by Lisa Plumley
Then she took a deep breath, gazed moonily into his eyes and brought her mouth to his. Once, twice, she kissed him.
She leaned back. She lowered her hands to her lap.
Griffin stared at her, his heart pounding thunderously.
“I don’t want pity,” he warned with the last of his wits.
“Did that feel like pity?” Olivia posed her question with a sham sense of consternation. “Perhaps I’m not kissing you correctly. I don’t have very much experience in these matters.”
To his amazement, she brushed her lips against his again. Kissing Olivia, Griffin learned, was like being walloped by an angel, blessed by a temptress…driven mad by an innocent.
It was all he could do not to delve his hands in her hair, yank her still closer and bring them both down on the settee’s upholstered cushions where they could continue this properly.
Sucking in a cooling lungful of air, Griffin gawked at her. “Have you lost your mind?” he blurted. “You’re not supposed to want…” Wildly, he gestured between them. “Me.”
“Mmm. You’ll find that I have a long history of wanting things I’m not supposed to want. Like books. And experiments.”
“And me?” Damnation. He didn’t mean it as a question.
A nod. “And you.” She stroked his cheek again, then shrugged. “I can’t help it. I tried to stay away. I couldn’t.”
Distrustfully, he eyed her. “Why not?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you holding my hand,” Olivia confessed. Her gaze swung to meet his, then dropped to coolly examine her fingernails. “And…some other things.”
“The hotel.”
“Yes.” To her credit, she didn’t quibble. “Naturally. I thought about that, too. This is my home, so its future is of pressing interest to me.” Olivia’s wave indicated the entire hotel. “But I didn’t kiss you to save my father’s hotel.”
Still astounded by her kiss, Griffin thought about that. If she had, it might have worked. Given the riotous effect she had on him, he might have given her anything she wanted.
Then, “I also thought about you. In bed,” Olivia said.
Griffin bolted upright from the settee, feeling his heart race with alarm. “You should leave.” He jerked his thumb toward the door, then began pacing. “You should leave right now.”
Olivia eyed him with amusement. “All I want to know is, on the first day I came here, if you were really naked under the bedclothes. My imagination has been running wild, I’m afraid.”
As she said it, Griffin stopped. Their gazes locked. He felt sure she could somehow sense him remembering that moment. It had created a sort of cockeyed intimacy between them that could hardly have been sparked in another, more clothed, way.
“Let it,” he said roughly. “The truth would scare you.”
She chuckled. “I doubt that, Griffin. You’re just a man. I’ve seen men before.” Olivia’s voice pursued him with maddening unreality. “Not entirely nude, of course! But this was a lawless township when I arrived here as a girl. Drunk rail workers aren’t known for their delicate manners. I’m not that refined.”
“Yes, you are. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying,” she said patiently, “that I’d like for you to verify my impression, please. For observation’s sake. I place a great store in my observational abilities, you see, owing to my interest in the sciences, and it would be a tremendous favor to me if you would let me know—did I guess correctly?”
“Did you guess correctly about my nakedness on that day?” Griffin wheeled around in his suite, still pacing, hardly able to credit what he was hearing. “For the sake of science?”
“The scientific method, to be more precise. Yes.”
He dug his nails in his palms. “I am dreaming. I must be.”
“Shall I wake you up?” Her bantering tone suggested she’d already decided for herself. “With another kiss, perhaps?”
Alarmed, Griffin held out both hands to ward her off. At that, Olivia appeared undeniably disappointed. He loved that she could not—or did not try to—hide her honest reaction to him.
Heaven help him, he increasingly loved her. She filled his days with sunshine and chatter and helpfulness. When she looked at him… Well, she looked at him. She saw him. Not his past.
Not detestable Hook Turner, with all his inborn badness.
How could he have not scared her away already?
He’d certainly tried. He’d tried to be as formidable as possible on the day they’d met. He’d all but dared her to laugh at him—to see him as some hideous, huge-nosed, black-clothed monster. Somehow, his warnings hadn’t stuck. He’d have to try harder. For Olivia’s sake, he’d have to make her see the truth.
