No Knight Needed

by Stephanie Rowe

  He scowled, sudden resistance roaring through him at the idea of leaving, at the notion of her wanting him to leave. “Why is it good?”

  Wariness flickered through her eyes. “Never mind.” She turned away and began removing the cupcakes from the tray. He noticed there were already several dozen spread out over the counters. “Have some lasagna and don’t worry about missing dinner. It’s totally fine.”

  “I already ate.” Why was it good he was leaving soon? Was she mad at him? He studied the relaxed curve of her shoulders and knew she wasn’t. So why did she want him to leave?

  “Then go to bed,” she said, not looking up from her dessert-fest, setting a visible distance between them. “Or go work. Or whatever it is you wish to do.”

  Griffin ground his jaw at the wall she’d thrown up between them, cutting him off from her warmth and inner circle. She was giving him exactly what he wanted. Space to do his thing. But for some damn reason, he didn’t want to go back to his room.

  He wanted to stay right where he was.

  No, not where he was.

  He wanted to walk into that room, sit down at that table and insert himself right into the moment. He wanted to rip down that wall she’d erected and shove himself back into her sphere. He wanted her to look at him as if he ignited fire in every damn corner of her being, like she’d done at the store and earlier in her living room. And then, he wanted to wrap his hand around the back of her neck, lower his head, and kiss her until there was nothing between them but raw, raging heat, and desire so intense that it consumed them both, sucking them into a kiss so fierce that they were both lost in it forever.

  Yeah. That was what he wanted to do.

  Chapter Eight

  Clare wasn’t looking at Griffin, and she wasn’t even facing his direction, but she knew the moment he decided to stay. Maybe it was a current in the air that suddenly came alive. Maybe it was a shift in his breathing from relaxed to something more intense. Maybe it was simply her own desire for him to stake a claim in her world. Whatever it was, her belly clenched in anticipation even before he took that first step into her kitchen.

  His feet were heavy as he walked across the floor, and the sound of his briefcase landing on the table made her jump. “Mind if I work in here for a bit?”

  She stole a peek at him. His hair was messier than it had been when he’d walked out hours ago, and his dress shirt was crinkled. He looked more reachable, less perfect, and utterly appealing, and he was watching her intently. Why did he look at her like that? Why? “Yes, sure, that’s fine,” she managed. “I’ll be up for a while.”

  He said nothing as he opened his briefcase and booted up his computer, but she was so conscious of his presence. When he’d left tonight without a word, it had been good. Really good. It had served as a much needed and very powerful reminder of exactly who he was.

  After Katie’s embrace of him, his support of the MIT program, and his humorous wit as he’d helped her bring in logs, Clare had started to relax. She’d begun to enjoy him. She’d forgotten about all the warnings, rules and plans she’d lived with for so long.

  Tonight when he’d walked out on her like that, it had been all too reminiscent of the day Ed had left her. Ed hadn’t been able to stay in Birch Crossing, and neither would Griffin.

  If she got involved with Griffin, it would end badly, and the repercussions for Katie and herself would be significant if they became accustomed to having him around. Eppie and Judith were right. She had to stay focused. Be safe. Protect her space—

  “What’s with the cupcakes?”

  Heat washed over Clare at the sound of his deep voice. Dammit! What was wrong with her? Why was she reacting like this? There was a man in her kitchen. So what? She was smarter than this. She really was. “These are for Wright’s. Norm sells them for me.” She pointed to a batch at the far end of the counter that was already frosted. “Those are for a boy in Katie’s class. It’s his birthday tomorrow, and I made the cupcakes for him to take to his classroom.”

  Griffin walked over to the counter and inspected them. “Red Sox cupcakes? You have every player on there.”

  “I repeated a few.” Clare sighed as she looked at the vast quantity still left to be frosted. “We had too many kids in the class, so I doubled up some of the stars.”

  “These are incredible.”

  Warmth flooded Clare at the genuine admiration in his voice. “Thanks.”

