Clare paused, warring with the urge to go back and defend him. It was one thing for Eppie and Judith to orchestrate her well-being, but doing it at Griffin’s expense was wrong.
But as he leaned his hands on the counter, his broad shoulders flexed, Griffin didn’t look like a man who needed defending. He looked strong, powerful and utterly unconcerned about what anyone thought about him. Clare’s heart sank a little bit. There was nothing she could do for him. He didn’t need her, and he never would. He wasn’t the kind of man who needed anything. What could she possibly offer a man who had everything he needed?
“Well, Griffin,” Norm said as he tipped his chair back and let it tap against the unfinished wall. “Most of the nicer places won’t open for another month when the summer folk start to arrive. And the Black Loon Inn is booked for the Smith-Pineal wedding for the next week.”
Clare turned toward her friends. “Let’s go.”
Astrid raised her brows. “Strong hands, indeed.”
Emma lowered her voice. “He might be a killer, but if I could have a man look at me that way for one minute of my life, it might almost be worth it.”
Clare felt her cheeks heat up, and she glanced back at Griffin. He wasn’t even looking her way. So, yeah, that heated look between them had meant nothing. Resolutely, Clare pulled open the door. “Just stop already.”
“Looks like you’ll have to pick another town, Mr. Friesé,” Eppie said cheerfully. “There’s no place for you to stay here.”
“Yes, perhaps you should go back to Boston,” Judith added, peering at him through her glasses. “Maine isn’t the right place for a man like you.”
Clare bit her lip against the urge to jump in. What purpose would it serve? Griffin could defend himself just fine, and she didn’t need the grief she would get if she interfered. She had to live in this town, and she already had enough people chastising her for how she wasn’t doing enough for her daughter or herself. She knew Eppie and Judith’s hostility came from their need to protect her, and she would stir it up even further if she started defending him.
Both she and Griffin would be better off if she didn’t defend him, and it was pretty clear from his body language that he didn’t want her interfering anyway. The magical moment in the storm had not translated to real life, even though for a split second, when he’d looked at her so intensely, she’d thought maybe it had.
It hadn’t, and she had to move on. Life was not a fairy tale.
Clare stepped outside, wishing she hadn’t let her mouth drop open in an awed gape when she’d seen him. The only reason the town was giving him such a hard time was because they thought there was a personal relationship between her and Griffin, thanks to her dramatic reaction to seeing him. Yes, if he was a total stranger, they’d still think (or hope) he was a soon-to-be murderer, but they’d be more curious than hostile. The hostility was her fault, and she regretted that.
“Clare’s renter just moved out,” Astrid said, her voice ringing out in the store. “Griffin can stay in her spare room. No rats, and it comes with free Wi-Fi. Best deal in town.”
Oh, dear God. Clare’s whole body flamed hot, and she whipped around. Please tell me he didn’t hear that.
But Griffin was staring right at her.
Oh, yes. He’d heard. And so had everyone else.
Chapter Five
Griffin’s instinct had been to turn down the suggestion of staying at Clare’s house, but his refusal died in his throat the moment he saw her stricken face.
Her eyes were wide with horror, and she was clutching her precious cupcakes so tightly he was certain she’d crushed them. In that moment, he saw the woman he’d met last night. The one whose passion, courage and vulnerability had made him want to whip out a sword and slay all her dragons.
Yes, there was still confidence and strength emanating from her, but there was also a frailty that touched something inside him. Clare might put on the persona of being tough and independent, and she might even live that life, but inside that courageous exterior was a softness that touched the very depths of his being.
When Clare had flounced in there to retrieve her cupcakes, Griffin had been compelled by her energy and dynamism. But when she’d looked around and realized that people were watching, she’d shut him out faster than his ex used to do on a regular basis.
He knew what it was like to have a woman retreat on him, and he’d known instantly when Clare had shut him down. He didn’t waste time with that crap anymore, and as soon as she’d done it, he’d checked out. Done.
But as he saw her gaze flicking nervously around the room, he saw fear in her expression that belied the apparent aloofness and independence. Clare was vibrantly alive, unabashedly emotional. She was thrumming with fire and passion, and something inside him flared back to life at the realization.
Her gaze snapped back to him. “I don’t think you’d like my place,” she said, her voice strident across the store, but now that he was listening for it, he could hear a tremulous waver in her voice. “There’s no privacy. Shared bathroom and kitchen. It’s just a room. I’m sure you’re used to your own space.”
“I am.” And he damn well liked his space, too. He basked in his gleaming penthouse condo, he appreciated his massive office with floor to ceiling windows, and he liked to order in whatever he wanted for dinner.
Relief flickered across her face, her emotions on such display that his heart softened even more. “Well, so, then great. I mean, yes, I’m sure you’ll find something else—”
“There’s nothing else,” the old man behind the counter said. “Not until next week.”
“Oh, well...” Clare swallowed, her nervousness apparent. “Well, if your wife and daughter are in River Junction, there are some nice places near there—”
“Ex-wife,” he interrupted. How in God’s name did she know about Hillary and Brooke?
