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

by leclair, laurie

  “You’re not going, are you?” Was that concern?

  Shaking her head, she said, “I’m trying to stand on my own two feet. She’s making it difficult, though.”

  “How so?”

  Priscilla blanched as she recalled the messages. “She calls four, five, sometimes more a day. At first, I answered, thinking she’d seen the light and would apologize. Wrong, so wrong. Then, she tried every trick in the book—from hollow compliments, to constructive criticism, to pressuring me, to trying to bribe me.”

  “Bribe?” He sounded disgusted.

  “My very own business—fashion or decor, whichever I want. All bankrolled by my mother, who will retain the controlling interest, of course. I get to put my name on the place and do everything else I desire.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “A tax write-off and moving back home, to begin with.”

  “Why don’t I like the sound of this?” he murmured.

  “She wants to wed me to Francie’s cast off, a podiatrist with a foot fetish.” She felt the blush creep up her neck. “If he doesn’t work, there’s more to follow.”

  “Not interested?” Why was he staring at her so hard?

  “Me, marriage? Please. I’m free. I don’t want to be tied down.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

  Priscilla jerked her head up to catch his intense gaze.

  “Your sisters don’t have that type of arrangement, so why would you?”

  She chuckled. It came out strangled. “They were much smarter. Mother allowed Charlie’s marriage because Alex agreed to buy King’s and make her very rich, which, in turn, he later gifted the store to Charlie.”

  “Francine and Marcus?”

  “They went behind her back. She was livid about it. No, you don’t know my mother. I’m the last daughter. She won’t let her one last shot slip away. She’s intentionally selecting prospective wealthy grooms who will bend to her will and thus she can control the entire union.”

  “Not if you don’t let her.”

  Chapter 11

  Griffin watched the riotous emotions chase across her face. She gulped hard, and then turned away, searching the small, rustic eatery. “Oh, look, a jukebox.” Her face lit up. “Can we play something?”

  How could he refuse her when she smiled like that? “Sure.” He slid out of the booth. Following her to the corner where the old music machine stood, glowing with colored neon, three thoughts sliced through his mind. First, he couldn’t believe he let his guard down with her, opening up about his father. Never had he revealed that secret to anyone. Somehow, she understood his pain. Second, she was adorable and sexy at the same time. He blew out a hot breath, trying to ease the heat building inside him. And last, he’d do anything to protect her from her own mother; he refused to allow his pixie a life trapped in hell.

  When they reached the jukebox, she ran her finger down the glass. “What do you suggest?” she asked.

  He moved closer. In low-heeled boots, she barely reached his shoulder. The scent of her hair drifted to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it. Looking at the screen again, he could see their reflection; mere inches separated them. If she leaned to her left, she could brush against him. “Lady’s choice,” he said, low and deep.

  Her shallow breaths stirred the banked fire in him. “I have no clue.”

  Was she just talking about the song choice or something else?

  “What’s your favorite song?”

  “I don’t even know that. Mother forbade anything but classical music, and that was only on rare occasions or for lessons.”

  “Lessons?”

  “I stink at piano.”

  He chuckled. “Mark an X across that for my house then.”

  Snapping her fingers, she said, “Shucks, and that was on top of my to-get list.” She giggled and nudged him in the rib. “Hey, we could get a jukebox, though.”

  Her simple little gesture felt like a hot poker coursing through his blood. She’d started the flames spreading. “Maybe,” he granted, trying to stem the wave of desire. Reaching in his pocket, he tugged out a couple of quarters and dropped them in the machine. “Six picks. I’ll help you.” Griff pointed to one, and then a second. “Push this letter and number. This one, too.”

  “Like this?” she asked, following his advice.

  He murmured in her ear. She trembled. With his other hand, he reached out, touching her back and settling his hand on her waist. Another quiver shot through her. This time he groaned softly.

  “I’m not sure if I can do this,” she whispered.

  Both of them knew she wasn’t talking about music. “Lady’s choice,” he said again, telling her the decision rested with her.

  “Thanks,” she said in a low, sultry voice that drove his temperature even higher.

  ***

  In a heated daze, Griffin watched her expression change as swift and hypnotizing as waves crashing on a beach as each song came on. “Like it?”

  She giggled. “This is great! How could I have not heard this before? I have been so deprived.”

  “It’s classic rock.”

  “I love it!” Her beautiful cat-green eyes shone with delight.

  A warmth in his chest seeped into a crack in an old ache. No, don’t let her get to you, he warned.

  “That was delish,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin and pushing aside her empty plate. “You’re right, the best burger in town.”

  “I’m glad you’re having fun.” He was, too, surprisingly.

  The waitress arrived with a check, waving it. “Will this be all or do you want to try some peach cobbler?”

  Priscilla shook her head. “No thanks, I’m stuffed.”

  “Chocolate cake, to go?” he asked Priscilla, recalling the first night he’d met her and her request to Charlie for chocolate ganache cake.

  “Can we?”

  He nodded to the waitress.

  “Coming right up.”

  “Powder room,” Priscilla said as she slid out of the booth.

