by Beth Andrews
“Because I’m not interested in being a part of this dog and pony show you’ve got going on,” he said.
Her smile strained, her movements jerky, she waved at an elderly woman who passed by them. “Excuse me?” she said through barely moving lips.
“No need to act all offended and pissed,” he said mildly, finishing his beer. “We both know why you invited me here.”
“Oh, believe me,” she said way too sweetly for him to believe she meant it, “I’m not acting.”
“You wanted me here to shock your family.”
“Are we in some sort of teenage romantic comedy and no one told me?” she asked.
“You’re the one who started this game. Don’t blame me if things don’t turn out the way you planned.”
She stared at him as if contemplating how much effort it would take for her to break his neck and drag his lifeless body out back to the Dumpster. “Okay,” she said softly as if talking to herself. “Okay, that’s it. Come on.”
“I told you, I don’t want to dance.”
When she looked at him, her eyes flashed but it was the hurt beneath that had him following her through the restaurant. To his surprise they didn’t head toward the dance floor but wove their way toward the front of the building. He followed her, his eyes on her back, which was ramrod straight, her legs as they scissored quickly in those high heels, the way she held her head stiffly.
She flung open the door in a gesture he found both overly dramatic and endearing as hell. “Goodbye.”
He stepped up close to her, making sure to keep on the inside of the building. “You kicking me out, angel?”
She tossed her head back, looking very much like Tori for a moment. “Damn right.”
“What’s the matter? Can’t handle the truth?”
She glanced behind them then grabbed his hand and all but dragged him outside, around the front of the building to the side where the door to the kitchen had been left open. The sounds filled the night, competed with the ocean waves crashing onto shore.
“You want some truths?” she asked harshly, the moon glinting off her hair. “Here are a few. I didn’t invite you to shock my family. If I’d wanted to do that, I would’ve shaved my head and joined an all vegan cult.”
He shrugged, but couldn’t shake the feeling he’d somehow made a misstep. Guess he’d just keep walking and see where he ended up. “Maybe you were trying to prove a point?”
“What point? That I’m an idiot who has terrible taste in the men I date?”
His breath hitched. “We’re not dating.”
“Not anymore,” she muttered.
“Not ever.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is about? You don’t want anyone to know you’re with me?”
She made it sound stupid. It wasn’t. It was for her own good. “I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about us.”
“And yet you agreed to come to this party tonight. You took me for a ride on your motorcycle. We had dinner together where any number of people saw us.”
“I shouldn’t have come here,” he said. “I don’t belong in a place like this with those people.” With you. “I should be down at the Yacht Pub having a couple of beers not—” he waved his hand feeling inadequate and stupid “—hanging out in some club with a bunch of obnoxious lawyers and teachers and doctors.”
She tucked her silky hair behind her ear, but he noticed her hand was unsteady. “Well, that certainly clears up a few things. So let me make a few things clear, too. I invited you to my cousin’s engagement party because I wanted you here. I wanted you with me. I—” She pressed her lips together, shook her head as if clearing out whatever she’d been about to say. “I thought we’d have a nice evening, that maybe you could show my family the side of you I see. Instead you sulked and scowled and generally acted like some James Dean wannabe, all petulant and moody, as if you were looking down on the rest of us.”
Him? Looking down on a bunch of politicians and millionaires? She had to be joking. “I told you,” he insisted, wondering how this had gotten turned around on him, “this just isn’t my scene.”
“Yes, you told me that. How stupid of me to think that you’d be willing to set aside that chip on your shoulder for a few hours. Well, you’re off the hook, Griffin. So go. Leave,” she said when he didn’t move.
But to his horror, her voice cracked, her mouth wobbled. She blinked and tears slid from her eyes, trailed down her cheeks.
Panicked, out of his element, he sneered. “Tears? I thought better of you.”
Those eyes flashed and she lifted her chin, wiped at the wetness on her face. “That’s not what this is about. This is about you not wanting me to think better of you. Well, congratulations. I no longer do.” Hugging her arms around herself she walked up to him until mere inches separated their bodies. “I needed you tonight,” she whispered. “I needed you. I won’t make that mistake again.”
* * *
I NEEDED YOU tonight.
Three hours later, Nora’s words echoed in Griffin’s head as the night surrounded him, the moon shining brightly, stars blanketing the dark sky. He ran his fingers through his hair, tried to pace away the guilt gnawing at him. Up and down the sidewalk. Up and down.
Damn it, he shouldn’t feel guilty. All he’d told her was the truth. He hadn’t belonged at that party. She should’ve known that, should’ve seen it the moment he stepped into the country club in his casual clothes, the grease under his nails.
Instead she’d seemed so happy to see him, so relieved.
I needed you.