  “Seriously.” He ambled down the counter, looking at some of the others that she’d already finished. He picked up one of the loon ones, and then the pink rose. “These are works of art, not cupcakes.”

  She smiled at his enthusiasm. “Well, I don’t know about that—”

  He looked at her then, and there was something burning in his eyes. A fire. An intensity. Her body responded instantly, thrumming with energy and heat. “What?” she asked.

  He held up one of the cupcakes. “It takes passion to make these.”

  “Passion?” Interesting word choice. She swallowed, unable to stop the heat building low in her belly, the awareness rippling through her of his broad shoulders, the strong angle of his jaw, the way his lips curved in a half-smile. What if he kissed her? What if he put that cupcake on the counter, closed that distance between them and locked her down against him for a kiss that shook her to her very core?

  “Yeah.” He set it down and studied her, his eyes dark with heat as his gaze flicked briefly to her mouth, as if he were imagining that same kiss. “I specialize in buying and rebuilding companies in the fashion industry. I have no design skills myself, but I have a visionary ability to identify creative brilliance. And you’ve got it.”

  “Really?” She grinned at his genuine admiration. “No one’s ever called me brilliant before. I like that.”

  “You must love making cupcakes.” He folded his arms over his chest, his face thoughtful. “You can’t create that kind of magic unless you love it.”

  “Well, yes, of course I do.” Clare was unsettled by his intensity, so she tossed the potholder back on the counter and retreated to her computer. “I don’t have time to do it as much as I would like, though.” She held up the folder, trying to remind herself of what she needed to focus on. “I need to pay the bills, you know?”

  Griffin sat down next to her, too close. He braced his arm on the back of her chair and leaned forward, into her space. “Why don’t you pay the bills with the cupcakes?”

  Clare burst out in nervous laughter. “Pay a mortgage, student loans, rent for my office and my daughter’s summer program on cupcake proceeds?”

  “Yeah, sure.” His gaze went to her mouth again, and heat crashed through her. “I made millions on slippers. It happens. No reason why cupcakes can’t turn a good profit.”

  She stared at him. “Make money from my cupcakes?” For a split second, something flared inside her. Hope? Desire? Interest? What if— Then she laughed, knowing it could never happen. What if indeed? “The fastest way for me to lose the joy I get from baking is to try to earn money from it. It’s my respite, and if I taint it by trying to profit from it, then it won’t be fun anymore.”

  He frowned, as if he couldn’t understand. “Why not?”

  Clare held up her folder. “I’m good at being a lawyer, but it drains me. I need to refresh. There’s no way I could work late at night if I wasn’t getting up every twenty minutes to work on the cupcakes. It energizes me. But if I had to bake and had to make them beautiful, then they become another source of stress and pressure, and another opportunity to screw up. I get enough of that with the day job already.”

  Griffin folded his arms as he leaned back in his chair, giving her space she didn’t want now that she’d gotten used to him being so close to her. “If your work doesn’t energize you, then you’ve got the wrong job.”

  “The wrong job?” She smacked him on the head with the folder. “I better not have the wrong job. I owe too much money in student loans and too many hours of free babysitting to Eppie to
have made a mistake.” She leveled the folder at him. “Don’t even suggest it, Griffin. Those kinds of words will get you sent to bed without dinner.”

  He laughed and caught her wrist, deflecting the folder. “A man can’t risk not having food. I’ll never broach the topic again.”

  “Good.” He was still holding her wrist. Lightly. But with a hint of possession. She stared at him, and the laughter faded until the only sound was the click of her oven working.

  This time, when his gaze went to her mouth, she didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking. Hot, raw desire burned in his eyes, and her entire body leapt in response. Her pulse began to hammer in her throat, and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

  She knew it was a bad idea, oh, she did. But it didn’t matter. All she could think about was what it would be like to have Griffin lean forward, slide his hand through her hair and stake his claim on her. She wanted to be claimed by him. She wanted him to rip through her shields and make her unable to deny the hot desire racing through her, desire she’d thought was so long dead.

