by Taylor Lee
She’d chosen to wind her long, golden hair in a careless twist on the top of her head, allowing errant curls to fall against her cheeks and neck. The wispy tendrils begged for a knowing man’s hands to loosen the clip holding the sunshiny mass in place so that he could bury his nose and mouth in the luscious curls. What caught Griffin’s attention when he forced himself to look at her face was not its perfection, but rather the unease he saw in her eyes. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that she was anxious, even nervous. That challenged expression hardened when she saw him. Instead of the apprehension she’d revealed in an unguarded moment, her eyes narrowed and her chin tipped up in its customary confrontational attitude.
Nodding to him, she leaned against the man who was standing next to her and overtly reached for his arm. That the pleasant-looking fellow beside her looked surprised by her familiar gesture should have reassured Griffin. But it didn’t. Instead, he reacted as he might have expected he would. He was furious that she’d brought a date to the party. His party. Particularly when he’d made a point of asking her to be his guest. Even knowing that she’d done it intentionally to provide a buffer between them didn’t assuage his potent response. Deciding to take matters into his hands, he strode toward them.
He purposefully addressed her by her first name. “Good evening, Tara. I’m pleased that you accepted my invitation. You look lovely.” Turning to the sandy-haired, bespectacled man beside her, he said, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Griffin Black, and you are?”
Given his abrupt greeting, Griffin wasn’t surprised when the clearly chagrined fellow stepped back and said carefully, “Yes, Mr. Black, I know who you are. My name is Ethan Westbrook. I’m the in-house attorney for the Sierra Vista Gazette and a colleague of Ms. Trouble’s.”
At that moment, Jia Yanlin walked over to them. Casting an up and down glance at Tara’s abbreviated dress, an openly sardonic smile curved her lovely lips. Her sweet greeting didn’t obviate her disdain of the sultry dress—or its wearer. “Good evening, Ms. Trouble. What a lovely dress. I’m impressed. I could never get away with wearing a dress like that. I’m too skinny.”
Seeing the rosy flush that stained Tara’s cheeks, it was clear that she’d heard Jia’s intent in her catty remark. Griffin was impressed when Tara notched her chin an inch higher and replied in kind. “Thank you, Ms. Yanlin. Your dress is amazing. And you don’t look skinny, you look beautiful—and well cared for.”
When Jia flushed, clearly understanding that Tara had implied that she was a kept woman, Tara tightened her grip on her colleague’s arm and turned to go. Directing a hard glare at Griffin, she said, “This looks like it will be an auspicious event for you. Thank you for inviting us.”
Turning on her heel, she was halfway across the room, her luscious hips swaying from side to side before either Griffin or Jia could respond. Watching her stride away, Griffin wasn’t surprised when Jia muttered, “What a bitch.” If he wasn’t so angry with Tara, he might have been amused at the catfight he’d witnessed. He was impressed by Tara’s acerbic comeback. Even though she was completely off base by implying that Jia was his paramour, he was glad that she’d responded as cuttingly as she had. It was good to know that she was a strong woman. She needed to be, given that she soon would be tangling with him.
Chapter 7
Griffin moved easily among the assembled guests, greeting many of them by their first names. Aided by his encyclopedic memory, it had taken him less than a week to devour his competent staff’s dossier describing the important people and facts about the community he was about to invade. Chatting amiably with one star-struck guest after another, he responded to their queries seriously or cheerfully depending on their position or the importance to his goals. While appearing to be thoroughly engaged by the person with whom he was speaking, he never allowed Tara to move out of his audio and visual sphere. He was determined that she acknowledge his presence even though she appeared to be studiously ignoring him.
