"My pleasure." His smile faded, and a speculative gleam came into his dark eyes. "And how are you?"
No longer feeling like a total wreck, that was for sure. Not with Griffin Friesé studying her as if she were the only thing he ever wanted to look at again. Dear God, the way he was looking at her made her want to drop the cupcakes and her clothes, and saunter with decadent sensuality across the floor toward him, his stare igniting every cell in her body. "I'm fine." She swallowed, horrified by how throaty her voice sounded. "Thank you," she said. "I owe you."
"No, you owe me nothing." He smiled again, a softness to his face that made her heart turn over. "Seeing you hug Katie was plenty."
"Oh, dear Lord," Eppie muttered behind her. "Now he's going to kill Katie, too."
Clare stiffened and jerked her gaze from Griffin. The entire store was watching them in rapt silence, listening to every word. Oh, God. How had she forgotten where they were? Wright & Sons was the epicenter of gossip in Birch Crossing, and everyone had just witnessed her gaping at this handsome stranger.
Assuming her decades-old role as Clare's self-appointed protector, Eppie had folded her arms and was trying to crush Griffin with her glare, for daring to tempt Clare.
Astrid and Emma were leaning against the doorjamb, huge grins on their faces, clearly supportive of any opportunity to pry Clare out of her dateless life of isolation. But Norm's eyes were narrowed, and Ophelia was letting some scrambled eggs burn while she gawked at them. Everyone was waiting to see how Clare was going to respond to him.
Oh, man. What was she doing nearly throwing herself at him? In front of everyone? She quickly took a step back and cleared her throat.
Griffin's eyebrows shot up at her retreat, then his eyes narrowed. "Kill off Katie, too? " He looked right at Eppie. "Who else am I going to kill?"
Eppie lifted her chin and turned her head, giving him a view of the back of her hot pink hat.
"The rumors claim that you're in town to murder your ex-wife and daughter," Astrid volunteered cheerfully. "But don't worry. Not all of us believe them."
"My daughter?" Pain flashed across Griffin's face, a stark anguish so real that Clare felt her out heart tighten. Just as quickly, the vulnerability disappeared from his face, replaced by a hard, cool expression.
But she'd seen it. She'd seen his pain, pain he clearly kept hidden, just as she suppressed her own. Suddenly, she felt terrible about the rumors. How could she have listened to rumors about him when he was clearly struggling with pain, some kind of trauma with regard to his daughter?
She realized he was watching her, as if he were waiting for something. For what? To see if she believed the rumors?
She glanced around and saw the entire store was waiting for her response. Eppie gave her a solemn nod, encouraging her to stand up and condemn this handsome stranger who’d saved Clare’s daughter. Sudden anger surged inside her. "Oh, come on," she blurted out. "You can't really believe he's a murderer?"
Astrid grinned, Eppie shook her head in dismay, and the rest of the room was silent.
No one else jumped in to help her defend Griffin, and suddenly Clare felt very exposed, as if everyone in the room could see exactly how deeply she'd been affected by him last night. How she'd lain awake all night, thinking of his hands on her hips, of the way his deep voice had wrapped around her, of how he'd made her yearn for the touch of a man for the first time in a very long time.
Heat burned her cheeks, and she glanced uncomfortably at Griffin, wondering if he was aware of her reaction to him. To her surprise, his face had cooled, devoid of that warmth that they'd initially shared, clearly interpreting her silence as a capitulation to the rumors.
He narrowed his eyes, then turned away, ending their conversation.
Regret rushed through Clare as she glanced at Astrid, torn between wanting to call him back, and gratefully grasping the freedom his rejection had given her, freedom from feelings and desires that she didn't have time to deal with.
"I need a place to stay," Griffin said. "A place without rats, preferably."
Griffin's low request echoed through the room, and Clare spun around in shock. Then she saw he was directing his question to Norm, not to her. Relief rushed through her, along with a stab of disappointment.
No, it was good he wasn't asking to stay at her place. Yes, she owed him, on a level beyond words, but she couldn't afford to get involved with him, for too many reasons. Staying at her house would be putting temptation where she couldn't afford it. There was no way she was going to offer up her place, even though her renter had just vacated, leaving her with an unpleasant gap in her income stream.