  Griffin was making fire burn through her veins and pulse deep in her core. It was terrifying, but at the same time, her very soul cried out with the need for him to stoke that heat, to show her what it could be like, to make her burn from his kisses. What would it feel like to have his mouth on hers? To feel his palm slide over her belly? To cup her breast? To feel his hard, muscular body sinking down onto hers, making her his in every way?

  His eyes darkened, and he slid his hand along her jaw, his touch a sinfully erotic sensation as it eased along her skin. “Clare,” he whispered, his voice raw with such need that she ached for him.

  Yes.

  He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and she knew he was going to kiss her—

  A loud thump from upstairs made them both jump. Griffin went still as they heard the sound of Katie’s footsteps padding across the floor and the rush of water from the sink in the upstairs bathroom.

  Oh, God. What was she doing? Reality rushed over Clare with the cold ache of loneliness and responsibility. She couldn’t do this, not to Katie, and not to herself. Griffin was leaving. He was leaving.

  Slowly, her heart screaming at her not to retreat, Clare forced herself to pull back from Griffin. Regret flickered in his eyes, and he released her, but he didn’t take his gaze off her, raw lust still burning in those eyes. He was a man who had conceded the moment, but he hadn’t acknowledged defeat.

  She felt her cheeks heat up. “I need to work.”

  He nodded. “I do, too.”

  For a long moment, neither of them moved, the possibility still hovering between them. Was he going to kiss her anyway? Would she stop him this time, or would she tumble into his spell again?

  The bathroom door slammed upstairs, and Griffin grimaced and finally turned away, breaking the connection and severing her last bit of hope.

  Intense relief and agonizing disappointment filled Clare as she quickly picked up her folders and tried to regroup. While she shuffled papers, Griffin woke his computer from standby and began to read.

  For a few minutes, she couldn’t concentrate. She was too aware of his breathing. Of the creak of his chair as he shifted position. The faint scent of his aftershave mingling with the cupcakes. The slide of his boots across the floor as he concentrated.

  His presence was enormous, even though he was saying nothing.

  Griffin looked up, caught her watching him, and he smiled, flashing her that dimple. He tapped her keyboard with one finger. “You’ll be mad at yourself if you don’t work. Step it up, Ms. Gray, or you won’t have time to frost.”

  She laughed, and her tension dissolved. “Keep being pushy like that, and you won’t get any cupcakes.”

  “I like mine frosted, so work.”

  She grinned at his serious tone, amused by the twinkle in his eyes. She was still smiling as she began to study the document again. This time, the feel of his presence wasn’t distracting. It was nice to have company, even if he was a potential murderer who would be leaving town shortly. After all, it wasn’t as if she had to date him. She’d managed to resist kissing him, right? Appreciating his presence was perfectly safe, and even Eppie wouldn’t be able to object.

  So, she breathed him in, and carefully, slowly and with decreasing trepidation, she allowed his presence to wrap around her as they sat side by side, each in their own work, sharing space, sharing air, and sharing the moment.

  * * *

  “Talk, girl! Talk!”

  Clare grinned as she walked into her office Monday morning and found Astrid and Emma waiting for her. Astrid’s thick hair was accented with delicate pieces of pink lace woven into a few of the strands, and Emma was wearing a tight, black long-sleeved shirt that revealed just how much weight she’d lost since she’d been back in town.

  A cup of Ophelia’s finest was already on Clare’s desk, waiting for her as steam spiraled out of the lid. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work today, Emma?”

  Emma was at Astrid’s work table with a paint brush, and the sun was streaming in the windows, making all the half-finished projects glitter. “I took the morning off. Astrid needed some artwork for a custom project.” She pointed the brush at Clare. “What’s going on, girlfriend?”

  “Did you sleep with Griffin yet?” Astrid was at her computer, no doubt downloading another dozen lucrative orders. “Because he’s hot.”

  “No, I did not sleep with him.” But she’d certainly dreamed about it. All. Night. Long.

