Taming McGruff(61)

But she couldn’t just sweep it all away just like that. The hurt pulsed in her, through her, and all around her.

Her middle dipped as she stepped off the escalator and found herself staring at Griffin’s wide shoulders and broad back as he spoke to one of the construction crew. She gulped hard. Days had gone by and the only thing she’d heard was a message from him, thanking her for his study. She saved it, listening to his deep, low voice over and over again, making the sweet ache hurt even more.

“Thank you…I never told you, but this was my childhood home. I bought it to prove I could get back what I’d lost long ago. But, I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring my father back. I was still lost. That’s why I didn’t decorate. What was the point?” He hesitated. “God, I wish I could erase this message and start all over again. Start us all over again, too.” His sigh, heavy and filled with regret, rushed to her middle every time she replayed it. “You’ve given me the home I always longed for but never thought I could have. It’s too damn bad you’re not here to share it…”

Now, Marcus and Francie called out to Griff as they made their way to the table set up a few feet away. He turned, and then did a double take when he noticed her.

“Here, let me,” he offered, coming up and taking the heavy box from her.

“Thanks,” she murmured, avoiding his stare. But when he didn’t move, she glanced up. Her heart tumbled. His dusky gray eyes held her captive.

“Pixie,” he said.

“McGruff,” she countered.

He blew out a breath. “I’ll show you around.”

“You already have.” She smiled tightly, and then left him there holding the box to stare after her.



***



Griffin couldn’t imagine a longer night than what he’d just been through. The women’s department remodel had nothing to do with it. Priscilla King James did.

Her professional manner earned her respect from the crew as she asked pertinent questions and pointed out where her design could improve as obstacles came up. She listened to their suggestions and, surprisingly, to his. In the end, they’d worked as a team and done the bulk of the builds by their morning deadline, finishing up before the painters arrived.

But her cool demeanor to him caused him to wonder if he should have stayed on at King’s. How much could he take? How long before he cracked and just swept her up in his arms and carried her back home? He reminded himself he didn’t have that right. He never really did.

Once he gave instructions to the new crew, pointing out the boutique style—built-in shelves were white, yet the back of them would be the custom King’s lavender shade—Griff signed off and headed home. He’d be back in a couple of hours to check on the progress.

His steps slowed when he saw Bruno and Priscilla talking at the door.

“I’m off in thirty, baby girl. I can swing you by your house.”

“No need,” Griff said, overhearing them. Thankfully, she didn’t challenge him. “Thanks, Bruno.”

“Sure thing, Griff. Hey, you know some guy was here asking questions, ’bout you, ’bout what we talked about weeks ago.”

Griff stilled. “Got his name?”

“He gave me his card.” He tugged it out of his top pocket and handed it over. “Thinking about writing a book, about bygone golden days in Dallas or something or other.”

His hand shook when he saw the familiar reporter’s name, the same man who’d written countless articles on his father years ago. He handed it back to Bruno, saying, “You can toss this.” He nodded at the other man’s broad smile, and then he said to Priscilla, “Ready?”

She went ahead of him, and then shivered when they walked out into the cool morning air. He shrugged off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her. “Thanks,” she mumbled, burrowing in farther.

Walking beside her, highly aware of every inch of her, he suppressed the moan bubbling up in him. God, he wanted her so bad he could taste it. Opening the door of the Vette for her, he ushered her in. Going around and getting in behind the wheel, Griff snapped his seat buckle in place, and then jammed the key in and turned. The engine purred. He revved it a couple of times, wishing he could take off and go full throttle.

Biting down on his desire, for her and for a dose of speed the sleek sports car could perform, Griff eased out into the nearly empty street.

She stared out of her window. He glanced at her. “How have you been?”

“The truth?” She caught his brief stare, and then looked out the windshield. “Terrible.”

“Me, too.”

“You engineered all of this. You should be prepared for the consequences.”