"Griffin stayed at the Dark Pines Motel last night," Judith whispered, just loudly enough for the whole store to hear.
"Really?" Guilt washed through Clare. The Dark Pines Motel was quite possibly the most unkempt and disgusting motel in the entire state of Maine. How had he ended up there?
"Well, now, Griffin," Norm said, as he tipped his chair back and let it tap against the unfinished wall. "Most places won't open for another month when the summer folk start to arrive. And the Black Loon Inn is booked for the Smith-Pineal wedding for the next week. It's Dark Pines or nothing."
Griffin frowned. "There has to be something. A bed and breakfast?"
Norm shook his head. "Not this time of year, but I probably have some rat traps in the back I could loan you for your stay.'
"Rat traps?" Griffin echoed. "That's my best option?"
Astrid grinned at Clare, a sparkle in her eyes that made Clare's stomach leap with alarm. She grabbed Astrid’s arm. ”Don't you dare—"
"Clare's renter just moved out," Astrid announced, her voice ringing out in the store. "Griffin can stay in her spare room. No rats, and it comes with free Wi-Fi. Best deal in town."
Oh, dear God. Clare's whole body flamed hot, and she whipped around. Please tell me he didn't hear that.
But Griffin was staring right at her.
Of course he’d heard. And so had everyone else.
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Sneak Peek: Accidentally Mine
Jason Sarantos sat heavily beside his sleeping son and dropped his head to his hands, digging his fingers into his temples. "Think, Jason," he said aloud, his voice echoing through the crumbling café that he'd bought sight unseen and moved three hundred miles to run, so his son would have a chance at a normal life. But this place was nothing like what he'd thought. Nothing. What the hell had he done? "There has to be a way to make this right."
"Of course there is," a woman said, her melodic voice drifting across the dust-filled café. "A fresh coat of lilac paint on the walls and maybe a blue-green turquoise on the ceiling, don't you think?"
Jason jerked his head up at the intrusion, and then froze when he saw who had spoken. It wasn't the old lady with cookies that he'd imagined when he'd decided to move to this rural New England town. He'd been off by several decades and a whole lot of femininity.
The woman who’d interrupted him was leaning against the doorway to his shop, her brown eyes sparkling with merriment he hadn't felt in years. Her dark brown hair tumbled around her shoulders with a reckless abandon that spoke of a spirit that would never be tamed. Some of the curls had been woven into a yellow and green braided scarf that seemed to disappear into her thick hair. From each earlobe dangled several pairs of earrings, gold wire twisted into designs so intriguing he wanted to stride right over to her and see what they were.
She was wearing a pair of faded jeans that showed womanly curves that he hadn't thought about in way too long. The delicate straps of her pale yellow tank top rested across her collarbones, revealing a smooth expanse of skin that shot right to his core.
But it was her smile that he couldn't look away from. It was so full of life and vitality, that it made him want to grab her and yank her into his store so she could inject the dying place with her energy.
Her eyebrows arched up, and there was no mistaking the glint of interest in her eyes.
"So, should I take your lack of response as a statement that you disagree with the lilac paint suggestion but you're too polite to tell me that? Or maybe you're just overwhelmed by my mind-numbing beauty and stunned into disbelieving silence?"
Shit. He was staring? Jason swore and quickly stood up, brushing the dust from the store off his jeans. "My name's Jason Sarantos. I bought the place."
Her smile widened, lighting up her eyes even more, like this great gust of relief breaking through the gloom trying to consume him. "Jason, everyone in this entire town knows your name, that you bought the store, and that it was twelve minutes after three when you drove your Mercedes SUV past Wright's General Store when you arrived in town, not to mention the fact you were drinking a coffee as you went by." She set her hands on her hips and tilted her head, giving him a teasing grin. "Everyone was pretty offended you didn't stop in to buy your coffee at Wright's and introduce yourself."
