Her eyes widen. “Date? Griffin. We can’t. I thought we agreed that going on another date wasn’t a good idea.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I can think of three reasons why it’s the best fucking idea I’ve had in years.”
“I bet I can think of three reasons why it’s a terrible idea.”
I gesture for her to go on.
“Well, first of all, we work together. CJJ has a strict no-fraternization policy. It could be a career killer for me. And let’s be honest, you’ve had enough bad publicity to last a lifetime. The last thing you want is for rumors to go around that you’re sleeping with your publicist.”
“What else?” I ask.
“This whole stalker situation aside, we barely know each other.” At my look, she says, “I mean, I know what I’ve read about you, what’s been reported in the tabloids, or what’s on your Wiki page, but I don’t know you.” When I don’t say anything, she continues. “And there’s Paul. I’ve known what great love is like. I had it with him. I’ve watched my parents have it my whole life. I don’t think I can settle for anything less than everything. I believe if that’s not something you’re willing to give or to fight for, then it’s not worth it.”
I shift in the chair. “What do you want to know?”
“Griffin . . .”
“What do you want to know? If we’re going to explore what this is between us, then you’re right. We should get to know each other better to see if we should fight for the other two points. Consider me an open book, babe.”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
I give her a slow, patient smile. “I’m on break. Not in this scene. We’ve got a couple hours at least. I’m all yours.”
“Well, I have work to do.”
“You don’t get a lunch?” I ask and have the pleasure of watching her jaw clench.
“Fine. One hour. But I have to warn you, I don’t think you’ll change my mind because I think you were right. Going further would be a mistake.”
Without answering her, I step out into the hall and quickly ask around to find sub sandwiches for lunch. I manage to snag a couple along with some soft drinks and a veggie platter. Bringing it all back to her cramped office, I arrange it on the desk in front of her.
“Eat up,” I say and settle back into what I consider to be my chair and start chowing down on a ham sub with the works. “Ask whatever you want.”
“Where are you from?”
I lift a brow. “That wasn’t in whatever black book I’m sure you have about me?”
An enigmatic smile crosses her lips. “There are a lot of things in my black book about you, but if we’re going to do this, I’m more interested in hearing things from your point of view.”
“Fair enough. Well, I’m from a small town in California. My parents have been married for thirty years and still live in the same town I grew up in.”
“Really? What do they think about all your flashy girlfriends?”
Of course, she wouldn’t pull punches. “They think I should settle down with a nice girl and give them grandchildren.”
At this, she chokes on a carrot stick slathered in ranch dressing. “You’re kidding.”
I shake my head. “Not at all. I’m an only child, and my mom mentions it at least once—or twice—a week.”
“What made you join the Marines?”
“My dad was a lifer. Served twenty years. It always seemed like I was going to be a Marine. Ended up serving for four years. I lived for the thrills.”
“What kind of thrills?” Was I imagining it, or was her voice thawing a little?
“Anything to get the blood pumping.”
“Is that why you got into doing stunts after you worked for Jackson’s company?”
I muse on the question as I finish off the last bite of the sandwich. “Yes and no. Acting and film were never on my radar, but I met this guy once when I was racing an old Shelby Mustang. He had been a stunt coordinator for years. One thing led to another, and eventually, I was working on so many films, I had to quit working for Jackson. He was pissed, but it’s been fun. I guess I needed a change from the ops and shit. A couple years later, I got offered my first acting role in a film. The rest, I guess you can say, is history.”
She’s quiet as she finishes her sub and plate of vegetables. I do the same, trying not to fidget as I wait for the inevitable.
“Um, I guess my next question is about what happened last year. You’ve never really talked publicly about it.”
The food in my stomach automatically turns to cement. I knew we’d have to talk about it eventually, but nothing ever seems to prepare me for the onslaught of memories. Clearing my throat, I say, “Well, I knew this was coming, but I said I was willing to talk about everything, and I’m not going to go back on my word. The official statement is that Allison Dupree died as a result of an accident while filming on set. Faulty or damaged brake lines, I think they said.”
