A Man for the Summer (5 page)

“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 herself.

“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.

“But…there’s nothing to eat. And you know what they say, the way to a man’s heart’s through his stomach. Or something like that.”

Griff watched her slur her words, balanced her carefully as she listed suddenly to the right…and suddenly sensed that Junior might have already found the way to his heart. And it had nothing to do with his stomach. No, it was something else entirely. Something to do with her bravado, at odds somehow with her sudden brilliant smiles. And it was her ridiculous clothes that couldn’t come close to covering up her long, lean, body; it was her energy that kept her in near-constant motion.

And most of all it was the way she was looking at him right now. Eager to please, and damn it, really, really happy to see him.

Griff decided right then to make her one extremely satisfied woman.

“Junior,” he whispered, tracing her hairline with his fingertips. “I’m not hungry. I want you. I want to make love to you. I’m pretty sure it’s going to take us all night. Honey, it’s going to be good. Hell, it’s going to be magic.”

“Magic,” Junior repeated dreamily, looked deeply into his eyes…

and hiccupped.

“Oh,” she said, eye round with surprise. She pressed two fingertips daintily to her lips. “I had a little drink,” she added.

“Yeah. I gathered.” Griff released her, lowered her carefully back into her chair. “Look, how about if I make you a cup of coffee, okay? I brought wine, so maybe I’ll have a glass and we can meet in the middle. You got a corkscrew?”

“Yes!” Junior said brightly, and leapt to her feet. She didn’t appear too terribly unsteady as she opened drawers, Griff noticed, with some relief. It really wasn’t his style to take advantage of women who were too drunk to participate.

She came up with the corkscrew and a dusty wineglass, and Griff found the coffee without too much trouble and got it brewing. Junior had wandered out of the kitchen, but he could hear her bumping around in the next room, as strains of B.B. King came on. He followed the sounds and found Junior stretched out on an overstuffed couch.

“You sure don’t like to keep your feet on the floor, do you?” he asked. Junior had her bare feet up on the ancient trunk that served as a coffee table.

She narrowed her eyes and regarded him like a cat staring down a mouse.

“Is that your idea of a line?” she purred.

Griff reddened as he got her meaning. She was such a mix of contradictions, wearing her excitement like a little girl one minute, then playing the temptress the next.

She had to be nervous. Who wouldn’t be, on the brink of losing their virginity? He sure had been, though he’d been considerably younger at the time.

Maybe that was it—she was embarrassed by her lack of experience, and was trying to cover it up with this attempt at brazen seduction. Griff’s heart suddenly tugged at the thought. No woman should have to hide her inexperience, not even with a new lover. Not even with—he grimaced inwardly—a one-night wonder of a lover, who rolled into town one day and left on the morning train.

He’d had many one-night encounters before, but none had ever bothered them like this. In fact, he made sure that the women whose beds he shared were just as happy with the arrangement as he was. In his experience, there were plenty of commitment-phobic women out there; women who weren’t looking for anything more than a good toss and a fond farewell.

Of course, none of them were virgins.

Griff pushed the thought out of his head. He felt bad about it, but he was giving what he could, what she wanted. And he’d make it good for her. That, at least, was in his control. He knew how to satisfy a woman, had spent years perfecting the art.

“Junior,” he said softly, and eased down next to her on the couch. “I want you to just be yourself tonight. Don’t be afraid. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. We’ll take our time, go slow.”

She slid over to him, tucked her knees up and put her arms around his neck. She gave him a crooked grin, and he was surprised by the urge to gather her in his arms and just hold her, breathe in her sweet-seductive smell, rest his face against her crazy hair.

“You’re sweet,” she said, and ran her fingertips along the nape of his neck, the sensation distracting him from his thoughts, especially as she let her nails trail up around his ear, tugging gently at the lobes.

“I mean it. You don’t have to, you know, put on any kind of act for me. I know this probably isn’t exactly what you dreamed of, for this night.” Griff searched for the right words, words that would prove to her that he cared, even while he understood what she was going through. “Women want it to be with—with a man they love—-”

Junior interrupted with a sound very much like a snort.

“Ha,” she said.

