The Rogue

by Jennifer Bernard

  Finally Griffin swung his legs over the side of the bed and turned his attention to removing his condom. “Let’s just say that was a sign that you should stay at Rocky Peak for a while.”

  She took her cue from his light tone. “Let me guess, so we can do more of that kind of thing without that long drive down the mountain?”

  He rose to his feet, condom in hand, and headed for the bathroom. “Yup. I intend to keep you safe and satisfied.”

  She lay back and sighed, and once again enjoyed the magnificent sight of his spectacular rear end disappearing through the bathroom door.

  Well, after all, the lodge might be a good place to learn more about Daddy and Amanda’s connection. His offer really had so many advantages, how could she possibly say no?

  19

  Both of them were on hyper alert while they checked out of the hotel and traveled to the airport. Serena noticed that Griffin was keeping a close eye on the side view mirror, and every time another vehicle passed them, he would block the driver’s line of sight with his body.

  His protectiveness made her melt.

  At the airport, they both scanned every face they passed, looking for anyone who might be following them or who might be connected to an angry senator. No one leaped out as problematic, and as soon as they were airborne, Serena relaxed.

  At least with respect to the possibility of being followed. Many more potential problems still loomed.

  “Okay, we have exactly fifty-five minutes in the air to sort a few things out,” she told Griffin after the flight attendant had delivered their water. “I’ll start. If I’m going to stay at the lodge, I need to feel like I have a purpose for being there.”

  “Staying safe from potential trolls isn’t enough?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I’ve always watched out for myself and even accepting your bodyguard services is a little weird for me. I was trying to think of ways I could pay you back and the answer is obvious.”

  “Be my live-in sex toy?”

  She nearly spurted her water all over the back of the person in the seat ahead of hers. “Well, you know, besides that.”

  He grinned. “As long as we agree on that part, the rest is gravy. What’d you have in mind?”

  “I’d like to offer to paint a portrait of your father. The Rockwell patriarch.”

  He drummed his fingers on the tray table. “Old ‘Mad Max’ on canvas—that’s a thought. You’d have to spend time with him, wouldn’t you? Sitting, sketching, whatever.”

  “That is pretty much the way it works, yes. I’ll get some of my paints shipped up.”

  “Are you sure you want to put yourself through that? He’s the reason I spent the majority of my childhood outside, no matter the weather.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried at all about that. I’ve worked with some real characters. It’s amazing how much people open up to you when they’re sitting for you.”

  His gaze sharpened as he shot her a sidelong look. “Is this about my mother’s connection to your father? Are you looking for clues from Max? I can’t agree to that, Serena. He has a heart condition. No stress allowed.”

  “Of course not. Jesus.” She bristled at the thought of prying information from a subject. “That’s not how it works. I let my subjects reveal themselves.”

  “Be careful what you ask for,” he said dryly. “There’s a reason they call him ‘Mad Max.’ But I’ll make sure he knows you’re off limits. He’s still old-fashioned enough that he doesn’t browbeat women the way he does men. He’ll be a pussycat around you, don’t worry.”

  “Oh hell no.” She shook her head at him. “If I’m going to paint him, I need to see the real Mad Max. He can’t tiptoe around me. I need the full experience. And if you think I can’t handle it, well, you just don’t know me well enough yet. People have this idea that artists are sensitive, possibly mentally unbalanced divas. The truth is, art requires a tough skin.”

  Griffin lifted an eyebrow at her, eyes glinting at the passion in her speech. She hadn’t intended to go off like that, but she hated it when people dismissed her profession.

  “I know all about your skin,” he said softly. “You might be tough on the outside, but that skin…that tells a different story.” He trailed a finger up her arm, sending shivers every which way through her body. “So you’re going to paint Max, if he’s willing. Good plan. What else is on your mind?”

  “A question. Now that you’ve told me the real reason you retired, are you going to tell your family?”