Her hands rest in her lap, her eyes steady and focused on me, food forgotten. “To be honest, for a long time, I’d blocked it out. Probably plain denial. I spent a lot of time with my head in a bottle, trying not to remember. But there’s no erasing memories like that.” Still, she says nothing. “When I did remember, all I wanted to do was forget again. It was supposed to be a standard stunt. She wasn’t even supposed to be in the car. We’d been sleeping together for a couple weeks, and she somehow convinced me to let her ride with me instead of her double. Long story short, the car malfunctioned while we were at high speeds. I survived with barely a scratch. She didn’t survive.”
Chapter Fifteen
Phoebe
He rubs at his eyes, his exhaustion emphasized by the bruise-colored smudges underneath. Guilt pools in my stomach because I shouldn’t have pushed him, and yet, his honesty strikes me more deeply than any other quality about him.
I don’t know if he senses the shift in my mood or what, but he reaches across the table and cups my jaw. “Hey, don’t feel sorry about me. I’ve come to terms with what happened, and I want you to know if you want me to fight for you, I’ll fight. Stalkers. Professional rules. Hell, I’ll even go to bat against Jackson’s wife. Whatever you want. If what you want is for me to fight, then sign me up.”
You know how some people say when you know, you know?
It’s at that moment that I knew.
Whatever happens, I want to be with Griffin for as long as it makes sense for the both of us. Maybe even when it doesn’t. I know it won’t necessarily be forever, maybe just for now. But if that’s all it is, then I want it.
“Do you think I can stay at your place tonight?”
I’ve never been a forward person, at least not outside of a committed relationship, but I want to be for Griffin. I’ve been careful ever since Paul died, like making a mistake could break me. It’s time to take a page out of Griffin’s book and take a chance . . . on him.
His stunned expression has me biting back a smile as his hand drops to the seat by his side. “Did something happen at your place?” he asks warily.
“No, nothing happened.”
“Are you scared to go there? I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know you won’t. That isn’t why I want to come over.”
He gives me a warning look. “Don’t play with me, Phoebe.”
I walk across the room until I’m so close my thigh brushes against his, and I lean in and kiss him. At first, I think he’s going to push me away, but then his hands slide to my shoulders, and he deepens the kiss. I shudder as the taste of him bathes my tongue. I thought I’d imagined how good he tasted, but I didn’t.
I kiss him until I forget where we are, how to breathe, who I am.
I kiss him until those hands on my shoulders tighten and pull me close to his chest.
Then I pull back, breathing heavily. “Do you understand now?”
He smirks a little. “I think I got the picture. I’m not going to ask if you’re sure. As
soon as we’re done today, meet me at the GT. Don’t be late.”
I don’t remember much about the drive to his apartment. My thoughts are mired in a fog of lust, anticipation, and nerves because I haven’t been with a man since Paul. But it feels right, and I’m not going to second-guess myself anymore.
Whatever happens, happens, and I’ll live with the consequences tomorrow.
But tonight? Tonight, I’m going to enjoy the bad decisions.
The car rocks to a stop when he pulls into the driveway, and he’s out and at my door before I can get my seat belt off. When my hands fumble with the catch, he reaches over me and undoes it himself. Then I’m on my feet, and he grabs my hand and practically drags me up the sidewalk to his front door.
My heart is thundering in my ears, but now more from excitement than nerves. I’m barely over the threshold before he’s slamming the door behind us and locking it. Then he’s kissing me like he’s been thinking about it since the last time.
We shed clothes on the way to his bedroom. My shirt is first, and he pauses to kiss down my chest and over the swells of my breasts. He pulls down the cups of my bra to tease my nipples with his tongue in one movement. I cry out and clutch at his head, trying to control the zip of lightning arcing through me. I’m not going to last very long at this rate.
“Oh God,” I whimper.
