by Cari Quinn
It wasn’t that she’d assumed he hadn’t had sex. At that point he’d been seventeen, so she’d known he’d likely had a lover or two. Maybe more. But she hadn’t expected him to be so opposed to doing what seemed natural to her. They were best friends. Why not enjoy sex together too? But he’d acted as if she’d suggested he streak naked through town.
She scowled at the star-sprinkled deep blue sky. As annoyed and embarrassed as she’d felt back then, she’d been puzzled too. Surely she hadn’t misread every one of his signs? The times his hand lingered too long on her back, or their bodies brushed, and he leaped back as if he’d gotten burned on the stove…
After that spectacularly embarrassing day, she’d worked hard to banish all impure thoughts about him. Later that year, she’d met Ryan. He definitely hadn’t seen her as a kid. No, he’d been more than happy to help her blossom into a sexually active, hormonally obsessed woman.
Until he left town, anyway, two days before she discovered she was pregnant.
She let out a sigh. Maybe her best friend was right. What good could come of reopening that chapter of her life? Shawn had never known Ryan had asked her to come to New York with him, but what difference did it make? She’d chosen not to go.
Rachel dragged herself from the water and padded across the cool sand to gather up her clothes. She knew going after Ryan might not gain her anything but more heartache, but she couldn’t ignore the restlessness -- or the what-ifs -- inside her any longer.
She needed to make a move, to take a chance. To just say what the hell and go for it. There was more to her than being the youngest daughter of Lee and Alexis Cooper, the most wealthy and powerful couple in Calvin Bay. More than being a music teacher to a bunch of middle-schoolers. More, even, than being Shawn Griffin’s tiresomely dependable best pal.
And it was time she found out just what.
He’d finally taken a stand, so why did he feel so crappy?
Shawn snapped a pencil in half and pitched it over the top of his drafting table. “Maybe because she kept her lips closed? Huh?” He shoved to his feet and strode across the room to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
He’d come into his office early, with every intention of adding the final details to his sketches for the renovation of Cooper, Inc.’s downtown headquarters. Since he hadn’t slept, he figured he’d make the most of the hours that remained of the waning night.
But alone in his cavernous office, surrounded by the windows that reflected the twinkling lights of the city, he’d been unable to focus. Or forget.
For an instant, her lips had been against his. Her fingers had jerked in his hold, and he’d taken in her exhaled breath as if it were his own. But even as his body had ached for her, twisting with a yearning more fierce than anything he’d ever known, she’d fought him off. She’d pushed him away.
Yeah, there’d be no forgetting that.
Before, he’d allowed himself to assume that maybe she hadn’t turned her thoughts in his direction for the same reason he’d rebuffed her advances when they were kids. A friendship like theirs didn’t come along often enough to risk adding sex to the mix.
Or so he’d told himself until he’d watched her get hurt by every Jean-Pierre, Dominick, and Connor who came along. Not that she ever admitted anyone hurt her. She’d become adept at pretending to be as casual a serial dater as any man, except when it came to Halston.
Ryan had been her first love. Her first lover. Not him, and he had only himself to blame.
Turning away from the sunlight trickling through the deep blue sky, Shawn pried his cell phone out of his pocket. It was just past five, but he knew she’d be up. She rose habitually at four-thirty and never hesitated to wake him if she needed him.
The time had come to repay the favor.
He drummed his fingers on his wide cherry desk as he waited, his gaze drifting to the photo collage under his glass blotter. Among the requisite shots of his parents and grandparents were two of Rachel. She’d mentioned them the last time she stopped by for lunch, wondering why he didn’t save the space for someone who really mattered.
As if anyone mattered more.
Her phone rang six times before it went to voice mail. He left a clipped message. Dammit, had she screened his call?
But it didn’t stop him from immediately dialing the apartment she shared with Morgan or from launching into a barrage of questions as Morgan slurred out a hello.
“Jesus, Griffin, you live in her pocket. You should know where she is.”