  He ran one rough finger across her knuckles.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. My Dad…I don’t know if he wants to hear about that kind of thing. He just wants to know when I’m going to get back on my bike and bring more glory to Rocky Peak.”

  She detected no bitterness in his voice, just a kind of weariness. “Maybe he’ll stop pestering you to race again if you explain why you’re quitting.”

  “You don’t know Max. He’ll tell me I’m giving up too soon, that I’m not fighting back enough. That’s what he always told me growing up. I know how he thinks.” He shifted his tone to imitate a grumpy old man. “‘The Rockwells have been pioneers in these mountains since my grandad’s day, that’s why everyone knows not to mess with a Rockwell. You come for a Rockwell, you’d best not miss. We’re made of tough stock, us Rockwells. Tougher than a piece of twenty-year-old jerky left out in the rain and run over by a four-wheeler.’”

  She pulled a disgusted face at that image. “At least you can laugh about it.”

  “Laugh so you don’t cry.” He glanced over at her, his eyes greener than usual in the sunlight slanting though the airplane window. “It’s kind of a Rockwell family theme. If we had a motto, that would be it.”

  She could relate—except that she didn’t have a whole raft of siblings to laugh with. Her step-siblings didn’t count, since she’d never clicked with them.

  “I feel that, more than you know. It’s the story of my life too. But don’t you ever wish it wasn’t? If I’d had even one person I could really talk to—” She shook her head. “But the only person who always listened to me was my dad.”

  He rubbed his thumb across the sensitive skin at the base of her wrist. A pleasant sensation stole through her as he stroked her hand. It was a feeling she’d never quite experienced before—a combination of arousal and security.

  “We’re one step closer to finding him,” he said softly.

  “Maybe so.” She swallowed hard. She was definitely one step closer to something, but what if it wasn’t good news? How could it be good news? Unless her father had developed a case of amnesia, or was hiding out in witness protection, or had been kidnapped by aliens and was about to be returned, better than ever, she couldn’t imagine a positive scenario at the end of all this.

  Statistically speaking, none of those possibilities had any chance of being true.

  Griffin seemed to sense her sudden dread. “Listen, whatever we find out, we’ll deal with it.” He interlaced his fingers with hers, his palm warm and reassuring.

  “We?”

  “We,” he said firmly. “I’m in this now, and it would take a stick of dynamite to get me out.”

  She rested her head on his upper arm, solid with hard muscle. “My hero,” she said lightly.

  “Nah. No hero material here. I just really have the hots for you, Serena Riggs.”

  His voice, pitched low so no one overheard him, added to the hypnotic effect of his hand-stroking. She loved his voice, she realized drowsily. It was deep but not too loud, as if he was always holding back, just a little. And why didn’t he consider himself “hero material”?

  “You underestimate yourself, Griffin. The way Jake talks about you, you are a hero. You should hear some of the things he says.”

  But her words didn’t seem to sink in. His jaw flexed and he looked out the window at the vast blue sky. Was he still worried about his hearing issue? Or was there something else? Would it take a stick o
f dynamite to pry it out of him?

  The plane started its descent into the little regional airport where they’d left Griffin’s car.

  “I just thought of something,” she murmured. “Should I be Serena or Alison at the lodge? People know me as Serena, but if we want to convince your father of my professional skill, he might want to look me up under Alison Riggs.”

  “How about we skip the whole issue and just call you my ‘live-in sex toy’?” he asked blandly.

  20

  When Griffin and Serena walked into the Last Chance after driving in from the airport, Jake took one look at them and herded them around to the outdoor smoking area behind the pub.

  “What happened?” he demanded. “Something’s up.”

  “Nothing too bad,” Griffin assured him. “A little piece of Serena’s past surfaced. Just to be on the safe side, Serena’s going to stay at the lodge for a while.”

  “Also I should tell you that my first name isn’t really Serena.” She sounded almost giddy—probably because he’d driven them from the airport at top speed, employing his skills to the max, practically two-wheeling it around the curves. He told her it was to acclimate her to the feel of winter roads, but really it was to show off.

