by Beth Andrews
“You want to know what’s on my mind?” Griffin growled, stopping her before she could open the door. “You want me to make it clear what I want from you?”
“I think we can all guess that,” Jess piped up from where she stood next to the car, the passenger-side door open. “But, I, for one would still love to hear it. How about you?” she asked Tanner, who stared at the scene wide-eyed from down the sidewalk. He nodded.
Nora glared at her. “Why don’t you wait in the car?”
“And miss this? Are you high?”
Before Nora could respond to that, Griffin stalked over to her. Kept coming, forcing her to back up until she was pressed against the car. “I’ve never, not once in my life been jealous over a woman,” he said, his eyes hooded. “Until today.”
As declarations went, what it lacked in quantity, it more than made up for in quality. But it wasn’t enough. Not quite. “And?” she asked.
His mouth flattened. “And I’m taking you to dinner. Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“You really think you’re up for someone like him?” Jess called from behind her.
Nora ignored her. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head at him and his lame-ass invitation, “but are you ordering me to have dinner with you?”
“I’m asking,” he said, as if grinding up the words before spitting them out.
“That’s funny, because it didn’t sound that way.”
He edged closer, ducked his head to speak in her ear, his breath warm against her skin, his voice a low rumble that scraped along her nerve endings. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Her mouth went dry. It wasn’t perfect but it was the best she’d get from him. And it was enough for now. “Make it six-thirty,” she said when he straightened. “I have an early day Friday.”
Nodding, he raked his gaze over her slacks and blouse, her heels and updo. “Wear jeans.” He went back toward the house, faced her at the edge of the sidewalk, his taller, younger brother behind him. “And, angel? If your hair is up in one of those fancy twists you seem to like so well, I’m taking it down myself.”
“I actually don’t take fashion advice from someone whose wardrobe consists of jeans and T-shirts so I’ll be wearing my hair any damn way I please.”
But the thought of him doing just that, of his fingers combing through her hair had her breathless and anxious and yes, damn it, aroused. And considering putting it up just to make sure he’d go through with his threat.
She raised her eyebrows at Jess from over the top of the car. “Are you getting in?”
“Yep. Just didn’t want to miss anything.”
They got in the car simultaneously. Pulling away from the curb, Nora couldn’t resist checking her rearview mirror. Smiled to see Griffin in front of the porch of his dark, lonely-looking house watching her.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” Nora asked Jess, feeling the girl’s eyes on her as they drove down the street.
Jess snorted. “My mom had other lessons to teach me.”
Nora glanced at her. She knew from Layne that Jess’s mom, Ross’s sister, had a long history of drug abuse and was currently serving a sentence for possession. Hard not to feel for the girl when she’d had it so rough. But that didn’t excuse what she’d done to Anthony.
“If you have something to say, say it.”
“I’m just, like, surprised,” Jess said. “I mean, that Griffin is hot. Smoking hot.”
“Yes,” Nora said dryly, turning left at the intersection, “how shocking that he’d be interested in me.”
“I know, right? He’s more Tori’s type.”
She strangled the steering wheel, forgot all about the sympathy she’d felt for Jess moments ago. “Well, be that as it may, he didn’t ask Tori out, did he?”
He’d asked her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“NO WAY,” Nora said the next evening, crossing her arms and giving Griffin a mulish expression. “There is no way I’m getting on that thing.”
Griffin squinted against the sunlight. They stood outside her house, him on the sidewalk in front of his Harley, her at the top of her porch stairs. She had on a flowy black tank top and dark jeans and, as he’d requested, her hair was down, falling to her shoulders like a golden cloud. “You afraid?” he asked, having a hard time believing the woman who’d faced him down in his own garage, beat the hell out of her car and confronted Dale York at the Yacht Pub was afraid of anything.
She lifted her chin. “How about smart enough not to get on a machine that can get up to great speeds. A machine that leaves nothing between me and whatever object we may encounter on our travels.”
He lifted the helmet he’d bought for her earlier that day. A bright yellow one, the color reminding him of her. “You’ll have a helmet on.”
“Oh, well, in that case, why don’t you just shoot my body out of a cannon?” She rolled her eyes. “A helmet,” she muttered as if to herself in disgust.
His lips twitched and he slowly walked up the stairs. She stiffened but stood her ground. When he reached the step below her, they were eye to eye. Mouth to mouth. His hands tightened on the helmet.
“Come on, angel,” he said softly in what he hoped was his best cajoling tone. “Come for a ride with me. It’ll be fun.”
She glanced behind him at the bike. Bit her lower lip. “I thought you were taking me out to dinner.”
“I am.”
“We can take my car—”
“Let me take you for a ride,” he repeated smoothly, tucking the helmet under his arm so he could touch the loose strands of hair caressing her cheek. When she still hesitated, her eyes uncertain, he slid his hand around to cup the back of her head. “You’ll be safe. Trust me.”