“I don’t.” Something in her voice put him on edge. “But obviously you do.”
“Aw, did the lovebirds have a fight?”
“Morgan.” At her breezy laughter, his shoulders tensed even more. “Where’s Rachel?”
“On her way out of Cali as we speak. Which you should know.”
He dropped into his high-backed leather chair, swiveling until he faced the blue pencil sketches he’d tacked up on the wall. They were his preliminary ideas for a new project, a high-rise office complex to be erected on the prime site Griffin Industries had purchased in Encino a few months ago.
Shawn pressed his thumb and forefinger to his nose, pinching to relieve the sudden pressure. He’d agreed to submit them to his father by nine today, and his father didn’t push back deadlines unless the reason involved arterial blood.
Thanks for the advance notice, Rach.
Morgan’s curiosity finally overtook her need to taunt. “Didn’t she tell you she was going to the city?”
“She told me.” He rose, again moving to the windows. “What time is the plane supposed to land in New York?” he asked, already returning to his desk.
“Early afternoon, I think. There’s a layover in Chicago.”
Shawn flipped pages in his day planner. He had two staff meetings scheduled, another with dear ol’ Dad. “Thanks, Morgan.” His thumb was about to hit the End button when her voice stopped him.
“Shawn, wait. Don’t you think it’s a mistake, her going to see Ryan?”
He withdrew his wallet, and after a quick check of the contents, decided a trip to the ATM was in order before he headed to LAX. “I’m going to ensure it’s not. Don’t worry.”
“She can handle herself, I know that. But --” Her short pause told him his statement had just registered. “How?”
“She’s getting herself a chaperone.” With a grim smile, he crossed to the door. “Whether she wants one or not.”
“Shawn --”
“I’ll talk to you later, Mor.” He ended the call before she could object.
He had a plane to catch.
Rachel hadn’t been to New York in years, not since her parents had taken her and Morgan to see the Christmas spectacular at Rockefeller Center. She’d been nine, Morgan eleven. The trip had dazzled her enough she’d almost been afraid to return, as if the mental photographs she’d snapped would be tarnished if the city didn’t arouse the same reaction in her now.
Which was one of the same reasons she’d been reluctant to accept Ryan’s invitation. One of many, actually.
Rachel sighed as she paged through a magazine containing a glossy ad for his new novel, Unmasked. She’d been nearly seventeen when she’d fallen for him, and her memories were sharp and vivid, frozen pictures untouched by time. It took courage to risk disturbing those images, especially since that had been the happiest period of her life.
Despite that, she’d willingly said no to coming to New York with him a decade ago. Even when she’d discovered she was carrying his child, she hadn’t picked up the phone. She’d turned to Shawn. As always.
He’d been shocked when she told him she was pregnant, but he hadn’t lectured her. Much. He’d even concocted a scheme to act as if the kid was his, though she’d lost the baby before he’d had to go through with it. Even all these years later, she couldn’t believe how far he’d been willing to go to save her ass.
Yet now she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Oh, the irony.
; God, how had everything gotten so screwed up?
She sighed and set aside the magazine. Her life was far from a shambles, and she couldn’t pretend otherwise, even when firmly submerged in an early midlife crisis. She had a loving family, a secure job teaching music to excited kids eager to sponge up most -- okay, a reasonable facsimile -- of what she taught them. She had her health, friends, and plenty of money should she choose to use it, though she usually didn’t.
And she had Shawn.
She pushed to her feet and paced a few feet across the terminal. She’d made it to Chicago. In another hour, she’d be in the air again. She was halfway there. Half a country away from the man who was following her in her mind, if not in reality.
At the vibration of her cell in her purse, she sighed again. What was she supposed to say to him?
Hi there. Never mind that smoking kiss you planted on me last night, what’s new?
Uh-huh. That’d work.
She almost wanted to talk to him, to give him an equally smoking piece of her mind. She’d gone back to her original assessment of why he’d kissed her, and if he thought he could get away with it, she’d disabuse him of the notion quick.