From his distance it was clear, at least to him, that Tara’s “date” was more engaged in her than she was in him. Several times, she responded to a question the feckless fellow had asked by turning a frowning gaze on him as if she were surprised to see him there. There wasn’t a question in Griffin’s mind that the impudent woman had brought the lawyer to the event as a buffer, an overt declaration to him that she was unavailable and had only attended his soiree for “professional” reasons. Regardless, her disdain had the expected effect on him. It infuriated him. He’d invited her as his guest, an appropriate follow-up to their challengingly intimate experience in the elevator. In response, she’d figuratively turned up her nose at him, making it clear that she called her own shots. That no one, least of all him, would set the tone for their problematic relationship.
After what felt like an appropriate amount of time circling her and her foil, Griffin strode toward them, but not before he snatched a napkin off the bar and scribbled on it. Tucking the note in his pocket, he saw Tara stiffen as he approached. Seeing more than a few people around them turn to enjoy the certain fireworks, he smiled as he extended his hand to her clueless buffer and said pleasantly, “I’m pleased that you could join us, Mr. Westbrook. Tell me, what percent of the work you do at the Gazette deals with the legal challenges incited by the actions of its feisty editor?”
Westbrook gave a surprised start at his indecorous greeting. At Tara’s darkening flush, Griffin allowed his grin to broaden. Driving the verbal shiv in deeper, he said to the flustered legal eagle, “Although, as enticing as she is, I imagine defending her is not a particularly odious task.”
Clearly surprised at the rancor Griffin didn’t try to hide, Westbrook stepped back, then seemed to gather himself. “No, Mr. Black, believe it or not, we have had few suits brought against the Gazette because of Tara’s—Ms. Trouble’s actions.”
Before Ethan could defend her further, Tara spoke up. “To the contrary, Mr. Black. The Gazette initiates more suits than we defend against us. It appears that most of our antagonists are smart enough to know they are up against a formidable adversary. After howling hysterically like cornered hyenas, they choose to tuck their cowardly tails between their legs and slink off.”
Ignoring Westbrook’s surprised start, Griffin turned a hard gaze on Tara and allowed a smile to curve his lips, ensuring that his suppressed humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Hmm, given that, I guess the question then that begs to be asked, Ms. Trouble, is why you require legal assistance to attend a cocktail party.”
Clearly shocked at his insulting assertion, Tara flushed brighter, then shook her head and turned to go. Not allowing her to walk away, Griffin grasped her arm and raised the stakes. “Please excuse my impudence. It’s just that I’m surprised that you need a guard dog, Tara. Or did the unassuming and kindly Mr. Westbrook concur that you should not enter this den of thieves without his protection?”
Pulling her up against him, he pressed the note into her hand and then turned to Ethan. He raised his hands as if in apology. “Forgive my bad manners, Mr. Westbrook. As you no doubt know, your colleague and I have been scrapping with one another since we met. Needless to say, I find it hard not to challenge her. My apologies for putting you in our crossfire. It was ungracious of me, to say the least.” Smiling at them both, he nodded and then said over his shoulder as he walked away, “Please enjoy the party.”
Too shocked at his aggressive provocation to do more than stare at his retreating back, Tara knew her cheeks had to be flaming. Drawing in as much of a breath as her constricted lungs would allow, she forced herself to face Ethan. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have come. I knew he would be an asshole. How could he be anything else?”
Ethan emitted a troubled sigh. “I don’t know, Tara. My sense is that Mr. Black was primarily annoyed by my presence, not yours.”
Tara shook her head. “I don’t know about you, Ethan, but after that ridiculous exchange, I need a stiff shot of something strong. Do you mind getting me a drink of the
most expensive liquor Mr. Black is serving to the trailer trash comprising the citizenry of Sierra Vista?” Without waiting for him to respond, Tara fled to the ladies’ room, fighting against the desire to dash outside and hail a homeward cab. That haven seemed impossibly far away when she unfolded the napkin Griffin had pressed in her hand and read the scribbled note in his authoritative handwriting.
Meet me at the Pine Street entrance in twenty minutes. And, goddammit, Tara, come alone!