Jason blinked, suddenly thrust back into the past, into his childhood, into the small town in Minnesota he'd grown up in, where his mother had found out about his first kiss before he'd even lifted his lips from those of Samantha Huckaby. That was why he'd been drawn to Birch Crossing: because it reminded him of everything he liked about his home and his childhood, yet it had the appealing bonus of being two thousand miles away from the sixteen cousins, five aunts and uncles, and four sisters that had driven him east to find his own path. "Shit. Sorry. I wasn't thinking."
She laughed, a beautiful, melodic sound that went right to his gut. God, when was the last time he'd seen anyone effuse such life? He was riveted by her, by the irreverence of her smile, by the fire in her eyes. This was a woman who was so damn alive that nothing could bring her down. He wanted that. He needed that. God, he needed that.
"Don't worry about it. The town will have you trained in no time, trust me." She raised her eyebrows. "I don't suppose you're dialed into the gossip chain enough to know my name?" She wrinkled her nose, and he thought he saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. "I tend to be fodder for talk in this town. I'm not always a fit."
Yeah, he could imagine. She seemed to carry the kind of spunk that might knock an old New England town on its ass. Jason grinned, and he was almost surprised to realize he still knew how to smile. It felt like a long time since he'd smiled, and actually meant it. "Yeah, sorry, I figure I need at least twenty-four hours to recognize everyone in town by sight."
"I'll be back to quiz you in twenty-four hours." She inclined her head and held out her hand. "Astrid Monroe. My brother Harlan is the one who sold you the shop. He's out of town, so he asked me to stop by and see if you needed anything."
Instinctively, Jason reached out to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for the offer." Yeah, he knew what he needed. He needed a damned angel to sweep into his life and fix everything that he'd screwed up, to make this okay for his son. He needed—
Then as he felt the warmth of her palm against his, the light touch of her fingers on the back of his hand, his gut knew what he needed.
He needed her.
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Sneak Peek: Leopard’s Kiss
Anya Diaz felt as if invisible fingers were sliding down her spine in a sensual caress of lethal danger. Fear rippled through her, and for a brief second, she wondered if meeting this unknown contact was worth the risk. She couldn't afford a single mistake, and she really couldn't afford to die.
She swallowed, her mouth dry, wishing she'd ordered water instead of tequila that she'd never drink.
She feigned a look across the room, slanting a sideways glance behind her, trying to ascertain the cause of the sensation along her spine. Her breath caught when she saw a man, well over six feet, wearing a black leather trench coat, standing several yards behind her, his gaze boring into her. His dark hair was short, his blue eyes so intense it was as if they were made of pure fire. Even through his coat, she could tell he was heavily muscled, a predator more than a man. He was unshaven, his dark whiskers making shadows fall across his angular cheeks. He looked like he lived in untamed wilds beyond the reaches of civilization, a man who lived by his own rules, not the ones society tried to impress upon him. He was pure sex, deadly sin, and unmitigated danger…and he was staring at her.
Her heartrate began to escalate as his gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening as if he were imagining what she tasted like, what she would feel like against him. Desire pooled in her belly, desire that was completely out of character for her. She'd learned her lesson long ago about letting her need for a man rule her, and she never bothered to notice men anymore…but it was impossible for her to drag her gaze off him.
She felt as though his hands were gliding over her skin, touching every inch of her body as he assessed her. She shivered, trying to shake off the desire pulsing low in her belly, the need he was awakening in her, even though she'd never seen him before in her life.
He was clearly there for one reason, and that reason was her.
Except he wasn't the person she'd come there to meet. He was all wrong…but she couldn't stop her response to him.
He walked toward her, moving with the lithe grace of a predator. As he got closer, a cold chill seemed to wrap around her, the chill of death, and danger. She stiffened, sliding her hand along her lower back for the dagger she'd hidden beneath her shirt. It was small, but she was very good with it. She'd known how to defend herself since she was three, but as he neared, doubt flickered through her. He radiated raw power, the kind that could devastate his prey without him so much as blinking.