  He watched her walk away, biting down on another groan. Could she be any sexier?

  Her phone buzzed again. Looking up, he watched her turn the corner and disappear. Griffin reached out and picked up the sparkly pink cell phone. The word Mother lit up the screen. After a moment, it stopped. With his thumb, he scrolled through the dozen messages, all from her mother. Fire burned in his belly. How could she be cold and mean to his pixie? Without a second thought, he deleted each and every one.

  Now if only he could get rid of the real-life woman as easily.

  ***

  Turning off his motorcycle, Griffin helped Priscilla off the back, already missing the feel of her pressed up against his back, her arms wrapped around him, and the length of her thighs pressed along his. Within moments, they’d shed their helmets and he got off of the bike. He dug the to-go box out of the black leather saddlebag and handed it to her.

  She shivered again.

  “Cold?”

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “Here, let’s get you in the house.” He wrapped his arm around her as they crossed the driveway. “Better?”

  She snuggled into his side, and then nodded.

  His heart tumbled in his chest. Danger!

  Less than twenty minutes later, he had a small fire going in the fireplace. “I’ll be right back.” He tugged the blanket around her shoulders as she sat in front of the hearth.

  Griffin whistled as he made coffee for himself and boiled some hot water for her. He pulled out the sampler box of tea he’d bought for her and choose one, hoping she’d like it. Once everything was done, he carried a tray into his study.

  Her head was on a pillow and she was sleeping. He put the tray down and sat on the stone hearth, facing her. Undetected, he stared at her from her strawberry blonde hair to her porcelain skin, over her delicate features, settling on her lips, and down along her curves under the blanket and back up again. Heat coiled
low and deep. He sucked in a long, shuddering breath.

  It must have woken her; she stirred. Her eyes blinked open. “Griff?” Her sleepy voice seeped into him, tugging at the taut strings of desire. “Do I smell apples?”

  He smiled. “Apple cider.”

  Slowly, she stretched. Another sharp tug shot through him. “All that fresh air must have got the best of me.” In the firelight, he watched her sit up and scoot closer. “I’ve never had this kind before. Oh, you got this for me, a yellow smiley face mug?” She giggled.

  The sound sent another blast of warmth through the crevices of his cold heart. He nodded. When he spotted it in the store, it reminded him of her—sunshine. How could he have passed that up? “Tell me what you think.”

  Cupping the mug in both her hands, she took a sip. “Hmmm… this is good. Have you tried some?” She held it out to him. He sipped. “Spicy, right?”

  Cinnamon danced on his tongue. “Just like you.”

  “Funny,” she said, and then sipped some more. “Oh, the cake.” She put down the mug and picked up the plate. “Only one fork? Share.” She sunk the fork into the cake and lifted a piece for him. Her gaze stayed on his lips.

  He let her feed him. Rich chocolate icing and the chocolate cake, soft and gooey, melted in his mouth, going down easy. When she pulled away, he reached out and stopped her. “Your turn.” Instead of getting more cake, he leaned forward, capturing her lips. Her gasp shot through him. “Like it?”

  She nodded. “Delish.”

  Griffin chuckled. He eased back and away from his very sexy pixie.

  Her hand trembled, but she went back to the cake. She chewed, slow and erotic, driving him crazy. How could eating be so sensual? How could everything about her be so damn hot?

  The fire crackled and her soft moan wrapped around him. Griff forced himself to take in a long breath, let it out, take another, and release. Focus, he berated himself. “Priscilla,” he said gently, not wanting to break this intimacy with her, but knowing he had no other choice. “We have to talk.”

  She replaced the fork on the plate with the half-eaten cake on it. Licking her lips, she settled in front of him. “Gosh, I nearly forgot about my questions.” She shook her head. “I left them at home. But, I remember most of them and if you have a pen and paper, I can jot your answers down.”

  “Questions? Answers?”

  “Yes.” She waved her hands to encompass the room. “You know —King’s, your remodel.”

  “This room is off-limits,” he bit out.

  The harshness had her drawing back. “Ah, McGruff is back. Too close, uh?”

  The way she read him, sensed things about him, unnerved Griff. He’d never let a woman get under his skin before. He sure the hell wasn’t going to let this pixie do it. “I’ve changed my thoughts on the remodel.”

  Even in the firelight, he watched the color drain from her face. “You said it was a brilliant idea.” Her confusion sent a jab of guilt straight to his gut.

  “It is.”

  “So, why?” She held up her hands. “You’re not backing out entirely, are you?”

  How could he say it? How could he persuade her? Getting up, he went to his desk. He opened the top drawer, dug out a file, and then retrieved the copies of the newspaper articles there. Coming back to her, he noticed she hugged her knees to her chest now.

  “What’s this?” she asked when he handed her the papers.

  Griffin settled back down, watching her swiftly read the headlines, and then yank her gaze to his.

  “Gossip columns?” She tossed them aside without reading the rest. “I’ve seen these already.” Her hurt tone said more than her words did. “What do they have to do with redecorating your house?”

