by Brynley Bush
I nod, my eyes shining, and he presses a light kiss on my lips before I return to my seat as the crowd goes wild. If they only knew my heart belonged to Drake’s brother, I think to myself.
Two hours later, a sweat soaked Drake ends the show with a rousing, slightly countrified cover of the Rolling Stones’ Paint it Black and the stage goes dark as the four of us make our way back to Drake’s dressing room. We’re backstage, trying to wend our way through the throngs of screaming girls, when I get separated from my friends. I’m a few steps behind Griffin talking to Olivia when someone jostles me, and I find myself pushed into a dark hallway. There’s a man behind me wearing all black—jeans, t-shirt, and gloves—and I assume he’s one of the sound and lights guys I saw earlier backstage until he grabs me, pushing me against the wall with his arm against my throat. His face is next to mine, so close that I can see the ruthless glint in his narrowed eyes and smell onions on his breath. I knee him in the groin. He doubles over, muttering, “Bitch!”
I try to run but he recovers enough to grab my ankle and I fall, landing heavily on my side. Then somehow Griffin is there. He is as controlled and disciplined as ever, but his eyes are cold and ruthless as he delivers an exacting blow to the back of the man’s head and the man drops, lifeless.
“I need security,” Griffin calls out as he gathers me in his arms. To me he says, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just a little shaken up. He just p-p-p-pinned me to the wall and then I kneed him in the groin.” To my surprise, my eyes fill with tears.
Griffin pulls me close to his chest, rubbing my back comfortingly. “Shhhh,” he says. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
He lifts my chin and kisses me gently. “And such a bad ass,” he adds with smile.
I give him a watery smile in return.
“Thanks for saving me,” I say.
“No one messes with my girl or my family,” he says dangerously. “I’m guessing that had something to do with the fan that’s been stalking Drake. Since he was dressed as a stagehand, this guy was obviously backstage and would have seen you go into the green room before the show.” His eyes rake over the man’s lifeless form as the security guards handcuff him. “When Drake pulled you onstage, whoever is harassing Drake probably thought you were his girlfriend.”
Olivia and Jack arrive and I haltingly relay what happened to them.
“I’m going to stick around and see what he has to say,” Griffin says, nodding his head at the now cuffed but still unconscious guy crumpled on the floor. “Can you take Mila home and make sure she’s okay?” he asks Olivia.
“Of course,” Olivia says.
Olivia and Jack drive me home, and although they hang around for thirty minutes while Olivia fusses over me, I really just want to be alone, and I finally convince Olivia that it’s okay to leave me. After she and Jack go, I put on some comfy sweatpants and Griffin’s ‘Take No Prisoners’ sweatshirt and curl up on the couch.
I’m asleep when he texts me two hours later to tell me he’s at my door. I sleepily get up, check the peephole, and open the door. He looks exhausted and rumpled and totally delicious.
“How are you doing?” he asks as I wrap my arms around his waist, grateful for the feel of his strong body next to mine.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “What happened?”
“He didn’t know much,” he says wearily, resting his chin comfortably on my head. “He maintains he was never going to actually hurt you. He’d only been paid to scare you and keep you away from Drake. As I suspected, he thought you were Drake’s girlfriend, and he’d been paid five hundred dollars by a man he’d never seen before to warn you away. I’m pretty confident no one is trying to hurt you personally, but it doesn’t make me feel good about the crazy fan that’s been stalking my brother. I’ll be glad when his tour is over. It’ll be easier to protect him then.”
“Do you always protect everyone in your life?” I ask softly, trailing my fingers over the hard contours of his chest.
His hand closes over mine as his lips meet mine hungrily.
“With my life,” he says with unwavering certainty. “Now about that shirt you’re wearing…”
Chapter Fourteen
My week is a blur as I work twelve-hour days preparing for the hearing and my impending trip to Houston to meet Griffin’s dad and older brother. I see Griffin almost every day. He drops by the office at regular intervals, insisting that I eat and dragging me to lunch or dinner, depending on the hour. He stays at my place on Monday and Wednesday night and we make love, sometimes tender and sometimes passionate, and I’m quickly becoming addicted to falling asleep with my head on his chest.
