All He Really Needs(2)

“Open your eyes,” he said again, somehow touching her, teasing her, yet staying out of reach.

She gritted her teeth as she opened her eyes. She wanted to glare at him for forcing her hand, but sexual desire made her languid and weak. Her protestation came out as a groan of satisfaction.

Griffin leaned over her, his usually relaxed smile stretched into a grimace of restraint. He’d teased her, but it had cost him. He was torturing himself, too. It made her smile, that fierce expression—knowing how hard it was for him to restrain himself.

He muttered a curse and plunged into her. She met his every thrust, her gaze on his the whole time, until she felt his control shatter and his own eyes closed. Only then did she let her climax wash over her.

His body was hot and heavy on hers, but the sensation was not unpleasant. She was satisfied. Not just her body but her pride. She may need him, but he needed her just as badly.

He rolled off her and this time, when he pulled her against him, she didn’t resist. He was right. Her boss, Dalton Cain, wasn’t coming in today. He had had nothing on the schedule today anyway, no meetings to move around, no appointments to jostle. For once, her plate was blessedly bare. No one would miss her.

Even though she was late for work already, even though she still needed to shower and eat before heading in, she let herself fall asleep. Partly because she was exhausted and sated as she rarely had been and partly because her realization brought her a sort of peace.

*

Griffin should have been exhausted, but he wasn’t. Just as he should no longer have the energy to desire Sydney, but he did.

Despite his fatigue, Griffin couldn’t sleep. He was still on Norway time. Or was it Sweden? He’d traveled so much recently, he barely knew where he was or where he’d been.

So he did what he always did when he couldn’t sleep. He turned on the TV and poured himself a bowl of cereal. The marshmallows in his Lucky Charms were just starting to soften when the doorbell rang. For the life of him, he couldn’t guess who it might be.

He opened the door to see his brother, Dalton, standing in the hall. Dalton, who normally looked like he’d wandered straight out of a Brooks Brothers’ ad, was dressed in a slightly wrinkled shirt and jeans. Jeans, for Christ’s sake. Griffin hadn’t even been sure Dalton owned jeans. But there he was. And the poor guy looked worn-out. Like the past few days had beaten the crap out of him and left him in an alley somewhere.

Unsure how else to greet his brother, Griffin said, “Hey, you’re up early.”

Dalton’s gaze drifted from Griffin’s bare feet to the pajama bottoms he’d pulled on not five minutes ago before finally landing the cereal bowl on the table in front of the TV.

“I’m not up early,” Dalton said drily. “It’s nearly noon.”

Nearly noon. Crap, he really had kept Sydney here way longer than he should have.

At the thought of Sydney, Griffin’s gaze jerked to Dalton. Dalton was her boss. And—as far as they knew—Dalton didn’t know that his brother and his assistant were sleeping together. Griffin didn’t think that Dalton would mind, but hell, what did he know?

Feigning casual, Griffin leaned back to glance at the clock on the TV, then he scoffed. “It’s 11:05 a.m. That’s not nearly noon. And I just got back from the Middle East last night.” Or was it Norway? Or Sweden? Crap.

He could only hope that because he didn’t remember where he’d been, Dalton didn’t, either. Sweden—or Norway—first for a meeting with Bergen Petro and then down to Yemen for another meeting. No more than a day for each of those trips. Then he’d taken two personal days for a long weekend down to Rwanda. No one from Cain Enterprises knew about Rwanda, but for him it had been the most important part of the trip.

He was secretly involved with an international aid organization called Hope2O. He’d been in Rwanda on behalf of Hope2O working to set up a water district there.

He traveled all over the world for his job. Of course, no one at Cain Enterprises knew he worked with Hope2O. The Cains were allowed to donate to certain charitable organizations, but the family members rarely came into contact with actual poverty. That kind of dirty work was beneath them. To the Cains, compassion was weakness. He didn’t want anyone in the family—not even his brother—to know just how “weak” he was.

He walked back toward the sofa. “Hey, you want something to eat?”

“No, thank you.” Dalton shut the door and followed him in.

“You want some coffee?” Griffin asked.

“Yes. Please.”

Griffin headed for the coffeemaker. Though his condo boasted a gourmet kitchen, mostly it went unused. It was galley-style, open to the living room, outfitted in honed black granite and hickory cabinetry. His housekeeper kept it stocked with the essentials. Coffee, cereal, fresh milk, cold cuts and bread.