Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series)

by leclair, laurie

  “Too…”

  “Restrictive?” Griff guessed.

  “That’s it,” Priscilla said. “How did you know?” She seemed taken aback at his astute observation.

  “We’ll figure out something,” Marcus said. “Right, Prissy? I did like your remodel ideas for some of the other departments. Until then, you’ll help manage the salon.”

  Griffin watched dawning chase across her features. “I think I know what my next project should be.”

  Her unwavering stare concerned him. “Not me.” He tried to make it a joke. “I don’t even have the job.”

  “Yet,” she said. At his raised eyebrow, she pointed out, “Do you see any of the other candidates here?”

  That brought him up short. He turned to look at Charlie for confirmation or denial. She smiled. Why hadn’t he realized that? She’d told him last night he was the last interview; she’d switched the date to appease her guilty conscience. He assumed the others would arrive shortly or even already been there on a different day or time. He assumed she’d chosen one of them, and he’d have his work cut out for him to convince her otherwise. Why hadn’t he fit this option into his plan? Too easy. Nothing came easy for him.

  “She’s right.” Charlie smiled. “I have the contract in Alex’s study. The terms are generous, I assure you. You can have your attorney read it over and if you or he has any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them. However, I am offering you the position. If you’d still like it.”

  The breath rushed out of him. Griff eased back in the chair. Like it? It’s all he’d dreamt of for years now. He glanced from her to Marcus and last to his pixie. She held his attention for a moment too long.

  How could he hurt her? How could he not when he’d pledged vengeance for his late father?

  Griffin turned away from those cat-green eyes and back to Charlie. “Barring any issues with the contract, I accept the offer.”

  “I knew you would,” she said, reaching over and shaking his hand.

  “Not over-qualified?” He reminded her of what she’d said during his interview.

  “Oh, yes, but we’ll take you. Better to have you on our side.”

  Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. “I agree,” he murmured.

  “Charlotte King Royale,” Priscilla exclaimed, “you set us up. This is a celebration party, isn’t it?” She tapped Marcus’ arm. “You knew?”

  He held up his hands. “I was completely in the dark until,” he checked his gold watch, “about five hours ago when she called us all to come over for a family outing this afternoon. We’ve been hammering out the details for the last two hours.”

  “When did you know?” Priscilla asked Charlie the question Griff wanted the answer to himself.

  “Oh, let’s say, right before I completed the interview with Griff. No one else would do. Daddy would approve, I think.”

  Griffin swallowed hard. She had to bring up Charles King, didn’t she? Ruining his company he’d built from nothing never set right with Griff. But it was the only way to get to his widow; she lorded it over everyone and anyone who she came in contact with, especially the employees.

  “So, now will you hear about my new project?” Priscilla insisted.

  “Can we stop you?” Marcus asked, grinning.

  “No.” She nudged him. “It’s perfect now.” Her enthusiasm bubbled over. “I think King’s should make over a home next.”

  “An entire house?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes. One room won’t hold the customer’s attention. A week and it’s over, two at the most. This will keep them interested. We use King’s products: furniture, accessories, drapes, vases, frames, you name it. From recent experiences, we know whatever product we showcase, the customer clamors for it at the store. Of course, we add this to the website; have a reveal day each week. We can even have its own blog, whatever that is. Francie and Rico said the wedding boutique’s blog is a sensation. And we can bring a piece of the design into the store, say, a small space that groups the same items from the house together, so the customers can see it, feel it, try it out, and get an idea of how it looks in real life—”

  ”Whoa.” Marcus’ halted her. “King’s is just coming out of a very unstable financial time. There’s no way we can purchase a home.”

  “You don’t have to. I know the perfect one.” She stared at Griffin.

  Warning bells went off in his head. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  She smiled smugly. “But, Griff—may I call you that? Your house would be the perfect way to introduce you to everyone. Plus, since I’ll be the one designing it, what better way to say a King daughter accepts the new head of King’s, at the moment an unknown to our very loyal customers and longtime employees?”

  “I like it,” Charlie said. “But, Prissy, it’s a huge undertaking.”

  “Especially for me,” Priscilla said what had been left unspoken by her stepsister.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to hire a professional interior designer.”

  “That’s the point. If someone like me, an amateur, can take King’s products and make a spectacular home with them, then any one of our customers can, too. They don’t need to spend a fortune on a designer. They have us to guide them, in-store and website consultants, and, everything we have is so simple, they can do it, too.”

  Griffin’s middle tightened. Her case was sound. Too good, in fact. As long as she delivered. He glared at her. His plan to destroy King’s just got harder. Three months may have been too ambitious. He did love a challenge, though.

  But, having her in his house, obviously on a daily basis, would try his nerves and make his life a living hell. He wanted her. He craved her. She’d already gotten too close. Griff couldn’t imagine what the next few weeks would cost him.

  “Genius.” Charlie turned to him. “Are you game?”

  How could he turn it down? What reason could he give?

  “I never realized fortune cookies came true. ‘Your life will be turned upside down,’” he quoted.