Friday morning he picks me up at my condo and we drive to Brown Field where a small jet is waiting on the runway for us. Unlike other airports I’ve been to, this one is small, and we walk out onto the runway to the plane rolling our bags behind us. Griffin helps me stow my bag and buckles me into the seat next to him before taking his seat and running through his pre-flight checks. I’m fine until the propellers start and I realize I’m actually going to be up in the air in this tiny plane. I grip the edge of my seat and try to control my breathing.
“Look at me, Mila.” Griffin’s authoritative command cuts through my fear. I tear my eyes away from the runway to look at him. His eyes, warm and confident, center me.
“Take a deep breath and relax. You are perfectly safe. Anytime you get scared, keep your eyes on me, okay?”
I nod mutely.
Seconds later we’re taxiing down the runway, picking up speed. I keep my eyes glued on him, focusing on the fullness of his lips and the strength of his jaw as the plane takes off into the air. Griffin looks over at me, flashing me his killer smile, and I relax a little.
Once we hit cruising altitude it’s like flying in any other plane, although much more intimate. Because of the size of the plane and my seat in the front of it, I can see everything, and Griffin entertains me by pointing out landmarks below us. I’m absolutely riveted by the sight of the Grand Canyon from the air, a seemingly endless expanse of painted hues of rock with gorges carved by the hand of time. Before I know it, we’re landing on a small airstrip surrounded by towering pine trees.
When I step off the plane, the humidity hits me like a brick wall. I wait inside the small, mercifully air-conditioned airport with our bags while Griffin makes arrangements for the plane, and then we load our bags into the rental car and within minutes are absorbed into Houston traffic. We stop for lunch at a hole-in-the-wall Tex-Mex restaurant that Griffin swears is one of the city’s best and devour tamales, enchiladas, and an endless supply of chips and salsa before heading to our local counsel’s office.
It’s a typical conservative attorney’s office—hushed voices, muted furniture, oak walls, and lots of pin-striped business suits—and it makes me appreciate the more laid-back vibe Marcus encourages at Dunn and Wallace. However the attorney helping us, a partner in his late thirties, is professional, well-versed in intellectually property, and extremely helpful in telling us about the judge and what to expect at the pretrial conference on Monday. We go over the points we plan to present to the judge and are back in the rental car headed to Griffin’s dad’s house two hours later.
“You only ever mention your dad,” I say as we drive. “What happened to your mom?”
He’s silent for so long that I think maybe I’ve overstepped my bounds when he finally says, “She died when I was young. We were mostly just raised by my dad. And Agnes.”
I quirk one eyebrow at him. “Who’s Agnes?”
“Agnes is wonderful,” he says with a warm smile. “She was originally our housekeeper, but she became kind of a surrogate mother to us boys. She and my dad act like an old married couple, and truthfully they’ve been together longer than most married couples. I’ve always wondered if they have anything more than a work relationship.”
“That’s sweet,” I say. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
; I’m stunned as we pull into a circular driveway and come to a stop in front of a sprawling limestone mansion covered with ivy that’s situated on a vast, manicured, green lawn.
“This is your house?” I ask incredulously. It looks like a French chateau has been plopped down in the middle of Houston.
“This is where I grew up,” he says matter-of-factly, coming around to open the door for me. “Home sweet home.”
His condo on the beach seems a little more understandable now. His family clearly has plenty of money. He takes my hand firmly in his as we walk up the sidewalk to the ornately carved front door. He raps twice and the door is flung open by a plump, smiling woman in her sixties. Her smile broadens as she sees Griffin, and he grabs her in a bear hug.
“Master Griffin,” she says with a delightful British accent. “It’s been far too long.”
“It has,” Griffin agrees, releasing her. “But you know how it is, Agnes. No rest for the wicked.”
“You must be a very tired man then,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. I laugh and she turns to me.
