by Beth Andrews
It was up to him.
* * *
NORA HELD HER breath, her eyes locked on Griffin’s. She counted the heartbeats echoing in her ears. One…two… At three he leaned in, laid his hands on either side of her hips, capturing her without touching her. She could’ve cried to have him so close and still not have him. Not fully.
Four…five…six… He ducked his head and hesitated, his mouth a hairbreadth from hers. Anticipation built. Made her dizzy. Or maybe that was because she’d yet to exhale. Either way, she’d slide to a puddle at his feet if he didn’t kiss her and soon.
As if sensing her impatience, her greed for him, he smiled; a quick flash of that sexy, potent grin he was so stingy with. Her stomach tumbled happily.
He brushed his mouth against hers. The light rasp of his whiskers tickled her upper lip, her chin. His lips were warm, soft, as he settled into the kiss, deepened it until her thoughts grew hazy, her body lax. She skimmed her hands up his sides—careful of his injured ribs—across his chest to his shoulders. Linked her arms around his neck, arching into him, pressing against the hard planes of his body.
He growled, deep in the back of his throat, and swept his tongue into her mouth, his hands clamping on her hips, his fingers digging into the curve of her butt. She twined her fingers into his hair—
Someone rapped twice on the door. “Anyone here interested in going out—”
With a squeak, she broke the kiss and shoved at Griffin’s chest.
He didn’t move.
Stubborn man.
Mortified, frantic, she peeked around Griffin’s broad shoulder and flinched to see her father standing in the doorway looking as if someone had just kicked him in the stomach.
She swallowed and shoved at Griffin until he gave her enough room to slip out from between him and the desk.
“Daddy.” Dear, sweet God, she was regressing. She hadn’t called her father Daddy since she was a preteen. “Dad. This isn’t—”
“You’re not going to try to tell me this isn’t what it looks like?” Tim asked in his low, familiar voice. “Are you, Nora Ann?”
First and middle name? That wasn’t good. “No. This was exactly what it looked like. I was going to say this isn’t Thursday.” The day he and Celeste were due back from their trip to Maine.
“Astor called, asked if we could cut our trip short,” he said, still staring at Griffin as if seeing a ghost.
“Oh. That’s…” Inconvenient. Awkward. “Nice,” she finished lamely. “Anyway, uh…hi.” She hurried over and kissed his cheek. He held himself stiffly, his hand still on the door handle. “Hi.”
“You already said that,” Griffin pointed out as he slouched against her desk.
“What are you,” she asked, her teeth grit in the facsimile of a smile, “the repetitive word police?” She linked her arm through her dad’s and tugged him forward. “Should I even bother with introductions or—”
“No,” Tim said, still not looking at her. “If you don’t mind,” he told Griffin, “I’d like to speak with my daughter. Alone.”
Straightening, Griffin smirked, looking every inch what his reputation said he was. Trouble. “Sure.” He swiped up his checkbook and met her eyes for a moment. “We were done anyway.”
He walked out. She had no idea what he meant by that last comment, was getting tired of trying to figure him out. Tired of putting her whole self out there only to get bits and pieces of him in return.
“Is everything all right?” she blurted, hoping to head off what promised to be an uncomfortable conversation. “You said Aunt Astor called you. Is something wrong?”
“She’s worried about Ken. Says he’s been acting strange lately and she was hoping I could get to the bottom of whatever’s bothering him before Erin’s engagement party.”
“I’d noticed Uncle Ken seemed a bit irritable lately. I figured he was working on a tough case. Did you speak with him yet?”
“I just came from his office. He’s having a tough time with Erin’s engagement. He’s torn between being happy his daughter picked such a good guy, and wanting to lock her in a closet for the next fifty or so years.” He nodded slowly. “I’m starting to think the closet theory has its merits.”
She winced. Crap.
Tim shut the door. “What’s going on between you and that York boy?” he asked quietly, his eyes—blue like hers—serious. A worn Red Sox cap covered his graying blond hair; his handsome face was lined by a life spent on the sea.
She sighed. “I wish I knew.”
“When I heard you’d had him fix your car—”
“Wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “You heard about that?”
He lifted his shoulders in a laconic shrug. “You have two sisters, an aunt and uncle who love you like their own and a town full of busybodies. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about it?”
“What I think is that I should consider moving back to Boston.”
“You don’t mean that.”
No, she didn’t. Mystic Point was home. For good or bad. “So, how mad are you?” she asked, dreading the answer.
He studied her and she could almost see his mind working. She wished she’d inherited some of his patience and ability to weigh all the options, weigh his words instead of just spitting out whatever came into her head.
“I’m not angry,” he finally said. “More like…shocked. Walking in here, seeing you with him…” He rubbed a hand over his face looking weary. Stricken. “He looks just like Dale.”
“He’s not his father,” she said, wiping her damp palms down the front of her slacks. Then, because it had to be said, she added gently, “And I’m not Mom.”
“No, you’re not.” He took his hat off, hit it against his jean-covered thigh. “God, but I loved her. So much.” He ran his hand through his hair. It trembled. “I loved her too much.”
