Finally, Chloe sat back up. “So do you want to talk about work now?”
“Nope.”
One step forward, two steps back. “Griffin, come on.”
“I’m not blowing you off. Right now, just knowing that I could unload to you is enough. Honest.”
Well, she’d made her point. Better to back off and press it another time, maybe? “You get one pass,” she warned with a finger shake.
“Duly noted. How about we move on to another way you can cheer me up?”
She slid out from beneath his head to stand. Looked around the apartment for inspiration. “Board games? I won’t let you win at Monopoly, but given your bad day, I’ll make the magnanimous gesture of letting you be the race car.”
“Generous offer.” He draped one arm along the top of the couch. “But I was thinking more of the thing we’re not supposed to do in lieu of talking.”
“Kissing?”
“That’d cheer me up. Cheer me up enough to unload on you later, even. C’mere.” Griffin patted his lap.
Maybe it would help sweeten the pot and get him to open up. Sometimes the best solution to a problem was getting some space from it. Simple distraction. So with one hand on his chest Chloe pressed him back. Then she climbed on and straddled him.
Chloe settled her knees on either side of those starched pants. Locked her hands behind his neck and kissed him. Not sweetly. That wouldn’t be distracting enough. Nope, Chloe latched onto his mouth and went at his lips hungrily, nipping and licking and sucking.
Griff’s hands on her ass cinched her closer, notching her against the bulge rubbing against her core. A moan of appreciation rumbled up from his throat.
The sound spurred her on. Well, the sound, along with the feel of his thighs beneath her butt. And the way all his stiff ribbons of valor teased her nipples into almost painful tightness. The silky stubble of his hair at his neckline beneath her fingers enticed them upward, along the corded ridges of his neck, up to his crown, and around to cradle his face.
Then they settled into some serious kissing. Rasping breaths. Damp heat pooling between her thighs, and blood pounding in her ears. Griff rocking rhythmically beneath her, his hands moving all over her back in long, frenzied strokes.
Chloe broke off the kiss to unbutton his shirt. But as soon as her fingers worked into the space between the buttons, Griff stopped her with a hand on her wrist.
“Whoa.”
“This will be a lot more fun if you’re shirtless. Probably twice as much fun if I’m shirtless, too.”
“Agreed. But we can’t do this now.”
Oh, yes they could. She’d prepared. “I have condoms.”
A hoarse, pained laugh squeezed from his throat. “Trust me, so do I.”
“Um, this wasn’t my idea. You suggested the kiss therapy. What’s with the mixed signals?”
Griff shook his head. “Me being an idiot. Shit. I take full blame for this.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Chloe, even though you’ve distracted me and cheered me up, I am still in a bad mood. Pissed off. Not as much as when I walked in here. Not by a long shot. But I know that I’m not in the right frame of mind to make love to you the way you deserve. I’m sorry.”
“It sounds like you’re in the perfect frame of mind for some angry sex up against a wall.” She leaned back to point at all four of them in turn. Not desperately or anything. Not to rub against his thigh muscle in the process.
“Angry sex has a time and a place. And it is not your first time.”
Griffin was being a stand-up guy, not actually giving her the brush-off. Knowing it in her head didn’t make her lust dial back even the tiniest bit, though. “Are you saying that we can’t make out until you’re officially ready to, um, explore uncharted territory? I don’t want a boyfriend I can’t kiss. Certain relationship perks are nonnegotiable.”
“Oh, I want to keep kissing you. But we just skipped foreplay and were ready to go at each other here on the couch.” He picked her up by her waist and set her next to him as though she weighed less than her finest seventy-bond linen stationery. “I need to slow things down until I can control myself better.”
“Maybe I want to make you lose control.”
“You just did.” His big hand cupped the side of her face in an achingly tender gesture. Griff brushed over her lips with his thumb. “Chloe, we’d both regret it if we charged ahead right now. Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here.”
