He blew out a breath. “Your mother’s indirect attacks on your sister were vicious, to say the least. Her insinuations about Marcus nearly cost King’s its reputation.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, and the rumors ran rampant and trust was shaky.”
Agnes King had nearly done what he’d longed to do for years: destroy King’s. However, at the time, he cheered on Francine and Marcus for publically defending themselves and for marrying behind her back. The papers had had a field day with Mrs. King’s stunned reaction to the announcement.
“It’s over.”
“Do you think she’ll just sit back now? You said it yourself. You’re next.” His middle clenched at the horrible truth. “You are a young, sexy, single lady who, by all accounts, will have access to a bachelor’s home—my home—around the clock, when I’m here and when I’m not. Your boss’ home. Your name will give you some credence; however, not for long, if those articles are any indication of what your mother will stoop to. Also, in some cases, like this, appearances do matter. Everyone will assume you’re sleeping with the boss.”
Priscilla jerked her head up. A knife-like sensation sliced through him when her teary, wide eyes met his stare. “But, that’s not fair.”
“I know,” he said softly, hating how this hurt her.
Scrubbing away her fast falling tears with the heel of her hand, she choked out, “All I wanted to do is do something, make my mark on King’s, you know, have something that’s all mine to give back. To make it count. To prove I can be a King, too.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “So, are you dropping my idea altogether or are you replacing me?”
“Neither. That is, if you agree to my plan.”
“Huh? What plan?”
“Marry me,” he said softly.
Her jaw dropped and then she frowned. “Why would you want to?” She shook her head. “What will you get out of it?”
Revenge.
Chapter 12
Shock waves crashed over Priscilla as she stared at the only man she’d ever kissed and now the only man who’d ever asked her to marry him. His intense stare reminded her of the first night they’d met. Gone was the gentler Griff she’d come to know. “You haven’t answered my question,” she demanded, still grappling with his proposal.
“I get to sleep with you.” His lips tugged up at the corners, but a shadow chased across the desire in his eyes.
Heat crawled up her neck. “That can’t be all. That’s a pretty elaborate way to get in bed with someone, don’t you think?”
“Even I have to agree with that.”
She played with a loose stitch on the hem of her jeans, not able to meet his stare. Her middle curled in pleasure at the thought of Griff’s mouth and hands touching her again. “I can’t imagine you have trouble finding a woman to sleep with you.”
“Not really,” he admitted.
She stilled.
“If I’m not choosy. Or she isn’t.” It spoke of his escapades in the past. “But I am. Have been for a long time.”
Priscilla let out a pent-up breath.
“Not every woman likes the ‘McGruff’ in me,” he said with a smile in his voice.
That made her chuckle. “I wonder why.”
“Not every woman is a pixie, either.”
She gasped, jerking her head up to find his hot gaze on her again. Her insides tumbled. “I don’t want to get married,” she insisted.
“It’s in your best interest,” he countered.
“Now you sound like my mother.”
He grimaced. “That was a low blow, Pixie.”
Closing her eyes and leaning her forehead on her raised knees, she asked, “Why?”
Somehow he knew what she asked; he said, “Let’s just say, we’ll both benefit. For you, you’re off the market. No more prospective grooms to deal with or your mother’s manipulations on who to marry and how much she’ll interfere after the nuptials.” Her middle clenched at the reminders of what was to come if she didn’t agree. “I’ll protect you from her.” His voice was so close it startled her; she looked up quickly. He was mere inches from her now. “You will have your freedom to redo this house, to make that name for yourself, without any interference. No gossip, no insinuations, no distractions to deal with.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. Shifting so now she sat even closer, she lifted her hands to cup his face. Searching his hooded stare, she asked, “And you?”
“You protect me.” A mixture of somberness and truth rang in his words.
“From what?”