by Layne, Ivy
“They moved him to the county prison after the judge denied bail. Cole is doing everything he can, but all the evidence points right to Ford.”
“But you don’t think he did it?” I asked.
“The evidence looks bad, but I know Ford pretty well,” Hope said. “Uncle Edgar’s business intertwines with Sawyer business and I’ve worked with Ford and Prentice a lot over the years. Your father was an ass, no argument there, but Ford is a good guy. A little distant. Stiff, maybe, but he’s honorable. He’s not a liar or a cheat.”
“Funny you’d call him honorable, considering.” Considering he’d betrayed me to our father while cheating with my fiancée. When he was done, I was homeless, and Ford had both my inheritance and my woman. Not exactly honorable.
Hope looked away. “He’s changed, Griffen. He’s not like your father. And he’s smart. If Ford had killed Prentice, he wouldn’t have been caught.”
“You think he was set up.”
“It sounds so contrived, but I can’t get my head around anything else. As far as I know, Ford didn’t carry his gun with him. Ford is controlled. I’ve never seen him lose his temper. I could see him killing Prentice. I could see a lot of people killing Prentice. But not like that.”
“Any ideas who might have done it?” I had to ask even though I knew what she was going to say.
“How long do you have? Half the people who knew your father probably thought about killing him at least once. He had his fingers in a lot of pies. There could be enemies we don’t know anything about. We have a good police force in town. Weston Garfield is the police chief—you remember him—and the county sheriff is a good guy. But with this kind of evidence, they’re not looking for anyone else. Why would they?”
“Then I guess we pencil in a visit to West and Cole Haywood after we get back.”
A knock fell on the door. Hope rose to answer. Out of habit, I followed her, checking the peephole to see the pizza delivery kid before I stepped back to let her open it. Sawyers Bend is a small town and relatively safe. Then again, my father probably thought it was safe, and look what had happened to him.
Hope didn’t have a TV. We sat at her small kitchen table and ate in silence. When we were done, Hope said, “I know it’s early, but I’m beat. We have a long day tomorrow.”
“Yeah, me too.” As I said the words I realized how true they were. Exhaustion pulled at me, my bones aching with it. Now that my stomach was full and the rest of the world was outside Hope’s door, I craved the solitude of sleep for just a few hours.
I wasn’t ready for tomorrow. Paperwork with Harvey. Walking through the front door of Heartstone Manor. And the worst part—going back to Atlanta to say goodbye. I didn’t want to think of any of it. Hope disappeared into her bedroom, emerging with bedding and a pillow in her arms. “I’ll make up the couch for you—”
“I can do it.” I took the bundle from her arms and dumped it on the couch. She turned to go. I shot out my hand to close around Hope’s wrist. She jumped in surprise. When she turned back, her cheeks were pink.
I looked down at her face, so familiar and yet completely new. Those eyes that saw so much, the honeyed strands of her hair that had fallen from her bun to frame her face.
“Griffen—” She tugged at her wrist. I didn’t let go.
“You heard what Harvey said. It has to be real.”
Her eyes flared wide in alarm. I resisted the urge to grin. Did she think I was going to toss her over my shoulder like a conquering warrior and have my way with her?
“We have time,” I said, “but we got married today. You’re my wife. And I never got to kiss the bride.”
Her lips parted in surprise and a bolt of arousal shot straight to my cock. I didn’t give either of us a chance to think. I tugged her closer until she all but stumbled into me and raised my palm to cup her cheek, bringing her mouth to mine.
I don’t know what I expected from the kiss. A dry press of our lips. For her to pull away. To protest.
What I got was something else. Her mouth half-open, her lips soft. Giving. I went back for more, my tongue slipping out, tasting. Testing. I was ready for her to stiffen up.
Instead, she melted, sinking into me, her tongue reaching to stroke mine, her breasts pressing to my chest. And the sounds she made in her throat—half-moan and half-growl, all of it dragging me under.
I fell into the kiss. Fell into her. Hope was made to be here, held in my arms, her mouth under mine. I could taste her hunger, the passion she kept locked away. She pressed closer, her head tilting deeper, her lips against mine taking more of me.
One hand found its way under her loose sweater and I stroked up her spine, absorbing all that warm, soft skin. I itched to cup her breast, to claim more of her.
Too soon.
Hope kissed like it was a discovery, like every press of her mouth to mine was something new. Unexplored. That was the only thing that kept me from pushing it further. Her passion was more than a match for mine. We could have sated ourselves on that wide velvet couch—
Don’t fuck it up on the first day, I reminded myself.
Her hands had closed over my arms as if she were holding on for dear life, her mouth moving on mine with hunger, with need, but unpracticed and uncertain.
Too soon.
I eased back, the cold air that rushed between us a punishment. I wanted more.
I would get what I wanted.
Eventually. Not tonight.
“Sleep tight, Hope.” I pressed one last kiss to her forehead before I let her go.
Hope stared up at me with dazed eyes, her lips swollen. With a tiny, indrawn breath, she turned and bolted for her room, closing the door behind her.
I spread the blanket and sheets on the couch, stripped down to my boxers and lay down in the dark. The couch was exactly as comfortable as it looked. The day crowded in on me. The funeral, the will. The utter disaster that was my life.
