by Brynley Bush
Marcus laughs. “What can I say? I’m just used to being in charge.”
His words make me think about Griffin and I realize they have quite a bit in common, not the least of which is an air of authority that makes me unquestioningly do what they say before I even have a chance to intellectually process it. I sigh.
“I really wanted to stay and work,” I grumble good-naturedly.
“But you really need to eat,” Marcus contradicts. “Sometimes what you want and what you need are two different things.”
He buys me a slice of pizza and a beer at a pizza joint down the street from our office and our conversation turns back to Griffin’s case. I tell him how the intellectual property issue is complicated by the fact that the Blacks are researching the efficacy of a natural product, which can’t be patented. However, if they can isolate a molecule closely related to the natural product that can be derived from it in a couple of steps, then they can get a composition of matter patent which will prevent anyone else from creating the same drug.
“But,” I add with a sigh, “then they’re just doing what they’re trying to stop Camille and the pharmaceutical companies from doing—creating a synthetic drug instead of getting the natural product approved as a drug.”
“That’s an interesting thought, though,” Marcus says. “You should talk to Griffin about that angle. Maybe his brother and father would consider doing that.”
I nod. “Alright. I have a few more things I need to follow up on, but I’ll call him tomorrow morning,” I promise.
We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes before I say casually, “What’s the story with Griffin? He told me you were his BUD/S training officer, but the two of you seem to know each other better than that.”
“I did first meet Griffin as his BUD/S training officer,” Marcus confirms. “But you’re right; our relationship is much more complex than that. After graduation, Griffin was assigned to a platoon based here in San Diego and we became friends as well as associates, much like you and I have. I have immense admiration for Griffin Black. He is one of the most driven and toughest soldiers that I have ever met, but he is also the most selfless, and he has the heart of a lion. Did he tell you that he was awarded the Honor Man in his BUD/S class?”
“Of course not,” I mutter. “That would require that he actually be honest with me.”
Marcus looks at me with amusement. “The two of you clearly have some issues you need to work out,” he says. “I’m not sure if I should get you a room or a restraining order.”
“Me neither,” I sigh dolefully.
Marcus laughs again and I look at him darkly. “I’m glad I’m entertaining you,” I say sarcastically.
“Me too,” he replies cheerfully before continuing. “The Honor Man award is given to the man in each class whose sheer force of example inspires his classmates to keep going when they’re ready to quit,” he says, his tone growing serious. “There are quite a few men who wouldn’t hesitate to give their life for Griffin Black. I’m one of them.”
I look at Marcus in surprise. He holds himself to extremely high standards and as a result, his respect isn’t easily given.
“He will probably kill me for telling you this, but I want you to know the caliber of man he is and the esteem in which I hold him. He saved my life during a deployment in Afghanistan. Although I wasn’t part of his platoon, I had stepped in for the commanding officer who had asked for a leave of absence to spend time with his wife who was terminally ill. I was bleeding out and Griffin demanded that the medic take his blood to give me a transfusion right there in the lifeboat, even though he was wounded himself.” Marcus’ expressive brown eyes bore into me. “He saved my life. This case is important to me.”
“I understand,” I say quietly.
I finish up my research on Friday morning, and as I promised Marcus, I call Griffin mid-morning to talk to him about what I’ve learned so far. Unfortunately, I get his voicemail. I leave a brief message and fill the remainder of my day with a lunch date with Olivia and catching up on my other cases. Before I know it, it’s almost four o’clock. Crap. Olivia’s birthday gift to me was private surf lessons on Pacific Beach, and my first lesson is in thirty minutes. Luckily, I’d tossed my bikini in my car before I drove to work this morning just in case I was running late, so I drive straight from the office to the beach and make it there in less than ten minutes.