Griffin Montgomery was a lot of things. Handsome, frustrating, but probably incapable of ever being the bad guy. He was just about perfect. And she was apparently an unappreciative, slutty horndog with a one-track mind. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t push you either. Especially when you’re already blue. We’ll figure this balance thing out together.” Chloe got up. If they weren’t going to have sex, spending the night with-but-not-with Griff was the next best thing. “Even with kissing and venting about work off the table, we still can hang out. Want to stay for dinner?”
“That sounds like exactly what I need. Staring at your pretty face for a couple of hours is guaranteed to turn my mood around.”
“I made dolmades, Greek stuffed grape leaves. Grab the feta and olives out of the fridge, will you?”
He retucked his shirt so tight that a quarter would probably bounce off of it. “I don’t get it. You cook ethnic food. You must be mega-interested in other countries, or you wouldn’t use their posters as wallpaper. But you said that you never go anywhere. What’s the hang-up?”
Rats. She’d poured her emotional story all over him the last time he’d come to her apartment. Did she really have to spoil this surprise visit by throwing more of her drama at him? “I don’t have one.”
“I call bullshit.” Griff paused, one hand on the refrigerator handle and a wicked smile potent enough to lure cusswords out of a nun. “Come on, you can tell me. Scared of flying?”
“No.” Chloe turned on the burner beneath the dolmades, then neatly quartered a stack of pitas.
If she didn’t tell Griff today, she’d certainly have to tell him soon. Her mother’s constant phone calls would make hiding her family issues almost impossible the more time Griff spent with her. And honestly, if the virgin thing hadn’t driven him off, surely he’d stick through the complication of her mom. Maybe.
Or maybe this would be the last straw. The thing that convinced him once and for all that Chloe Widmore was just too much trouble.
Better to find out now, before she wasted any more time or money on lingerie websites.
“I want to travel. I dreamed of spending a semester abroad. Of hiking through Europe for a summer. I want to experience it all—the food, the exotic accents. I want to drink in all the differences from my everyday life.”
“So?”
Chloe grabbed wineglasses. Rummaged for the corkscrew. Generally puttered in order to not look at Griffin. “My mother is the one with a hang-up. Not so much about travel. She just doesn’t want me to ever be far from her. She wants to always know where I am, what I’m doing.”
“Your mother sounds like a codependent head case. You’re a grown woman.”
True on both counts. Which was what made this so awkward. “My mom’s fragile. Not crazy, not too medicated. Just, um, shaky emotionally. You see, my dad was killed. Fifteen years ago.”
Griff almost dropped the containers onto the counter. The moment they were down, he reached for her hands. “God, that’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Kind of amazing how much easier it was to let everything out with Griff’s touch centering her. All the nervousness vanished.
Griffin pulled her back around the island to sit on the stools. “You don’t have to go into it.”
“I do. Otherwise you won’t get the full picture. It was really awful for my mom. Dad was in New York to see clients. Mom just assumed everything was fine until about eight o’clock that night, when he still hadn’t done his daily check-in. Then she got frantic, not knowing where he was.”
>
“His office didn’t call?”
“Nope. They assumed he’d missed the train up the night before. What we eventually pieced together was that he’d been mugged. A run-of-the-mill New York mugging. Nonviolent. But when the mugger took off with Dad’s wallet and phone, Dad must’ve slipped trying to chase after him. Hit his head on a dumpster in just the wrong spot. Passed out, had a massive aneurysm. With no ID, the hospital couldn’t notify us.”
“How long until you knew for sure?”
Her shoulders lifted and dropped in resignation. “It only took a couple of days. Really, really bad days. And nights. So because Dad wasn’t where he was supposed to be, and Mom had no idea where he was, she kind of spiraled out of control in terms of keeping track of us. David and I were under her microscope from that day forward. Thanks to therapists, we’re at a manageable state now. If we check in at the agreed-upon times every day, Mom’s mostly okay. She worries about us.” Chloe stared him straight in the eyes, hoping he truly registered the seriousness of her words. “She worries a lot.”
“And then you were a victim in a mass shooting.”
