Asking For It (27 page)

They were not fighting, Kate slowly realized, as Orlando performed the same move, but with greater ease. Griffith was
teaching
him, teaching him how to box. A shivery, sparkly sensation rippled from her toes up to her hair. Griffith was teaching Orlando, skinny, under-sized Orlando, how to fight.

A part of her knew she ought to be outraged. Fighting was strictly forbidden at Camp Wild Hills. How else did you keep control of fifty-odd bundles of testosterone?

But she could also see that Griffith was getting through to Orlando. He was giving the teen a sense of power, building the positive self-image Kate knew Orlando was lacking.

The shivery sensation inside Kate wrapped around her. Griffith, the man she'd been so unsure of moments ago, was getting through to
Orlando
.

Orlando noticed Kate first. When he circled and faced her position by the drainpipe, he stopped in his tracks. Dismay slackened his features. "Oh, no," he muttered, and glanced worriedly toward Griffith.

Yup, Orlando was worried on Griffith's behalf, not his own. The toughest nut in the camp, and Griffith had managed to win his loyalty. Kate had time to process this information and have it slip into her heart in the split-second before Griffith turned and saw her.

His expression became the picture of alarmed guilt. "Uh...Kate." Griffith straightened from his fighting crouch and waved a feeble hand in the air. "I see, you're — Uh, this is, uh... This is just..."

He wasn't Eric, if that's what she'd been worried about. In fact, he might be the opposite of Eric. Kate would never be able to pretend otherwise, or use that as an excuse not to move forward in this relationship.

"Just an extracurricular activity?" Strolling out from behind the drainpipe, Kate kept one eyebrow raised and her arms crossed over her chest.

"Right! Uh..." Griffith took a step back. "Totally extracurricular, my own idea — "

"No, it wasn't." Orlando's dark eyes flicked from Griffith to Kate. "It was my idea. In fact, I forced him to do it."

"Really?" Kate turned her interested eyebrow in Orlando's direction. Griffith had earned Orlando's loyalty, all right. "You forced him. Exactly how did you manage that, Orlando?"

"Hey — " Griffith said.

"Blackmail," Orlando told Kate. "I told him I'd lead a rebellion among the little kids if he wouldn't give me lessons."

"Oh, please," Griffith growled. "It was my idea, not his."

"No way — "

"Yes, way."

The two of them looked like they were about to start fighting in earnest, toe to toe and glaring each other down. Watching them, Kate felt a marvelous warmth glow inside. There was no reason to step back here, to let fear and past history cloud the present. The healthy course of action would be to step forward, closer. Now. With this man.

"Excuse me," she broke in. They stopped glaring at each other to turn two fierce gazes her way. She smiled sweetly. "You let me know when you've finished deciding who's to blame."

The fierceness evaporated.

"Look, Kate — "

"I don't think — "

"But I suggest you don't waste your time. It's already forty minutes after lights out and you want to finish your lesson, don't you?" She lifted a hand to waggle her fingers. "I'll thank whoever's idea this was later."

She was both trembling and smiling as she walked away, back toward her cabin. Yes, she was moony and infatuated — but not stupid. No, not stupid.

It seemed her judgment about men wasn't so bad any more.