When I reach the surf shop, I’m giddy with excitement tinged with the faintest hint of nerves. Although I’ve lived in California for almost eight years, I’ve never actually tried surfing before, but I’ve always wanted to learn. I love Olivia for making my someday wish a reality today. I check in at the front desk and slip into the bathroom to change into my swimsuit, running back out to my car to stow my bag and business clothes before my lesson. My instructor, Steve, a good-looking guy in his mid-thirties with bleach blond hair and the deep tan of someone who spends his days on the beach, meets me on the boardwalk outside the shop.
He gives me a thin wetsuit and helps me put it on, which is much harder than it looks. Then we walk down to the beach, each of us carrying a long, foam surfboard from the shop. We spend a few minutes on the sand where we go over surf etiquette and safety, and then I practice going from a prone position to standing on the board. Once I’ve done that a dozen times, we head out into the ocean.
Steve shows me how to position myself on my board so the nose is about an inch out of the water and paddle using a crawl stroke, cupping my hands to get the most pull. We paddle out to the breakers and Steve floats nearby, bobbing up and down on his surfboard as he watches for the perfect wave for me. He gives the signal and with a deep breath I paddle out to catch my first wave. Running through his instructions in my head, I try to stand, wobble, and then crash, tumbling into the water. Before I can panic, the force of the surfboard strap attached to my ankle yanks me out of the water, sputtering.
Steve gives me a thumbs up and motions for me to come back out so I hop back on my board and paddle back out.
“What did I do wrong?” I ask breathlessly.
“You’re thinking too much,” he says. “Just feel the wave.”
I nod and he pushes me off for my second try. I paddle into the wave and maneuver my body to stand and suddenly, it’s like dancing. I can feel the wave like it’s music, and I ride it with pure euphoria rushing through my veins.
“I did it!” I shout happily to Steve afterward. “Did you see that?”
He smiles at my enthusiasm and says, “Want to do it again?”
Hell yes I do! I manage to catch half a dozen more waves before he says it’s time to go back in, and I’m disappointed it’s over. My shoulders feel a little sore from paddling, but I’m giddy with the excitement of mastering the ocean.
Once we’re back on the shore, I say, “That was totally awesome!”
“Next week we’ll work on perfecting your technique, turning, and timing the waves, and we’ll go out a bit further,” Steve says with a smile. He pauses, scanning the beach as a man in board shorts approaches. As the man gets closer, I’m stunned to see it’s Griffin.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised.
“I called your office but they said you’d left for the day. Marcus told me you’d be here,” he says.
I make a mental note to tactfully tell my boss to mind his own business in the future.
Griffin turns to Steve and claps him on the back. “Hey, Steve,” he says in acknowledgment.
“Hey, Grif, how’s it going?” Steve says as he returns Griffin’s greeting with a reciprocal back slap.
I roll my eyes. “Do you know everyone?”
“Steve and I have surfed together for years,” Griffin says casually. Turning to Steve he says with a grin, “How’d she do?”
“Pretty good for her first lesson,” Steve replies. “She’s a natural. I’d suggest she show you her stuff, but I’ll bet she’s wiped. She’s been at it for almost two hours.”
I look at him in surprise. My lesson was only supposed to be an hour long.
“You were having so much fun I hated to make you stop,” he says. “You were my last lesson of the day anyway.”
“Thanks!” I say with a smile. “But I’m not that tired. Can I really go a few more times?”
Steve shakes his head. “Man, you’ve got it bad,” he says with a grin. “I’ve got to go take care of some things up at the shop. You guys can leave the boards and wetsuit up there when you’re finished. You did great,” he says to me, giving me a thumbs up. “See you next week.”
Turning to Griffin he advises with a wink, “She’ll probably need a good massage tonight.”
I realize he has mistakenly assumed that Griffin and I are dating and I open my mouth to correct him, but before I can say anything Griffin smoothly says, “Thanks. I’ll bring the boards up soon.”
He grabs Steve’s board and hands me mine. “Alright,” he says with a contagious grin. “Show me what you can do.”