  He blew out a breath. “Your mother’s indirect attacks on your sister were vicious, to say the least. Her insinuations about Marcus nearly cost King’s its reputation.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes, and the rumors ran rampant and trust was shaky.”

  Agnes King had nearly done what he’d longed to do for years: destroy King’s. However, at the time, he cheered on Francine and Marcus for publically defending themselves and for marrying behind her back. The papers had had a field day with Mrs. King’s stunned reaction to the announcement.

  “It’s over.”

  “Do you think she’ll just sit back now? You said it yourself. You’re next.” His middle clenched at the horrible truth. “You are a young, sexy, single lady who, by all accounts, will have access to a bachelor’s home—my home—around the clock, when I’m here and when I’m not. Your boss’ home. Your name will give you some credence; however, not for long, if those articles are any indication of what your mother will stoop to. Also, in some cases, like this, appearances do matter. Everyone will assume you’re sleeping with the boss.”

  Priscilla jerked her head up. A knife-like sensation sliced through him when her teary, wide eyes met his stare. “But, that’s not fair.”

  “I know,” he said softly, hating how this hurt her.

  Scrubbing away her fast falling tears with the heel of her hand, she choked out, “All I wanted to do is do something, make my mark on King’s, you know, have something that’s all mine to give back. To make it count. To prove I can be a King, too.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “So, are you dropping my idea altogether or are you replacing me?”

  “Neither. That is, if you agree to my plan.”

  “Huh? What plan?”

  “Marry me,” he said softly.

  Her jaw dropped and then she frowned. “Why would you want to?” She shook her head. “What will you get out of it?”

  Revenge.

  Chapter 12

  Shock waves crashed over Priscilla as she stared at the only man she’d ever kissed and now the only man who’d ever asked her to marry him. His intense stare reminded her of the first night they’d met. Gone was the gentler Griff she’d come to know. “You haven’t answered my question,” she demanded, still grappling with his proposal.

  “I get to sleep with you.” His lips tugged up at the corners, but a shadow chased across the desire in his eyes.

  Heat crawled up her neck. “That can’t be all. That’s a pretty elaborate way to get in bed with someone, don’t you think?”

  “Even I have to agree with that.”

  She played with a loose stitch on the hem of her jeans, not able to meet his stare. Her middle curled in pleasure at the thought of Griff’s mouth and hands touching her again. “I can’t imagine you have trouble finding a woman to sleep with you.”

  “Not really,” he admitted.

  She stilled.

  “If I’m not choosy. Or she isn’t.” It spoke of his escapades in the past. “But I am. Have been for a long time.”

  Priscilla let out a pent-up breath.

  “Not every woman likes the ‘McGruff’ in me,” he said with a smile in his voice.

  That made her chuckle. “I wonder why.”

  “Not every woman is a pixie, either.”

  She gasped, jerking her head up to find his hot gaze on her again. Her insides tumbled. “I don’t want to get married,” she insisted.

  “It’s in your best interest,” he countered.

  “Now you sound like my mother.”

  He grimaced. “That was a low blow, Pixie.”

  Closing her eyes and leaning her forehead on her raised knees, she asked, “Why?”

  Somehow he knew what she asked; he said, “Let’s just say, we’ll both benefit. For you, you’re off the market. No more prospective grooms to deal with or your mother’s manipulations on who to marry and how much she’ll interfere after the nuptials.” Her middle clenched at the reminders of what was to come if she didn’t agree. “I’ll protect you from her.” His voice was so close it startled her; she looked up quickly. He was mere inches from her now. “You will have your freedom to redo this house, to make that name for yourself, without any interference. No gossip, no insinuations, no distractions to deal with.”
>
  She sucked in a sharp breath. Shifting so now she sat even closer, she lifted her hands to cup his face. Searching his hooded stare, she asked, “And you?”

  “You protect me.” A mixture of somberness and truth rang in his words.

  “From what?”

  “Myself.”

  “You don’t scare me.” He didn’t.

  “I do.”

  “You scare yourself? That’s just McGruff. He’s easy to spot and—”

  “Easy to tame?” He reached for her hand, turned it over and kissed her palm.

  Tingles scattered where his lips touched and raced over her flesh. “If you’re a pixie.”

  ***

  Priscilla stood staring into space at his kitchen sink. The lukewarm water rushed through her fingers.

  Griffin came up behind her and turned off the faucets. Gingerly, he wiped her hands on a towel. “Is it that difficult to imagine?”

  “Marriage? Yes. It’s so drastic. Can’t we just get pretend engaged?”

  His stillness vibrated around her. “I doubt that will stop your mother from interfering. Planting stories in the press, pictures maybe. Even doubts about cheating—me, probably. It would benefit her cause to set up the sordid details with the focus on me to gain sympathy for you, the victim. It could get very ugly.”

  The breath whooshed out of her lungs. The copies of the gossip column headlines he’d shown her rushed back. Her mother had stooped so low with Francie and Marcus. With only one unmarried daughter left, who knew what she’d try this time as desperation took hold? Her repeated calls testified to that already. Griff was right, of course.