“She’s his ‘ex’ because of his rages,” the old lady with the lavender hair whispered loudly enough to be heard all the way back to Boston. And from the way the energy in the room shifted, it was clear that everyone there was right on board with her sentiments.
“Ex-wife,” Clare repeated, and there was something softer in her voice, something he couldn’t decipher. But that gentleness drew his attention back to her, and suddenly, the world was gone again. Just them.
His life was a crazy whirlwind of action, negotiation, movement, and people. Never had it closed down into a single moment, a single person, a single thought.
But in this moment, with Clare, he was consumed by her. By nothing but her. He felt his entire body thrum with focus and energy, and he knew he wasn’t finished. Not with this moment. Not with this woman. Not with this feeling. “I’m not going to stay in River Junction,” he said to her, only to her. “I’m going to stay here.”
Her forehead furrowed anxiously, and tiny tension lines creased around her eyes. “Why?” Her question was almost desperate, as if she could will him to go somewhere else.
Because you’re here. The thought sprang unbidden into his mind, and he dismissed it as quickly as it had come. He was here because he’d plotted his strategy, and this was the best place to launch his assault. Like Jackson and his tires, Griffin knew that every successful invasion began with a solid foundation, and Birch Crossing was his launching point. “Because this is where I need to be.”
Clare pressed her lips together, and he smiled. No, she was definitely not the cold, ruthless female his ex-wife was. Clare was different. She couldn’t conceal all the emotions rolling so turbulently through her, and he relished that expressiveness. Her passion was such a tremendous relief after spending so many years fighting to get past the hard shell with his ex-wife, to have some glimpse of the humanity beneath. Clare poured everything she was out into the world, and it ignited a response in him that made him want to stride across the room and bury himself in everything she was.
“You don’t want to stay at my place,” she said. “The roof is leaking and I’
m always up late working...”
“You have Wi-Fi?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Well, yes, but—”
“Rats?”
“No, but sometimes a squirrel will get in the kitchen—”
“I’m in.”
The room came alive as people began to whisper. He didn’t even bother to look at the two older women behind him, but he could feel their stares. He simply kept his gaze on Clare, waiting for the play of emotions he knew he’d see on her face, waiting for her answer.
The tension was thick, the silence intense, but Griffin didn’t move, his body taught with the need for her to say yes.
Clare’s friends broke into wide grins, but Clare simply stared at him. She looked shocked and utterly uncertain how to answer. But he was pretty sure he saw a flash of interest in those crystal-blue eyes of hers, even as her small hands tightened around the smashed box of cupcakes.
“Okay, that’s it, young man.” The woman with the garish pink hat walked up to him. “You do not get to prey on the women in our town. Leave now, or we’ll have you escorted out—”
“He can stay,” Clare interrupted, her voice rising defiantly over the crowd. Her gaze met his, and her face softened. “You can stay,” she said more quietly, and he knew she was talking only to him.
Hot damn. Intense satisfaction pulsed through Griffin, along with hot anticipation. Clare had stood up for herself, for him. She had courage, and he liked that. Damn, did he like that.
Her cheeks were red with emotion. But her shoulders were back, and she was holding her chin aloft. She was a woman with substance, standing firm despite the pressure in that room to walk away from him. Her fear was evident in the way she glanced nervously at the pink hat lady, but her conviction was clear. She was going to protect him, and the only way she knew how was to invite him into her home.
His determination to stay with her softened at her show of courage, and he strode across the room toward her.
The tension in the room began to rise as he got closer to her, and Clare lifted her chin even higher, but she didn’t step back as he came to a stop directly in front of her. As he got closer, he could see the gold highlights in her auburn hair, pure natural beauty that made him want to sift the strands through his fingers.
Quietly, without a word, he took her arm. Her muscles were rigid beneath his grasp, and her arm was so tiny. But it was strong beneath that denim jacket.
She watched him warily as he bent his head so his lips were next to her ear. Her hair brushed his cheek, and he caught the faint floral scent of her soap. Natural, but so appealing in its femininity. “Clare,” he said in a low voice, for her ears only.
She caught her breath and stiffened, and her hand went to his forearm. Her grip was tight, almost desperate, and electricity leapt through him at her touch. She turned her head so her cheek was next to his, her breath brushing his ear, as she mimicked his pose. Almost touching, but not quite. “What?” Her voice was soft and feminine as she responded, her quiet question for him and no one else.
Total privacy, shutting out the crowds even while in the midst of them. Intimate.
“You don’t have to let me stay,” he said quietly. As much as he burned to accept her offer, to move into the home of this woman who awakened a fire inside him he hadn’t felt in years, there was no way he would compromise her integrity or take advantage of her. The same need to protect her that he’d felt last night was hammering at him, even if it meant protecting her from himself. “I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.”
She didn’t respond for a moment, and regret weighed in his chest. She was going to accept the escape he’d offered her.
But then she pulled back, just enough so she could look at him, but she didn’t let go of his arm, and she kept the intimate, private distance between them. She searched his face, as if she were looking for answers that only she could see. “I owe you,” she said, so softly that even her friends standing next to them wouldn’t have heard.
