A Man for the Summer (13 page)

Griff’s smile thinned even more.

“Actually, I was a damn good golfer. Tennis too. Anything that could be done off site, preferably with some paid adult companion, with no annoying obligation to attend games—well, I guess they came to my tennis matches, but they were at the club so they could get a martini, which made it more palatable…”

Griff’s voice drifted slowly to a halt, and she could see the ghost of memories in his steely eyes. Painful ones.

“My folks didn’t get to many of my games,” she said softly. “When you’re kid number four, there are a lot of distractions, I suppose. Still, it hurt sometimes.”

Griff shrugged. “I didn’t miss them.”

She didn’t believe that. “What about, I don’t know, skateboarding—”

“Down Dearborn Avenue?”

“—or drama or chess club or, you know, the school paper or something?”

Griff finally met her gaze with his own. The glint in his gray eyes was sharp, dangerous.

“I did whatever I could to stay out of the way, Junior,” he said. “I wasn’t too picky. When I was home, when I was a little kid, anyway, I was always in the way. Mom didn’t want me underfoot when she was entertaining, and Dad needed quiet to work, and believe me, he worked night and day. Came home from work and went right to the den, and I wasn’t welcome in there.”

“That’s criminal,” Junior said, her eyes blazing. Her own father had worked irregular hours as a veterinarian, particularly when he was called out to distant farms, sometimes overnight. But the whole house knew when he came home, because no matter how tired he was, Bill Atkinson didn’t rest until he’d checked in with each of his four kids—tossed a ball, asked how school went, tried out one of his corny jokes—and kissed his wife.

“It paid the mortgage,” Griff said drily.

“No offense, Griff, but why did they have a kid if, you know, they didn’t like what came with it?”

Griff made a sound deep in his throat.

“Are you kidding? I finished off the picture. You know, perfect family. You should have seen our Christmas card every year, mom, dad and son, everybody dressed to the nines, everybody smiling. You know what’s funny?”

Junior could see that there was nothing at all funny in Griff’s thoughts, and she longed to reach out for him, smooth away the angry lines in his forehead, make him forget the unwanted boy he’d been. But she waited expectantly.

“Here you have this ridiculous name, but—well, I don’t think my Dad ever gave a thought to making
me
a Junior. Harris Dean Ross the Second. Nah. He couldn’t have imagined it. He was the center of his own world, and there would never have been room for another one.”

Junior slipped a hand into his. It was warm, and though she had wanted to comfort him, she liked the way his fingers closed over hers, almost protectively.

Evening was beginning to settle into her back yard, and it looked pretty, suprisingly pretty. With the trimming Griff had done, the last of the light pooled in the grass and lit the marigolds with gold.

“I’m sorry you had such a rough go,” she said softly.

Griff forced a smile.

“Don’t feel too bad for me,” he said. “I took out my frustrations on a lot of the kids at Wabash Academy.”

“What, you
fought
?” Junior was incredulous.

“Yeah. Come to think of it, that was probably my best sport. Though I didn’t always fight fair. In fact, I even hit a girl once.”

Junior sighed. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“No. Bad subject. Anyway, I guess I didn’t like kids even then—even when I was one.”

Junior stiffened. He’d put his cards on the table, without giving it a second thought. He’d turned to go back through the screen door into the kitchen, and she followed him numbly, watched as he opened cabinet doors and took down plates, platters, wine glasses.

He even whistled a few tuneless bars.

All the while breaking her heart.

“Yes, but…” she slid into a chair at the old kitchen table, and watched him move around. It was a pointless argument, and one that didn’t concern her.

That didn’t stop the words from pouring out.

“Your experience wasn’t a good one, but it was your parents’ fault. Kids are great. All the kids I know, anyway. They’re—they’re—”

She waved a hand helplessly in the air, trying to think of words to describe Joe and his friends, or her twin nieces Jayce and Margaret, who toddled around at the speed of light. Carlton, Charlie Earl’s son, who was easing into puberty with the grace of an elephant.

“You know,” Griff said, pausing and setting a plate down on the counter, regarding her carefully. “My parents may not have done much of a job with me, but I think they got a few things right. For one, kids and the city don’t mix. And they
are
loud. You can’t deny that. And demanding. Everything has to be done on their schedule. Mom’s mistake was thinking she could fit me in to the free periods in her life, between appointments. I mean, look at you. Your Dad made you feel like you counted. He even named you after himself. And when he was working, who took care of you?”

“My mom,” Junior said.

“Yeah. I bet she baked cupcakes and read to you too. Which is great. For you. But I don’t bake, I only read detective stories for fun, and I like my world quiet and calm and predictable.”

Griff realized his voice had been steadily rising in volume, and on the last few syllables he’d actually slapped the heel of his hand down on the stack of plates for emphasis, causing them to jangle.

He hadn’t meant to go on this tirade, but it wasn’t really any surprise. Sitting not four feet away from him was a woman he’d made love to, a woman who had gotten a little too uncomfortably close too fast—and who might be carrying a baby.
His
baby.

The thought caused him to breathe shallowly, a thin sweat popping at his temples.

He couldn’t have a baby. He wouldn’t know what to do with a baby. He’d do everything wrong, because if there was one lousy legacy his parents had imprinted him with—despite his effort to live his life as differently from them as he possibly could—it was their fanatic dedication to order.

Even as he gulped air, Griff noticed that he was pushing the plates back into an orderly stack, lining their edges up square. He couldn’t get away from it.

