Trouble in Paradise

“Griff. I…” If her pulse weren’t beating so fast in her throat, she could probably think. Anger radiated from him, and yes, her man had an occasional burst of temper… She had just never expected it to be directed toward her. “If you’re talking about the house…” she started uncertainly, now recalling the sight that would have greeted him on his journey to Tiger’s room. “It would normally have been cleaned up by the time you got home. You’re early, Griff, for heaven’s sake. I just got home myself.”

He knew that. And for two seconds, Griff debated between shaking her and putting her to bed. He didn’t give a hoot in hell about the chaos in the house. It was the exhausted circles under her eyes that tugged at his heart. He had suddenly deduced that she’d applied fresh makeup to cover them before he came home every night during these past weeks. Preoccupied with labor negotiations, he’d never dreamed he was coming home to smiles that had been freshly manufactured for his benefit. Now he saw her without the lipstick smile, without the smoothing over of circles and fatigue lines. And the sight of Susan, exhausted and anxious, cut him to the quick. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

“Griff…”

“It’s a damn good thing I am early for once,” he snapped. He loved her, now more than ever, but it was for her own good. “We’re going to get a few things straight here, and very quickly, Susan.”

He stalked out of the room before she could say anything further. She heard him barking for Tiger, then striding down the hall and taking the stairs like a general. Not a general. A Viking, because Griff was not quite as civilized as a military man with a machine gun in his hand in the middle of a war.

Tiger shot out of his bedroom, casting a startled glance in her direction before vaulting down the stairs two at a time. She heard “Barbara!” and a moment later “Tom!” Then there were doors closing, silence and more doors slamming. She stood in the doorway to their bedroom, her arms clasped under her chest, her mind not really at all sure what was going on…and not absolutely sure she wanted to know.

By the time Griff stalked up the stairs again, there was total silence below. His shoulders filled the space in the hall as he strode toward her, his brown eyes still like kindling on fire. His voice rivaled thunder. “They’re gone,” he spat out. “Tom will take charge for at least two hours. He’s leading the parade to McDonald’s-the one next to the video-game arcade. Which is neither here nor there. You and I are going to talk. Right now.”

“I-”

“And first, you are going to sit down and relax, Susan. Dammit,” he added distractedly. “How the hell long has this-sit down. We’re going to cover the subject of kids once and for all.”

He stopped raging the instant he realized how white her face was. He took his temper for granted, having grown up in a family of volatile personalities; with four children and two adults, shouting had been the only way to get heard. Only…Susan heard in whispers-he’d forgotten that. And she was standing in front of him like a fragile nymph with huge eyes, sick with anxiety. “Susie…”

She took a breath, her first since he’d reappeared. “Griff, we all need time. It’s not an easy transition for the children, and I’ve only been trying-”

“I know exactly what you’ve been trying to do,” he fired back. He’d handle his brood. He loved them, but if they didn’t know a nugget of gold when they saw one, they had a swift lesson coming. Only a fool could fail to see how precious Susan was. Well, he might raise monsters, but he had no intention of raising fools. But his concern wasn’t just for the kids. He couldn’t bear to see Susan, a full rose in the sun, shrinking back to the tightly closed bud she had been when he’d first met her. Hiding her feelings, keeping them walled up tight…

Confused and upset, Susan stood perfectly still as Griff took a step toward her. He blamed her for being unable to control the children; she knew that. And she was guilty; there was nothing to say. Except, Griff, would you please stop looking like a volcano about to erupt? I can handle ninety-seven loads of wash a week, but I can’t handle your anger.

Yet…for a furious man, his fingers, when they undid the first button of her blouse, were exquisitely gentle. “You’re going to put on a robe. And get your feet up.” The dictatorial growl was again contradicted by his gentle fingers on the second button. And the third.