  Trying not to think about the sensual images still dancing around in her head, Clare set her computer on her desk, noticing, for the first time, the contrast between her office and Astrid’s. Astrid’s walls were covered with cheerful paintings, bright curtains and assorted scarves and silk hanging from lights and dangling from the ceiling.

  Clare had three bookshelves crammed with law books. Two locked filing cabinets. One sickly looking ivy dangling from the top of one of the bookshelves. The office felt so empty and stark, compared to the living intensity of her kitchen last night. It had been so amazing with the cupcakes, the laughter, the coziness of her beloved kitchen, and, of course, Griffin. Her office was devoid of life. Why hadn’t she ever noticed that? Or bothered to decorate it the way she’d done with her kitchen? And why was she noticing it now?

  But she knew why. It was because of Griffin’s comment about her day job. About how it was wrong for her. It couldn’t be wrong. She couldn’t afford for it to be wrong for her. He didn’t know what he was talking about. “Griffin’s just a boarder. Not a potential date.”

  But even as she spoke, she felt the lie. The connection between them was so intense and so powerful that it was undeniable. She and Griffin had worked last night until almost two in the morning. She usually hated working late at night, with the silence of the house pressing down on her, as it always did when Katie was asleep or out. But last night, it hadn’t felt lonely, and she hadn’t minded working, even when they’d been sitting in silence, each immersed in their own work.

  And when she’d taken breaks to decorate the cupcakes, Griffin had chatted lightly with her. Nothing intense. Just company. And it had been nice. Really, really nice. Having him in her kitchen had been like lighting a fire in the hearth and letting the heat and warmth of the flames penetrate the darkest corners of the room.

  “There’s nothing ‘just’ about Griffin Friesé,” Astrid said. “Take advantage. He’s exactly the man to get you out of your dry spell.”

  Clare opened her computer and saw a pink frosting thumb-print on it. She smiled, remembering how Griffin had filched some frosting right before helping her pack up her computer. She touched the dried icing that had permanently preserved Griffin’s fingerprint. “It’s not like that with him. He’s just renting a room. He’s—”

  “Not like that?” Astrid snorted. “I was there in the store, Clare. I saw the way you guys looked at each other. I felt the way you two looked at each other. Thing
s were so intense between you that Eppie actually came by here this morning to ask me point blank if you were already having sex.”

  Clare gaped at her friend. “Are you serious?” The thought of Eppie’s interference made her stomach clench. Even though she and Griffin had never even kissed, the current between them was intense and amazing, and she didn’t want it tainted by Eppie’s judgment or disdain.

  “Dead serious.” Astrid twirled her dangling earrings, making the turquoise stones flash in the sunlight. “Honestly, it sort of freaked me out to have to discuss sex with Eppie, but she was surprisingly knowledgeable about it. I’m thinking that girl gets out more than we know. We think she and Judith go to bingo on Friday nights, but I’m starting to wonder.”

  Clare grimaced, her heart sinking at the idea that the town had been dissecting her relationship with Griffin. What they had was private, something special, not something to be flaunted and evaluated by people who didn’t understand what it was: just a basic, human connection, not some rampant sex-fling. “Does everyone else think we’re sleeping together?”

  Astrid shrugged. “Who cares? It’s not their life.”

  “I don’t want them to think—”

  “Clare.” Astrid leaned forward, her tousled hair dangling precariously close to her cup of coffee. “You’re the one who has to live your life. Eppie doesn’t lie in your bed at night all alone. Eppie doesn’t watch late night movies and have to wonder if any man will ever touch her body again. Eppie doesn’t see a thirty-three-year-old face in the mirror and see the hardness that has formed in an attempt to go it alone.”

  Clare’s throat thickened at the comments that were far too accurate. “I’m fine by myself.”

  Astrid’s face softened. “I know you’re fine, but we all deserve to be a lot more than fine.”

  She lifted her chin. “And sleeping with Griffin would change that?”