by Ruby Laska
“Green Bean Café’s great,” Rosie said, stepping between the two, and gathering up not only her purse but Junior’s too. Junior shrugged, realizing it was pointless to resist, and took her crocheted bag from her aunt.
“Yeah, I guess they could country-fry just about anything,” Junior said. Thinking of their menu, she relented a little. “They do have a pretty good blackberry cobbler.”
Griff held the door open, smiling to himself as Junior swept imperiously past, as though she were entering the Academy Awards instead of a diner.
Though it wasn’t just any diner. True to its name, the Green Bean Café was… very green. The exterior was painted in three different shades, and inside he could see that the floor was covered in green linoleum and the seats in green vinyl.
It was a popular place. The lunchtime crowd filled every available table. All eyes lifted as the bell on the door jangled, and a chorus of greetings rang out.
“Hey there, Junior.”
“Hi, sweetie!”
“Catch the Cubs last night, Junior?”
With a pang Griff remembered the dozens of diners he’d entered to open curiosity followed by silence, silence that had always seemed mildly disapproving.
Guess it paid to know people, even in a backwards place like this.
“We can wait outside,” he offered.
“There’s tons of spaces,” Junior said.
And sure enough the patrons began waving eagerly, taking purses and parcels off chairs.
“Come on over here, sweetheart, and let’s catch up.” A large woman with an imposing hairdo patted the chair next to her. Her companion nodded and grinned encouragingly.
“Well, Dottie, Betsy, how sweet of you! I think we will join you. Won’t we, Griff?” She smiled in his direction, just a trace of wickedness in the curve of her lips, and pushed past him.
Shrugging in resignation, he followed. Glancing at the table, he saw that only the wilted lettuce and lemon garnish remained on their plates; the two women would be moving along soon.
What he needed to talk to Junior about did not need an audience.
“Now, who is this young man?” the skinny lady asked.
“Griff Ross, allow me to introduce Dottie Johnson and Betsy Potter. Griff is a famous author,” she said, leaning across the table and stage-whispering confidentially.
Griff found himself mildly annoyed at her change of heart. In the office she’d acted as if he’d told her he skinned kittens for a living. Now she was winking at him and fairly gushing to the two older women.
“Oh, my heavens, a writer! How wonderful! What have you written?”
“Travel books,” Griff replied, smiling tightly. “For Hart press.”
Betsy’s face fell just a bit.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, now, I like the novels myself.”
“Not me,” Dottie said. “I don’t waste my time on fiction. I like books that are facts, you know, that you can learn from. I just read the marvelous biography of Frank Sinatra. Old Blue Eyes,” she added, sighing rapturously and giving Griff’s arm a squeeze. “He was a great man.”
“A great man,” Griff repeated.
Oh man, it was going to be a long lunch.
Across the table Junior just smiled at him, letting her heavy-lashed lids slide down halfway over those blue eyes. She took a compact from her purse and poked at her lips with gloss from a little pot, running her tongue over them when she was finished.
On the other hand, a long lunch might be just the thing. Griff could keep up his end of the conversation pretty well with the occasional “mmm-hmm” or “you don’t say”—and just about get lost in that smile.
What the hell, he thought. He was going to take this woman to bed, after all. He might as well enjoy getting her there.
She wasn’t pretty, exactly. In fact, he would bet she had been a funny-looking kid, with those long limbs and sharp angles and all that red hair. And no doubt she was the kind of girl for whom womanhood came as a surprise—and that even now she probably still wasn’t used to being looked at. The way he was looking at her.
And there were her clothes. Today she had on a shirt made out of what looked like shiny lavender mosquito netting. Underneath was a little white tank top that hugged her breasts and revealed their snug little outline, setting Griff’s pulse racing. Under that was a faded cotton skirt that appeared to be made out of a fifty-year old tablecloth, big pink peonies strewn across the fabric.
And to top it all off, she was wearing men’s sandals. He was nearly positive. They were big and clunky and black, with thick rubber soles.
And her toes were painted iridescent shell pink.
Griff licked his lips, which were suddenly dry, as he took in those toes. Something about them, prim and pale and pink-tipped, in those horrible shoes…
“Something wrong down there?” Junior’s voice, cool and faintly amused, snapped him out of his reverie.
“Nothing. Just…the floor. They sure like green around here, huh?”
His two older dining companions laughed. The big one fanned her substantial bosom with a paper menu.
“Why, yes! And you know the very best thing of all?”
Griff stifled a sigh and forced himself to look interested. ”I can’t imagine,” he said.
“It’s run by a family named Green!”
This was greeted by a round of delighted giggles that even Junior joined in.
“Thomas Green, his wife Cheryl and their kids—”
“—remember they wanted to name the little one Olive, you know like ‘olive green’—”
“But honey I think it was best they stuck to the regular names, though, don’t you? That would have been a little much—”
Junior’s eyes, when he glanced her way, crinkled at the corners with laughter.
That made it all worth it.
“Now look,” Junior said accusingly. “You’ve made me late.”
“Me! All I did was sit there. I wasn’t the one who had to check in with every single person in the place.”