But when she extracted her phone from her bag, she saw the caller wasn’t Shawn, but her sister. Rachel sat down again and tried her damnedest not to sound as exhausted as she felt. “Hey, Mor.”
“Hey, yourself. You must be in Chi-town by now.”
“Sure looks like it. What’s up?”
“Your guard dog’s chasing after you.”
“My guard dog?” Her furrowed brow smoothed as she understood. So much for him only following her in her mind. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Nope. He called here, hell-bent to find you. I don’t think he’s too pleased to have his place as the main man in your life usurped by your ex.”
“That’s not it.” It wasn’t. Just because 99.9% of their mutual friends and their respective families thought they were perfect for each other, they’d never put stock in what everyone else believed. Sure, maybe one or the other had felt a stray niggle of attraction now and again during dry periods, but come on.
“Oh no? What is it then, Rach? I’m fascinated.”
“I won’t wait forever, Rachel.”
Her fingers tightened around her phone, and she stared hard at the magazine next to her hip. Her rationalizations worked fabulously until she brought back how he’d sounded as he said those words.
Like a man at the end of his very short, very thin rope.
Obviously he’d pulled out all the stops to save her from herself. Any other explanation just wasn’t plausible, not when she took into account all the years he’d had to make a move if that were truly what he wanted.
No, Shawn Griffin, esteemed architect, golden only son of one of Calvin Bay’s first families, and persistent indulger of the female-flavor-of-the-month club, didn’t do unrequited love. Or lust. Or any combination thereof.
“Rachel?”
“I’m here.” She crossed her legs, both to relieve her restlessness and because she itched to get out of her traveling clothes. She preferred jeans and hoodies to swanky designer outfits, but she’d been too well-groomed as a Cooper heiress to not dress the part in public. “He’s just trying to make sure I don’t make a fool of myself, Mor. Saves him the hassle of having to pick up the pieces later.”
Morgan laughed, loud enough that Rachel had to drag the phone from her ear. “That’s your explanation? Sorry, sis, that’s weak.”
“It is not weak. He wants to protect me.”
“Yeah, right. What he wants is you. For himself.”
When her phone beeped, Rachel checked the caller ID. Her heart bumped. Time to address this matter once and for all. “Mor, that’s Shawn now. Let me get back to you.”
As soon as Morgan clicked off, she demanded, “Why did you kiss me?”
The dead silence on the other end vexed her for a moment, until his smooth chuckle reassured her the world had not turned on its axis and left Shawn speechless. “Why does a man usually kiss a woman, Rachel?”
“I’m not just any woman.”
“No kidding. If you were, you’d have opened your lips instead of behaving as if I were trying to molest you in the middle of Stacia Winter’s party.”
Now it was her turn to slip into silence.
“Don’t you want to say how could you again?”
“No.” Her gaze latched onto the copy of Publishing Monthly. She wouldn’t be deterred now, not when an impulsive affair was within her reach. Especially when Shawn just wanted to be right, so she would be wrong. “You only kissed me because of Ryan. Don’t deny it.”
When Shawn didn’t answer immediately, she smiled in satisfaction. Here it comes.
But what came made her smile vanish.
“I kissed you because it needed to happen. Just so you have time to prepare yourself, it’s going to happen again. Next time, you won’t get away so easily.” He paused long enough for her to inhale a startled breath. “See you in New York, darlin’.”
Then he hung up on her.
Shawn arrived in New York early in the evening. Though he knew he should have been thrilled he’d found a flight at all on such short notice, he’d spent his four-hour layover in Chicago dwelling on Rachel’s lengthy lead.
With the head of mad she’d exhibited earlier, she could’ve bedded Ryan already for all he knew. Why wait for a masquerade ball when you could strike while the intention burned hot?
Which meant he needed to move fast.