All the same, the masculine, prideful part of Griffin took exception at her notion that she would manage things between them, should any additional, soul-shattering kisses occur.
Despite everything, Griffin heartily hoped they occurred.
“Any more kissing will be at my instigation,” he told her.
She wasn’t the least bit dissuaded. “I liked kissing you.”
Her candid admission nearly unraveled his will right there. Griffin turned around. He confronted her expectant and almost scholarly expression of interest. He groaned aloud.
“I was wearing trousers!” he confessed. “No shirt. Boots.”
Olivia wrinkled her nose. “Boots in bed?”
“Now you’re an expert?”
“Enough of an expert to know boots don’t belong in bed.”
“Neither do nosy, opinionated, book-pilfering women belong in the hotel suites of notoriously unprincipled men.”
Her eyes sparkled at him. “I won’t be scared away.”
“You will be. When you see the truth.”
“People who are afraid of the truth usually can’t see it,” Olivia told him. “They refuse to. Oftentimes quite stubbornly.” In thought, she eyed him. “Take you and Mary, for instance. You were sweet on her for years. But given what you told me about your relationship, it seems to have been fairly unromantic. So—”
“Enough.” Again, Griffin groaned. At the settee, he fell to his knees before Olivia. He took her face in his hands, then tilted her chin upward. He loved the way she looked, the way she sounded…even the way she opened her mouth in a surprised O.
But he truly loved the way she felt when he brought his mouth to hers, when he took possession of her lips and tongue and breath, when he delivered to her all the passion and confusion and trepidation he felt, ladling it all into a single heartfelt kiss. He wanted to stop her from studying him.
Instead, he stopped them both from thinking altogether.
When Griffin broke off their kiss at last, Olivia was gazing at him with stars in her eyes. He knew then that he’d done it again. He’d made a mistake. He’d misunderstood her.
Olivia didn’t really see him, Griffin realized. She appeared far too dreamy for that. For both their sakes, he had to make her see. He had to make her see who he was and who he would always be. Clearly, his hat and his dark clothes and his hair had failed to do their proper jobs and sensibly deter her.
“You need to see something,” he announced, standing.
“Does it involve more kissing somehow?”
She was going to kill him. “No. Please listen to me.”
With unbelievable cooperativeness, she prepared to. Meticulously, Olivia straightened her voluminous flowery skirts. She clasped her hands in her lap. She smiled, then gazed up at him. Any man would have believed her an ideal feminine companion…instead of a secret firebrand who’d steal his whiskey, make him quit his cigarillos and inspire him to club his hair.
“I would settle for holding hands with you,” she said.
Wordlessly, Griffin shook his head. His hands shook, too. This was going to be difficult enough without her touch to rouse him. Even a chaste handclasp would likely inspire passion now.
Now that he knew how ardently she
might respond to it.
Setting aside that tantalizing truth, Griffin situated himself in front of her. He squared his shoulders. He frowned.
“So far, I don’t like this,” Olivia said. “Come sit by me.”
Griffin wanted nothing more. But he could not proceed while believing Olivia was purposely ignoring the truth about him.
He believed her when she said she hadn’t kissed him for the sake of her father’s hotel. He believed she was truthful. That left only one explanation. She’d misled herself into blindness.
So first Griffin took off his suit coat. Then he removed his woolen vest. Olivia gave him a wary look, studied his shirt and trousers then reclasped her hands. She was clearly willing to wait and see how this situation unfolded—likely for the sake of “scientific interest.” “Why did you do that?”
“To show you the truth. To show you who I am.”
“I’ve spent almost two weeks with you. I think I know—”
He cut her off by shucking his hat next. It sailed across his suite to land on his mattress and disordered bedclothes.
Not daring to confront her with the full sight of his face and his hated nose yet, Griffin kept his head down. He raised his body to its full, impressive height and strength. He reached to his nape. With a trembling hand, he released his leather tie.
