He dropped his head and shook it slowly from side to side. When he lifted his gaze, she saw his irises had lightened, appearing to her like a pair of deeply frozen lakes.
“Did you love him, Lillian?”
“No.”
“No? That’s all?”
“You asked me a question and I answered it.”
She turned to exit the car once more, but his hand tightened around her.
“Why then?”
“Why?” She faced him. “Why what?”
“Why were you married to him? I need to understand.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you. My relationship with your father was personal, private. I won’t discuss it with you.”
He searched her face as if he could find the information he sought among her features.
“I want you.”
She sucked in an unsteady breath. His words hung in the air between them. Brashly uncomplicated, they shook her to her core.
“No.”
His expression softened with a curious humor.
“It wasn’t a question.”
She had no response. Realizing she held her breath, she mindfully exhaled. Griffin watched her carefully, releasing her arm and bringing his palm to her cheek.
“No,” she repeated.
But her breath hitched on the single syllable ruining its indisputability. His lips curved slowly. It was the same smile he’d worn before he’d kissed her the day he’d arrived.
“And you want me.”
It wasn’t a question, either, but she shook her head anyway. The grin slipped from his face.
“No?” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip bringing the sensitive skin to pulsing life. Leaning close, he whispered, “That’s a lie.”
She felt his lips moving against hers as he spoke. The wild thing woke, reaching for him, literally jerking her toward him. She braced her hands against his chest. His muscles went rigid beneath her touch.
The smile returned and, for a moment, she was certain he would kiss her, but then he pulled away. She watched, bewildered, as he turned and opened his door. He slid his long, lean body out of the car, closing the door with a confident thud. She drew air in deep breaths through her nose, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. Entirely too soon he stood at the window by her side.
He opened her door and held his hand out to her; all trace of tension, sexual or otherwise, erased.
“Shall we?”
Chapter 9
Griffin leaned back in the executive chair behind the massive desk in the study. It was an impressive room. The antique furnishings and tasteful artwork lent a museum-quality to the space. Dark stained maple covered the walls and ceiling. The floor was wood, as well, but of a slightly lighter color. Three walls boasted floor-to-ceiling, built-in shelving, every inch occupied. His mother’s family had been ardent bibliophiles. He knew there were a number of first additions on those shelves and pondered if his father had ever taken the time to read any of them.
The pop of a log burning in the fireplace drew his attention. As he watched the flames licking around the wood, he thought about his heated exchange with Lillian in the car before they’d gone into the gallery.
It had been a risk, pushing her as he had, but the sexual tension had attained an uncomfortable pitch. She’d admitted to being uneasy around him, and he’d decided enough was enough. She hadn’t actually admitted to wanting him, but she would not have stopped him if he’d kissed her. He’d seen it in her eyes. He would have her. It was merely a matter of time.
He sought her out. Midway up the railed brass ladder on the opposite wall, she stood running her fingers over the bindings in front of her. She looked insanely sexy, teetering on the rail in yet another pair of improbable heels.
She was obviously one of those shoe women. He supposed most females were, on some level. Lillian, however, had raised the preoccupation to high art. Proving the point was the fact he remembered them, every single pair, in distinct detail. From the strappy black sandals she’d had on when he’d first seen her to the scarlet, pointy-toed patent leather funeral stilettos—like a red-hot period at the end of the mournful statement of her black attire—to the enchanting canary pumps she’d worn to the memorial brunch, their yellow-on-yellow whirled stitching making it seem as if they could take flight; he suspected each pair had been selected precisely because they were unforgettable.
The sling-backs she currently wore, the ones she felt comfortable climbing a ladder in, defied the laws of physics. Starkly tapered heels, an insubstantial strap around the back of each foot and a negligible vamp, barely covering her toes, combined to make it seem impossible the caramel suede contrivances would stay on her feet when she took a single step, never mind holding up for an entire day of touring the vast square footage of the warehouse-size studios and gallery of H.B.A.C. Evidently, it didn’t matter what outlandish creation she wore. Nothing interfered with Lillian’s natural grace.
Her hand came to rest on an oversize leather-bound ledger just over her head. He started to get up to help her when she went up on her toes. Her hem rose dangerously, curling beneath the rounds of her lovely ass. Her calves and thighs went taut with effort, the bare, olive skin glowing in the muted light of the room, the blaze from the fireplace augmented only by the green-shaded banker’s lamp on the corner of the desk. A heated rush of blood to his groin forced him back into his seat with a soft curse. When he looked up, she had the book clutched to her chest and was carefully making her way down. Shifting uncomfortably, he dragged his gaze back to the rows of numbers on the pages in the opened record in front of him.
“I can’t believe my father didn’t have this put on the computer.” Desperate for some distraction, he broke the silence.
“As I told you, everything else is digitized. Only the H.B.A.C. did he insist on doing the old-fashioned way, paper and pens and ledgers.”