He stomped back the way he’d come. Shit.
A car’s headlights cut through the dark night, illuminated him for a second before the car swung into the driveway. He stormed over, yanked open the door before she’d even shut off the engine.
“I don’t want you to need me,” he growled.
Nora gave him one of her cool, patronizing looks. “Yes,” she said, climbing out of the car, forcing him to back up or getting one of her spiked heels through his foot. “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
She reached back inside for her purse, her dress floating around her thighs. Straightening, she slammed the door shut then walked past him as if he was invisible.
Leaping onto the porch, he caught up with her as she dug her key out of her purse. “I’m not going to apologize,” he told her.
Though an apology was stuck in his throat. One that told her how sorry he was he’d hurt her, that he hadn’t meant to make her cry. That seeing her tears had torn him up inside and he’d do anything, say anything to get her to forgive him.
But letting the words out would give her power over him, would let her know that he cared. Made him worry that she’d use those words against him someday.
She didn’t even glance at him, just unlocked the door. Before she could step inside, he laid his arm across the doorway, blocking her. “If you don’t mind,” she said, staring straight ahead, her voice all cold and prim, “I’ve had a really rotten couple of days and now I’d like to be alone.”
That was wrong, he thought, his fingers tightening on the wood. Someone like Nora should never be alone. Especially now when she looked so lost, so scared. She needed someone to take care of her.
He went inside.
“Whoa, whoa,” she called after him, following him into the kitchen. “Have you lost your mind?” she asked as
he yanked open the freezer. “What are you doing?”
He grabbed a container of ice cream, slammed it on the counter. “Where are your spoons?”
“Get away from my ice cream,” she snapped, reaching for the container.
He blocked her. “It’s not for me.” He opened a drawer, grabbed the first spoon he saw. “It’s for you.”
She froze, going so still he glanced over his shoulder at her to make sure she hadn’t slipped into a coma. “What?”
He searched through her cupboards—her neatly organized cupboards filled with matching plates and serving trays—until he found a bowl. Using the spoon, he scooped out ice cream and slammed it down on the table.
“Sit,” he ordered, feeling like an idiot. The back of his neck was hot and he was antsy and revved up. Out of control. He had no idea what to do, what to say.
All he knew was that he’d hurt her and he had to make it right.
* * *
NORA STARED AT Griffin. He stood with his feet apart, his arms crossed, his mouth turned down. He looked angry and out of place in her tiny kitchen with his dark clothes, his scowl.
“You want me to eat ice cream?” she asked. Her head pounded, her heart ached. She needed some space to sort through things, to figure out what to do next, but she couldn’t do that with him there. “I’m having a hard time following your logic here.”
“You’re upset,” he said as if through grit teeth. “Don’t women eat ice cream when they’re upset?”
Her hand fell to her side. “Griffin, why are you doing this?” she whispered, her throat clogging with tears. She blew out a shaky breath. “I’m not up for this. I don’t want you here.”
Wasn’t strong enough to deal with her feelings for him, not tonight.
His expression grim, his lips pressed together, he nodded. “I know.”
Then he pulled her into his arms.
Shock held her immobile for the length of two heartbeats but then she realized he wasn’t trying to kiss her, wasn’t trying to seduce her.
He was holding her.
His arms were wrapped around her waist, his hands splayed across her lower back. His cheek brushed hers, his skin smooth. He smelled of aftershave and the night air, felt solid and warm. She wanted to resist, knew she should. She couldn’t keep deluding herself about him, couldn’t keep convincing herself there was more to him than a gruff exterior, that he had more to give than the bare minimum.
Leaning back, she laid her hands against his chest ready to push him away.
He tightened his hold. “Don’t,” he said gruffly against her neck. “Let me. Just let me.”
She shut her eyes, tried not to succumb to the feel of his arms around her, but he rubbed circles on her back, dragging the silk of her dress over her skin. Kissed her hair above her ear. Her temple. Her forehead. Then he tucked her head onto his shoulder.
Tears pricked behind her eyelids. She tried to swallow them, remembered his harsh words at the party when she’d cried. But it was all too much. Her uncle’s affair with her mother. Dale walking around a free man. And Griffin—so confusing and irritating and wonderful.
A sob broke through her control. She wound her arms around Griffin’s waist, fisted the back of his shirt in her hands and hid her face against the crook of his neck as she cried. He didn’t murmur useless platitudes, didn’t try to convince her that everything would be all right or talk her down.
He just held her close so she wouldn’t fall off the ledge.
She cried until her throat was sore. Cried until her eyes burned, her nose ran.
And all the while, Griffin held her. Smoothed his hands up and down her back, over her hair.
