Asking For It (24 page)

With the slightest lift of her eyebrows, Deirdre asked, "What makes you think I can get you that loan?"

Grolier just smiled.

A chill passed through Deirdre. Her knife hovered over her French roll.
Grolier knew Griffith was missing
. Which could only mean...he'd
made
Griffith missing.

With her heart going about a mile a minute, Deirdre forced her knife to spread butter over her roll.

"I see," she said. It came out cool as silk. A month ago she would have panicked. A month ago she wouldn't have had the presence of mind to realize there could be another, and more probable, reason for Grolier's silent smile.

He was fishing. He hadn't kidnapped Griffith. He didn't even know for certain that Griffith was missing.

But he was watching Deirdre, trying to find out.

Deirdre finished spreading the butter over her bread. Her heart was still racing, but she felt under control, even excited. She could handle this.

She put her knife down and looked right at Simon Grolier. "I'm afraid you've wasted your time inviting me to lunch. I can't get you that loan."

He raised a pair of steel-gray brows. "Why not?"

Deirdre smiled. "It's already Blaine's." Hardly. The loan needed Griffith's signature. But maybe Deirdre was doing some fishing of her own. Would Grolier point that out? Would he admit he knew Griffith wasn't around to sign?

Simon Grolier's smile turned condescending. "Is that right, Ms. Marshal?"

Her composure didn't falter. He wanted to knock her off balance. She refused to get knocked. Let
him
fall over. Let
him
admit he knew Griffith was missing.

Grolier held Deirdre's eyes for a very long moment. Then a corner of his mouth twitched. "Would you be so good as to pass the bread back this way?"

"Certainly." Deirdre picked up the bread basket and handed it to Grolier. She'd won. She'd won! Or at least forced a draw. And with Griffith's most powerful competitor! She might have wondered where she'd gotten this new bold confidence if she didn't already know.

It was because of Ricky Ascensios. Or rather, it was because of the astounding development of her relationship with him. For the first time in her life, Deirdre felt...successful. She
was
an attractive female. She
could
hold the interest of a decent and desirable male.

As an example, Deirdre could point to just that morning. She and Ricky had rushed through a Starbucks for breakfast, both in a hurry to get to work. Though their speech had been in semi-sentences, they'd communicated just fine.

"Three internal memos to finish before tomorrow morning," Ricky had said, accepting his blueberry muffin from the barista.

"So dinner tomorrow night," Deirdre had returned, taking a bagel in a separate bag. She'd understood Ricky's remark to indicate his lack of time to see her that evening. She'd further understood his inability to see her was due to his workload and not to lack of desire. Perhaps most incredibly of all, she'd felt safe in assuming Ricky
would
like to get together with her the following night.

"An
early
dinner," Ricky had told her, confirming her assumption — if she'd needed confirmation. He took a large bite of his blueberry muffin and smiled as he chewed. "Maybe we'll even get through that movie."

They'd started watching a long and esoteric French film the night before, but had fallen asleep together on the sofa well before the end. They did things like that, watched movies on DVD, read the newspaper over nothing-but-soup suppers, or just vegged out. They didn't have to end up in bed. They just liked being together.

"We could finish the movie," Deirdre agreed, then added archly, "or not."

Ricky had grinned, a delightfully lascivious and somehow
domestic
grin. "Or not," he'd agreed. He'd taken one more bite of his muffin, then leaned over to give her a slightly crumb-ridden kiss. "I've gotta run now. Call me, okay?"

Three simple little words. They'd warmed Deirdre through. He wanted her to call him. He
liked
it when she did. He wanted to hear from her, as often as she felt like hollering.

"I'll call," Deirdre had promised.

It was a real relationship. There was no fear or insecurity, but instead...trust.

It was something Deirdre had never known she could achieve, but she had.

To Simon Grolier across the marble table from her, Deirdre smiled. "Would you like some butter with that bread?"

Grolier's return smile was one-sided, somehow predatory. "Please."

Perfectly poised, Deirdre passed the butter. Simon Grolier might know Griffith was missing, he may even have caused his disappearance.