  She’d shrieked and whooped and at the end, when they’d jerked to a halt outside the Last Chance, she’d tackled him across the gear shift and they’d lost themselves in a deep, hot kiss.

  He was still feeling its effects, and he hoped to hell that wasn’t what Jake was picking up on.

  “I figured that wasn’t your name,” Jake said. “What is it?”

  “Alison.”

  He cocked his head at her, a slight frown between his eyebrows, then simply shook his head. “Sorry, not seeing it. Can we stick with Serena?”

  She laughed, catching Griffin’s eye. He wondered if she too was thinking of their alternate name—“live-in sex toy.”

  “I’m perfectly happy to stick with Serena, especially now that I’m officially on the run.”

  She gave him a quick rundown on the senator and the trolls in San Francisco.

  Jake sobered as he listened. He glanced around the backyard of the Last Chance, all shadows and tall pines. “Guess I’m losing my best backup bartender. I knew it was too good to last.”

  “Sorry. At least until Serena’s out of danger, she should stay out of sight.”

  “Serena is right here and can speak for herself,” she said, nudging his arm with her shoulder. It was an intimate gesture, and it sent Jake’s eyebrows climbing up his forehead. This time, he didn’t glare the way he had in the past. He just smiled smugly, as if he’d won a bet with himself. “Anything else I should know? What else happened in Santa Barbara?”

  “Well…” Serena glanced his way, probably waiting to see if he was going to come clean about his hearing. But he still wasn’t ready for that, so he shook his head slightly. “We did find out that your mother knew my father.”

  Jake’s expression shifted to something worried, almost wary.

  “I don’t know how or in what way,” Serena said quickly. “It may be completely innocent, I just don’t know, and I’m sorry for whatever—”

  “Hey hey.” Jake touched her arm. “Whatever it was, none of it’s your fault. Relax. It’s okay.”

  “Thanks, Jake.” Serena gave him a little hug, and a smile so affectionate that Griffin might have been jealous if he hadn’t spent much of last night inside her. “You’re the best.”

  “Not quite the best,” he murmured, looking over her shoulder at Griffin.

  She pulled away, a tinge of pink creeping up her cheeks. Apparently they were busted.

  “Is that it, then?” Jake asked again, looking back and forth from one to the other of them. “Nothing else?”

  Serena met Griffin’s eyes, and he read her silent question easily. To tell or not to tell? He shrugged, leaving it up to her.

  “Yes, there is one more thing,” she confessed. “Griffin and I…we…that is…” She gave him a pleading look, but he didn’t know how to describe it any better than she did. “We’re…when we were at the hotel, we—”

  “After the party, we—” Griffin tried.

  “I got it.” Jake held up a hand, mercifully sparing them from trying to explain. “You can spare me the details. I’ve been watching this coming, no big shocker.”

  Serena blew out a breath of relief. “Oh thank God. It’s surprisingly difficult to tell people you’re—”

  Griffin hugged an arm around her, cutting her off before she could spill too many details. “He did say to spare him. I think he got the gist.”

  “Right.” She tilted her head against his chest, another of those intimate gestures that said more than any words could. “How about we go grab some things from my cabin?” At the mention of the cabin, she straightened up abruptly. “Oh no.”

  “What?” He and Jake both looked around the yard, scanning for whatever danger had suddenly appeared. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just remembered that legend! For the record, I don’t believe in that kind of thing. That’s not what this is.”

  They both burst out laughing at the panic on her face. “I should probably be insulted,” Griffin said. “You’re more afraid of that legend than you are of a senator with a grudge.”

  “Call it a tie,” she murmured.

  * * *

  At her cabin, she threw a few things into a bag, including a sketchbook and a set of pencils, while he looked for signs that someone had been there in the past two days. He found nothing out of place except for more dog hair than seemed possible.

  “Boingo’s a shedder, is he?”

