Griff picked up a crystal rabbit and fingered its smooth contours. Miss Russell obviously loved fine things. He thought of his mother, of the expensive pieces she’d bring home after a romp with one of her many men. “A woman wants more out of life,” she’d told him on the afternoon Griff had watched her pack. “And your daddy can’t give it to me. But I’ll find it just you wait.”
She’d looked around before closing her tattered suitcase, her eyes focusing on the chipped coffee table in the center of the room. And Griff, like the twelve-year-old child he’d been, had thought she’d take the picture of himself and Jared, that she’d be back. Instead, her hand grasped a perfume bottle, one of the many objects she’d used to flaunt her affairs before his father. Griff had been wrong on both counts. And Chelsie, it seemed, was similar to his mother and ex-fiancée, sharing their love of possessions and probably valuing them above people.
This visit had been a mistake. She couldn’t help Alix. He wanted to turn and run before she returned. He nearly did, until his eyes focused on the bookshelf in the corner. Mixed in with the expensive trinkets were a set of books worn by use and age. A gap between two of the volumes indicated one was missing. He thought of Alix and the death-grip she kept on the damned yellow story book. There it was again—Chelsie Russell and her contradictions.
She cleared her throat. With a sound that was half sigh, half groan, he faced her. She’d covered her long legs with baggy sweats that matched the oversized sweatshirt. Unfortunately, instead of sexy, she now looked soft and cuddly. Neither helped Griff’s frame of mind.
“The rabbit’s my favorite,” she said.
He frowned and replaced the animal.
“Getting back to your point.” She gestured towards the door. “As it happens, I live in a high-security building. And the door was unlocked, not open.”
“Like a burglar or rapist would have recognized the difference,” he said. “And it must have opened while you slept.”
“Oh.” She looked down, apparently duly chastised.
At least he’d made his point about her safety.
Suddenly, she glanced up, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Just how did you get up here without the doorman calling first?”
“I latched onto a large party headed for another floor. I didn’t think you’d be too receptive if I called ahead.”
“Good thinking.”
“And if I could do that, so could anyone.”
“Point taken. I’ll be more careful in the future, though I was expecting company.”
Male or female? None of your damned business. This evening was not going as he’d planned. Both his thoughts and his actions were betraying him. He needed to focus on the purpose of his visit and not his past... or her impossibly long legs. “Good,” he muttered.
“What do you want?” she asked.
You. He shook his head in pure frustration. Focus, he reminded himself. “Look, I realize I frightened you and I’m sorry.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Apology accepted.”
The silence in the small apartment overwhelmed him. Obviously, she intended to make him pay for his rude behavior last week. Anything for Alix, he thought, and prepared to grovel.
THREE
Chelsie glanced at her surprise visitor, who obviously planned on taking his time before revealing why he had come. Resigned to a drawn-out conversation, she lifted her arms, then let them fall to her side. “Have a seat.”
So far he’d done nothing more than berate her bad judgment. Now that she thought about it, though, her open-door policy with her neighbor wasn’t smart. Safety was a state she’d worked hard to achieve, one she couldn’t afford to risk by being careless. A security guard sat at the only entrance to the building and, given the small number of apartments on each floor, each guard knew every tenant by name. Chelsie felt secure here, which was why she’d chosen the building. Obviously, she hadn’t shut the door completely. In the future, she’d try to be more careful.
When she’d awakened to the sight of a man standing over her, she’d almost passed out. Such an overwhelming reaction hadn’t happened to her in years. Griffin Stuart had an uncanny knack of bringing up the worst memories of her life, but she couldn’t fault him for coincidence, only for his abominable behavior. Which made her wonder again what he wanted.
“Drink?” she asked, recognizing he wouldn’t be rushed.
He shook his head. She curled into the corner of an oversized chair and motioned toward the couch.
“Thanks.” He sat across from her, leaning forward on his elbows. “You’re more gracious than I’ve been.”