She reached over him from behind, placing the unwieldy tomb in front of him. She leaned in to open it, her breasts pressing into his back. He felt their flex and roll as she turned the pages. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was a mistake. Her scent, light and lilting, triggered an image of their entwined bodies, bare but for a blanket of flower petals.
“These are the numbers from the very first year.” Seemingly unaware of what she was doing to him, she spoke softly near his ear. “You can see it has been profitable from the start. It was important to your father it not be a meaningless memorial or personal vanity. He ran it like any other business. He was very proud of it.”
“Lillian,” he growled.
Her fingers ceased their movements over the page. For a heartbeat, they were both still. Then she straightened and Griffin rose to his feet to face her. Sidestepping the desk chair, he caught her by the elbows before she was able to put enough distance between them.
“I want you.”
“No.”
He smiled at the singular but emphatic response. “I’m pretty sure we’ve been over this already.”
“We have,” she scolded. “You led me to believe the matter was settled.”
“What gave you that impression?”
“Your behavior. At the Collective, you were a perfect gentleman.”
“That was then.” He slid his hands up the backs of her arms and over her shoulders, cupping her face gently. If she took a single step backward, she would break the connection, and he would let her go. But she didn’t move, not an inch. “This is now.”
By excruciating degrees, he lowered his head to hers. The green of her eyes filled his field of vision. The transformation had begun, the edges of the golden flecks shimmering like a sandy landscape scorched by summer’s heat.
Their mouths touched. Her hands moved over his shoulders until he felt her fingers curving around the back of his neck, the pads of her thumbs teasing along his jaw-line. He parted her lips. A dewy sweetness scented the air beneath his nose. With a grunt of pleasure, he plunged his tongue into her mouth.
A ra
venous hunger overtook him along with the unsettling certainty he would never get enough of the taste or the smell or the feel of her.
Turning with her in his arms, he lurched toward the side of the desk. His hands slid down her body, finding the hem of her dress with his fingers and slipping up under the material. He skimmed her hips, the rounds of her ass, and down the backs of her thighs then up again. Her velvet skin so addicting, it took several passes before he realized the item he sought simply wasn’t there.
“Panties?” he blurted against her mouth.
She tugged at him, apparently annoyed by the interruption. He pulled away, looking down at her until she opened her eyes and focused on him, her brows drawn together with curiosity.
“When did you take off your underwear?”
“I didn’t. I mean, I do not wear them.”
Her words spilled over him like a bucket of ice water. With careful control, he brought his hands to her shoulders and held her away from him.
“Don’t wear them?” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to wrap his mind around the tidbit of titillating information.
“I find them bothersome.”
He looked at her in appalled wonder. “Are you telling me you don’t wear them, ever?”
“Yes. It is not an issue.”
“Well, it’s a fucking issue now.” The thought of her parading around without anything on under her mid-thigh dresses and skirts filled him with a tortured jealousy. “As long as we’re in this house together, you will be properly dressed.”
Her mouth fell open, and she blinked slowly several times before managing an indignant, “How dare you!”
“Tomorrow,” he insisted, ignoring her sputtering outrage. “You will go shopping. Do you understand?”
Her eyes went wide and her breath came fast between her parted lips. A thrill of understanding went through him. His presumption undoubtedly irritated her, but it also excited. Drawing on every ounce of restraint he possessed, he dropped his hands from her shoulders and took the backward step necessary to break free.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m going to bed.”
“You’re…” She opened her mouth but said nothing.
“Good-night.”
She smoothed her hands over her dress and ran her fingers through her hair. And just like that, her aroused abandon became calm self-possession, the liquid gold in her eyes solidifying into glittering shards. Her control impressed him.
“Buonanotte.” she told him calmly.
He headed for the door, every step making him painfully aware of his unrelieved erection. Before he walked out of the room, he paused, looking back at her over his shoulder.
“Lillian.” He waited until she brought her gaze to his. “Don’t forget, because I sure as hell won’t.”
He left her then, her mouth opening on a gasp and her hand going to her breast.
Chapter 10
Lillian wiped her hands on the apron she wore tied around her waist then rested her fists on her hips and looked around the kitchen. Chef Greyson was at the double oven checking on the prime rib and roasting vegetables. Different members of the three-person wait staff hired for the evening appeared from time to time, collecting table linens, silverware, china, and crystal for the dining room table.
It had been some time since Lillian had hosted a dinner party. As Lenny’s health had deteriorated, the house had grown quieter. It was a terrible shame, too, because it was quite obvious the home had been intended as a showplace.
The brick Second Empire style mansion, with its multi-colored slate tiled roof and classic French garden, complete with swirling topiaries and sharp-edge trimmed hedges, never failed to delight visitors. Inside, the expansive foyer tempted guests to delve deeper once whatever outer garments the New England weather demanded had been secured in one of the two enormous closets on either side of the front door. The rooms on the main floor were spacious and flowed gracefully from one to another through pocket doors. Furniture was arranged in intimate groupings, allowing for private conversations no matter the surrounding revelry. There was service for over a hundred people stored in the butler’s pantry. The meticulously renovated kitchen, with what seemed like miles of countertop, managed to keep its Victorian charm while being equipped with state of the art appliances. Meal preparation was a pleasure, whether a casual supper for two or a black tie, multi-course dinner for eighty.