They were walking back to Junior’s office. Lunch hadn’t been half bad, but Griff hadn’t been able to get a word in, the ladies’ conversation being joined frequently by comments from everyone else in the place. Evidently it wasn’t considered the least bit rude around these parts to eavesdrop on anyone you felt like and then throw in your own two cents for good measure.
Might be something for the book, Griff thought. Local color and all that. But he didn’t much feel like thinking about work.
“You know, you’re going to have to have dinner with me now,” he said.
Junior stopped short. Griff anticipated her, though, and placed a hand at the small of her back. She was all motion, energy whizzing around without much in the way of coordination. But somehow she managed to be almost elegant about it.
He felt her skin jump at his touch, decided he liked getting a reaction from her, and left his hand there.
“Says who?” she finally managed.
“Me. That lunch didn’t count.”
“Didn’t count for what? I thought you wanted to express your gratitude. Well, consider it expressed.”
“Nope.”
Griff pressed her a little closer, so they were standing inches apart. “Come on, I felt like an exhibit at the zoo in there. We’ll try again tonight. I’m afraid you’re going to have to cook.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Damn, it was easy to get under her skin. Griff couldn’t help wondering what she would be like, later, when he slowly unbuttoned that ridiculous blouse, eased his hands up those lean, silky thighs…
He’d go slow, of course. Keep his mind on what he was doing. It wasn’t about him, much as he would enjoy himself. It was about her. Griff was going to give Junior the gift she so badly wanted.
It was almost sweet, her tough, brazen exterior. If he didn’t know better he would think she knew her way around men pretty damn well. A virgin!
Griff had to bite his
lip to keep from whistling his opinion of that fact.
“I won’t be cooking anything tonight. I’ll be reheating something. By myself.”
“Uh uh, Junior. Come on, I’d do it myself but there’s not a whole lot I could come up with over at the motel. Look, I’ll pick up a couple of steaks, I’ll even grill ‘em for you if you want. What time’s good?”
Now the incredulous look on Junior’s face deepened to indignation. Her skin flushed with pink, an adorable pink that made the freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose stand out.
“Dream on, Griff. Don’t you have to be somewhere? Like, Chicago? Remember? You were in a big hurry to get home.”
“Come on, Junior, don’t be difficult.”
She opened her mouth, closed it again. He watched the sparks fly in her narrowed green eyes with some amusement. Yes indeed, she was easy to provoke.
“Difficult? Just because I don’t want to have dinner I’m being difficult? Tell me, am I the only woman ever to turn down a date with you, or something?”
Griff sighed, and took a step, closing the distance between them. With satisfaction he noted that she licked her lips nervously.
He knew desire when he saw it.
“Okay, you asked for it,” he said.
And he kissed her.
CHAPTER THREE
She saw it coming. Saw his lips part in anticipation, his eyelids drift down over those smoky gray eyes. Felt his hands tighten at her back, smoothing her body against his.
And she hauled back and gave him such a smack with the back of her hand that he went reeling, landing in the dirt ten feet away.
At least, that’s what Junior meant to do.
Funny how the body can fail to execute the mind’s orders sometimes.
Damn, Griff Ross could kiss. The second the warmth of his lips pressed hers, she knew she was a goner.
He kissed like he meant it. He took his time and delved, explored, all the while running those strong, sensual hands along her spine, which was turning into Jell-O, along with the rest of her. Junior melted against him, gave up, and kissed him back.
“Unnnh,” she finally breathed, when he gently pulled away and looked at her, his eyes fiery with desire and something else, something…deeper. Junior felt the flush of embarrassment creep into her skin.
Yeah, he’d started it, but she’d sure jumped on that wagon.
“Hey,” Griff said, gently tipping up her chin with his thumb. “Come back here.”
Junior blinked a few times.
“The thing is, I haven’t…nobody’s kissed me in, well, quite a while.”
“That so. Well honey, that’s nothing compared to what we’re going to do tonight. But don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
Indignation somehow made itself felt despite the rush of sensual anticipation his words caused.
“The hell!”
This time she did manage to step back from him, though the effect was diminished by the fact that she was still trying to catch her breath from that kiss.
“Junior,” Griff said, and took her arm in what was a decidedly proprietary way. Junior gave it a shake, but he held on.
“Honey,” he continued, and his eyes grew softer. Almost…pitying. Junior wrenched her arm again, and having managed to free it, stood there rubbing it self-consciously.
Junior hated pity. If this puffed-up idiot could tell from her kiss that she hadn’t gotten any in a while, then maybe she needed to put the training wheels back on the bike, so to speak. Just because she hadn’t dated anyone since she’d moved back, shouldn’t mean she’d lost her touch—should it?
“Look, I know about…your situation,” Griff went on, his voice softer. “I want to help. Junior, I want to, well, to make love to you.”
His words hit her like a bus. Hit her and backed up and ran over her again. Rosie. Damn her. She had to have told him. But how? When? While she was in the ladies’ room?
It didn’t matter. Rosie had gone and made a ridiculous plea on her behalf, an insane request to a total stranger, and she had somehow managed to find the one man insane enough to agree.
