Kate woke up slowly, as always. It took her a moment, but eventually she realized that she was wrapped around a big, hot-as-a-furnace, hard body.
Griffin.
Earlier she’d found him prowling her living room, then standing at the sliding door, arms up, hands braced overhead on the doorjamb.
Sexy as hell.
Tense as hell. And armed.
No longer tense or carrying a knife, he was breathing slowly and evenly, clearly deeply asleep. Taking advantage of this fact, she drank him in. He lay sprawled on his back, all loose-limbed and utterly relaxed. Pride filled her at that because it was her doing. Knowing it, a smile crossed her face, and she had to force herself not to touch. Or stroke.
Or lick.
Yeah, she really wanted to lick, but he looked so peaceful that she didn’t want to disturb him. He seemed . . . younger. And completely sated.
She was sated, too. And na**d and a little bit sore in spots. Not to mention grinning like an idiot because finally—finally—she’d gotten an adventure.
And oh, what an adventure it had been.
On a normal day Griffin was a force. He was strong inside and out, he was intelligent and tough and dead sexy, and he knew how to get his way in life—and as she’d discovered—also in bed.
She’d gotten everything she wanted out of the night, too, and if she hadn’t been wrapped around him like a pretzel, she’d have been floating on air.
Her phone lit up on her nightstand. Moving slowly so as to not wake up Griffin, she reached out and grabbed it. It was a text from Ashley.
WHERE ARE YOU?
Oh crap. She’d completely forgotten. Of course she’d had a few other things on her mind, such as the big, bad, na**d Griffin Reid . . .
Don’t go there . . .
She shook her head and tried to clear her thoughts. It was her dad’s birthday, and this one was special for more than one reason, because it was also an anniversary of sorts.
Her family had planned to meet at the diner at eight, and it was . . . ten after. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed an armful of clothes and tiptoed out to the living room to dress as quietly as she could.
Stuffing her feet into her sneakers, she took a last peek into her bedroom. Griffin was still out like a light, spread out on her bed like a fantasy. Damn. Walking away was the hardest thing she’d ever done. But after a quickly scrawled note that simply said, “I’ve gotta run,” she did just that.
Fourteen
Griffin bolted awake, sitting straight up in the bed, heart pounding, ears ringing. He had a split second of disorientation when he didn’t know where he was or why everything was a need-sunglasses-to-look-at-it sunshine yellow. Then he saw the lace panties hanging off the footboard.
Kate.
He was in Kate’s bed. But no Kate. He slid a hand over the sheets. Still warm. He rolled over, but he could tell by the stillness of the place that he was alone.
It was a Sunday morning, crack of dawn—or close enough to it—so where the hell was she?
He pulled on his tux pants—all he had—and strode through the townhouse.
Empty, except for her short note.
Why?
The answer to that was painfully clear—he was an idiot. He should have kept his hands—and the rest of him—to himself. He’d known damn well she had a crush on him, forever in fact, and he’d taken unfair advantage.
Holly was going to kill him, and Adam was going to help, and Griffin deserved it.
A little shell-shocked by the events of the past twelve hours, he stood in the empty, quiet living room. The belongings he’d sent flying off the couch last night were still scattered across the floor. The couch itself seemed to stare at him incriminatingly, but all he could remember was the way Kate had wrapped herself around him, rocking up, holding on tight, crying out his name . . .
Christ. He rubbed his hands over his face. It was Sunshine, he decided. It was being home. He’d been prepared to hate it as much as he’d always hated it, but that hadn’t happened. The small-town life wasn’t stifling him, wasn’t sucking the soul out of his body.
And part of it was watching the people in his life go on with theirs. Holly getting married to Adam. His dad with Deanna. Realizing that love and affection had been missing from his life for a damn long time . . .
Also his own doing.
He’d left here on purpose. Run hard and fast. But not Kate. She’d stayed in town for the responsibility, which he admired the hell out of. He admired other things about her as well. Like those warm mossy green eyes. The taste of her. The feel of her satiny skin sliding along his, the sounds she’d made when she’d come.