“No.” Griffin was so tempted to lift one of those wayward tendrils away from her face, but he didn’t. “You don’t owe me.” He could not allow her to make a choice out of guilt.
Defiance flashed in Clare’s eyes, as if she was going to argue with him, but then she seemed to change her mind. She simply shrugged. “You can stay with me. The reason doesn’t matter.”
Relief cascaded through him at her certainty. He wanted to stay with her. And he wanted it with a fierceness he didn’t even understand. “You sure?”
“Yes.” Then a twinkle danced in her eyes. “But you have to pay me up front. Once you get arrested for murder, I don’t want to have to track you down for the rent payment.”
He laughed, his voice echoing out over the silent room that he knew had been trying so desperately to hear what they were saying. “I agree.”
She smiled then, a real smile full of vibrancy and life. “My office is across the street. Come by in an hour, and I’ll have the rental agreement ready for you to sign.” She spoke in normal tones, and the occupants of the store began to whisper excitedly. He was pretty sure he heard someone mention aiding and abetting a murderer.
“A rental agreement?” He was surprised by the formality. It seemed out of place for this small town, for the passionate woman whose grip on his arm had softened to a temptingly intimate touch. “For a stay that’s going to last only a few days?”
She released his arm and patted his cheek. His adrenaline spiked at the warmth of her touch, the intimacy of skin-to-skin, and sudden heat rushed through him. “I’m a lawyer, Mr. Friesé. Of course I have paperwork for you to sign.” She waved at the room. “See you all later. Have a fantastic day.”
Then cupcakes in hand, she spun around and strode out the door, leaving with just enough extra haste that he knew she was thoroughly rattled by her decision, which made him smile.
Her friend with the headband grinned at him as she followed Clare. “Welcome to Birch Crossing, Griffin Friesé. You’re going to love it here, as I’m sure you can tell.”
The gal with blond hair gave him a more thoughtful look. “Be nice to her,” was all she said, but he felt the sincerity and love behind that comment. Clare had friends who cared deeply for her.
The door slammed shut behind them, and he moved to the window to watch the women hurry across the street into a small, white building down the block.
His vulnerable, delicate Clare Gray was a lawyer.
Damn. He hadn’t seen that one coming.
Was she the tough lawyer who’d strode into the store this morning? Or the vulnerable, passionate woman who’d caught his attention so thoroughly?
He grinned. He didn’t know, but he was looking forward to finding out.
* * *
Several hours later, Clare ran up the steps to the side door of her house as Griffin’s enormous truck pulled in behind her Subaru. As she reached for the doorknob of her rambling farmhouse, she suddenly noticed that the dark red paint was chipping, and that her home looked older and more worn down than she’d ever noticed. She’d been so proud the day she’d bought it five years ago, finally being able to give a real home to Katie, but suddenly, it looked rundown instead of charming. What would Griffin think, with his new truck and sparkling gold watch?
He stepped out of the truck, pausing to study the house. She became uncomfortably aware of the missing shingles on the roof and the overstuffed gutters. Her yard looked so drab compared to Griffin’s shiny truck and his pressed shirt. How would he react to it?
Then she scowled and fisted her hands. Hadn’t she learned her lesson about trying to change who she was to impress an outsider? She loved this drafty old farmhouse with its huge yard and the beautiful oak tree by the street, and she was so proud that she owned it. This was her triumph, and she wasn’t going to feel embarrassed just because it wasn’t pristine, modern and fancy like she was sure Griffin’s home was.
If Griffin deemed it unworthy, he was more than welcom
e to go back to the Dark Pines Motel. “Come inside when you’re ready,” she called to him, not bothering to wait for him.
“I’m ready.” He immediately turned and began heading toward the door, his stride lithe and almost predatory as he headed toward her, closing the distance between them with alarming speed.
Ack! He really was coming in! Clare pulled open the screen door and hurried inside, casting nervous glances at the misplaced shoes, jackets and school books on the floor. “Katie?”
“In here.” Her daughter’s voice drifted from the family room, and Clare was thankful her daughter was out of bed at least.
Clare set her purse and backpack in the small foyer and walked to the door of the family room. Katie was curled on the faded navy couch watching television and eating cereal. She was still wearing her pink pajamas and her brown hair was in disarray from going to bed with it wet. The poor thing had been so cold that she’d stayed in the shower until all the hot water was used up, and then had wanted even more.
“How are you feeling?” Clare asked, her heart softening at the sight of her daughter all curled up on the couch.
Katie shrugged, not bothering to look away from the television. “Fine.”
“Really?” Maybe her daughter was fine, but to Clare, Katie looked so small and vulnerable under the big, fluffy blanket she’d apparently dragged down from her bed. She looked like a fifteen year old girl, not the woman she wanted to be.
Not the grownup Clare was about to ask her to be. “I rented out the room.”
“Mom!” Katie groaned and rolled her eyes, tossing the remote control on the couch with visible annoyance. “Again? I hate having people in our space.”
“The money helps—”
“If you need money, then don’t send me to MIT this summer.” Katie gave her a long-suffering look that was artfully accentuated by an expression of heart-melting pleading.
As if they hadn’t had this discussion a thousand times already. “That summer program will help you get into college—”
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