Well, just because the two of them had lost her mind, didn’t mean she had to. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to get pregnant, even if this was her only chance. On the other hand, she was beginning to realize she very much wanted Griff.
It was just…if only he hadn’t said that last thing. That “make love to you” thing. There were lots of other words to describe what he proposed. Junior should know—she’d heard them all. Where was an insensitive nasty creep when you needed one?
“Look,” she said quickly, taking another step back. “I don’t know what Rosie told you—”
“She didn’t tell me anything.” He took a step toward her, and they kept this dance up for a few steps until Junior gave up. Even when he took her arm again. “I heard you talking. You know…when I was going under.”
When he was going under! He sure had seemed out, but it happened sometimes. She and Rosie had sat there talking away—Junior frantically thought back, tried to remember the details of the conversation.
“You heard…”
“Everything. You know, about…the time you have left.” That look was in his eyes again, the soft warmth. And it wasn’t pity, exactly, but something else. Something dangerously appealing.
“And what you want. What you need,” he amended, and leaned toward her again.
But where the last kiss had been passionate, this one was gentle, almost chaste. He brushed her lips with his, then trailed his kiss along her cheek.
“I don’t…need anything,” Junior objected, but her voice was shaking.
Somehow, the fact that he’d heard the problem and come to a decision on his own changed everything. It hadn’t been Rosie. No one had forced him, no one had even pressured him. Griff had come to her entirely on his own.
He was offering her exactly the one thing she needed, the solution to her problem. Viable sperm. If only she had more time to think.
This might be her only chance. Junior was pretty sure she wouldn’t have the nerve to find her own donor, at least not the way Rosie had. And here he was, practically gift-wrapped, in front of her. Would she be a fool to let this chance slip through her fingers? What if she never had a baby? Would she hate herself for letting her only opportunity go by?
Quickly, she deliberated. It couldn’t hurt to get a little more information. Griff was surely healthy looking, but she couldn’t afford to go by appearances.
“Diseases?” she demanded.
Griff held up his hands, palms out, and grinned. “Checked out six months ago, and it’s been a dry spell since.”
“Family history?”
Griff’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Uh, none that I know of…I’m an only child and my folks, you know, never had, uh, troubles.”
“IQ?”
Griff sighed in exasperation.
“You gotta be kidding. No, I can tell you’re not. Look, I don’t know if a genius is really any better between the sheets than an ordinary Joe, but if it helps, I had a 3.8 at Northwestern.”
Junior frowned. “I only meant…”
“Look.” Griff reached for her and without thinking she fell into his arms, allowed him to brush a stray curl away from her face. “I think you might be overanalyzing this a little, honey.”
“Overanalyzing! Well, for your information it is only the most important decision I’ll ever make—”
Griff silenced her with a kiss, that intoxicating gentleness somehow sending warmth through her body, slowing her pounding pulse. “Yes, I know. All I meant was, we’ll go slow, and I think I might know just a little more about the subject than you’re giving me credit for.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Junior whispered. The subject, after all, was babies, and he clearly knew nothing more than the mechanics of conceiving them. This was not a man who could find his way around a diaper bag.
Which, of course, was irrelevant, Junior reminded hers
elf.
“You wound me,” Griff accused, faking a pout. Then he kissed her again, and this time he was not quite as gentle. “But I’ll get even tonight.”
And the flush of excitement, and the images accompanying it, made it very easy for Junior to forget all of her reservations.
“Seven o’clock,” she breathed. “Don’t be late, or I might very well come to my senses.”
Her senses, as it turned out, were indeed in a heightened state when he arrived.
But the culprit appeared to be the nearly-empty bottle of champagne on the kitchen counter.
He’d let himself in—the front door of the big old house had been standing wide open, an orange cat curling around the jamb—and found her sitting at an old pine farmhouse table, her feet propped up on a chair, the mosquito net top nowhere to be seen. In her white tank top, her bare shoulders seemed almost golden in the dusty twilight filtering through the sheer lace curtains.
“Well, hi,” she drawled, and held up her hands. Griff took them, and tugged her up from her chair. She was surprisingly light in his arms as she leaned against him, and he caught her scent, a champagne-laced mixture of soap and patchouli and…
Burned toast.
It was unmistakable—he’d burned his own enough times, to know.
“Been cooking?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. God, she was lovely, her features relaxed by the wine, a delightful grin that she didn’t bother to suppress for a change. She’d smudged her makeup, and her lashes were rimmed with smoky grey, giving her an absurdly sultry edge. Her hair had half-escaped its ribbon and sprang out at all angles.
“Oh.” She frowned for a second, then shrugged. “Heating up the french bread. Except I forgot about it, and…”
“No matter.” Griff scanned the charming kitchen, which appeared to be a period piece from the thirties through the fifties. On the scarred oak counters rested a variety of groceries, mostly untouched. “At least you had the sense to quit while you were ahead.”
That got a giggle. Junior twirled a sprig of red hair around a finger and angled her head coyly, looking up at him through thick lashes.