The evening’s intention fell between those extremes. She had invited the CEO, CFO, and COO of Bennett Distributions, Incorporated and their spouses. She wanted Griffin and the managing executives of his father’s company to have the opportunity to get to know each other outside of the corporate offices.
Dylan Drumlin and his wife, Morgan, rounded out the guest list. She’d rationalized inviting them to prevent the evening from devolving into a catered business meeting. In truth, they were there for her. In light of whatever strange dynamic was unfolding between her and Griffin, she felt especially glad for the moral support.
She frowned as she reached behind her waist to untie her apron. After folding the material, she placed it on the counter next to the vegetables she had been carefully preparing for the crudités which would be served along with the canapés Chef Greyson had warming in the second oven. Lenny had often teased her about acting like hired help, but she found the simple tasks of rinsing, peeling, and chopping quieted her mind.
“You seem to have everything well in hand, Chef Greyson.” She smiled indulgently at the temperamental man who grunted and nodded his response, unable to spare even a glance to distract him from lovingly tending his precious prime rib. “Yes then, I’ll be off to get dressed.”
She started up the back stairs to the bedrooms. A glance at her watch told her she had just under an hour to get ready. She increased her pace before lifting her gaze. When she did look up, she was confronted by a wall of white. Startled, she caught the toe of her shoe under the lip of a tread and pitched forward. Her hands shot out instinctually and she braced for an unpleasant impact, but instead of unforgiving hardwood, her palms met with the springing mass of a well-muscled body.
“What the…Lillian!” Griffin halted her lurching forward motion with firm hands on her ribcage, lifting her off her feet and pulling her tight.
He twisted with the force of their combined movements, grunting as his back collided with the stairwell wall. She felt the convulsive flex of his muscles as he fought for balance on the narrow step. For a few moments, the only sound was his ragged breathing.
“Jesus. Are you all right?”
The thrum of her pulse in her ears made it difficult to hear him. Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. And none of it had anything to do with her near-tumble up the stairs.
“Yes.” The breathy affirmation mortified her.
“Look at me.”
She tried to push away, regain her own footing before she faced him, but his arms constricted around her. Left with no other choice, she schooled her features into the cool mask she had perfected over the years and lifted her head. His intent scrutiny set her on edge, tension building in her shoulders.
Long seconds passed as they considered one another. The twitch of his lips drew her gaze. At his warning smile, she braced herself, but his kiss never came. Instead, he skated his hands over her back. Lillian froze.
His pupils dilated the instant his fingers bumped over the clasp of her bra, leaving only thin silvery blue bands around the two black discs. She closed her eyes against the obvious sign of his arousal. Relentless, he continued his examination, smoothing his hands down her body. He explored, teasing at the valley between her cheeks and running his palms over the swells of her bottom. She knew full well what he sought, but doubted he would be able to discern the outline of the barely there thong she wore despite the fine silk of her dress. You’re not going to find what you want that way.
As if reading her thoughts, he tugged her closer until his fingerti
ps met her hem and then, with a deft twist of his wrist, his hands were on her bare skin. He tortured her sensitive outer thighs with his warm touch as he made his way up her legs toward his goal. He hooked his thumbs under the gossamer band hugging her hips, trailing its length until his hands met at the apex at the base of her spine. Rotating his palms, he retraced the path until his fingers fanned her navel. His thumbs crossed beneath the front triangle of her panties, breathtakingly close to the upper edge of the finely trimmed hair it cloaked.
“Open your eyes.” She did as she was told, defiance impossible.
His smug satisfaction made her want to strike out at him, but she could not so easily disregard the fact she had indulged his ridiculous mandate. It had never been her intention. When he’d left her in the study, she’d dismissed the entire incident as an anomaly. A strange spell had overcome them, likely wrought from the unrelenting sexual tension which had plagued them since the moment they’d met.
More difficult to explain had been her foray into a lingerie boutique on Newbury Street the next day. Harder still, the numerous purchases she’d made. And what became practically impossible to justify was she had selected and worn a set of the fine panties and bras she’d brought home with her—every day since.
She rationalized her “choice” as a rebuke. It turned out dressing appropriately, as he’d so haughtily termed it, allowed for the unexpected slip of silk between the cheeks of her bottom or the tantalizing rasp of lace over her breasts, and proved far more provocative than going bare. Unfortunately, it also brought to mind the man who had made wearing them a reckless act beyond her control.
She never meant for him to know and stared at him, exposed and vulnerable, as he slid his hands out from under her dress. He tugged the material into place, smoothing it over her before territorially cupping her bottom.
“Good girl,” he told her quietly.
Dark desire twisted low in her abdomen. She clutched at his shirtfront, her knees giving way. He was going to make her come, there on the stairs, with little more than humbling caresses and taunting words.
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