe the cops will find enough evidence to arrest him for Valerie Sullivan’s murder.”
She smiled sadly. “From what I understand, that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen. But we can always keep praying it does.”