“No,” Nora said, appalled. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “No. You loved her in the only way you knew how. Wholly. You gave her your heart. She was the one who made the mistake of not cherishing it.”
Valerie was the one who’d chosen Dale over her family. Nora would never understand it.
“Before we found out the truth,” she continued, “before we discovered what really happened to Mom, why she never came back or contacted us…did you forgive her?”
“I did,” he said so simply, she had no choice but to believe him. “I had to. It was partly my fault she left.”
“Dad, you can’t blame yourself.”
“I take my share of the responsibility for the failure of my marriage. I did everything in my power to make her happy—and it took me years to realize this—but it was never enough. It never would’ve been enough. Your mother loved us the best she could but sometimes…” He put his hat back on, his eyes so sad, it broke her heart. “Sometimes, love isn’t enough.”
* * *
AT SEVEN, GRIFFIN sat on his couch drinking a beer, flipping through the channels on his TV. He should be at the garage. He had enough to do that he could go back there, work until he was exhausted. He’d come home an hour ago, planning on grabbing something to eat and then going back.
He bit into his ham and cheese sandwich, his shoulder muscles tight, his stomach in knots. Checked the time. Wondered what Nora and that prick attorney, with his expensive suit and conservative haircut, were doing right now. If she was smiling at him. Sharing one of her bright laughs with him.
Griffin threw the remote onto the coffee table. It slid across the glossy surface and landed on the floor. The back came off and the batteries flew out.
They’d probably gone someplace fancy and expensive. One of the restaurants on the water, he thought with a sneer, where they served tiny portions of food with names he couldn’t even pronounce, let alone afford.
He slammed hi
s head against the back of the couch. Stared at the ceiling. Son of a bitch.
Someone knocked on the door. He rolled his head to the side, considered ignoring whoever it was but they knocked again. His sandwich still in his hand, he stormed to the door and yanked it open.
“What?” he growled.
Tanner blinked. “Uh…hey, Griffin. This is Jessica Taylor,” he said, gesturing to the girl standing beside him on the porch. “Jess, this is my brother, Griffin.”
Griffin nodded. She skimmed her gaze over his bruised face and then gave him a cross between a smile and a sneer, her pale hair giving her a ghostly appearance.
“You need something?” Griffin asked Tanner. The kid didn’t usually come to Griffin’s unless he was with their mom who had a bad habit of showing up unannounced. Griffin didn’t want that habit to be passed down to her younger son.
Tanner cleared his throat then glanced at Jess. “Could you give us a second?”
She shrugged, took her phone out and started texting. Maybe she was mute. Christ knew when Griffin had been a teen he hadn’t dated girls for their conversational skills.
Tanner stepped forward, forcing Griffin back into the house.
“I need a favor,” the kid said in a low rush.
Griffin bit into his sandwich. “I’m not buying you any alcohol.”
Tanner rolled his eyes. “Not that.”
“I’m not giving you any condoms, either. If you’re old enough to have sex, you should be old enough to buy your own protection.”
The kid’s face turned red and he glanced behind him but Jessica didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. “Not that, either,” Tanner said in his slow way. “Jess and I made plans tonight but her uncle and his girlfriend both got called in to work.”
“So?”
“So we can’t watch the movie we rented at her place if no one else is there. And we can’t watch it at my house because Mom and Dad are at a church meeting.”
Griffin tossed the last bite of his dinner into his mouth. “Then do something else.”
“There is nothing else. The movies playing at the theater downtown are lame and she wants to see this—” He held up a DVD from a local video rental place. “We need adult supervision.”
“So why tell me?” And then it dawned on him. He about choked. “No.”
Tanner just studied him in that nerve-wracking way he had that made him seem older than his years. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not a babysitter.”
“You don’t have to babysit us, you don’t even have to talk to us—in fact, I’d rather you didn’t. Just let us watch the movie here, we’ll order pizza, we’ll stay out of your hair. I promise.”
“I’m not even going to be here,” he said, already itching to get out of this uncomfortable conversation and back to his garage where no one would bother him. Where he could pretend he didn’t care what Nora and the walking Ken doll were doing.
Damn that suit-wearing bastard. Griffin supposed it was too much to hope he wasn’t anatomically correct.
“Please,” Tanner said in a desperate tone Griffin had never heard from the kid before. “I’ll owe you. I’ll sweep the garage every day. I’ll wash all the cars. I’ll wash the tow truck. I’ll—”
“Enough,” Griffin said. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Have some pride, man.” The kid’s face fell and Griffin felt like an ass. “You’re willing to sacrifice yourself like that just to hang out with this girl one night?”
“Yes,” Tanner said with such conviction, Griffin almost smiled. The kid had it bad for the little blonde, that was for sure.
He’d say he couldn’t relate but he was afraid that would be nothing but one of those lies he claimed not to tell.
“You can hang out here,” he said, not bothering to soften his grudging tone, “but don’t bug me and don’t expect this to become a regular thing. It’s a one-time offer. The last thing I want is my place open to teenagers.”