“Exactly. Mom’s paranoid, and panics, but some would say she has good reason. Regardless, if my sticking close to home gives her peace of mind, why wouldn’t I? My career doesn’t demand that I travel. Staying here is such a simple fix. Why should she have to panic herself into another monthlong hospital stay for out-of-control anxiety just because I want to see the Tuileries, or float through the Venetian canals?”
“Because you deserve a life. Your mom didn’t raise you to be her caretaker.”
“I have a life,” Chloe shot back. Why did everyone take the liberty of assuming she wasn’t happy with her career, with her apartment, with her choices? Summer never stopped pushing. Her old therapist told her that she’d never be truly free of her past until she stepped outside her comfort zone. Didn’t they understand that it was selfish to willfully set off her mom’s anxiety? What sort of a horrible person would that make her?
“You deserve to follow those dreams,” he insisted stubbornly.
“I will. Someday. Things have gotten much, much better for her.”
“Are you sure you aren’t using her as a crutch? Sure you aren’t a little paranoid yourself?” He must’ve seen the murderous gleam in her eyes, because Griff held up his hands. “Okay, I’ll back off.”
“Thank you.”
“What if I take you on a foreign adventure—without leaving D.C.?”
“I’d want more details.”
“There’s an embassy party on Friday night. There’s always a ton of good food, bartenders with generous pours, and interesting people. The music can get a little weird, but it’s a fun time. Why don’t you come?”
“Friday’s tomorrow.”
“So?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out that she had nothing to wear—aside from her nicest hoodie and sweatpants outfit in purple velour. It did have a matching tank with sequins, but that probably wouldn’t meet the dress code. “Um, nothing. Sure. Let’s go.”
Griff stilled her hand beneath his. “In case I wasn’t clear earlier, I want you. Your semi-crazy mom doesn’t change that. Being a homebody doesn’t change that. I’m falling for your heart and your head. The extraneous stuff doesn’t matter. I’m not having sex with you tonight because I want you so much. Because I feel our pulses syncing when we kiss. Because when I was upset, I knew just looking at you and joking with you would turn my day around like nothing else. Not my friends. Not a bar crawl. Not box seats to the World Series. Just you.”
“Wow. I’m really lucky you walked into my coffee shop.”
“I’m the lucky one. You’ve made me almost forget why I was in such a bad mood when I got here.”
“Well, the grass is always greener. Comparing your troubles to a clinically depressed widow would cheer anyone up.”
“I was going to say it’s because you’re not only beautiful, but you cook like a dream. Whatever’s steaming out of that pan smells like heaven.”
“Oh my gosh.” Chloe rushed to turn down the burner. Lifting the lid, she saw she’d barely escaped a boil over. Which kind of summed up the whole night.
Chapter 12
Chloe pulled a lilac chiffon dress off the rack. It ran in flirty pleats from neck to hem and looked like spring personified. In fact, Chloe was quite sure she’d feel like Persephone herself in it. And working a literary reference into real life always perked her up. “I like this one.”
“God, no. It’s atrocious.” Summer snatched it back and re-hung it in the blink of an eye. Then she playfully slapped Chloe’s hand. Summer’s chunky turquoise ring clanged against Chloe’s trio of gold stacked rings. “I’ve told you to check with me before randomly pulling stuff. There’s nothing worse than heading down the wrong fashion road.”
Summer did say that. All the time. It might even be partly to blame for Chloe’s reliance on yoga pants and hoodies, just to keep from ever inviting Summer’s strident opinions. Chloe didn’t deny that her best friend had an amazing eye and a flair for style. Take today—she was running a business dressed in the tiniest black shorts in the world, a wide leather belt with a bucking bronco on the buckle, a red-and-black houndstooth coat that skimmed her knees, and a loose tank. And it worked…on her, at least.
The problem with Summer—a woman who believed in going with the moment and not following rules at all—was that she firmly believed her opinion to be the only correct one when it came to fashion. It was infuriating.
With a final caress of the soft pleats, Chloe said, “Um, this is your boutique. Why would you sell anything that you think is atrocious?”