He was a man who delivered death, she was sure of it. Her heartrate sped up as he neared, and a cold sweat broke out between her shoulder blades. She didn't know if she could defeat him, and she didn't have time to try. Keep walking, she urged him silently. Just keep walking.
One dark eyebrow quirked at her, and for a split second, she thought he'd heard her silent command. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth again, sending searing heat cascading through her. She caught her breath, as he raised his gaze to hers again. His expression didn't change, and his stride didn't falter as he walked right past her toward the bar.
She let her breath out, her hands shaking with relief as she wiped her wrist across her damp brow. The intensity of her response to him was shocking. What was going on?
He took over a seat at the bar, still staring at her. Her moment of relief fled, replaced by rising tension. He wasn't even trying to hide the way he was watching her. His gaze was locked on her, watching and assessing her every move. The way he'd eased onto the edge of the bar stool, relaxed yet primed to react in a split second, made him look like a wild panther, a predator so agile and lethal that he could take her out in a single leap. He was too dangerous to be handsome, and too elusive to be appealing, and yet, there was something about him that was drawing her in. Something compelling. Something...
Yes. You want me.
A deep, darkly seductive male voice rolled through her mind, making her belly clench with desire. Had he just spoken in her mind? The voice was sensual, rough, erotic, with a hint of accented culture that made her think of black tie dinners and foreign royalty instead of the dangerous predator sitting so still on his perch.
Don't hold back. His voice slid through her mind again, a sensual caress that made her belly tighten with desire. Think about kissing me. Think about my hands sliding over your naked skin—
"Stop it." She glared fiercely at him. The satisfied gleam in his eyes told her that it was him in her head. "I didn't invite you in there. Get out."
He didn't smile, and he didn't back off. What's your darkest fantasy? Handcuffs? A threesome? A little pain... As he spoke, images of each scenario flashed through her mind. Her naked, silken ties around her wrists—
"No." She jerked her gaze away from him, breaking the connection. She fisted her hands, quickly weaving safeguards in her mind, invisible walls that encased every last thought, every feeling, every bit of herself that wasn't physical. Within a millise
cond, he was out of her mind. Her lungs expanded in a sudden relief as the sensual sensation of being caressed along her spine vanished. Had it been his touch she'd been feeling on her back? Some metaphysical extension of his mind that felt like a real caress and seduction? What kind of power did he carry? And why was he directing it at her?
His expression didn't change, but he seemed to become even more still.
She met his gaze, daring him to try again.
He did.
She felt him testing her protections, feeling his way through her mind, searching for the one gap she'd missed. Anya smiled, allowing the same satisfied gleam into her eyes that he'd had in his. "I'm good," she said. "Don't bother."
He didn't answer, his gaze flicking behind her.
She sensed the approach at the same moment, and she sat up more erectly in sudden anticipation, sensing that the person approaching her from behind was the one she'd come to meet. Her instructions had been not to turn around, and not to look, or the deal would be off. Someone leaned up against her seat, and a warm breath brushed over her neck.
Anya's heart began to pound. This was it. Her chance. "Is Julia still alive?" she asked, her breath frozen in her chest as she waited for news of her best friend, her only friend, the only person still alive who mattered to her.
Fingers drifted through her hair, and lips brushed over the back of her neck. A seduction, for anyone in the bar who was bothering to watch. A charade to protect them both. "For now." It was a woman's voice, breathy and sensual.
Tears of relief burned in Anya's eyes. Alive. Her best friend was alive. "How do I find her?" She slid her gaze toward the mirror behind the bar, taking a forbidden look at the woman she'd spent the last three weeks hunting down. Raven black, ultra-straight hair reached just past her shoulders, and her eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. Her lips were pale, her skin the color of a latte, and her simple outfit of a tight black tank top and fitted jeans made her look sexy, but unmemorable. Who was she? How did she know what had happened to Julia? How was she involved? She'd found the woman's email address in Julia's belongings, the only clue she had as to what had happened to her friend. It had taken weeks to track this woman down, and longer to convince her to meet…assuming the woman standing behind her was the same person who had answered her emails.
A Real Cowboy Never Walks Away (Wyoming Rebels Book 4) Page 22