  “It sounds like a yes to me. Don’t you agree, Marcus?” Charlie asked. “We can start with one room and see how things turn out.” Her cautionary tone spoke of her lingering doubts that Priscilla could tackle such a huge job.

  “Damn, Pixie!” Griff mouthed to Priscilla. Her cheeky grin sent alarm bells going off in his mind and body. Would he live to regret this?

  Chapter 7

  Finding Griff by himself gazing out the living room window, Priscilla lifted her champagne glass and clinked it with his. “Congratulations, Mr. James.”

  He scowled, keeping his profile to her. “Do you always manipulate the situation to your advantage?”

  Her breath caught in the back of her throat. He turned to her now. She took a sip of the sparkling apple cider. When he hit, he hit below the belt. Swallowing hard, she avoided his penetrating gaze. “That wasn’t my intention.”

  “That’s an easy dodge if I’ve ever heard one,” he muttered. “Did you even take into consideration I may not want or need this upheaval in my home?”

  “I want a chance—”

  “To prove yourself. To earn the King name,” he said, less harshly. “You’re using me to get there.”

  Put like that, it sounded crass and ugly. Something her mother would do. Her middle sank. “You’re right,” she said softly. “We can redo an area of the store, instead. I’ll come up with an alternative.”

  He sighed heavily. “Too bad it’s such a brilliant idea; otherwise there may have been another option. There’s not.”

  Brilliant? A compliment coming from him meant a great deal. “We can set some rules,” she offered as a consolation prize.

  “You better believe there will be rules. My rules.”

  She took the glass he handed her and watched his stiff back as he strode off toward her stepsister. He nodded to some of the others as they congratulated him on his new position, but, for the most part, he avoided speaking with the rest of the family. Charlie ushered him
out of the room and apparently to the study to review the contract.

  Priscilla’s hopes plummeted. She needed his cooperation to succeed, not this wide division between them. Secretly, her heart ached for the gruff, lonely man who kept people at a safe distance.

  She shouldn’t care; he apparently liked his solitary existence. That thought tugged at her even more. No one stays. His words resounded through her mind.

  “McGruff, scared? Afraid of getting hurt…again…” She shook her head. “Wow, who would have ever thought?” To herself she said, your secret is safe with me.

  She vowed she’d never hurt him, never cause him to question her intentions again. A trickle of alarm sliced through her. But that meant she’d have to earn his trust and respect.

  Breezing through these last few months, headstrong and gung ho, diving into each new experience of her suddenly found independence, Priscilla had ignored any warnings and consequences. Her sisters had covered for her, given her money when she’d spent all hers or Francie had taken on her shifts at King’s when she had better things to do than work in the men’s department. And Rico had urged her on to have fun at his parties, out in clubs, and just about anything else he found intriguing and needed a partner in crime to help execute his plans.

  It was easy to be the happy-go-lucky little sister everyone made excuses for and compensated for each and every time she’d mess up or brush off responsibility.

  Now they didn’t take her seriously when all she longed for was a chance to earn the King name, prove she deserved it.

  Was she even ready to grow up? “I’m scared, too,” she admitted softly. “Scared I won’t be as good as my sisters in what they’ve done for King’s. Scared I’ll never live up to the mighty King name.”

  She could cower. She could hide behind the protection of the King name. Or she could add to the legacy. At the moment, she wished she could talk to Griff about it. Somehow, she thought he’d understand when no one else would. He took her seriously—at least, he took her feelings seriously.

  Now why did the thought of a virtual stranger knowing her better than her own family did trouble her? Her heart tugged. “Oh, no you don’t,” she warned that fragile part of herself.

  ***

  Sunday morning, Priscilla stood on his doorstep again, ringing his doorbell. The skies had finally lightened and sun peeked out of the clouds. She smiled at the thought of the stormy last day and a half since she met Griff. “Weather wise and otherwise.”

  She giggled at the irony.

  He yanked open the door. “Ah, hell, not you again,” he muttered.

  God, he looked even better today with half a day’s growth of beard on his jaw, a white shirt mostly undone, worn jeans and bare feet. “Wow!” She couldn’t stop herself.

  “Is that it? Is that all you came here for?” He eyed her suspiciously.

  Holding out a hand, she said, “Can I have a do-over?” She didn’t wait for him to turn her down. “Hi, I’m Priscilla King. And you must be Mr. Griffin James.” He just looked at her outstretched hand. She dropped it to her side. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I can’t say the same.”

  His words didn’t match the heat of his stare. That gave her incentive to carry on. Lifting the package at her feet, she presented it to him. “An apology. We can start over.”

  “Ah, the Welcome Wagon lady.” His lip twitched upward at the corner as he scanned her from head to toe and back up again. “Sexy.”

  Flames scorched her. His comment from the first night they met echoed in her mind. Smoking body. Gulping hard, she tried to ignore the curls of desire in her middle. “Coffee.” She swung the wrapped basket in front of him. “And a mug.”

  “Now why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

  “Coffee or the mug?”

  “I ran out of coffee last night. Perfect timing. For once.” Opening the door wider, he waved her in.

  Carefully, she stepped over the threshold. He took the basket and nodded toward the kitchen. “I’m sure you remember the way,” he drawled, closing the door. His low, deep voice seeped into her, whisking heat as it went.