Tanner grinned. “Thanks, Griffin. Really. I owe you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Come on in, Jess,” Tanner called.
“I have to call my uncle,” she said, proving she did speak. She looked from Griffin to Tanner then at the living room. “Let him know where we’re at.”
“Sure,” Tanner said, leading her inside as if he owned the damn place. “I’ll get the movie set up.”
And I’ll just try to pretend I’m invisible, Griffin thought. In my own damn house.
He grabbed his empty bottle from the coffee table and went into the kitchen, opened the fridge for another beer but then thought about how that would look to two impressionable teens. Grinding his back teeth together, he set the beer back and picked up a soda instead.
Opening it, he glanced at the paperwork he’d brought home and set on the table earlier. Invoices and bills and orders he needed to make. At least he’d keep busy while two teenagers took over his house. And his TV.
“My uncle wants to talk to you,” the girl, Jess, said, coming into the room. Without the sneer, she was cute with her pale hair and big blue eyes. “He wants to make sure it’s really okay with you that we’re here.”
Griffin pinched the bridge of his nose. Seriously? He held out his hand and Jess gave him the phone. “Yeah?” he said.
“Mr. York. This is Chief Ross Taylor.”
Covering the mouthpiece with his hand, Griffin tipped his head back and exhaled heavily through his teeth. Damn it. He’d known the name Taylor sounded familiar. “Your uncle is the police chief?” he asked her as Tanner joined them.
She nodded.
“Didn’t I tell you that?” Tanner asked.
“No,” Griffin snapped. “You didn’t.”
“Hello? York?” Taylor called through the phone.
Griffin jabbed a finger at Tanner. “You. Owe. Me. Big.” He shut his eyes briefly then put the phone back to his ear. “Chief,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“You can make sure my niece isn’t alone with your brother for any length of time over three minutes.”
“Seems to me, quite a bit can be done in three minutes.”
He could almost see the hard expression on the chief’s face. He grinned.
“This is a bad idea,” uptight Chief Taylor said.
“Probably,” Griffin agreed, jerking his head toward the living room. Waited until both kids had taken his point and left the kitchen. “But let’s let them do it anyway. They’re here. I’m here. They’ll watch a movie, maybe order some pizza and then you can pick her up. My brother is a good kid. You’ve met his parents…you’ve seen where he comes from. He’s not going to try to take advantage of your niece.”
“Fine,” Taylor said, sounding as surprised as Griffin felt. “Let me talk to Jess again.”
Griffin walked back into the living room and handed the girl the phone.
“Everything good?” Tanner asked, looking worried.
Good? He couldn’t get his mind off a certain Sullivan and now he was stuck spending the next few hours with two teenagers.
“For you? Maybe. For me…not so much. But you can help make it up to me by ordering extra mushrooms and sausage on the pizza and being the hell out of here by eleven.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“DO YOU want something to drink?” Tanner asked Jess.
“I’ve got one,” she said, lifting the can of soda he’d given her not twenty minutes ago.
“Oh. Right.”
His face was hot. His stomach tight with nerves. It’d been easier when the movie had been playing. He hadn’t had to worry about saying the wrong thing, about keeping her interest. Staring blindly at the credits rolling down the TV screen, he racked his brain, trying to come up with some witty comment. Some way to cha
rm her into falling for him.
But he sucked at witty. Didn’t know the first thing about being charming.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her lift her right hand, brush her bangs to the side. Tonight her nails were painted a deep purple and she wore a scrolled, silver ring on her middle finger. He slid his left hand from his thigh onto the couch. Thought about oh-so-casually reaching over to touch that ring, maybe ask her where she got it. Tell her it was pretty. Then all he’d have to do is turn his hand over, link his fingers through hers.
He moved his hand back to his thigh. Rubbed his damp palm down the front of his shorts.
“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” he blurted.
“In a hurry to get rid of me?” she asked, but he had no clue if she was teasing or not. She wasn’t like the other girls, all giggly and playful.
Leaning forward, he grabbed the remote from the table and clicked off the TV. When he sat back, he inched closer to her. “No. I just don’t want you to be bored,” he admitted, then mentally kicked his own ass. What kind of dork admits something like that?
She sent him one of those sidelong glances from under her lashes that girls excelled at. He wondered if they were taught it at birth. “If I get bored,” she said, “I’ll let you know.”
No doubt about that. She didn’t seem to have a problem expressing her opinion. “So do you want to watch TV or…”
His mind blanked. Or what? He had no idea. He wanted, badly, to inch over even more, to touch her hair. Those pale strands were such a unique color, he wanted to see if they were as soft as he imagined. And every once in a while when she moved, he’d catch of a whiff of her scent, something soft that reminded him of flowers and spice. Something different from the overpowering perfumes and hair spray the other girls he’d gone out with seemed to bathe in.
She leaned forward, set her can down, the movement causing her shirt to rise, exposing her lower back, the curve of her spine. “Do you have any cards?”
He jerked his gaze to hers. “Cards?”
“Yeah, you know, playing cards?”