Then his mouth is on mine again, and I’m clawing at the buckle of his belt, ripping it off and then attacking the zipper on his jeans. We stumble into his bedroom, my bra hanging from my arms, his jeans half around his ankles, and his hands struggling to reach down my pants. We don’t bother to turn on the lights and instead feel our way blindly until we tumble onto the bed.
I land on top of him, but he still has clothes on, and that just doesn’t work for me. So, I slide down his body and off the bed so I’m standing by his feet. I can barely see his outline as I tug his jeans off the rest of the way.
“You don’t—”
Whatever he’s about to say is swallowed by his groan as I take him into my mouth. After feeling his impressive bulge the other night, I haven’t been able to stop daydreaming about getting my lips wrapped around him.
The reality is so much better than my daydreams. His hands grip my hair gently, and the sexiest groans I’ve ever heard fill my ears as I suck him deeply and rhythmically, until his hips are rising to meet me. Soon, the salty tang of pre-cum coats my tongue, and his cock is so hard it makes me wet to think about it inside me.
His hands move to my arms, and he pulls me up, making me release his cock with an audible pop. “Your turn,” he says, his tone full of promise as he rolls me onto my back and then moves down my body.
I have no objections, so I lie underneath him as he strips off the rest of my clothes. My bra is the first to go, getting tossed over his shoulder. Then my pants and underwear, which suffer the same fate. He forces my knees to bend and holds them wide-open for his inspection.
My fists grip the sheets as he licks his way up and down my thighs before sealing his mouth against me. His tongue worships and torments my clit in equal measure. Sounds that are drenched in pleasure are coaxed from my throat. His hands keep my legs open, holding me hostage as he tastes me. No matter how much I want to move to increase the friction against his devilish tongue, he doesn’t let me.
I can feel the orgasm pool low in my stomach, a warm, tingling weight that spreads throughout my limbs. “I’m gonna come, oh God, don’t stop,” I whisper, and he stops.
I nearly scream.
He crawls up my body, and the desperate need I felt when we were stumbling to his room returns. There’s no room for finesse. “I’ll take my time later. I’ll give it to you nice and slow, but right now, I want you.”
“Fast, slow, I don’t care. Right now, I just need you. Please.”
I watch his expression as he positions himself at my entrance. The first inch has me throwing my head back and gripping his arms so hard I’m certain he’ll bruise, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He places my legs over his shoulder, which makes the next thrust even and deep.
“Does that hurt?” he asks.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, and Griffin isn’t exactly small, but the pain isn’t even on my radar. “I’m okay.”
He increases his pace until I accept every inch of him. The tender tissues around him flutter against his intrusion, and I almost come from that alone. It feels so good, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m grateful when he maintains control, angling my hips so he can press even deeper until I’ve given up trying to keep quiet.
“I’m close, sweetheart,” I hear him growl.
I shudder at his words and try to hold back the orgasm because it feels so overwhelming, but it’s unstoppable. Inevitable. I arch my back as it rolls over me like an assault, violent and almost painful. I clench around him, milking him with my inner muscles until he’s murmuring, “Fuck, yes. Fuck. Come on my dick,” like the filthiest porn I’ve ever seen and want to watch again. He makes it sound sexy as hell.
Being with him is filthy and beautiful.
Wrong, and oh so right.
Chapter Sixteen
Griffin
A sound wakes me.
I grunt and sit up, confused.
Phoebe shifts, but she doesn’t wake as I slide from the bed. I take a moment to admire her lithe curves. I like waking up to her. I could get used to it.
My phone turns up in my jeans pocket after a quick search, and a look at the screen shows the time, 5:07. I must have fallen asleep holding her—abnormal for me. My MO is either to leave myself or encourage a quick exit. Better yet, not get involved at all. But it feels right to have her next to me, the scent of her surrounding me.