I’m so excited about getting to surf more that I don’t even mind too much that it’s with Griffin.
“Don’t you need a wetsuit?” I ask.
He gives me a mock reproving look. “I’m a Navy SEAL,” he scoffs. “I can manage without a wetsuit.”
“Suit yourself,” I say. “Just don’t be expecting mouth to mouth resuscitation if you turn blue.”
His gaze focuses on my lips and I nervously catch my lower lip with my teeth under his scrutiny. His eyes turn molten.
“You’d let me drown?” he says in mock disbelief.
“Um, yeah!” I say definitively, turning with my board. “No brainer.”
The sting of his hand on my bottom catches me off guard and I whirl around to face him. My pulse is racing and there’s a familiar tug in my pelvis. “What was that for?” I ask, feigning outrage.
“Being a brat,” he retorts. “I suggest you get your cute little ass on your board before I do it again. I kind of enjoyed that.”
I feel my skin flush as I realize I did too, although I don’t want to admit it. Feigning nonchalance, I grab my board and walk out into the ocean, conscious of his eyes on my ass. I give it a little extra wiggle for his benefit.
He’s by my side instantly and we paddle out together. He takes over Steve’s job, watching for the perfect wave and then pushing me out into it, cheering enthusiastically when I manage to stand and ride it. I ride several more before returning to his side, breathless.
“I don’t think I can do anymore,” I admit.
“Do you mind if I go out a little further and catch a few before we go in?” he asks.
I’m eager to watch his athletic body take on a wave so I readily agree. I sit on my board, peacefully bobbing in the water as he paddles further out. He waits until an impossibly big wave crests and then paddles into it, effortlessly standing and riding it with enviable grace. His body is perfect—his tanned skin glistening in the evening sun, his muscles precisely carved with hard work and determination. I cheer as loudly for him as he did for me.
He catches a few more waves before swimming back to my side and we head back to shore.
Once we’re out of the water, he helps me peel off my wetsuit, which is about as difficult to get off as it was to get on. Although he’s technically undressing me, there is absolutely nothing sexy about the impossible suit. Once I’ve managed to push it down to my ankles, he grabs my foot to pull it off the rest of the way, but the suit sticks and I lose my balance, ending up on my ass in the sand. Both of us bust out laughing.
The walls I have put up against him are slowly crumbling. If it weren’t for the memory of our one-night stand coupled with the chemistry I feel whenever he’s within a twenty-mile radius, we might be friends. He’s surprisingly easy to be with.
My laughter fades as he drops to his knees on the sand next to me, grabbing my ankle in a strong grip and finally freeing me from the wetsuit. His grasp, warm and firm, ignites my skin. Instead of letting go of my ankle, his hand strokes up my leg. Before I can pull away or respond, he drops his hand, getting to his feet and holding out his hands to help me up. I put my hands in his and he pulls me up with enough force that I land against his chest, my bikini clad breasts pressing into the hard plane of his torso. His skin is still slightly wet and cool, and in contrast mine feels heated against him.
His fingers tangle in my hair. “I like your hair tousled like this,” he says huskily, fingering the natural waves brought out by two hours in the salty ocean. I turn away, confused by the conflicting emotions I feel with him.
“Not that I don’t like it pinned up too,” he adds casually, releasing the strands as he turns to pick up both surfboards and my discarded wetsuit. “It makes me fantasize about pulling those pins out, one by one, until your hair is cascading over your shoulders, the only thing shielding your naked body from my gaze.”
I shudder, glad that it’s dark enough that he can’t see my pupils.
Then his hands are in my hair again, roughly wrapping the thick tresses around his fist and pulling forcefully until my head tilts back, exposing my throat. He leans down and presses a kiss to my pulse point, which is beating wildly.
He abruptly releases me, catching me gently by the elbow when I stumble.
“Come back to my place,” he suggests. “I’ll make you dinner and you can tell me what you called about earlier.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, still trying to slow my heart rate. I feel disoriented.