Later, Tara would wonder how she managed to make her way back to the festive party and actually converse with a number of the more daring people who approached her. Tossing back the shot of whatever Ethan brought her, she ignored his surprise when she handed him the empty glass scant seconds later. Not hiding his frown when she nodded affirmatively to his careful query as to whether she really wanted another, he obediently went back to the bar. She was certain that as many times as she asked them to repeat their questions, the people talking to her had to be wondering if she was drunk or stoned. Relieved when Ethan returned, she forced herself to sip rather than guzzle the proffered drink, then stepped back, allowing him to manage the conversation with the group surrounding them.
After several minutes, she glanced at her watch. As though her feet didn’t belong to her, she excused herself and once again strode toward the ladies’ room. To her dismay, she walked by the bathroom door and headed to the side entrance. Stepping outside and seeing the empty roadway, she admonished herself in scathing terms for the fool that she was. She knew that he’d likely seen her leave and was laughing his head off at her gullibility. Retrieving her phone, she texted Ethan, saying that she didn’t feel well and was catching a cab home and not to worry about her. She was nearing the cabstand when a gleaming black Ferrari 488 coupe roared around the corner and came to a grinding stop beside her. Reaching across the transom, he shoved open the door. His order—make that his command—was brusque. “Get in.”
To her horror, Tara did as he ordered and settled in the leather passenger seat. She was stunned when he reached across her and grabbed the seatbelt and inserted the latch. It took her several long moments to draw a deep breath. Much less to acknowledge that she was truly sitting beside Griffin Black in his high-end automobile, peeling down the highway at God knows how many miles an hour to God knows where.
****
Tara closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat as if she could convince herself that she was in a dream. Claim that she hadn’t left the benign presence of her “guard dog,” as Griffin had called Ethan, and instead literally stepped into the lion’s den. Grateful that Griffin had opened the moon roof, allowing the cool breeze to caress her heated flesh, Tara refused to ask where they were going. Giving in to the roar of the powerful automobile, she tried to ignore the fearsome presence hovering next to her. It was hard enough to ignore his scent, a powerful combination of expensive cologne that she recognized as Ambre Topkapi and a compelling male aroma. When he turned onto what was clearly a narrower road, Tara opened her eyes and prayed that they were betraying her. That they weren’t truly roaring up the twisting driveway to Griffin Black’s extravagant home. As the garage door opened at his flicking command, she settled back against the padded seat and acknowledged that her worst nightmare was about to begin.
Before she could release the safety belt, he’d exited, rounded the gleaming automobile, and opened her door. With an exaggerated bow, he bent down and lifted her out of the low-slung Ferrari. Standing her beside the snazzy car, he shot her a narrow-eyed smile. “Welcome, Tara. Please come into my humble abode.” He added with a soft snort, “But then, you don’t have much of a choice, do you, Ms. Trouble?”
Refusing to answer his obnoxious taunt, Tara brushed his arm off hers. She strode to the exit through the six-car garage that she noted was as sparkling clean as her kitchen floor. Walking up the cobblestone pathway leading to the looming house, she straightened her spine and forged ahead. She wondered if this was what Marie Antoinette felt like as she mounted the steps to the guillotine. Ducking under his arm when he unlocked the heavily carved front door, Tara stepped inside the foyer of the sprawling house.
Hesitating, not sure where they were going and afraid to ask, she was relieved when he said, “Let’s go out on the deck, shall we? After all, it is a pleasant evening.” He added with a wolfish grin, “At least as far as the weather is concerned.”
Standing to the side of the teak deck that was at least as large as her backyard, Tara watched him stride across the gleaming expanse to the fire pit in the middle of the enormous space. He turned a number of levers, and in seconds, a blazing fire leapt skyward. Continuing on to the well-stocked bar, he stood for a minute as if deciding, then selected a bottle of Macallan scotch and poured a healthy amount in a single glass. Picking up the glass, he blew out an audible sigh and made his way over to one of the deck armchairs and sank down. Narrowing his already frowning gaze, he took a hearty sip of the potent alcohol and said with a wave of his hand, “Please, Tara. Come here.”