“This is my girlfriend, Mila Kingston,” Griffin says. “She also happens to be our attorney.”
I look up at him, shocked. He returns my gaze steadily, almost challenging me to contradict him. Instead, I decide to roll with it and not analyze the wave of joy that rolls through me at his declaration as I extend my hand to Agnes. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say politely. “Thank you so much for allowing me to stay here this weekend.”
“Of course, dear,” Agnes says. “Dr. Black and I love having company, and any friend of Griffin’s is welcome here. It sounds like you all have a lot to discuss. You staying here will make that easier, no doubt.”
“Where’s Dad?” Griffin asks as we step into the opulent marble entryway.
“He went up the road to check on our neighbor, Mrs. Garcia. She called to ask him what poison ivy looks like and he thought it’d be easier to just go take a look. Everyone around here calls him for the slightest little thing to do with medical advice, and he just can’t say no,” she says indulgently, shaking her head. “I think he secretly loves it. He’ll be back soon. Why don’t you two get settled? Griffin, your room is ready. I’ll show Ms. Kingston to hers.”
“Mila will stay with me,” Griffin says definitively.
“She most certainly will not,” Agnes retorts. “What you do on your own time is your business, Griffin Black, but you won’t be sleeping with a lady under this roof unless she’s got your ring on her finger. She will be sleeping in the guest room on the other side of the house.”
I suppress a smile as Griffin groans. He looks like a chastised schoolboy. I’m not too worried though. I doubt the fact that we’re in separate rooms will be enough to keep him away.
I’m less sure of that after she shows me to my room—a beautiful bedroom painted a soothing blue with an antique canopy bed that is quite a hike from the hallway where Griffin indicates his and his brothers’ bedrooms are, but a conspicuously short distance from the elder Dr. Black’s master suite.
Griffin gives me a chaste kiss under Agnes’ watchful eye and reluctantly leaves me to get ready for dinner, promising to come back for me in thirty minutes. I get settled and change into a pretty but casual floral dress, wanting to dress informally enough to fit in for a family dinner while still conveying some semblance of professionalism since I’m also their attorney. I realize I’m far more nervous about meeting his family as his girlfriend than I was simply as his attorney.
As promised, he raps softly on my door half an hour later, whistling appreciatively when I open it. He immediately pulls me into his arms, lifting the skirt of my dress slightly to run his hands possessively over my bottom.
“Agnes wouldn’t approve,” I murmur, copping a feel of my own of the hard muscles of his butt.
“Damn Agnes and her puritanical ideals,” he growls before ravishing my lips with his. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the weekend without making love to you.”
“You’re a big, bad Navy SEAL,” I murmur between kisses. “You’re trained to be resourceful. I’m sure you can figure something out.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” he says with a grin, giving my cheek one final squeeze. “I’ll try to live up to your expectations.”
He gives me a quick tour of the house, if you can call a home with a separate guest house, a wine cellar, a movie theater, and a dining room that easily seats twenty a house, and I try not to look as awed as I feel. Although it’s not pretentious in any way, it’s clear the Black’s affluence is far greater than anything I’ve seen firsthand before.
We end up outside on a beautifully landscaped terrace overlooking an infinity pool where an older man in his early seventies with bright blue eyes and glasses is sitting, a glass of iced tea with a sprig of mint floating on top in his hand. Although he has the same piercing blue eyes as Drake, Griffin’s dad doesn’t resemble Griffin any more than Drake did.
“Hey, Dad,” Griffin says.
The older man’s face lights up at the sight of his son, and he gets to his feet quite spryly for a man of his years, embracing Griffin in a hug. A moment later he turns to me.
“I’m Patrick Black,” he says kindly, shaking my hand. “You must be the lawyer Griffin hired.”
“Yes, I’m Mila Kingston,” I begin, but Griffin quickly interjects.
“Mila is our attorney, but she’s also my girlfriend,” he says smoothly.
The old man doesn’t try to contain his surprise as he peers at me more closely. “My sons certainly have a gift for hiring beautiful women,” he says with a smile.