She met his eyes, held his gaze for so long, his chest hurt. But then he realized that was because he wasn’t breathing. He wanted, more than he cared to admit, for her to do just that. For her to count on him. With her safety. Her secrets.
Her heart.
But he didn’t want to give her his heart in return.
And that made him a selfish son of a bitch. Like his old man. And, like his father, he wasn’t willing to give up something he wanted. Even though he knew he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve Nora.
She inhaled deeply, exhaled and her breath ruffled the hair at the top of his head. “Okay.”
“You won’t regret it,” he promised more solemnly than the situation called for. But he wanted her to know she could trust him. And that even though he couldn’t give her everything she deserved, he’d do his best not to hurt her.
He hoped.
* * *
NORA ALREADY REGRETTED it.
Her legs shook as she walked down the porch steps. After her acquiescence about the motorcycle ride, Griffin had told her to change into a long-sleeve shirt—despite the warm weather. Now that she was dressed in what she deemed motorcycle-babe-worthy clothes—tight jeans, snug, long-sleeve shirt and her favorite black booties—she was at least externally prepared for this.
Inside, though, her heart raced. Her palms were damp and her stomach quivered.
Trust me.
She did. More than was wise considering they’d only known each other a short time and how closed off he was. He kept a part of himself separate. Protected. Spending more time with him when she wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to fully open up to anyone was risky.
Her growing feelings for him despite her doubts scared her more than the two-wheeled death trap he wanted her to ride on.
But she couldn’t refuse him, she thought as she approached him. He was beautiful, leaning against the bike, his arms crossed, his gaze hooded. And this time, he’d come to her. Had asked her out—though she’d had to push him into it.
No, she couldn’t refuse him. And that was just something she’d have to live with.
“Ready?” he asked when she reached him.
“Not really.” But she took the helmet from his hands, shoved it onto her head. It was tighter than she’d imagined, seemed to close off all sound. “But let’s do it anyway.”
Grinning, he flipped the visor up. “What was that?”
“I said, let’s do it anyway.”
He straightened. “I’m blown away by your enthusiasm.”
“You want enthusiasm?” she asked, as he swung onto the bike and put his own helmet on. “Try showing up for a date in a limo.”
She had no idea what to do, how to even get on the damn thing so she stood there hoping maybe he’d forget the whole idea.
He lifted his visor and faced her. “You might want to come closer,” he said, a note in his voice as close to teasing as she’d ever heard. She edged forward. “Now put your left hand on my left shoulder, step up on the foot peg with your left foot and swing your right leg over the seat.”
“Foot peg?” she asked, looking at all the shiny and not so shiny pieces of the machine.
“Here,” he said, kicking the back of his booted heel against a piece that stuck out from the bike.
She laid her hand on his shoulder, stepped up and swung her leg over.
“Good,” he said, turning so she could hear him. “Now squeeze your knees against my hips. It’ll help keep you more stable.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she muttered, starting to sweat in her long sleeves and nerves.
He laughed.
And she knew no matter how terrifying the ride would be, no matter how her stomach churned or how many times her life flashed before her eyes it would all be worth it.
Because he laughed.
She slid her arms around his waist, pressed herself against his strong, solid back. Liked that she could feel his chest rising and falling with his breathing. That his heart beat steadily against her palm, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt. He started the bike, it rumbled underneath her, the seat vibrating between her thighs, and she tightened her hold on him.
“Ready?” he asked over his shoulder.
She wasn’t. Didn’t think she’d ever be. So she nodded and he slowly pulled away from the curb.
He kept to the speed limit but avoided the busiest roads as they made their way through town. Truth be told, she didn’t see a lot of it as she kept her eyes squeezed shut. It wasn’t until he went a little faster, when she smelled the ocean, felt the breeze cool that her eyes flew open in surprise.
They were outside of town now, driving down old Beach Road, a stretch of highway that paralleled the ocean. He handled the bike effortlessly and gradually she loosened her death grip on him. The wind, the road open before her, spinning past her in a blur should have terrified her—did terrify her. But it was also…freeing. Exhilarating.
And sexy as hell.
To her right, waves crashed along the rocky shore and she could’ve sworn she felt their cool mist along her hands, the back of her neck. The powerful machine rumbled beneath them, took corners with ease. By the time he pulled to a stop in front of run-down sandwich shop twenty minutes later, the muscles in her thighs ached from being so tense and she couldn’t feel her butt.
It was great.
She dismounted and did a little ass-shaking jig on the sidewalk.
He cut the ignition, set the kickstand and got off the bike. Took off his helmet, his hair all sexily mussed, a sharp grin on his face. “I take it you liked it?”
“Liked it?” she asked. “I loved it. It was… It felt… Wow.”
Though that one word was grossly inadequate to describe the rush she’d gotten from being on the bike, the sense of pure freedom, he seemed to get it. He unhooked her helmet and tugged it off her head, his gaze darkening. “Yeah. It certainly is wow.”
