* * *
Around two in the morning, I closed the door behind the last of my guests. It was an early night for me, honestly, since I usually didn’t stop partying until dawn, but I was sort of glad they were leaving, because I was worried about Griffin.
He’d spent the rest of the party lounging against the wall, staring blankly at the door. It was as if he’d dropped right out of his body, leaving a statue behind. The guests thought it was weird too. They kept asking me questions in whispers, wondering if he was okay. I didn’t have any answers for them. I didn’t know what to say.
Now that they were finally gone, I went to him. “Okay, Griffin, you can move now. Everyone left.”
He didn’t acknowledge me.
“Griffin,” I said. “What the hell?”
Still staring straight ahead, he said, “If I was really your bodyguard, I’d be invisible, right? I’d follow you around, but nobody would talk to me. No one would know who I was, or why I was there. Right?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a bodyguard before.”
“Well, that’s all I’m doing,” he said. “I’m watching. I’m not going to try to interfere anymore.”
I furrowed my brow. “I don’t get it. Did I do something wrong? Because I thought things went exactly like I told you they would. I thought the party was appropriately low key.”
Nothing.
“Damn it, talk to me. Don’t stand there staring into space. It’s creepy.”
He shut his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, doll. It was me.”
“Come sit on the couch and talk to me,” I said.
He shook his head.
“Please,” I said.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
I wrapped both of my hands around one of his biceps. It was bigger around than I could grip with just one. I tugged on him. It was like tugging on a mountain. He didn’t budge. “Come on.”
He sighed and straightened. He let me lead him to the couch. He sat down. I sat down next to him. He sat with his feet on the floor, staring at his knees. I turned sideways, sitting Indian-style, looking at him in profile. His features were chiseled.
“I’m not... good at stuff like that,” he said finally.
“What stuff?”
“Talking to people.”
“You were fine,” I said. “Everyone thought you were fine.”
He half-laughed. “Don’t lie to me, okay. I was out of place. I know it and so do you.” He looked at me. “I can’t play truth games. I can’t tell the truth about myself.”
I supposed that was true, given the fact he was an ex-assassin for a secret branch of an international arms corporation. “Well, you could tell the truth about the stuff that wasn’t dangerous for people to know, I guess. And lie about other stuff.”
“Which works well when you’re saying that I need to drink because I do that all the time.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s not your fault.” He studied his fingernails. “I didn’t realize it was going to be all about sex, either.”
“Does that, um, make you uncomfortable?”
“No.” But maybe his response had been a little too sharp and too quick.
“Look, that threesome thing was just once. And it was awful. I left in the middle of it. I hated it.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything about that,” he said. He was blushing again.
“Okay,” I said. “I mean, it’s not like...”
He lifted his gaze to meet mine.
Whatever words I had been about to say died on my lips. God. He was gorgeous.
I leaned closer, searching his eyes with my own.
He didn’t stop me.
I closed my eyes. I pressed my lips against his.
His lips were warm and full. They were soft. This close to him, I could smell him. He had a kind of woodsy, male smell—nothing artificial like aftershaves or colognes. He smelled raw and wild. I put my hand on his cheek, ran my fingers over the faint stubble on his jaw.