“Okay,” Junior said softly, snapping him out of his funk. “Look, I didn’t mean to make you talk about things that you would rather forget. No one’s suggesting you need to be a father and—”

She held up a palm hastily to stop him before he could object. “—and I’m hungry and there’s food and I’d like, I’d really like to just spend a nice dinner with you, you’ve done so much for me, I don’t know how to thank you, and, and…would that be okay?”

Griff felt his racing heartbeat slow. It was her voice that did it, not her words so much but just that voice, which was sort of sultry and hoarse, and had been since the first words she spoke to him. It didn’t have an accent so much as a different pace, like somebody’d turned her dial just a little slower than the rest of the world. She relished her syllables somehow, and he liked the sound.

“That would be more than okay.” He smiled and this time he didn’t have to force it. “I know I’ve been making myself scarce around here.”

Junior raised her eyebrows at him, but she didn’t jump in and contradict him, the way so many women did the minute you tried to say anything serious.

“I want to say I’m sorry. I’ve been working, and that much is true, and on a good day I put a lot into the book. It’s always like that. It sort of takes it out of you. When I get like that I have to move around, do something with my hands. I guess you can tell.”

Griff ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously, glancing around at all his half-finished projects.

“At home sometimes I lift weights, but…well, the truth is, I do this sort of thing at home too. You know, wire things, rip things out, build things. It’s gotten to be kind of a bad habit.”

“Hence the hotels,” Junior guessed.

Griff laughed. “Guess I’m a little transparent. Yeah, when I’m trapped in a hotel with my laptop, I can’t even do laundry for distraction. And I get stuff done. Make my editor happy. Maybe I should have stayed over at the Sunrise after all.”

Junior regarded him with her chin tilted a little off center. When she finally spoke, it was without hesitation.

“Well, to hell with your book, then. I’m glad you’re here.”

She got out of her chair, and came to stand at the counter next to him.

“But what about all the people out there waiting to get their hands on
Missouri Highways and Byways
? You know, my adoring fans?”

Junior edged a little closer, and he detected the warmth of her scent.

She shrugged. “Guess they’ll have to take a number.”

“Oh? Do I have a prior commitment?”

Junior nodded, and reached up to brush the hair off his forehead. He caught her wrist, held it, and just looked at her for a minute, wanting to taste every freckle from her hairline down past her chin.

“Griff?” she breathed, and he could feel the warmth against his skin.

“Mmmm?”

“I’m thinking you ought to ask that fancy barber for your money back.”

The next thing she knew she was airborne.

“You think you’re funny, Junior Atkinson?”

Junior grinned and nodded. Griff was holding her as though she were no heavier than a basket of laundry, and his fingers were spread wide on the skin of her thigh. Warm—she could feel his warmth through her skirt, and it was burning hotter by the second.

“Think you call the shots?” he went on, beginning to make his way through the kitchen, the hallway.

“Mmm-hmm,” she purred, snugging herself a little closer into his arms.

“Think you’re in charge?” he challenged, arriving at the foot of the stairs. He paused and looked down at her, the sadness erased from his face, hunger and anticipation replacing it.

“Not only do I
think
I’m in charge,” Junior said slowly, lifting a languid hand and unbuttoning the pearl buttons of her Mexican embroidered blouse one by one, exposing her bare breasts beneath, “I
know
it. Know what they used to call me?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Junior Asskicker. Get it? Atkinson, Ass-kicker—”

“I get it,” Griff growled, and then he bent slowly and very deliberately and, just as she was getting ready to give in to his kiss, just as she was parting them in anticipation, he pulled back. “But no more. You’re in my hands now, Junior.

“And I’ve changed my mind. I think I’m going to have you right here, in your front room.”

“Oh.”

Oh, my
. He swung her around, her bare toes brushing against the banister, and waited as he took his time surveying the living room. Finally he settled on the ancient huge armchair, the one with the lumpy ottoman, and headed for it.

“I’m going to make love to you right here, Junior,” he whispered as he settled her into the chair, resting her head against the down pillows, sitting on the ottoman with her long legs in his lap, surveying her appreciatively.

“What if somebody looks in the front window?” Junior demanded, but the very thought sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

Griff shrugged. “It’s almost dark. Besides, I don’t know any of these people, and I don’t have a reputation to protect.”

He slid his hand slowly up her calf, pushing the filmy silk of her skirt along her skin, sending ripples of pure hot sensation pulsing through her.

“Come to think of it,” he said lazily as he bent down to kiss the insides of her knees, “you don’t have much of a reputation to protect either.”

That made her laugh. He was funny. Damn Griff Ross, not only did he turn her insides all melty every time he looked her way, but he made her laugh.

There was no resisting him.

He kissed his way slowly up her thighs, cupping her skin in his hands and squeezing, relishing. He was right, the light was nearly gone, but what was left illuminated his inky hair, his broad shoulders and strong forearms.

“Mmmm, get up here,” she breathed.

“Whoa, Nelly, I’ll be there when I’m damn ready,” Griff muttered against her, and then he found the zipper at the side of her skirt and expertly unfastened it.

He slid it down and out of the way and then he eased her knees apart and got comfortable and teased the edge of her panties with his fingertips. The sensation was just this side of ticklish, as he brushed her thighs lightly.

“I must say I’m a little disappointed in you, Junior,” Griff reproved in a voice that sounded anything but.


“Why’s that?”

“Underwear.” He gave the elastic a tug, let it snap gently. “You’re wearing it.”

“Oh.” She giggled, felt her face flush. She was blushing. Blushing!

Junior couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her blush, but there was something incredibly delicious about the way Griff looked at her and spoke to her and touched her that made her feel… different.