It was easy to be the happy-go-lucky little sister everyone made excuses for and compensated for each and every time she’d mess up or brush off responsibility.
Now they didn’t take her seriously when all she longed for was a chance to earn the King name, prove she deserved it.
Was she even ready to grow up? “I’m scared, too,” she admitted softly. “Scared I won’t be as good as my sisters in what they’ve done for King’s. Scared I’ll never live up to the mighty King name.”
She could cower. She could hide behind the protection of the King name. Or she could add to the legacy. At the moment, she wished she could talk to Griff about it. Somehow, she thought he’d understand when no one else would. He took her seriously—at least, he took her feelings seriously.
Now why did the thought of a virtual stranger knowing her better than her own family did trouble her? Her heart tugged. “Oh, no you don’t,” she warned that fragile part of herself.
***
Sunday morning, Priscilla stood on his doorstep again, ringing his doorbell. The skies had finally lightened and sun peeked out of the clouds. She smiled at the thought of the stormy last day and a half since she met Griff. “Weather wise and otherwise.”
She giggled at the irony.
He yanked open the door. “Ah, hell, not you again,” he muttered.
God, he looked even better today with half a day’s growth of beard on his jaw, a white shirt mostly undone, worn jeans and bare feet. “Wow!” She couldn’t stop herself.
“Is that it? Is that all you came here for?” He eyed her suspiciously.
Holding out a hand, she said, “Can I have a do-over?” She didn’t wait for him to turn her down. “Hi, I’m Priscilla King. And you must be Mr. Griffin James.” He just looked at her outstretched hand. She dropped it to her side. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I can’t say the same.”
His words didn’t match the heat of his stare. That gave her incentive to carry on. Lifting the package at her feet, she presented it to him. “An apology. We can start over.”
“Ah, the Welcome Wagon lady.” His lip twitched upward at the corner as he scanned her from head to toe and back up again. “Sexy.”
Flames scorched her. His comment from the first night they met echoed in her mind. Smoking body. Gulping hard, she tried to ignore the curls of desire in her middle. “Coffee.” She swung the wrapped basket in front of him. “And a mug.”
“Now why didn’t you say that in the first place?”
“Coffee or the mug?”
“I ran out of coffee last night. Perfect timing. For once.” Opening the door wider, he waved her in.
Carefully, she stepped over the threshold. He took the basket and nodded toward the kitchen. “I’m sure you remember the way,” he drawled, closing the door. His low, deep voice seeped into her, whisking heat as it went.
“I would have called first.”
“Really? I didn’t think that was your style.”
“But I didn’t have your number,” she finished.
He grunted. “I suppose you’ll need that once you start the remodel.”
Walking beside him to the back of the house, Priscilla felt the intensity radiating off his body. His strong presence reminded her of snuggling against him the other night. An ache shot through her at the memory of how she felt beside him: warm, safe, and secure. She didn’t ever remember feeling that way before. She never knew she longed for that feeling either, not until she met him.
His hand on the small of her back as he guided her in front of him into the kitchen made her suck in a sharp breath. How could one brief touch set off all these tingles rushing through her?
“I heard that,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”
The warning, dark and ominous, should have frightened her. It didn’t.
Griff placed the basket on the counter, riffling through the wrap and pulling out the mug first. He held up the black ceramic mug with chrome sculpted flames adorning it. “Nice.”
Shrugging, she said, “They didn’t have a Harley like yours.”
In a few moments, he’d pulled out the five different blends of coffee and lined them up. He chose one and quickly got to work making a pot. “Sure you don’t want to try some?” he baited as he joined her on a bar stool.
She shivered in revulsion. “No, I’m good.”
“Where’s your phone?”
His curt question brought her up short. She dug in her pink tote she’d hung on the back of the stool. Once she found it, she showed him.
He held out his hand. She placed it in his palm. “Pink? Glittery? I should have known.” There was a smile in his voice. He did something to the phone, and then punched in a number. In the distance, she heard another phone ring, obviously his. Griff hung up, and then laid her cell phone down on the counter between them. “There, now you have my number and I have yours.”