Emotionally spent, physically exhausted, she finally raised her head. Sniffed then grimaced to see the evidence of her crying jag on his shoulder. She forced her fists open, released his shirt and stepped back.
She grabbed a paper towel and mopped her face, heard the sound of water running.
“Here,” he said, holding a glass of water.
Looking anywhere but at him, she took it, drained it in a few swallows. “Thanks.”
She felt his eyes on her as she wet a clean dishcloth, kept her back to him as she pressed the cool cloth against her hot cheeks, her neck.
“Tell me,” he said.
She faced him. She knew he wanted her to share what was wrong but she didn’t know if she could. Saying it aloud made it all too real. Made it impossible for her to pretend it was all a horrible nightmare.
But he’d come there for her, had waited for her. He stood before her now patiently, his shirt damp from her tears.
“Dale was here,” she said. “He was waiting for me the other night when you dropped me off after dinner.”
Griffin’s expression darkened, fury flashed in his eyes. “Did he hurt you?”
“He didn’t touch me.” But he had hurt her. Had enjoyed seeing her in pain. “You were right, he didn’t come back to tell the truth about what happened to my mother. He’s here to get money.” She pushed away from the counter, crossed her arms. “He’s blackmailing Uncle Ken. And he wants my help to do it.”
“What could Dale possibly have on your uncle?”
She swallowed. “Me. He has me. Mom and Uncle Ken had an affair, a one-night stand,” she said, her voice raw. “I’m the result.”
He flinched. “He could be lying. It’d be just like the old man to make something like this up.”
“I thought that, too, hoped that was the case but…Tim Sullivan isn’t my father. I have until Monday at noon to convince Ken to pay Dale. If I do, Dale’s promised to leave town and never return.”
“If you don’t?”
“He’ll expose the secret. Griffin, it’ll tear my family apart.”
“Your uncle doesn’t know?”
She sank onto a chair, unhooked her shoes and slipped them off. “He knows Mom told Dale about the affair but he doesn’t know about me. That he’s my father.”
Griffin crouched in front of her. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to ask Uncle Ken to pay.” She’d decided at the party, watching her aunt and uncle slow dance, seeing her entire family together had made her realize she’d do anything to protect them from this secret. “I don’t have any other choice.” She just prayed Dale kept his end of the bargain and disappeared forever.
In a few days, this would all be over. They could all put the past behind them.
Griffin surged up. “I should go.”
She blinked. Frowned. “What? Why?”
“You don’t need me here.” He held himself rigidly, his hands fisted at his sides. “How could you want me here after what my father did to your mother? What he’s doing to you?”
“Damn it, Griffin, you’re not your father. And I refuse to let you take responsibility for his actions. Or maybe you think all children should shoulder that responsibility? Maybe it’s all my fault my mother and uncle had an affair.”
“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped.
Her eyes about popped out of her head, her blood heated. “Me?” She jumped up, poked him in the chest. “Listen, buddy, there’s only one stupid person in this room and it sure as hell isn’t me.”
He grabbed her finger, held it against his chest. “Don’t poke me,” he warned, his tone dark and dangerous.
“Or what?” she asked, tired of being cautious, of playing it safe.
He hesitated, his fingers tightening o
n her hand, his eyes heating.
“Looks like you don’t have to wait anymore,” she told him, then she rose onto her toes and crushed her mouth to his. She poured her heart and soul into the kiss, hoped he understood she was willing to give him anything he desired. Everything she was.
He set her back, held her at arm’s length, a muscle working in his jaw. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
Any remaining resistance she’d held against him crumbled. He was so good inside, even if he couldn’t see it. But she saw. Surely she could do this. She could be with him tonight, could give him her body, and possibly her heart, without expecting anything in return.
Without falling even more in love with him.
“How about I take advantage of you then?” she asked. She kissed him again, pressed against him until his body lost its rigidity, until he kissed her back, long and deep and hard.
Taking his hand, she led him to her bedroom. She crossed to the bedside table and turned on the lamp. He didn’t come closer, just stood in the doorway watching her as if worried this was some sort of trick, that what he wanted was right beyond his reach and would remain there.
So she went to him, brushed her mouth against his, placed small, openmouthed kisses along his jaw, his neck. She licked the line of his throat, tasted the salt of his skin, then pushed aside the collar of his shirt and gently bit on the corded muscle at the base of his neck.
He groaned and stabbed his hands into her hair, held her head still as he kissed her ferociously. Unable to stop touching him, she slid her hands across his shoulders, down his arms to his wrists and back up again but it wasn’t enough. She needed to feel his skin, needed his warmth and strength.
Working her hands between their bodies, she freed the buttons on his shirt, yanked the tail of it from his pants then shoved it down his arms. She leaned back. She wanted to see him. Wanted to remember this moment, this night, forever.