All I want to do is pull her closer into my arms and press my body against hers and fall back asleep, but the noise that woke me sounds again, and I turn my ear to the open doorway to my bedroom. It sounded like it came from the kitchen. It was too loud to be white noise, and a strange feeling tiptoes up my spine.
Someone is in my apartment.
My ears strain to hear over the sounds from the street and the loud ticking from my wall clock. It’s too dark to see clearly and just light enough for the shadows around me to be ominous. Maybe I’m being hyper-vigilant, but I don’t give a fuck.
I reach for the M9 I keep on my bedside table, but it isn’t there. In our hurry to get naked, I must have left it in my GT.
Stupid, stupid move. I know better.
I pull on my jeans, preferring not to catch whoever is in the apartment with my dick swinging. I keep the Taurus Judge my father gave me in my closet in a case, so I retrieve it along with an assortment of .410 and Colt .45 rounds. It’s a revolver, so it takes precious seconds to load the cylinder. The weight of the gun settles comfortably in my palm as I ease out of my bedroom and pull the door closed behind me as silently as possible. The weight of my phone is a comfort in my right-hand pocket. Maybe it’ll turn out to be nothing, but it’s better to be prepared just in case.
The sounds of movement coming from the area of the kitchen increase. Boots scuffing against the linoleum. Are they waiting for something? The rhythmic sound of footsteps makes me think the person is pacing. Anxious.
Whatever the reason, I’m glad it woke me up.
I don’t want to think about what could have happened if it hadn’t.
I reach the end of the hall and peer around the corner and see them. You’d think that after spending so much time in adrenaline-fueled situations, I’d become immune to the stuff, but not in this case. Sweat pools at the base of my spine and dampens my palms.
I thoroughly believe shooting whoever broke into my apartment will be justified. So, I don’t hesitate to aim straight for his heart. I would have pulled the trigger, too, if I hadn’t heard the bedroom door open, followed by the sound of Phoebe’s soft footsteps.
My heart drops to my feet as the intruder turns, and I see the whites of their eyes through a ski mask. A kn
ife glints in their gloved hands. I raise the gun, thinking only of eliminating the threat.
“Griffin?” comes Phoebe’s voice.
My aim is true, despite the interruptions, but the intruder feints enough that when I squeeze off the first shot, it’s off the mark. Glass explodes. Wood splinters. Phoebe screams.
The man in the ski mask uses the moment of surprise to his advantage and charges, shoulder down, at me. He hits his mark, one shoulder straight in my ribs, and knocks every wisp of breath from my lungs. We tumble to the floor, and the gun lands a few feet away despite my best efforts.
There’s a glint of metal, a sound of frustration muffled by the material of the ski mask, and then white-hot searing pain.
“No!” Phoebe screams as she jumps onto the attacker’s back like a wild cat. She wraps an arm around the guy’s throat and punches at every available surface with her free fist.
As she fights and claws, I crawl toward my discarded gun. The intruder manages to buck Phoebe off his back, and she lands hard on the kitchen floor. He follows her, and before I can get to the gun, he’s thrusting the knife into her stomach. She screams again, loud and thin and full of terror and anger.
“No!” I yell hoarsely, still gasping for air from the blow to my midsection.
My heart bottoms out at her gasp of pain as she goes boneless. It feels like I do too. The intruder leaves the knife protruding from her midsection and gets to his feet. He takes one look at me, sees how close I am to the gun, and then sprints for the front door. I expend three rounds in his wake before cursing and turning back to Phoebe.
With as much as I want to chase him down, Phoebe’s hurt, possibly dying, and I refuse to leave her alone.
And it’s all my fault.
I should have been more prepared. I shouldn’t have let my guard down. If she dies, her blood is also on my hands. Just like it had been with Allison.
She’s on the floor writhing in pain when I make it to her side. The knife juts from the fleshy side of her abdomen. I shift only enough to be able to pull open a drawer and grab a couple of dishtowels, then I press them around the knife, making her wince.
Reckless: A Salvation Society Novel Page 9