He shook his head, making his long dark hair fall around his shoulders and down his broad back. He was the opposite of civilized—the opposite of desirable, especially to a prim woman like Olivia. In the same way he had days ago, he needed to dare her to shirk from him. He needed to dare her to laugh at him—to dare himself to withstand it, if she did. This was the only way to test her intentions. With a desperate mingling of hope and fear and pride warring inside him, Griffin raised his head.
At her first unimpeded view of him, Olivia gasped.
That tiny sound knifed into his heart. Feeling duly broken by it, Griffin nudged his chin a notch higher. This would not stop him. He swore it as he stood there. This was no different—she was no different—than anyone else. Olivia would leave in horror. He would go on. That would be the finish of it.
It would be better for both of them if this ended now.
You’re lonely, he remembered her saying, and bitterly resented allowing himself to listen. He wished he hadn’t. It did not help to put a name to the pain he’d become so familiar with.
Gruffly, Griffin cleared his throat. “So, you see—”
To his shame, he couldn’t find the words to continue. He couldn’t bring himself to drive home the truth that Olivia needed—that he was flawed, that he was damaged, that he needed. He needed things he had no right to ask of anyone. Like love.
A long moment passed while he struggled to say something.
For her part, Olivia sat silently. She gazed up at him, for the first time fully taking in the reality of his appearance.
Soon, Griffin couldn’t bear it any longer. Sightlessly, he strode to his bedstead. He fumbled for his hat. He grabbed it.
Olivia grabbed it, too. How had she come to be there?
Wearing a determined, impassioned look, she took it from him. Numbly, Griffin let her. He felt too worn down not to.
Maybe, he thought wryly, he shouldn’t have drunk so much.
“Can’t you see?” he made himself ask. “This is why I’ve never married.” This badness that’s inherent in me—that’s linked forever to my Turner nose. “This is why Mary refused me. Why people fear me. Everyone sees it. Surely you must—”
Olivia stopped his recitation with a sudden, lunging kiss. It was clumsy but affecting—inexperienced but wholehearted.
It was…perfect. Perfect because it was from Olivia. Griffin hardly dared to wonder what it signified. He knew what he hoped it signified. That she cared for him. That was audacious enough.
Afterward, she had the temerity to smile at him. Musingly, she brushed back his hair. “All I see is a man who’s been alone for too long.” A wider grin. “I told you—it’s no use telling me what to do. I’m exceedingly contrary and very strong-minded.”
Griffin had never, ever loved two personality traits more.
“I told you I knew what to do to help you, and I do,” Olivia continued resolutely. “Put yourself in my hands, Griffin. I promise, I’m not the empty-headed, feather-dusting, terrible bed-making, lithographed gadabout you think I am. Let me prove it to you.”
At that, Griffin had no recourse. He’d been broken. Now, in a heartbeat, Olivia had begun rebuilding him. She’d seen him. More than that, unbelievably, she seemed to have accepted him.
The realization made him feel positively buoyant.
“Can you promise another kiss?” he asked, making light of all she’d undertaken. “If you can, I just might be persuaded.”
“Oh, you might, mightn’t you?”
“Maybe.” He nodded. “It’s possible.”
“You don’t fool me,” Olivia scoffed, rightly guessing at his willingness. “You’re already persuaded.” Spiritedly, she took his hand. “That means it’s past time to get started.”
Against all reason, Griffin could hardly wait.
Chapter Nine
From the moment Olivia appeared downstairs at the hotel on Griffin’s arm on the following Saturday morning, intending to officially embark on her campaign to save him, she began to have grave misgivings about the task she’d undertaken.
Not because she didn’t want to help Griffin. She did. He’d trusted her with something monumental when he’d confided in her about his terrible past. He’d trusted her to help him. Olivia fully intended to do that. She intended to cure Griffin’s loneliness and bring him into the light. Whether doing so returned The Lorndorff to her family was inconsequential.
Although she did still hope to regain the hotel….
What she didn’t anticipate, though, was that helping Griffin would necessarily mean bringing him into her world. There, despite her protestations, she really wasn’t much more than a famous lithography model with a remedy bottle to her credit. In Morrow Creek, Olivia remembered belatedly, everyone saw her as nothing more than a beautiful woman with a long string of suitors and a baffling inability to choose among them.