Her heart raced under his intense scrutiny. She didn’t know what to do with him, how to handle him or her growing feelings for him. The more she was around him, the easier it was to convince herself that he could give her what she’d always dreamed of.
The kind of love her father had had for her mother.
She launched herself at him, not surprised at all when he caught her against him, his strong arm going around her waist.
“Thank you,” she said, giving him a smacking kiss on the mouth. “That was awesome. When can I drive?”
“After you’ve taken the proper safety courses.” His arm tightened around her for a moment, almost as if he was giving her a hug. “And you buy your own bike.”
She pouted. “You mean you won’t teach me how to drive your bike?”
“Nobody drives it but me.”
She’d just have to figure out a way to convince him to let her be the first. She took a hold of his hand and tugged him up the walk toward the restaurant. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
Ten minutes later they were seated behind Beachy’s Subs at one of the weathered, rough-hewn wooden tables overlooking the ocean. White-capped waves crashed against the rocky shore, shot water into the air. The breeze picked up the ends of her hair, blew them around her face. She brushed them back and peeled the lid off the foam bowl of clam chowder, then took the plastic spoon out of its wrapper.
She scooped up a bite, burning her tongue in the process. But it was so worth it. Humming appreciatively, she shoveled another spoonful into her mouth. “Can I have one of those?” she asked, helping herself to one of his onion rings. She bit into it as she reached for a packet of saltine crackers and caught him watching her.
“What?” she asked, wiping the back of her hand against her chin in case she had a drip she didn’t know about.
“Just wondering if the rest of my food—and fingers—are safe.”
“Oh, ha. Aren’t you witty?” But she did slow down long enough to squirt ketchup over her pile of fries. “I’m hungry. I missed lunch. And this chowder is seriously excellent. Better than the café’s.” She jabbed her spoon in his direction. “If you tell my dad I said that, I’ll deny it.”
“Why would your dad care?”
“Celeste uses my great-grandmother Sullivan’s recipe. Dad takes his family’s chowder seriously.”
Unwrapping his fully loaded steak sub, Griffin snorted. “Your secret’s safe with me. I doubt your father and I will have much to say each other if we ever run into each other again.” He bit into the sub, chewed and swallowed. “Not when he wants to rip my heart out and use it for fish bait.”
“And after you were so charming and polite yesterday,” she said dryly.
“If you’d wanted charming and polite, you would’ve stuck with the suit from your office. Instead you’re breaking the rules by being with me. Maybe that’s part of the reason you’re here.”
She shook her head. “God, that’s pretty much what Tori accused me of that night at the Yacht Pub. That I’m going through some latent teenage rebellion.”
His gaze on her was intense. Searching. “Are you?”
“Yes, Griffin. I’m using you to get back at my family for loving and taking care of me my entire life. For teaching me right from wrong and encouraging my goals and dreams. Those bastards.”
“Maybe it’s not them you’re trying to get back at.”
At his quiet words, everything inside of her stilled. Her appetite gone, she slowly set down her spoon. He thought she was lashing out in anger over her mother leaving. That couldn’t be further from the truth. She didn’t hate her mom, had never had the same issues over her abandonment that Layne and Tori
did. Sure, Nora had grieved not having a mother like Aunt Astor, but mostly she’d pitied Valerie.
She’d had everything and had thrown it away.
“I’m not angry with my mother,” she told Griffin. “Maybe I should be, maybe I should hate her but…” Nora shook her head, stared at the ocean. “I can’t. She was just so…tragic…the way she was always searching for attention, for others to give her what she lacked inside. It didn’t matter that she had a husband who loved her above everything else, that she had three healthy daughters, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. More money. More things. More time and attention. More excitement. I just find it incredibly sad.”
Nora would do anything to have what Valerie had given up. To have a life in the town and with the people she loved, to have a home and a family of her own. To share that life with a man who loved her, beyond self, beyond reason.
“My old man was the same way,” Griffin said, surprising her by offering information. “He never had enough and if he saw something he wanted, he took it. It didn’t matter if it belonged to someone else.”
“I’m sure my mother didn’t put up much of a fight,” she said “But no matter how…lacking…my mother was, she didn’t deserve what Dale did to her. Didn’t deserve to have him hurt her.” Holding his gaze, she trailed her fingers across the back of his hand. “Neither did you.”
* * *
GRIFFIN’S HAND TREMBLED so he slid it away from her touch. Hid it on his lap where she couldn’t see his weakness. “The last time I saw my father—” Christ, he hated calling Dale that, hated how the word stuck in his throat, “The last time I saw Dale before he disappeared, Mom and I were living in this one-bedroom apartment over on Maplewood Ave. It was a dump,” he said, staring over Nora’s shoulder and seeing the past, “but Mom still had to work two jobs just to cover the rent. But it didn’t matter how many hours she had to work or that I had to sleep on the floor or that we ate peanut butter sandwiches three meals a day because we were free from him. After all those years, we were finally free.”
“Griffin,” she said, drawing his eyes back to her sympathetic expression. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”