But if it turned out he didn't know Blaine Development's present vulnerability, he wasn't going to discover the information from Deirdre.

~~~

Kate hated to admit it, but Griffith was right about one thing. She did feel awkward the morning after their assignation. Meeting her brand-new lover again in front of fifty-four witnesses was no easy feat.

It didn't help that Griffith was like a force of nature as he strolled into the room behind his military-marching campers. Kate felt as if the sun, wind, and rain swept into the room with him. When his eyes met hers, she was afraid she'd lost the power of speech altogether.

But she hadn't. "Why, aren't you looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning, Griffith." The words flowed easily from her mouth, his exact script from the night before. As if she'd rehearsed it, she gave him her very best, sugar-sweet smile.

His own smile turned into the broadest grin Kate had ever seen. This was not sugar-sweet. It was
real
. "And a very good morning to you, too, Miss Kate," he replied.

A peculiar emotion bubbled up Kate's throat. It became a laugh.

Griffith winked at her and went to join his campers.

Yes, Kate laughed. Instead of feeling like a fool, she actually enjoyed the awkward moment.

Because of Griffith.

That sobered Kate quickly enough. The laugh died in her throat, her smiling mouth straightened, and she whirled to stalk over to her own seat.

She shouldn't be laughing or enjoying herself with Griffith. She didn't want to be involved with him. Emotional.

Trusting.

Last night she'd come close. Stupidly close. Oh, perhaps trust was a healthy part of a mature relationship, but that was for people other than Kate. She was...different.

Through the rest of the breakfast meal, Kate did her best not to look in Griffith's direction. She wondered if she could get out of talking to him — ever again in her life.

This was impossible, of course. Despite her zealous efforts all day to avoid him, Griffith cornered Kate after supper. The campers were watching a movie in the dining hall, and Griffith found her pulling weeds from one of the planters in the main quad.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, coming up behind her. "Miss Kate. We meet at last."

Kate clutched the weeds in her hands as her heart traitorously leapt. She straightened slowly and turned around. "Griffith."

He put one foot on the edge of the planter and smiled. "Haven't seen you much today."

"Ahem." She attempted to look nonchalant. "Guess not."

Griffith's smile widened. "Want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Kate squeaked, even while a voice in her head shouted this was her chance, her opportunity to put a stop to this madness. But how could she do that, without revealing the extent of her vulnerability?

Her first attempt was pathetic. "I — This is a bad idea," she muttered.

"
Shark Tales
?" Griffith shook his head. "I couldn't agree more. They've all seen it already at least three times. I expect a riot within the next twenty minutes."

Kate narrowed her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?" Griffith's smile faded. His gaze floated off to one side. "Let me tell you what
I
know," he said, with an air of significance.

Kate braced herself.

"What I know is that last night was the best sex I've ever had in my life."

Kate opened her eyes wide.
That
was his big, dramatic revelation?

"Bar none," Griffith went on. "How about for you?" He shot her a questioning look.

Kate gave a horrified glance around. "Griffith!"

"So it was good for you, too." Griffith nodded. "It can happen, Kate. Plain old, good sex."

Is that all he thought it had been? Kate peered at him suspiciously.

"Kate." His tone was as calm as his expression. "Think of it this way. If you were offered dinner at the best gourmet restaurant around, would you turn it down?"

"Well, no, but — "

"This is exactly the same." He leaned over his raised knee. "We're giving each other gourmet meals here. The best. I can't see a reason to turn down a deal like that."

The implication being, neither could she.

But it wasn't so simple. What had happened the night before had been a lot more complicated than a gourmet meal. It had...penetrated. It had sent a soldier marching into the demilitarized zone Kate had set around herself.

She wasn't ready to open that border.

Griffith leaned closer yet. His gaze turned sly as he shoved her shoulder with his. "Hey," he said. "You aren't afraid this is going to turn into something more, are you?"

Kate clamped her teeth together. How was she supposed to answer that? If she admitted she was, in fact, scared, she'd be admitting a heck of a lot more. She'd be admitting she was growing vulnerable to him, caring.

It was the last thing in the world Kate wanted to admit.

So she raised her chin and looked him straight in his oddly gleaming eyes. "No, Griffith. I have no fear this is going to turn into anything more than a physically satisfying affair. That's all it is, or ever will be."

Something shifted under his smile. "Good," he said. "Then we'll meet again tonight. Your place — "

"Oh, no." Griffith, in her private space? He had to be kidding.

He barely lost a beat. "The same spot, then, under the big oak tree. One hour after lights out." He winced. "Actually, I have a session — an hour-and-a-half after lights out would be better."

Kate raised her brows. An hour-and-a-half after lights out, under the spreading oak tree, with Griffith. Again. They'd do everything they'd done before, the naked, seeking, pleasuring things.

The intimate things. The things where his eyes, dark and dazed, gazed into hers. The things where her arms, convulsive, clutched him close. The things where their hearts seemed to beat in time.

She'd fall in even deeper.

She needed time and space away from him. Instead he'd just forced her to come closer...because she'd agreed, it was nothing more than a gourmet meal, easily enjoyed, just as easily forgotten.

And now she had to prove it.

Kate raised an indifferent shoulder. "Sure, fine," she said. "An hour-and-a-half after lights out. Same place."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

This wasn't love.

An hour-and-a-half after lights out, following his boxing lesson with Orlando, Griffith waited under the big oak tree, hopping from one arching root to the next. Every few seconds, he glanced across the tomato field toward the path. Was Kate on her way? His body hummed.

But this wasn't love.

Oh, please. In five days, Griffith would be back in Los Angeles. In six days, he'd have retrieved his lost loan from the dirty hands of Simon Grolier. He'd be lining up contractors and setting schedules. He'd be sending bulldozers to build the new water channel.

Or...would he?

Griffith came to a halt on the top curve of a tree root. Actually, he'd been going over the problem, meditating strategy. He wasn't convinced any more it made sense to build Wildwood.

Not on Kate's account. Oh, no. He'd simply been going over the numbers in his head, recalculating.

Camp Wild Hills could be very attractive, Griffith had been thinking, as a tax write-off. His accountants were always looking for those, weren't they?

Griffith was about to start hopping roots again when he saw Kate. Just like the night before, she'd made no effort to pretty herself up. She was striding down the path like she was on her way to a chore.

Griffith's lips curved. Calculations of numbers and tax write-offs went flying. He just wanted to hold her, to hold her and hold her, tighter and tighter until —

Until he felt whole.

Griffith's curving lips straightened. What? Until he felt — what? No. Oh, no, no, no. This was only physical. A good gourmet meal.

Not love.

~~~

Kate strode over the grooves of the once-ravaged tomato field with a firm sense of purpose. She'd come to meet Griffith tonight in order to make a point.