Sweet, slightly repressed second-grade teacher Kate Evans wasn’t so sweet and repressed after all . . .
Someone rang the bell. Thinking she’d somehow gotten locked out, he buttoned and zipped his pants and tugged open the door to a tiny little girl in pigtails and a pink and white dress.
“Hi!” she said at a decibel level that made him wince, and she thrust out a book with the picture of a puppy on it.
He stared down the book.
“Read,” she demanded.
“Uh . . .”
“Kate. Read.”
Ah, now he got it. “Kate reads the book to you?” he asked.
She nodded and waited expectantly.
“Kate’s not here,” he said.
The little girl took a look at the book and then back up at him, her eyes huge and filling with tears.
Shit. “She’ll be back later,” he said quickly, desperately, just about as undone by a three-year-old’s tears as he’d been by Kate’s.
The little girl opened the book for him, her pigtails bouncing.
Oh no. No, no, no. “I’m not Kate,” he said.
She stared up at him, her eyes swimming. “Read,” she said soggily.
“You’ll stop crying?”
She nodded.
“I mean it,” he said, and pointed at her. “One more tear, and it’s over.”
She flashed a fast smile, the tears instantly gone. “’Kay.”
Suspecting he’d been had, Grif crouched low and looked her in the eyes. “If you tell anyone I did this, I’ll . . .” He broke off, unable to figure out a threat suitable for a three-year-old that wouldn’t scare the shit out of her or scar her psychologically for life.
“Brooklyn? Where are you?” A pretty brunette stepped outside the townhouse next door. “Sweetie, it’s Sunday. Kate’s at the diner with her family for breakfast— Oh.” Catching sight of Grif, she stopped short. Her gaze drank in the sight of him, making him realize he stood there in only his tux pants, which he’d thankfully buttoned.
“Hi,” the brunette said awkwardly.
”Hey,” he said, doing his best to look like he wasn’t some sort of perv.
Little Brooklyn took her book and ran home.
Grif’s gaze went to where Kate’s car should have been parked. Empty.
Yep, apparently, she’d ditched him for breakfast with her family. A longer note would have been nice. Like, thank you very much for all the orgasms, Grif . . .
Except she’d say his whole name, Griffin, in that soft voice, and he’d want to give her more . . .
In his experience, women loved to leave long notes. Unless they were upset. He added up the clues and came to the logical conclusion.She was indeed upset.
He scanned the street out of habit, and zeroed in on the Lexus down the street. That as**ole Anders. Stepping off the porch, he strode to the car, rapping once on the window, hard.
Trevan slid the window down two inches and gave him a wary look.
“Why are you still out here?” Grif asked him
“I just came outside.”
Grif felt the hood. Indeed, it was cold. Before he could say anything, Dustin ran up to the car, out of breath. “Jeez, dad, why do you always park so far down? It’s a long walk.”
“It’s exercise,” Anders said. “You should have run it as a warm-up for practice instead of being lazy.”
Dustin rolled his eyes as he got into the car. With a chirp of the tires, they were off. Grif stood there with his hands on his hips, staring after them, spoiling for a fight. He didn’t like the feeling much.
Go home, he told himself. Forget it. Forget her. She wanted you; she begged for you; she promised it was just for the night. Everything is okay.
But it didn’t feel okay.
* * *
Kate had to stop for gas and at the store for a birthday card, and then on impulse she ran into the florist to grab her dad flowers. She was quite certain no one had ever given him flowers before, and she wanted to make him happy.
He was getting his life back together, and she was proud of him. Today was about him and making sure he saw that he had a lot to live for.
She stepped into the diner and eyed her group in the back. Ryan, Ashley, and a black-masked Tommy. Kate waved and headed over to them. “Where’s Dad?”
“Restroom,” Ryan said as Kate scooted into the round booth and was immediately bombarded by Ashley. “Where were you?” she hissed over Tommy’s head. “I had to get the child dressed.”