I’d never wanted to see this town again, and now I was stuck here for at least five years.
I’d never planned to get married after what happened with my first fiancée. In one day, I’d skipped the fiancée part and gotten myself a wife. I’d married Hope. Little Hope Daniels, who wasn’t so little anymore.
I should have felt resentful. Resistant. About the rest—the will, the trusts, my siblings—I absolutely did. I couldn’t let myself think about my father, still yanking my chain even after death. Just a flash of that scene in Harvey’s conference room and I wanted to rage at Prentice. He was dead, and I knew better than to waste my time.
I’d made my choice. I’d see it through.
Why didn’t I resent Hope? She should be at the top of the list.
But that kiss. That kiss.
I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling until I dropped off from exhaustion. Of all the things on my mind, the only one I kept circling back to was the feel of Hope’s mouth under mine, the heat of her body in my arms.
More of that and I might just make it through the next five years.
Chapter Ten
Griffen
The creak of a door woke me. Due to years of training, I came alert without moving, my eyes sliding open just enough to see the room. The day before came into focus along with my surroundings.
Sawyers Bend. The funeral. Harvey’s office.
Hope.
I lay sprawled on her obscenely comfortable velvet couch wearing only my boxers. Sunlight streamed through the split between the heavy velvet curtains. My hostess—my wife—crept across the living room floor, headed for the kitchen.
Hope was wrapped in a fluffy pink robe. I caught the furtive glance she tossed my way as she picked up her pace and disappeared into the kitchen. Faint rustling sounds. Water running. Was it too much to wish for coffee?
I’d take her out for breakfast later, but I could use some
caffeine. I let my mind drift as I waited, looking around Hope’s cluttered apartment as the luscious scent of coffee drifted into the room. Catching the clink of a mug, I rolled to my feet.
Hope turned as I stepped into the kitchen, her empty mug clutched to her chest, eyes wide as they ran from the top of my head down my mostly naked body to my feet. Only mostly naked. I was wearing boxers. I wasn’t trying to give her a heart attack.
I had a feeling mostly naked men were not a fixture in Hope Daniels’ kitchen.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said unnecessarily. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“I’m happy to get up for a cup of that coffee.”
“Oh. Of course.” She poured me a mug, joining me at her small kitchen table.
We sipped in silence, waiting for our brains to wake up. Hope’s eyes flicked over my bare chest, snagging on my shoulder and the still-pink scars there. Her lips parted as if to ask what had happened, then pressed together, her eyes darting away. When they returned, she only studied the scars for a moment before her eyes slipped down, over my pecs to my stomach.
I shouldn’t have liked the faint flush on her cheeks so much. I leaned back, giving her more to look at. Her cheeks flared red and she took a hasty sip of coffee.
Finally, Hope said, “Do you want breakfast? I have some bread. I can make toast.”
“Not much of a breakfast person?”
“Not usually. I snooze my alarm and then have to rush to get into the office,” she said, honestly, a faint flush on her cheeks.
I stopped myself from making a comment about Edgar keeping her on a short leash. I’d deal with him later. Or maybe not, I thought, as Hope’s phone rang. Edgar’s name showed up on the display. She stared at it for a moment before accepting the call. I expected her to get up, to try to have the conversation in private, but she stayed where she was.
“Hello?”
“Get Griffen and be in my office within the hour. We need to talk.” Edgar’s voice was faint, but I could hear him just fine.
Hope swallowed hard. She didn’t protest, just said smoothly, “We’ll see you then.”
Edgar hung up on her. All charm. Vintage Edgar. Hope set the phone down on the table slowly, probably thinking about what to say to me. I made it easy on her.
“Command performance for Edgar?”
“Something like that. He wants us both there—”
“I heard,” I said. “We can get breakfast after. Before we go back to Harvey’s.”
“Of course,” Hope agreed distantly. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was.
I hoped so because if she wasn’t, the conversation we were about to have was going to be sticky.
“A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours, Hope,” I began. “I don’t know if you’ve thought about this, but it’s a serious conflict of interest for you, as my wife, to continue working for Edgar.”
Hope shot me a grateful look. “I know. I know. With Ford in prison and Prentice dead, Edgar and I know more about Sawyer Enterprises than anyone. I don’t know everything, obviously, but you’re going to need help. I’m the best available option, not just because I’m your wife.”
“I know you used to do work for Prentice while also handling most of Edgar’s business, but that isn’t going to fly with me. I don’t trust your uncle. I can guess why he maneuvered Prentice into this marriage thing, but I have no clue why Prentice would have agreed.”
“I know,” Hope murmured. “The only thing I can think is that Edgar had something on Prentice. But I don’t know what it could be.”
I let out a breath in relief. It made things easier if Hope and I were on the same page. “Considering who we’re dealing with, it could be anything.”
Hope nodded in agreement. I didn’t want to be harsh with her, but Prentice and Edgar hadn’t left us much choice.
“I want to trust you, Hope, but I can’t do that if you’ve got a foot in both camps. You have to choose, me or Edgar.”
