Asking For It (5 page)

"I see." Griffith sucked in his lips and pretended to picture his whereabouts. It wasn't hard, actually. He'd pored over maps of the area for two years now. "Basically," he said, releasing his lips. "That's the middle of nowhere."

For some reason, the comment made her smile bloom to full size. It nearly took Griffith's breath away. "That's one way of putting it," she said. "But I've been calling it the center of the universe ever since I came out here."

Griffith forced a smile back, even as his heart beat painfully. She had no idea... "Uh — And what do they call
you
?"

"Oh, I'm Kate. Kate Darby."

Of course. He'd known that, but Griffith's heart still sank.

Meanwhile, she held out her hand as if to shake. But then, glancing at the precariously tucked blanket, she pulled her hand back again.

Because of the blanket, not because she knew who Griffith was, her new landlord, the one who was going to rip her off — completely legally — in a few months. Griffith's mouth hurt with the effort of smiling. Jeez. Why
didn't
people take care of themselves? Hire lawyers? She'd practically asked him to take advantage of her.

Not that he intended to let her find that out.

"Could I use your telephone?" It was natural to ask the question now, wasn't it? "There are people — Well, I'll just call someone to get me out of your hair."

She looked startled. "You feel well enough to leave?"

"Sure. I'm just a little banged up is all." As a one-time veteran of getting beaten up, Griffith was confident in this assessment. He was sore, but not seriously hurt.

She blinked. "What about the police?"

"The police?" Griffith's jaw slackened. Oh boy, the police would have all kinds of intrusive questions to ask him. Questions that would certainly alert his tenant to her approaching trouble — and could instigate a messy and time-consuming lawsuit. "Uh...no, no police —" Wondering what excuse he could give, he realized the truth would do. "I want to handle this personally." Indeed. Grolier wouldn't know what hit him. "But there are people — Well, someone I can call to drive me home."

Her lashes lowered and a strange expression crossed her face. "You want to call now...at two in the morning?"

"Yes, well — " What? Was it unreasonable to call at two in the morning if you'd been abducted and missing for twenty-some hours — and you weren't willing to involve the police? Guilt made his brain spin. Would it be more natural to wait until morning to make calls?

"Tell me, Mr. Blaine." Her lashes rose. She was the inquisitor again. "Why do you think your business rival would drug you and leave you at
my
camp, of all places?"

Griffith stared. "Uh... Why here?"

The muscles around her eyes tightened. "Not too many people even know about this place."

"Uh...
I
sure hadn't." But even he could hear the false note in his voice. Distraction. He needed one fast. Operating on adrenaline, and the continued buzz of his arousal, he reached for her hand. "Say, have I thanked you yet?" he asked.

Her hand jerked in his grasp. "What? I mean — " She seemed pretty surprised to have been touched.

Griffith held on. "It must have been a shock." He chuckled. "Some guy looking like the Living Dead stumbling into your camp supper." Her hand wasn't soft, but callused, he noticed. Intriguing.

"I'm sure there's no reason to get dramatic." Kate tried to tug her hand away, but gently, as if she didn't want him to notice. "I only did what anyone would have."

Griffith laughed dryly. "Not everyone." Particularly not a tenant he was about to screw.

"We help people here," Kate stated stiffly. "This camp is all about helping people.

"Poor people," Griffith put in. "Kids."

"Is there something wrong with that?" Her eyes narrowed as she continued gently tugging her hand.

"Not if you're into it," Griffith laughed. "You know, if you're one of those do-gooder types." He held onto her hand.

"Right." She gave him a dark stare. "Back to my question — "

Her question
. Panic rose. He hadn't succeeded in distracting her. "But you must be a true self-sacrificing humanitarian," he blurted, interrupting her. "For example, there's helping, and then there's helping. Not everyone would have, uh, you know..." He grimaced and used their joined hands to gesture toward the blanket covering his body. "And me hardly looking my best."

She stopped dead. Her eyes went wide. "Oh, no.
I
didn't."

Griffith raised his eyebrows.

No longer subtle, she snatched her hand out of his grasp. "No," she claimed. "That wasn't — No."

Griffith put on a politely disbelieving expression. Meanwhile, watching her face redden, he felt triumphant relief. She was distracted, all right. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, she was embarrassed. About the idea of having undressed him. Something she
claimed
she hadn't done.

Watching her closely, Griffith began to smile. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind."

"But I didn't undress you." Her face was now bright red. "Why would you think I had?"

His smile widened.

"Oh, right. I get it." Her tone was scornful, but her face was still flushed as she shook her head. "You assume a lot, don't you, about your own appeal?"

"I'm not assuming anything." Indeed, without his credit card or his fancy clothes, Griffith had no illusions about his appeal. Besides, he had to look like hell. But he knew what he was seeing with his own two eyes. He was getting to her — marvelously distracting her — with the idea of having undressed him. He wondered how far he could push it. "You
like
me," he claimed.

"I
like
you?" Her eyes flashed.

"Well, okay, not personally," Griffith conceded. "But you are attracted." Why not go for broke?

"Attracted!" She stood up so fast her chair fell over. "You are — "

He was definitely getting to her, quicker and deeper than he could have dreamed.

Glaring down at him, she carefully pronounced. "You are so wrong."

About a second ago, he would have agreed, but now he wasn't so sure. She'd tugged her hand away and blushed. She looked like she was nervous, or excited. And all without his Porsche, his Century City office, or the view from his twentieth floor Westwood condo. Excitement of a novel, and possibly stupid, sort flashed through him. "Oh, wow," he whispered.