“Actually, when Mila and I first met I had no idea she was an attorney, much less that she worked for Marcus. It was a quite a surprise when the brilliant associate that Marcus told me would be working on my case turned out to be Mila.”
“I’ll say,” I mutter sarcastically under my breath, which earns me a reproving look from Griffin. I smile back sweetly.
“Have a seat,” the old man says, gesturing to the chaise lounges clustered together to form a seating area on the terrace. “Let me just go find Agnes.”
He disappears into the house and I say to Griffin, “Your girlfriend, huh?”
He leans down to kiss me gently, neither of us able to resist the draw of the other. My lips part and his tongue slips inside. A minute later, once he has my heart racing, he pulls away slowly. “My girlfriend,” he says with a deliberate smile.
I’m still smiling when Dr. Black returns with two more glasses of iced tea, and the three of us sit on the terrace as Dr. Black tells me about the history of his research concerning guanabana. Although I’ve read most of it before, the man is a born storyteller and it’s much more interesting hearing the story from him.
About an hour later, we hear the distant ring of the doorbell through the open terrace doors and a few minutes later, a tall, dark-haired man appears with an attractive, slender woman with long hair the color of Cognac, luminous gray eyes, and a diamond solitaire that is almost blinding. I know instantly that this is Griffin’s brother, Beckett, because although Griffin doesn’t look like his father or younger brother, there’s no mistaking the resemblance between these two brothers. Although this slightly older version of Griffin has warm brown eyes instead of hazel ones, both are criminally attractive and tall with the same bronzed skin and thick, wavy hair, although Beckett’s is much darker than Griffin’s. But it’s the lips that give them away; Beckett has the same full, sensuous lips that I first fell for when I saw Griffin.
Griffin is on his feet and hugging his brother almost instantaneously, and the affection between the two men is evident. Griffin makes the introductions and I quickly realize that despite their physical similarities, the two men have very different personalities. Whereas Griffin has an easy-going demeanor that instantly puts people at ease, Beckett exudes an authoritative formality that’s more than a little intimidating.
Beckett’s fiancée, Emm
aline, seems quiet at first, but as we talk I find that beneath her reserved exterior she is funny and friendly with a razor sharp wit. She’s clearly both unintimidated by and totally in love with Griffin’s sexy older brother. She’s never far from his side, and his eyes follow her possessively.
We eventually move into the formal dining room for a delicious dinner of roasted pork tenderloin, garlic mashed potatoes, flaky buttermilk biscuits, and a salad with sugared pecans and a blue cheese dressing, and the discussion turns to the court case and our upcoming court date.
“Our focus Monday will be agreeing on the undisputed points of the case and points of law. The pretrial conference is also the opportunity to review the evidence before the judge and opposing counsel. If we have enough compelling evidence to support our claim, the judge will encourage Camille’s attorney to settle the case,” I explain. “If not, he’ll set a date for trial and we’ll present the meat of our actual case then. However, I’m hoping we’ll be able to present enough evidence to the judge on Monday to prove that Camille was involved in the theft of Emma’s notes and Dr. Black’s research so that we don’t have to go forward with an actual trial.”
“There wasn’t enough evidence to convict her in the criminal case,” Beckett points out.
“True, but since this is a civil case, the burden of proof is different,” I say. “In a criminal case, the prosecution must prove the defendant’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. In a civil case, we have to establish our case with a preponderance of the evidence, which basically means we have to show that our position is likely more true than not true, which is easier than proving beyond a reasonable doubt. According to our local counsel, the judge assigned to our case is known to be fair and notoriously unswayed by pressures from big businesses and lobbyists, which will work in our favor.
“I have Emma’s affidavit already, which will be key, as well as documentation from the news station that indicates Camille contacted them regarding the new research data, which will establish her knowledge of it prior to you releasing it to anyone voluntarily. Do any of you know where Gavin stands on this? Is he still allied with Camille, or do you think he may be bitter enough at taking the fall for her that he might be willing to testify regarding her involvement?”