“I know,” she agreed. I waited. I knew what I wanted. I didn’t know how hard I’d have to fight to get it. It turned out, not hard at all. “I’m going to tell Edgar I can’t work for him anymore. I have some money saved up. I can get by for a while, especially if I’m not paying rent—”
I sliced a hand through the air, cutting her off. “I’m offering you a job Hope, not asking you to work for free. What was Edgar paying you?”
She named a number that had me wincing. No wonder she lived in this tiny apartment. What the hell was Edgar thinking? Never mind, I knew exactly what he was thinking.
Just as I’d thought, he paid her just enough so she could live but not enough for her to have any real freedom. Biting back everything I wanted to say about her uncle, I said, “I’ll double it.”
“Double it? Griffen, I can’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t ask. That’s what our office manager makes at Sinclair Security and she earns every penny. I have no doubt you will, too. I’ve been paying attention. You know way more about Sawyer Enterprises than I do. I can’t do this without you. I’m not going to take advantage of you to get your help.”
“Griffen, after everything that happened before—”
I shook my head, feeling my jaw clench tight. Forcing my mouth open, I spit out, “If you say you owe me one more time, I swear to God—I don’t want to hear that from you again. You don’t owe me anything. Maybe you did, but my father hijacking five years of your life more than makes up for anything you did over a decade ago. I’ll take advantage of your help because I need it, but I won’t do it for free.”
Her eyes wide, Hope must have decided it wasn’t worth arguing with me. “Okay,” she said quietly.
“Who’s your landlord?” I demanded in what seemed like a change of subject.
Hope let out a strangled little laugh. “You are, as soon as you sign whatever papers Harvey has for you.”
“Good, then we don’t have to worry about the lease. If you can get your personal things packed, I’ll have Savannah arrange for the rest to be moved to Heartstone.”
“Okay,” Hope agreed, taking a quick sip of coffee, her eyes still wide. She was looking a little shell-shocked.
“Are you worried Edgar is going to make things difficult?” I asked, trying to figure out what had her so thrown.
“I don’t know.” She sounded dazed.
“I’ll tell Edgar if you want me to,” I offered.
Hope shook her head. “No, I’ll do it. We better get going.”
She stood. I followed as she took her coffee cup to the sink, so close her scent wreathed me, sweet and warm, apples and spice. When she was a girl she’d always smelled like cinnamon and dirt. An odd combination, but it fit a little girl who’d loved to curl up under a tree with a good book or bury herself in the kitchen to bake cookies.
She still smelled of cinnamon, but there was nothing childish about that scent. It was spice and heat and woman. I wanted to stick my nose in the hollow of her throat and follow the traces of cinnamon down between her breasts, to feel the weight of them against my cheeks as I tasted to see if she was as sweet as she looked.
Remembering the hesitation in her kiss, I had the feeling I’d give her a stroke if I did. Instead, I said, “I need to take a shower before we go.”
Her eyes everywhere but my bare chest, she fled from the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “Let me just grab some stuff out of the bathroom and it’s all yours.”
I followed her through the living room, waiting while she gathered her things. She was quick, ducking out through the doorway a minute later carrying a brush and a pile of hairpins in one hand. In the other was a red wool dress flowing from the hanger like a banner in the wind. Red as flame, it had 3/4 sleeves that ended in a bell, tiny buttons up the front, and a narrow skirt that flared at the bottom.
I couldn’t stop looking at the dress. That red would bring out the warmth in her cognac eyes, the subtle hints of auburn in her hair, the pink in her creamy skin. This was the kind of thing she should be wearing, not those ugly suits.
“What’s that?” I asked before she could disappear into her bedroom.
She looked down at the dress and bit her lip in what I thought was embarrassment. Her words spilled out in a rush, “Oh, uh, just something I ordered online. I thought… I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s too short. And red. It’s so red.”
The dress was not short. It probably hit an inch above her knee. Not what anyone would consider short.
“Wear it,” I said.
Startled, Hope hugged the dress to her chest. “No, I can’t. It’s too—”
“I’m your husband,” I countered. “You promised to obey me.”
A snort burst from her elegant nose, dissolving into a laugh. “I did not promise to obey you.”
“You did,” I insisted. I wasn’t paying that much attention to the vows, to be honest, but the flags of color on Hope’s cheeks matched her dress, so I egged her on a little more. “I’m your lord and master in all things now, and I say you have to wear the dress.”
She laughed harder, snorting again as she tried to get her giggles under control and tell me to shut my trap. Finally, shaking her head, she conceded, “I’ll try it on, but I’m not wearing it out.”
“Good enough,” I agreed, sliding past her into the bathroom. I was in and out of the shower in a flash before brushing my teeth and running my fingers through my wet hair. A towel hiked around my waist, I raided my emergency bag for a clean pair of boxers and pulled on my jeans and flannel shirt. I wasn’t putting that suit back on. If Edgar and Harvey couldn’t handle me in jeans that was their problem.
The door to Hope’s bedroom remained closed. Impatient, I poured myself another mug of coffee and waited. That dress gave me hope, pun intended. That dress fit this apartment. Fit the girl I’d known. The woman I knew she hid deep inside.