“The dress itself is awesome. It’s all wrong for you.”
“Since when can’t I wear purple? I thought the only color you banned me from was yellow.” And she had to admit Summer had been right about that. It made her look like she had the flu.
“The problem with this dress isn’t the color. It’s the cutesy style. You want to close the deal with Griffin, right?”
Chloe shot a glance at Elisa behind the counter. The store manager appeared to be engrossed in sorting a box full of jumbled rings and hair clips. But she knew from experience that Elisa had closed many a sale by sharing stories that weren’t always hers to share. A bunch of Girl Scout Troop moms from Ohio apparently had laughed themselves silly over Chloe’s having to retake her driver’s test three times—and then practically bought out the store.
She was happy for Summer’s profit margin, of course. Chloe just didn’t want to keep giving Elisa fresh gossip to share with the world. Was she really the only person in the world who found parallel parking impossible?
“Of course I do,” Chloe stage-whispered. “But could we keep this conversation private?”
Summer looked at the two customers at the opposite end of the store. Then her head swiveled to Elisa, and she mouthed a silent “O.” And promptly smothered a giggle behind her hand.
“That’s not obvious or anything,” Chloe complained.
“Neither was you whispering at the top of your lungs.” Taking Chloe’s arm, Summer abandoned the mannequin she’d been fussing with. “Elisa, we’ll be in the stockroom.”
The younger girl shoved at the blond-and-green-streaked curls that lay against her face. “Need any help?”
“No, you stick out here in case these lovely ladies need any help.” Summer shared a smile with the women who looked up as she patted one on the shoulder. She had a gift for connecting with people—without resorting to Elisa’s gossip tactics. “Only interrupt us if the First Lady comes in and starts browsing.”
As the door closed behind them, Chloe jumped up and down, swinging her friend’s hands in excitement. “Oh my gosh! Summer, you didn’t tell me that the First Lady shops here.”
“She doesn’t…yet.”
Anticlimax of the week: achieved. Chloe stopped jumping. And started glaring instead. “What the hell?”
�
�She might, though. Georgetown is the boutique strip in D.C. Chances are better than average that she’ll come in here one day. And when she does, I want to be the first to ogle her Secret Service team.”
Typical Summer. She picked up men as easily as she did a new necklace. If only Chloe could bottle some of that experience and ease and slather it on for the next few days. Chloe plopped onto the papasan left over from their apartment days in Virginia. “To clarify your previous question, oh my freaking God, yes, I want to close the deal with Griff. I get why we’re waiting. I get that it’s the smart thing to do. That it’s the right move for our relationship.”
“I hear a but,” Summer said, one finger tapping her lips.
“But there’s nothing that says I can’t try to hurry the process along.” Seduction. Cleavage. Red lipstick. All tools the female race had been using for ages to lure a man into bed. She’d forgotten about them thus far. Never too late, though, to pull out all the stops. “So you’re right. Nothing white, polka-dotted, or, worst of all, with any bows. From here on out, I dress for sex.”
“If it gets you out of those yoga pants, I’m all for it.” More tapping of her lip.
“Now I hear a but,” Chloe complained.
“Tell me the truth.” Summer knelt on the floor next to her, one hand on her knee. “Chloe…do you want to have the sex talk? Because I’m willing to walk you through it. But I can’t promise not to giggle.”
That popped Chloe out of the chair. Well, with the papasan, it was more of a rolling half somersault to get out of the bowl-shaped chair. She paced past rolling racks filled with colorful dresses. At the end of the aisle, she whirled around and flung her arms to her sides, almost wiping out a shelf of hats that would probably be snapped up soon for Derby parties. “I’m twenty-seven years old. I know how sex works.”
“Whew. Had to ask, though, to be a good BFF. Now go for the grand seduction with my enthusiastic blessing. And then, if Griff is half as talented as he is handsome, you’ll be transported to a dimension of pure pleasure.” Summer’s hand fluttered above her head.
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