The interminable flight had given him time to ferret out the location of her hotel. She’d booked a single at the Conquistador in midtown, conveniently located several blocks away from the Zenith publishing gala being held twenty-four hours from now.
After renting the last Caddy -- a far cry from his own convertible Porsche, affectionately nicknamed by Rachel the Hoochie Patrol -- left on the rental car lot at La Guardia, Shawn used the car’s GPS to help him learn the city. While he traversed the bottlenecked streets, he shamelessly used the Griffin name to secure a suite at the Barclay, two blocks from Rachel’s own modest accommodations.
Why the woman never spent the money at her fingertips boggled his mind. Yeah, he got that she wanted her own, even admired her for it. God knew he’d worked at building his own name, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take advantage of the benefits being real estate magnate Dillon Griffin’s son afforded him.
Especially when it came to indulging the stubborn, prickly, obtuse woman he loved. The woman he prayed to any and all deities he’d convince to share his bed during this impromptu sojourn.
“Hey, watch it!” he yelled to an errant cabby who not only cut him off, but nearly removed the Cadillac’s front bumper. The cabby flipped him the bird and careened down the congested street, aiming his black Towncar toward the center of the action, aka Times Square.
This was where he’d call home for the next ten days? God, he missed California already.
“Of all the places, Rachel,” Shawn muttered, finally checking his phone messages.
He had three. One from his father, asking if he’d reconsidered his ill-advised two-week “vacation”; one from his mother, inquiring if he’d remembered to pack enough underwear; and one from Rachel, simply “Call me.”
He would, but not yet. Not until he’d settled into his room, unpacked his carry-on, and ditched his wrinkled shirt and slacks. A shower might be nice too. He needed to get the city grime off his skin.
Shawn stowed his rental in the Barclay’s parking garage and fought his way up the clogged street to his hotel. To his mind, traveling was mostly a waste of time. Unlike Rachel, he enjoyed his hometown and everything that came with it: the ocean breezes that made the scorching hot sunshine not only bearable but addictive, the palm trees, the curvaceous women wearing crop tops and cut-off shorts all year long.
He grinned, noticing a roller-blading redhead with an MP3 player seemingly surgically implanted to her head
. She fit those specifications exactly. Maybe eye candy could be found everywhere, but Cali eye candy just tasted better.
And if Rachel heard his thoughts now, she’d backhand him.
Not that he cared. She’d chosen to chase her ex across the States, which entitled him to do a little harmless female watching.
Less than an hour later, the female he was watching was his own. And she was pissed.
She’d called before he hopped in the shower to demand his location. After he’d given it, she’d hung up on him. He’d grinned all the way through his shower. If he didn’t think it would get him punched, he’d be grinning now too.
She was so hot when she was mad.
“How dare you?” Rachel’s fingers dug into her hips with such severity as she paced across his hotel room he figured she’d leave bruises. “Do you honestly think you have any right to follow me around as if I’m a child needing supervision?”
Slicking back his wet hair from the shower he’d barely finished before she appeared, Shawn sauntered over to the king-size bed that dominated half his suite. Though he wore only a towel, he didn’t hesitate to sprawl among the navy blue silk pillows. If she saw more than she wanted to, too bad.
“I told you I intended to come last night.”
“And I told you to forget it.”
His lips slid into what passed for a smile. “Sorry, heiress. I don’t take orders from you.”
“And I don’t take ultimatums from you.” Rachel charged forward and skewered a burgundy nail into his damp chest. “You have no right to be here. It’s practically friggin’ stalking.”
“Is it?” He grabbed her finger, trapping it in his fist while his gaze nailed hers. “I see it another way entirely.”
Her lower lip trembled, a sure sign she was struggling to keep hold of her temper. “Do tell.”
Even when he’d said he intended to kiss her again, the phone and the thousands of miles between them had acted as a kind of impenetrable safety zone. But now that she stood before him in her skintight black jeans with her oversize white shirt buttoned chastely all the way up to her neck, he couldn’t find the words.