"Yes, wow," she agreed in a scornful tone. "You're arrogant enough that I assume you're not only — I mean, you're clearly stinking rich."

"I prefer calling it filthy." Griffith grinned.

"And you're used to getting your way with women," she sniffed.

"Sort of," Griffith admitted. Once they knew about Porsche, his Century City office and his view from the Westwood condo. "But
you
didn't know any of that," he told her.

"And I didn't undress you!" Kate claimed.

"Right." Beaming, Griffith reached for her hand. He wanted that sensation again, the one that had nothing to do with his money.

But she snatched her hand away before he could connect. With a noise of disgust, she took a step back.

"No — " Griffith said, stretching upward. The chair she'd knocked over was right behind her.

"You — " Kate sneered, and took another step back.

Shit
. Adrenaline kicked sore muscles into high gear. Griffith lunged for her. Just as she was falling backwards, he managed to grasp her shoulders. With a shuffle and a hop, he found his balance and they ended in a clinch.

Yup, there they were, in each other's arms. Eyeball to eyeball. Quite a bit more than Griffith had bargained for. She was wearing a shirt and jeans while he was stark naked. Had he been hard before? He was a rock now. They were man and woman. As elemental as it got.

Then, as if she just had to make matters worse, she turned her eyes downward.

Griffith's Commander-in-Chief stood at attention, even squished as he was against Kate Darby's waistband. If possible, the effect of her gaze on the thing made it grow even bigger.

He felt her shudder: one complete, riveting vibration. Then her gaze snapped upward.

Red flamed her skin, from her forehead to the collarbone exposed by her button-down shirt. Griffith felt just as hot as she was looking. He worked fast — you had to when you needed to find a new girlfriend as often as he did — but never, ever, had he gotten naked with a woman this fast, let alone had one see him aroused.

And she was Kate Darby.

"Okay, what," she asked distinctly, "is that?"

He drew in a sharp breath. "I think you know."

Her face did something indecipherable. "But what is it doing...here?"

He paused, looked at her closely. Even now, especially now, he remembered the way he'd gotten to her. He
had
. "I think you know that, too."

For an instant their gazes met. For an instant Griffith was
sure
he saw desire in her eyes. Reluctant, perhaps, but there. He knew it was genuine because he'd never seen it before, not the real thing. And it felt...deep. Rich. Endlessly exciting.

Very deliberately, she pushed herself away from him. "
I
did not call that forth."

Without the pressure of Kate's waistband, Griffith's Commander pointed eagerly in her direction, silently begging otherwise.

He didn't know whether to feel embarrassed or triumphant.

"I did
not
," Kate repeated, though her haughty gaze slid downward once more, effective as a caress.

Griffith snorted. "Then why do you keep looking?" He didn't grab the blanket in hopes she'd do it yet again. He'd never dreamed how fantastic real desire from a woman would feel.

"Oh!" Her face went red as a tomato. "You are — You are — " She whirled. This time she managed to avoid the downed chair as she stalked toward the door.

What
? Griffith wanted to ask her. He was
what
? Horny? Honest about it? Attractive, after all?

But she was gone, slammed out the door, and he was left standing there feeling idiotically pleased. She
had
looked...with interest. Fascination even.

He stood there a ridiculous amount of time before reality seeped in, trashing his stupid pleasure. He had no clothes, no telephone, and no car. All he had was a thoroughly useless hard-on.

Hissing out an exasperated breath, Griffith grabbed the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around his waist. It might be two in the fucking morning, but he was determined to solve at least one of those three problems.

He would find a telephone. Fascinating as Kate Darby was, aroused as she most certainly had been by him, he had to get as far away from her as possible — preferably in the direction of L.A.

~~~

It was stupid to tremble. Kate stomped across the dirt yard and toward the closest of the two occupied bunkhouses. The night air was blessedly cool after a dry August day. Kate sucked it into her lungs and did her best to calm down.

Her mystery patient had turned out to be crude. So what? Crude males were nothing new around here. She dealt with them nearly every day of the year. This one was no different.

At Bunkhouse One, Kate slowed and climbed the wooden steps carefully. It was two in the morning. Everyone should be asleep.

Everyone was. Bodies that had been whirlwinds of energy a few hours before were now still and quiet, curved lumps under brown blankets. Neither José nor Bill woke when Kate opened the door. They made their own, larger curves under brown blankets at opposite ends of the long bunkhouse.

Kate backed out and quietly closed the door. She stood on the wooden porch in the quiet mountain air and released a long breath. But she still couldn't feel calm. Regular.

Damn it.

She took in another breath, determined to make this go away. Okay, what had actually happened in the infirmary, after all? She'd fallen asleep. A mistake, no doubt, but understandable. She'd opened her eyes to find the stranger was awake, and staring at her.

Truly, the guy was a mess, cuts and bruises littering his torso. But in her weird, half-asleep state, it had struck Kate that his torso itself was a work of art: broad over the chest, tapering via visible abdominal muscles to a narrow waist. A soft covering of brown chest hair had completed the virile picture.

Not fully awake, unguarded, Kate had felt...off balance. That was all. Off balance and kind of dazed.

Obviously Griffith had seen that. He'd bide his time, and then he'd used it, to throw her even more off balance. Why he'd wanted her that way, Kate couldn't say. He was filthy rich by his own admission. Probably grabbing the power in a situation was a personality characteristic. Kate felt her face heat. Apparently this included grabbing sexual power.

Not that he'd succeeded, she assured herself. He'd only tried — and failed.

A large figure occupied the steps of Bunkhouse Two. Arnie sat there. Kate felt a ripple of alarm, then realized the groundskeeper would have come to fetch her if something were wrong with any of the campers.