  “Oh yes. I’m considering a hairless hypothetical dog at this point. Did you know there’s a breed that’s virtually bald?”

  “You can’t have a bald dog in the mountains, unless you also want to learn how to knit doggie sweaters.”

  “Not a problem,” she called from the bedroom, where she was grabbing some clothes. “He’ll be a San Francisco dog, most likely. I’ll have to get him a slicker for all the fog.”

  Right. Of course. Serena wasn’t going to be here long enough to get a dog, let alone to knit sweaters for a dog. What was he thinking?

  This was short term. They both knew that, even though neither had said it out loud. It was understood, had been since they’d started their odd half-bodyguard, half-fake girlfriend non-relationship.

  Which was fine. He just had to keep reminding himself that this connection he felt to Serena was…temporary. Short term. Here today, gone tomorrow. He’d had plenty of practice at that, after all.

  The last time Serena had gone to the lodge, she’d been a stranger hoping for information. This time, she was an invited guest, someone who knew certain members of the family better than she’d ever imagined.

  It felt completely different.

  As she took in the steeply peaked roofline, the quirky collection of guesthouses and haphazardly added wings, she tried to picture her father here. Had he stayed in one of those guesthouses? Fallen in love with the lady of the manor? Given her a necklace, planned to run away with her?

  If so, what had happened next? Amanda had died while on her way to meet someone. If that someone had been her father, where had he gone after that?

  She put all those thoughts from her mind as the Rockwell family welcomed her into the fold. Max, Kai, Nicole and Gracie were all playing a game of Scrabble when they arrived. The board was set up on a big coffee table positioned near a huge stone hearth that made Serena’s fingers itch for a paintbrush.

  Griffin brought Serena around to Max, who occupied a throne-like leather armchair. It took only a glance to see what a great subject for a character study he would make. Waves of white hair, cigar clamped in his teeth, a face weathered by time and storms. “Max, I think you’re the only one who doesn’t know Serena. She’s here to make you famous.”

  “She’s about sixty years too late,” Max growled. “I’m a legend, girl. Who the hell are yo
u?”

  “Serena Riggs, portrait painter and legend only in my own mind.” She shook his hand, while his eyes sharpened.

  “Riggs? Riggs. How do I know that name?”

  Serena’s heart nearly stopped. Did he know her father? Would it really be that easy?

  Gracie spoke up. “Dad, we watched that movie the other night about Bobby Riggs. Battle of the Sexes. The tennis movie, remember?”

  He growled into his beard. “Yeah, yeah. Memory goes sometimes, right when you need it most. So what, you’re going to paint me?”

  “If you’re game.” Serena fought to control her disappointment. Of course it couldn’t be that simple, that “Mad Max” would have all the answers within a minute of her arrival at the lodge.

  “So long as you make me twenty years younger,” Max commanded. “Give me back my old body. Amanda used to call me the Hulk. Mountain man born and bred.”

  Serena smiled at him. So far, she liked this man, with his bluster and his grumbling. He seemed like someone who could take a joke. But there was only one way to know for sure. “Well, if I have any trouble I suppose I can always paint your head on Griffin’s body.”

  “Well, I’ll—” He stared at her for a moment, looking flabbergasted, while everyone else snickered and grinned. Then he threw his head back and let loose a shout of laughter, which rang through the room like a train whistle. “You got a mouth on you, don’t you? I’ll have to watch myself with you, girl.”

  Griffin squeezed her shoulder lightly. She interpreted that as a signal that she’d gotten off to a good start with Max.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to have a real artist in the house!” Gracie got to her feet and added more wood to the fire in the hearth. The crackle and pop of the fresh log made for the perfect winter soundtrack. “Can I watch you paint Dad?” She brushed her hands on her purple leggings as she bounced back to the couch.

  “Of course.” Serena glanced behind her at Griffin, who gave her a go-ahead nod. “But there’s something you all should know first. I don’t feel right staying here unless everyone knows the full story.”