It began with the bellman. His crestfallen expression was the first detail to catch Olivia’s attention as she descended the hotel stairs and entered the lobby, escorted by Griffin.
The bellman pretended to busy himself with some luggage while she approached, but his dejected look did not wane.
“Good morning!” Olivia called. She murmured an apology to Griffin. She excused herself, then trod the few short steps that separated her from the hotel’s front desk. Concernedly, she eyed the bellman. She touched his arm. “Are you all right?”
“Right as rain.” Irritably, he shrugged off her hand. “You seem to be doin’ all right for yerself, too.”
His disgruntled nod indicated Griffin, who had dressed for the day in a well-fitted ensemble of shirt, trousers, expensive brocade vest, suit coat, boots and hat—all typically in black, of course. Wearing those togs and liberated from his gloomy room, he appeared twice as commanding as usual, Olivia thought. She couldn’t help remembering that the man she’d developed an infatuation with was, in fact, a captain of industry. He was also an infamous citified rogue. Those realizations should not have given a good woman a thrill—but they did thrill Olivia.
“Yes. I’ve agreed to show Mr. Turner the town,” Olivia told the bellman. “He’s new to these parts after all.”
The bellman sniffed. “Seems to have taken charge pretty readily, for all that.” He jutted his chin. “Didja accept his proposal? I reckon you did, once he got the sense to make it.”
“He didn’t propose.” She smiled at him. “The fact is—”
“Don’t bother explainin’. I can tell when I’m licked.” The bellman issued Griffin a malicious look. He fiddled with the luggage, then swerved his attention back to Olivia. “You’re better’n him, Miss Mouton. You oughta remember th
at. Even if you ain’t gonna marry me, you can’t marry someone like him.”
Before Olivia could think of a suitable response to that, Griffin was there. His gaze flicked to the vexing array of Milky White Complexion Beautifier and Youthful Enhancement Tonic shelved above the bellman’s head, then moved to Olivia.
Protectively, he took her elbow. He looked solicitously into her face. “Miss Mouton. Is everything all right here?”
“It’s fine,” Olivia told him. She glanced to the bellman again. She should not have waited to decline his marriage proposal. She could see now that keeping him on tenterhooks was no favor to him. Contritely, she lay her hand on his uniformed forearm. “I’m so sorry. But we’ll always be friends, won’t we?”
“Sure.” Another sniff. “You’ll need friends. Later.” The bellman’s deferential glance shifted meaningfully to Griffin. “Good morning to ya, Mr. Turner, sir. Do ya need anything?”
Griffin shook his head, calling her attention to his neatly clubbed hair. With his long hair—and his oversize nose—obscured by his hat, he almost blended in. At least he did until he spoke. Then his natural authority asserted itself. No one in the territory carried quite the same…impact as the infamous Griffin Turner did, just by being present.
“Perhaps a cigarillo?” Griffin raised his chin, nodding to indicate the slender Mexican cigars tucked into the bellman’s uniform pocket. “If I’m not mistaken, Jimmy, those are the same brand I used to be fond of. Would you mind sharing one?”
Olivia froze. When she’d gleefully distributed the contraband goods she’d liberated from Griffin’s room last week to various members of the staff, she hadn’t expected him to ever find out. His knowing look said he’d already guessed everything.
Bluntly, the bellman eyed him. “How’d you know my name?”
Griffin shrugged, unbothered by his blatant suspicion. “It’s my job to know. Everyone here is important to me.”
“It took Mr. Mouton a week solid to learn my name.” The bellman cracked a confiding grin. “He’s fond o’ woolgatherin’.”
Their conversation continued apace as, to Olivia’s amazement, the bellman went on chatting. Convivially, he gave Griffin one of his own former cigarillos. Griffin thanked him. He passed the cigarillo under his nose to appreciate its cured tobacco scent, then gave Olivia a surreptitious wink. The rascal. He was flaunting his knowledge of her antics now!
