I want to give them what I feel they need…and more. But you, wife, are for the rest of my life, mate and lover. That’s how I want to live with you. That’s what I feel for you.”
Griff’s tenor voice could turn gravelly…at certain times. Susan flushed as his eyes gave out dark fires, running over her bare shoulders and firm breasts. She shivered suddenly, but he didn’t smile; that kind of lightness suddenly didn’t belong. He wanted her, in a possessive, purely male way; he needed to hold her, take her, protect her… reassure her.
She did. Her fingers trailed up his chest to the first button on his shirt. Then the second. Longish blond hairs, silvery in the night shadows, sprang free under her fingertips. She could feel his heart beating strong and sure beneath her palm.
“And this business of expenses.” Just slightly, his voice lost that certain seriousness, taking on a note of wry exasperation. “I’ve been trying to tell you for some time that I’m not a poor man, Susan. I lived in that small apartment only because I didn’t have the time or the desire to take care of a bigger place-and I didn’t have the kids with me. I’m not saying that alimony and child support won’t limit the number of world cruises we can take every year, but we have no money problems. You can have your Oriental carpets, and you can buy the antiques you like, and you can keep your own money for your business, and you can do any room any damn way you want to. We’ve covered this before.”
“Hmm.”
“Susan.” Her eyes traveled up to his. “Don’t ‘hmm.’ Not on this. I want you to have this house exactly the way you want it.”
Too many married people argued about money. Susan was determined to avoid that pitfall. Having known Griff for three of the most exhilarating months she’d ever lived through, she was well aware that he was dreadfully overgenerous, particularly where she was concerned. By contrast, Susan hadn’t bought a pair of shoes for the past nine years unless they were on sale. Obviously, compromise was occasionally going to be required in their relationship, as it was in any marriage.
And it definitely felt like her night to give in. She finished unbuttoning his shirt, raised her eyes to his in the darkness, and whispered, “Just love me, Griff. Now.”
Later, as she lay still in the darkness, Susan’s eyes fluttered open. Moonlight filtering through the windows formed yellow-silver squares on the floor, but did not touch either of them in their sleeping-bag cocoon. Griff’s leg was thrown over her thigh to keep her close to his warmth; his arm was still heavy on her side, and his hand still cupped her breast exactly as they’d been after they’d made love. The newlyweds lay in shadow, the room, and indeed the whole house, completely still. Susan listened to Griff’s gentle breathing and closed her eyes again.
That first June night when she’d met him flooded her mind…
Chapter 2
Bartholomew’s was one of St. Paul’s best restaurants. When she walked in, Susan was wearing a mauve raincoat, a pale green dress and her most brittle smile. It was ten minutes to eight on a hazy June night, a lazy sun just getting around to sinking below the horizon. And Susan was furious.
And nervous. It was all so ridiculous… Julie Anderson had a wine and cheese shop down the way from Susan’s craft and book store. Julie’s venture was new and not doing particularly well; Susan had offered moral support, and had somehow ended up browbeaten into accepting a blind date with Julie’s older brother. Susan had last gone on a blind date when she was sixteen; the five-mile walk home had squelched any desire to repeat the experience. At twenty-eight, she couldn’t have been less interested in wasting an evening, and she certainly should have had more sense than to get talked into having a drink with some strange man…
Beyond the entrance, she caught a glimpse of several rooms-three or four different dining areas and two bars. The entrance foyer held two couches, a fireplace and wildlife prints, all rather subdued and peaceful. Unclenching her fists and removing them from the pockets of her raincoat, Susan settled in to wait, and was immediately approached by an efficient waitress. Wine coolers were on special.
Fine. Her throat was as dry as the Sahara.
The only reason she was here at all was that she figured Griff Anderson could hardly be a total nerd. He’d had the sense to call and cancel on the two previous occasions his sister had so cleverly set up. Which matched the two Susan had wiggled out of. He was obviously about as interested in blind dates as she was, but Gibraltar could be worn down more easily then the indomitable force that was Julie. So they’d make the gesture-one ten-minute drink together and the die-hard matchmaker would really have to let up, Susan figured. Certainly, as two mature people they could get out of having dinner together without undue awkwardness. So how bad could ten minutes be?
Setting down her empty wineglass, she glanced at her watch with a little frown. It was eight-fifteen. The room seemed increasingly warm, and she shrugged out of her raincoat. Beneath was the pale green dress she’d worn to work that day, a soft knit that clung lovingly to her slender figure.
Lord, what hogwash.
“Would you like another drink?” The hostess hovered, smiling pleasantly.
“Well…all right.”
Susan had already memorized every painting in the place, seen the ladies’ room twice and tested every chair in the foyer. She
The hostess kept glancing at her. It was hardly the kind of place that encouraged lone women. Couples kept milling in and out. Susan gave her rapt attention to counting the bricks in the fireplace.
The wine had hit her like a submarine, but then she hadn’t eaten any lunch. The problem was that her throat was so dry, and when the hostess offered her a third wine cooler, she nodded vaguely. The thing to do was leave, of course. It was past eight-thirty. She’d wait a few more minutes; she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to give Ideal Man-Julie’s epithet, that-a piece of her mind. Leaving a woman waiting for better than half an hour… Susan had a few more creative epithets for Griff Anderson. Since they’d both agreed to this ridiculous meeting, she had a right to expect common courtesy…
At nine-ten, Susan set down her empty glass and was dizzily adjusting the shoulder strap of her purse as a tall blond man burst through the door. She caught a single glimpse, but was more immediately concerned with convincing her legs to hold her up straight so she could start moving. The derelict Viking was dressed in well-worn jeans, a tweed jacket and bedraggled running shoes. He had a pair of shoulders that barely fit through the door, and a thatch of stark blond-white hair that should have been trimmed four weeks ago. She doubted the restaurant would seat him. His problem, not hers. She was going home.
She had raised her hand to push her way out through the heavy oak door when she felt a palm on her shoulder. Turning in surprise, she saw the Viking and caught a closer glimpse of his face. Deep-set dark eyes held a crazy mix of humor and stark sexual appraisal. A straight nose, thin lips-thin but sensuous-baring even white teeth in a crooked smile. Somehow the blend of features added up to passably handsome; her awareness of this fact annoyed Susan. That pair of lazy browns was busy communicating a very potent sexual come-on.
“Exch-excuse me,” she said rigidly. She brushed his hand from her shoulder as she would flick away a gnat, trying to communicate politely to the stranger that she would prefer the touch of a bug to his touch. She attempted to take another step, but one long arm blocked the door.
“Just hold on. You were waiting for someone?”
“Jus’ for you. To move,” she slurred pleasantly. The flare of gun-metal gray in her eyes demanded that he do so. Promptly. Shy by nature, Susan seemed to have acquired instant assertiveness with the three wine coolers she