  “I would have called first.”

  “Really? I didn’t think that was your style.”

  “But I didn’t have your number,” she finished.

  He grunted. “I suppose you’ll need that once you start the remodel.”

  Walking beside him to the back of the house, Priscilla felt the intensity radiating off his body. His strong presence reminded her of snuggling against him the other night. An ache shot through her at the memory of how she felt beside him: warm, safe, and secure. She didn’t ever remember feeling that way before. She never knew she longed for that feeling either, not until she met him.

  His hand on the small of her back as he guided her in front of him into the kitchen made her suck in a sharp breath. How could one brief touch set off all these tingles rushing through her?

  “I heard that,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

  The warning, dark and ominous, should have frightened her. It didn’t.

  Griff placed the basket on the counter, riffling through the wrap and pulling out the mug first. He held up the black ceramic mug with chrome sculpted flames adorning it. “Nice.”

  Shrugging, she said, “They didn’t have a Harley like yours.”

  In a few moments, he’d pulled out the five different blends of coffee and lined them up. He chose one and quickly got to work making a pot. “Sure you don’t want to try some?” he baited as he joined her on a bar stool.

  She shivered in revulsion. “No, I’m good.”

  “Where’s your phone?”

  His curt question brought her up short. She dug in her pink tote she’d hung on the back of the stool. Once she found it, she showed him.

  He held out his hand. She placed it in his palm. “Pink? Glittery? I should have known.” There was a smile in his voice. He did something to the phone, and then punched in a number. In the distance, she heard another phone ring, obviously his. Griff hung up, and then laid her cell phone down on the counter between them. “There, now you have my number and I have yours.”

  Other than Rico and her relatives, this was the first male phone number she’d had saved on her phone. She nudged it to look at the screen and scrolled to find his name. The picture she’d taken of him on his Harley popped up. She smiled.

  “Don’t get any ideas, Pixie,” he said softly.

  She glanced up to find him staring at her lips, and then into her eyes. “I’m not,” she lied. Leaning close, she hesitated a fraction from his mouth. When he didn’t stop her, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his. This time, she brushed hers against his. At his soft moan, she deepened the kiss, her tongue finding his in a wildly erotic dance. A smoldering blaze licked along her nerve endings.

  Lost in the drugging way he kissed her back, she didn’t realize the exact moment when he’d lifted his hands to cup the back of her head or when he trailed his thumb along her jaw. His hands were big and slightly callused. Rough, yet holding tenderness. Just like the man himself, she realized.

  He broke the embrace, and then pressed his forehead against hers. His breath came in short, quick pants.

  Priscilla shifted, pressing her lips against his forehead, along the scruff of his cheek, and then to his jaw and chin.

  “You’re playing with fire,” he warned.

  “Does that mean I’m going to get burned?” She feathered kisses on his lips, loving the taste of him, teasing him, and then along his cheek.

  “Absolutely.”

  His hard, terse answer brought her up short. She pulled away, gazing into his smoky gray eyes lit with an intense, breathtaking blaze. She gasped at the searing heat. “And you? Will you get burned, too?”

  “I already have.”

  She swallowed hard. “How so?”

  “I’ve been branded. By a very hot, very sexy Pixie.”

  ***

 
Griffin sipped his black roasted coffee as he watched her roam through his house, taking pictures and measurements. How could she stir his senses like that? How could she make him forget everything he worked for, especially his mission?

  When he opened the door to her, she’d taken his breath away. Her wind-tousled strawberry blonde hair reminded him of her lying by his fire the other night. The skinny jeans she wore molded to her shapely legs. The buttoned-down silky green blouse with the low slung belt around her hips outlined her curves. After kicking off her ankle boots, she padded across his wooden floors as if she belonged there.

  Turning to him now, she pointed upstairs.

  “No,” he bit out.

  Her weak smile came and went. “Good idea.”

  “At last, we agree on something.”

  “Tempting fate?”

  He chuckled. It came out strangled. “You believe in fate?”

  She shrugged, going to her notepad and scribbling more notes across a page. “I suppose I do. Fairy tales and fate.”

  “Hopes and dreams?” He sounded cynical, even to his own ears.

  “What do you have if you don’t have dreams, right?”

  When he failed to reply, she glanced up at him. Something inside him shifted. No, she was not getting to him. He wouldn’t allow her to come between him and his revenge.

  “Nothing, Griff? You don’t want something so bad that you think about it day and night, that keeps you going even through all the sad things, that you ache for it to happen because then you will feel something so wonderful, so joyous that it means you did something that matters? That you mattered?” Tears glistened in her eyes.

  His heart jolted. She’d touched that spot in him that he kept sheltered and hidden.

  She brushed the tears away quickly. “Sorry. My mother calls dreams foolish and a waste of time.” Priscilla gathered her things.

  He went to her, and then knelt to help her with her scattered paperwork. Her hand brushed his. A jolt of electricity surged from his hand and up his arm. They both stilled. Looking into her big, green eyes, he felt the air rush out of him. “Once, I did dream.” Now, all he had was revenge to hold onto.