“I’m not a child,” Tommy said. “I’m Batman.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Kate said, and hugged him. “I stopped to get Dad something.” She looked at her brother. “Batman again? Did we wash that shirt?”
Tommy looked down at his shirt and did a palm’s up. He didn’t care one way or the other.
Ryan was giving her a long, steady look. “Sleep well?”
She felt her cheeks bloom. “Yes,” she said, and her left eye twitched because there’d been very little sleeping involved in the night’s activities.
Ryan stared at her some more. He knew her left eye twitched whenever she lied. “You?” she inquired politely, keeping her eyes wide open so there could be no more twitching.
He smirked.
He’d gotten his bridesmaid, then.
Ashley’s gaze was still narrowed in on Kate. “Why is your mascara smudged?”
Kate swiped under her eyes. “Uh . . .”
Ashley leaned in and sniffed at her. “And what’s that scent?”
Kate nudged her away and turned from Ryan’s knowing gaze. “I didn’t have time to take a shower, okay?”
“You smell like a guy,” Ashley said. “A really great-smelling guy.” Her sister sniffed at her again. “Man, that’s good—” She broke off and got an aghast look on her face, eyes wide, mouth open. “Ohmigod!”
“What?”
“No shower,” Ashley said slowly. “Flushed face. Smudged mascara. Smelling like a guy—”
“Shh!”
“You got laid!” Ashley whispered. “Ohemgee, you really did!”
“Did what?” their dad asked as he came to the table.
Kate jumped up and hugged him. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
He looked touched at the flowers. “What are we talking about?”
She began to sweat. “Nothing.”
“Slut,” Ashley whispered in her ear.
Tommy popped up between them. “What’s a slut?”
Ryan choked on his coffee.
Ashley looked quite pleased with herself.
Their dad looked alarmed. “Er, what?”
Kate inhaled a deep breath for calm. “Nothing,” she said, and gave Ashley a say-it-again-and-die look” before rumpling Tommy’s hair. “How about eggs?”
“Yes, and bacon,” Tommy said, suitably distracted. “A mountain of bacon.”
“Sounds good.” Kate waved desperately for their server just as the door to the café opened. Kate’s heart stopped, just completely stopped as Griffin Reid walked in.
Unlike her, he’d taken the time to shower. And he’d gone home, too, because rather than his tux he was wearing a pair of perfectly battered Levi’s and a white button-down. He looked good enough to bring a hot flash. She slid down in her seat a little, waving her menu in front of her face to try to cool herself down. Don’t look. If you don’t look at him, you’re invisible . . .
Her dad smiled and waved him over.
Crap. “Dad—”
Too late. Griffin was moving toward her in that easy, long-limbed stride, his eyes pinning her in place.
Feeling like a bug on a slide, she froze in her seat.
Ryan snickered like he was twelve.
“Ohmigod,” Ashley whispered. “It was him! You slept with him!”
“Shh!”
Tommy’s brow furrowed. “Is someone going to tell me what slut means?”
“You can look it up when you’re thirty-five,” Kate said, “or when I’m dead. Whichever comes last—” She broke off because Griffin was right there, at the table, those slate eyes on hers, stoic, solemn. Serious. “Griffin,” she said, as if just seeing him. “What are you doing here?”
“Maybe the man came to eat,” her dad said, scooting over. “Join us, Griffin. The more the merrier.”
Griffin eyed the flowers. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You aren’t,” her dad said. “I’d rather we not celebrate, but Kate insists.”
“You’re turning fifty-five, Dad,” Kate said. “We’re celebrating.”
“And also your one-year sobriety,” Ashley said.
The table went silent except for Tommy slurping his water.
“It’s a big deal,” Kate said softly to her dad. “It’s good to celebrate, all of it.”
Her dad nodded. “Sit,” he said to Griffin. “You look hungry.”
Griffin’s gaze slid to Kate, and she felt her face heat again. He’d been plenty hungry last night. They both had. She looked into his eyes and realized that he wasn’t completely stoic. There was something in his expression. He looked like a storm blowing in and about as cheerful as an open grave, but there was something else as well.