Startled, Griff paused. Well, she had a right to be bitter, if what he’d heard was true. Rejection stung, the few times he’d experienced it. It could take away your confidence, erode your trust.

But hell, how could it be? What was wrong with the men of this town, to overlook the ripe beauty of Junior? Granted, she could clearly be a pain in the ass when she wanted, but most men would put up with quite a bit to get a woman like this into bed. A night with Junior would be quite a notch in the bedpost.

He winced again, angrily pushing the thought away. There it went, his conscience, invading every train of thought with a reminder that he was going to spend one night with this incredible woman and then leave her behind. Something that had never given him pause before, but now was threatening to tear him up before he’d even done anything to feel guilty about.

“Junior,” he whispered, “You’ve been hurt before, I know, but I want you to forget about other guys you’ve known, for tonight.” And realized he
did
want her to forget, very much. For some reason it was suddenly very important to him that it was
his
face she remembered, his name she tasted on her lips in the morning.

“No problem,” Junior agreed.

Then she bit him.

It was just a little nip, on the sensitive skin at the base of his jaw, but so unexpected that he jumped, even as her touch sent white-hot rockets of sensation along his nerves.

“Hey, take it easy,” Junior said. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Okay, ‘cause I think we’d better get down to it. Don’t you?”

Griff opened his mouth to protest, but could think of nothing to say. And when Junior melted her body’s curves into his and began unbuttoning his shirt, his conscience eroded into smoldering rubble, and he forgot what he’d been trying to say.

When she bent to kiss her way down his chest, her lips and tongue exploring in the wake of her nimble fingers, he very nearly forgot his name.

“Oh,” he muttered. Her masses of curls fell against his chest, tickling his skin, sending needles of sensation along his nerves. He plunged his fingers into her curls, twisting handfuls as her tongue darted against him.

“You like this?” Junior’s voice was muffled; he felt her fingers at his zipper and felt his control slipping dangerously away.

Not here.

It was a muffled protest, true, from the depths of his brain, but even in his state he knew he couldn’t take her here on the floor of her living room.

“Hey,” he said, his voice shaking. He hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her gently, but firmly, up. “Let’s slow down a bit, what do you say?”

Junior shrugged. A few strands of hair were plastered against her flushed cheeks.

“‘Kay. Wanna go upstairs?”

Griff bit his lip, buying time. It was crazy. He’d been with women who were eager to get to the action before, but never a virgin.

And she didn’t kiss like a virgin either.

“Cause that’s where the bedroom is,” Junior added. When he still didn’t answer she pointed up at the ceiling. “Upstairs.”

Griff nodded, swallowing hard. He wanted to go upstairs. Wanted to more than anything. The way she’d kissed her way halfway down his body had him hard and aching with desire, the kind of ache he hadn’t felt since he’d been a teenager, nearly excruciating.

When Junior stood, taking an extra step to balance herself, Griff quickly followed and adjusted himself to accommodate his raging excitement. Junior took no notice, but instead yawned.

She took her time, stretching her arms and arching her back, then gave herself a satisfied shake before starting up a set of creaky wooden stairs.

“We can, you know, make out up here,” she continued as he followed her. “My brothers were always trying to sneak girls up here, but they usually got busted.”

She led the way down a hall punctuated with doors, stopped at the last one, and turned to face him in the door frame.

“Nobody around to catch us tonight, though, is there?” She smiled at him, and stepping closer, clasped his hand in her smaller one. She wound her fingers through his and nestled against him, and Griff held her to him, feeling her strong heartbeat through the thin material of her tank top.

A pang shot through him as he matched his own heartbeat to hers. It was so steady against him. She stood nearly as tall as he did and her skin was so warm, her scent so intoxicating. How could she be sick? How could she be…dying? Griff fought the urge to curse as he pressed her a little closer to him.

He looked over her head into her room, and was at once taken aback and not surprised in the least. It was a small room and he somehow knew it was the same one she’d grown up in. The walls were papered in old-fashioned roses, and from the center of the room hung a fussy crystal light fixture. The iron bed was made up with brightly colored quilts, and several china vases held bouquets of cut flowers.