Griff pulled her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt. She stared up at him bewildered as he untangled the gold chain at her neck, letting the delicate necklace fall into the hollow between her breasts before slipping the blouse from her shoulders. He had very dark eyes, her Griff, radiating a thousand vibrant emotions. Anger was not the only one, suddenly.

“Griff…”

“You’re going to get some rest. You’re exhausted. I’ll go down to the kitchen and make us some sandwiches, and then we’re going to talk, Susan.”

He glared at her, as if waiting for opposition. She wasn’t about to argue with his master plan; she was just rather startled by it. The last she knew, Griff was furious; now he was talking sandwiches. And then he wasn’t… talking. It took several seconds for him to locate the button of her skirt. Most of her skirts buttoned on the side; this one buttoned in back. He pushed her head to his chest as he unfastened the garment. The blue wool skirt slid soundlessly to the floor and lay there in a rumpled heap. It cost an arm and a leg to have the cleaners press wool skirts; Griff didn’t seem to care. Not about the proper care of wool skirts, not about children, not about the debris downstairs, not about anger.

She was still trying to grapple with his change of mood when his hands hesitated, resting on her hips over her cream-colored slip. Those hands suddenly turned caressing, slowly moving up to her ribs and over her lace-trimmed bra to the hollow of her throat. As his thumbs teased her chin up, his movements were all slow motion.

Looking at him, she felt a shiver creep along her skin, raising her sensitivity to his touch. Damn, she felt vulnerable. He was still fully dressed in a suit, her massive Norwegian man with his dark, searing eyes.

It had been a very long time since they’d made love. She didn’t know why the thought struck her, when it was so obvious that neither of them was in the mood. Griff was furious, and she was miserable…and other emotions seemed to have come from absolutely nowhere. He peeled off his suit jacket, his eyes never leaving hers. He tossed it on a chair; his shirt followed, then his belt. The pile of clothes on the floor kept growing.

And the silence in the room continued to drum in her ears, a silence that hadn’t been part of the house since the kids had come to live with them. Dusk was settling like a velvet stillness from the west windows; night was coming, that feeling of night enfolding her as he reached for her.

She felt swallowed up, so fast. His big, cool hands enveloped her, and the first kiss on her mouth arched her neck back. So hungry, all warm and hungry… Her hands reached up around his neck, instinctively soothing, her touch tentative and careful; she wasn’t absolutely sure where Griff was coming from. Every inch of her skin knew the desire to be held, to be wanted as only Griff had ever wanted her; her mind refused to go quite that fast. A half hour before there had been hamsters and a terrible headache and all that noise and the look on Griff’s face when he had confronted her with it all…

“Let it go,” he whispered. “Let it be, Susan.”

He made it sound so easy. He made it seem so easy. His knuckle grazed the swell of her breasts as his fingers released the front hook of her bra. Her breasts were free, aching for the touch of his cupped hands. Her soft flesh was oversensitive, made painfully tender by the sweet, fierce messages Griff kneaded into it.

He lifted her up and settled her on the bed, folding the spread impatiently out of the way. Then he knelt, peeling off the silk half-slip, peeling off the sheer hose, peeling off the small wisp of silk panties. He looked at her, savoring the golden sheen of flesh with a possessiveness that sent a blind rush of lush sensations through Susan’s bloodstream.

She would have reached for him then, all willing, but he barely gave her the chance. With a low, guttural groan, he stretched out over her, raising her arms above her head like a pirate pinning down his captive. He loosened his hold then, but not before she’d enjoyed the sensation of hand to hand, breast to breast, thigh to thigh. That closeness had been a message: they were one person, not two. Griff knew her well; he would know all of her, claim all of her. There would be no holding back.

His lips crushed her and then began to travel. The rough-smooth sensations of his soft mouth and bristly cheek sent a thousand erotic calls echoing through Susan’s head. Griff was making a valiant effort at patience. He was in no mood for slow, sweet lovemaking. His mood was a fierce, urgent desire to consume. His lips swept over her