Tara managed to exhale, not knowing if that was wise given that she might never be able to suck in another breath. Nodding to the space in front of him, she forced herself to ask in a relatively strong voice, “Before I do anything, I need to know. What do you want from me, Griffin?”
He shrugged and quirked a nonchalant brow. “That’s an easy question to answer, Tara. One that should be obvious to us both. To put it succinctly . . . I want . . . you.”
Not knowing where her tart reply came from, Tara managed to say, “And do you always get what you want, Griffin?”
His soft smile was worthy of a potentate of a small country. “As a matter of fact, yes. I do.”
After a long moment, he lifted his glass and pointed to a spot several feet in front of him. “Come, Tara. Stand there . . . in front of me. Where I can see every luscious inch of you as you bare your naked body to me.”
Chapter 8
Too shocked to do more than gasp, it took Tara a full moment to understand that he was serious. Trapping her in his powerful gaze, he motioned to the place in front of him and said softly, “You heard me, Tara. Do as I said. Please come here and stand right there.”
Later, Tara would struggle to answer her disbelieving question of how she could have possibly done what he told her to do. She would ask why she hadn’t found the biggest rock she could and thrown it at his arrogant head. Instead, she admitted that she’d done her best to strengthen her shaking legs and, as if she were in a dream, had walked toward him. When he lifted his glass toward the designated place and said softly, “Mm-hmm. Right there, sweetheart. Where I can see the only thing hotter than that fire blazing behind you. That would be your sexy body that you have been aching to show me since you first accosted me at the fucking Whispering Pines Motel.” Rather than take issue with his absurd and insulting taunt, as if he were a magnetic field that she couldn’t escape, she complied, to her surprise and likely his.
Doing his best to quiet his straining dick, Griffin drew a deep breath, seeing her confusion and then obvious anger melt into what he could only hope was her arousal. At least that’s what her flaming cheeks and flaring eyes foretold as she took one hesitant step after another until she was standing in front of him—as close to the spot he’d indicated as if it were marked with a large, red X. Nodding approvingly, he said softly, “That’s a good girl, sweetheart. Stand right there.”
Taking a languorous sip of his scotch, he motioned to her dress. “Now, Tara, take it off. Slowly, so I can truly appreciate your extraordinary body.”
To his surprise and the delight of his surging dick, she held his gaze, then, biting down on her already puffy bottom lip, she reached behind her and slowly unzipped the clingy fabric sheathing her curvy frame. Holding it against her, she shot him an uncertain gaze. At his insistent nod, she visibly swallowed, then eased the dress over her hips, letting it fall to the floor. When she stood up straight and tall before him, he managed to shutter his agonized groan. He’
d intuitively known that she’d choose sexy underwear. While he was certain she was a relatively inexperienced lover, she’d been more than willing to flaunt her impressive wares. At least to the legions of men he’d seen openly lusting after her. Even so, the black lace strapless bra that couldn’t contain her overflowing breasts stole his breath. As did the miniscule lacy thong with a single patch of fabric over her mound, promising an even more abbreviated covering over her curvy ass. Her four-inch stiletto heels only served to make her toned, silky-skinned legs seem miles long.
Taking a long, slow sip of his potent scotch, Griffin nodded in approval, then said quietly, “Take off your bra, Tara, and show me your breasts. I want to see the glorious globes I have been lusting after since the first time I laid eyes on your luscious chest, imagining the treasures that you taunted me with. And, honey, when you bare them, lift those gorgeous mounds and present them to me like the extravagant gift that they are.”
Delighted at the rosy color that flushed her cheeks and was now spreading to her aroused chest, Griffin held his breath when she reached behind her and unhooked the contraption that had done a yeoman’s job encasing her overflowing breasts. Not able to contain the abundant flesh that escaped her small hands, Griffin met her beseeching gaze, acknowledging what he was sure was her first striptease. Underscoring his approval, he murmured, “Jesus, sweetheart, you’re even more beautiful than I could have imagined.”