“Why not? It’s just a few blocks from here. And you have to eat.”
“What is it with the alpha men in my life always trying to feed me?” I mutter in exasperation.
Griffin’s eyes shine as he runs his thumbs tenderly over the curve of my cheek. I subconsciously turn my face into his hand.
“That’s what we do,” he says simply. “We like to take care of what’s ours.”
My stomach flutters at the thought of being his. Of course, that can never be.
“You can relax in the hot tub while I’m making dinner. You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” he adds cajolingly.
The thought of the warm water on my already stiffening muscles is enticing, but I vividly remember what happened the last time I got in his hot tub.
Correctly interpreting my hesitation, he holds up his hands in the universal gesture of innocence.
“I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” he promises.
“Really?” I say, giving him a skeptical look. “Just dinner?”
“Just dinner,” he agrees. “I swear. Unless you want dessert…”
Laughing, I say, “Okay. You win. You should have been a lawyer.” Turning, I head up the beach to my car.
Chapter Eight
Since Griffin had walked down to the beach from his condo, he catches a ride back to his place with me. I find it sweet that he still automatically opens the car door for me, even though I’m the one driving. We drive the short distance to his condo and I park in front, once again marveling at the premium location of his condo. Being a Navy SEAL must pay way better than I’d imagined.
This time when I walk in, I can appreciate the decidedly masculine but well-appointed furnishings. I follow him out onto the patio that faces the beach, eyeing the hot tub longingly. He catches my wistful stare and says with a smile, “Go ahead. You can get a head start on soaking your muscles while I make dinner.”
“I can help you make dinner,” I protest weakly, but the lure of the soothing jets is too great for me to be terribly convincing. He smacks my bottom lightly and says, “Go!”
I gratefully sink into the warm bubbles as he disappears inside. He leaves the glass doors open so that I can hear the rattle of pots and pans, and I smile at the unlikely domesticity of the situation. Closing my eyes and laying my head back, I think about my discussion with Olivia at lunch earlier today.
“You two obviously have some crazy, undeniable chemistry,” she’d observed when I’d to
ld her about my disastrously uncomfortable week with Griffin as my new client. “Maybe you just need to get him out of your system.”
I’m starting to think she’s right. He’s made no secret of the fact that he’s attracted to me, and I can barely think straight when he’s near. Not the best thing when I’m supposed to be brilliant and on my game, I think wryly. Neither of us have any pretense that what we have between us is anything more than some primitive sexual attraction. Maybe I just need to stop fighting it and give in to the desire that is so thick between us so I can move on and concentrate on his case. Maybe just one more night to get him out of my system…
My thoughts are interrupted by Griffin’s arrival on the patio. My mouth waters at the savory aroma that accompanies him, and my stomach growls, making me realize how hungry I am.
“Mmmm. That smells delicious,” I say.
He lights several candles in large glass votives placed strategically around the small space before sitting on the edge of the hot tub next to me, a steaming platter in his hand.
“Let me just wrap my head around getting out of the hot tub,” I say slowly, reluctant to leave the steamy bliss of the soothing water.
“No need,” he says easily, his voice low. “Open your mouth.”
My insides clench as I obediently part my lips. It’s fully dark outside now, with no light but the flickering flames of the candles, so I can barely make out what he’s putting into my mouth.
“Close your eyes,” he commands, apparently determined to eliminate any educated guesses.
I comply as something firm and slick touches my tongue. My lips close over the morsel and my teeth sink into the yielding succulence that I quickly identify as shrimp. It tastes of butter and a hint of lemon and is absolutely delicious.
“Mmmm,” I moan. “Who taught you to cook?”
In response he pops another small shrimp into my mouth and I chew slowly, savoring the silky richness. After I swallow, I open my mouth for more. The next bite of shrimp is accompanied by two of his fingers, and I suck on them erotically as my tongue licks the butter from them. This time he is the one to groan.