Kate glanced down at her watch. Her smile shook with emotion. She had only sixty minutes before she did meet Griffith under the oak tree, after all.

~~~

"Penny for your thoughts."

Stupid question, but Griffith badly wanted to know. They'd pulled the blanket out from under the oak tree — lack of intrusion so far had made them bold — and were lying side by side, looking up at the stars. There were enough stars pinpointing the sky to make light on the soft field where they lay. It was enough light for Griffith to see Kate's profile, though she was wearing a completely inscrutable expression.

What was she thinking? Or was she thinking at all? Perhaps she was still in the blissed-out state Griffith had been in for the past half-hour following their frenzied lovemaking.

No longer stupefied by sexual satisfaction, Griffith found himself overcome by a wholly different sort of need as he lay beside Kate, his hand loosely twined with hers.

Did she
like
him at all?

"My thoughts," Kate repeated. Slowly, she smiled. "I was thinking maybe I ought to include martial arts instruction as part of the camp program."

Griffith snorted.

"Hey, you asked."

Griffith hummed reproachfully. "You weren't supposed to find out about our little lessons. You were supposed to live in ignorant bliss."

Kate released a scornful laugh. "If something is going on in this camp, I'll find out about it."

Griffith released a mocking laugh of his own. "So you believe."

Kate turned her head to laugh in earnest then, meeting his eyes.

Emotion swept over him, nearly drowning him. She looked so — with him, right then. So...liking him.

Now
, a voice yelled inside.
Ask her now
. Did she really like him? Was it just for now...or longer? Griffith tried to voice the question, but fear closed his throat.

What if her smile faded when he asked? What if she looked at him like he'd made some terrible faux pas? So instead he asked, "You're really not angry about the boxing lessons?" Damn! He was a coward.

Kate's cheek hollowed as she appeared to bite the inside of it. "Did I say I'm not angry? You only broke every rule I have about physical violence."

"Ah...true. But maybe you're not
majorly
pissed?"

Kate laughed again, a delightful sound, and set one hand on Griffith's cheek — an even more delightful gesture. It made him go warm and soft inside. "How could I be even minorly pissed," she told him, "considering you got through to Orlando?"

"Yeah, well..." Griffith had to look away. The desire to ask her, to
make it so
, rose like a tidal wave. Just as powerful, however, and fighting mightily against him asking the question, was Griffith's fear.

How could she like him?

Nobody liked him.

Now she smoothed her hand down Griffith's face and patted his shoulder, turning a gesture of tenderness into one of pal-like affection. "I'm going to ask him to be a junior counselor next year," she told Griffith, apparently referring to Orlando. Yes, while he was pondering how deep he'd like to take their relationship, she was talking about a fourteen-year-old camper. "I think he'd agree, don't you?"

Griffith sucked in his lips. At least she was asking his opinion. That was good, right? It meant something, yes? Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah, Orlando'd probably be up for that." Especially if, as Griffith believed, Camp Wildwood was still going to be around next summer.

Yes, Griffith was planning to exercise super-human restraint, giving up the construction of Wildwood Homes. But what was all the restraint about if he didn't ask the woman to continue on with him?

Wasn't he choosing her over Wildwood? What did that choice mean if he wasn't going to follow through on it — and get her?

An ugly snake of fear wriggled through Griffith's gut. Get Kate? Him?

Part of him reviled his insecurity. Why
shouldn't
Kate want him? Didn't she
act
like she did? ...sort of? He should be confident, take a chance.

But down deep, where such decisions were really made, Griffith was far from confident. He'd never earned a human being's affection in his life.

Having managed to terrify himself now, he fell back to safe territory. Rising on one elbow, he looked down at Kate with a lascivious half-smile. "Tell you what.
I'm
up for something."

In the starlight, her eyes gleamed. "Is that so?"

"Hmm." Griffith brushed his lips over hers. This he could handle. He knew she liked this.

"Just how far 'up' are you?" Kate asked archly.

Griffith chuckled low, and rocked his hips against her thigh, letting her feel just how up he was.

She laughed deep in her throat.

Griffith kissed her. And so the beat began again, the jungle rhythm that lived between them.

He could ask Kate if she loved him. He could. It wouldn't be so hard.

...Next time.

~~~

"I gotta tell you about the strange phone call I got today." Sitting at her kitchen table, Deirdre licked her fingers of tasty oil from the Kung Pao chicken. An array of white Chinese take-out boxes littered the table. Outside the window that overlooked the second-floor walkway, the summer sky was finally turning from dusky blue to black.

"A strange phone call?" Ricky gazed into a box of orange beef hopefully, then used his chopsticks to shovel the remainder onto his plate.

"Yeah." Deirdre reached for more Kung Pao chicken. "GoldFed Financial called, the junior guy, Ed March. Usually when we talk about the Wildwood project it's purely financial stuff: costs and prices and expected profit margins. But today he had some very technical questions."

"Hm." Frowning, Ricky reached for the big white box full of rice.

Deirdre glanced at him over her Kung Pao. Though he seemed distracted, she was confident he was listening.

"Very technical questions," she went on, "about things like water flow, how many gallons per minute we were expecting at the site. Boy, did I have to fudge, told him it must be in my notes." Deirdre shook her head. "The water thing has always been Griffith's bailiwick. He said he didn't even want me involved, it was too — what was the word he used?" Deirdre tapped her chopsticks against the edge of the box. "Sensitive."

"Huh." Ricky stabbed his chopsticks into the rice.

"I don't even know where to go to get the answer to March's question," Deirdre confessed.

Ricky began shoveling white rice onto his plate, on top of the orange beef.

The silence stretched. Deirdre watched Ricky, and felt her confidence flutter. Why wasn't he saying anything?

At last, after spearing his chopsticks into the food on his plate, Ricky looked up. His lips flattened. "This isn't something you should be telling me."

Deirdre blinked. "What?"

"You shouldn't be telling me about confidential conversations regarding sensitive projects. There's a lot of — Well, it's just confidential."

Deirdre blinked some more. "But we've talked about it before." And he'd been helpful and concerned. Indeed, he'd been so concerned it had really heartened Deirdre. Maybe she was becoming important to him.

So what was this about confidentiality? Was that his subtle way of telling her he didn't care, after all?

The flutter in her stomach became an arrow. Ricky didn't care. He'd never cared. This whole relationship had only been in her mind.

Ricky tapped his chopsticks on the tabletop and met her gaze. Deirdre felt the cold arrow in her middle flip.

The scene did a similar flip in her brain. She was assuming his stern expression meant he didn't care. Why was she assuming that? He cared. He was caring right then, in fact,
protecting
her.

Lord, she was turning paranoid. That wasn't good. Unjustified fear could easily ruin the best thing that had ever happened to her. Instead of assuming the worst, Deirdre had to be brave.

"Confidential," she said slowly. "Yes...I suppose you're right."

Ricky visibly relaxed. "You never know. My law firm might get involved in this transaction. There could be all kinds of ramifications, conflict of interest, that sort of thing."

"Yes," Deirdre said. "That's certainly possible." He was right. She should be more cautious about what she spilled, even in front of Ricky.

And she would not be paranoid. She would not ruin this marvelous thing.

"So, did you try the moo shu pork yet?" Ricky asked, and lifted a box liberally stained with Chinese sauce. He gave her a crooked smile as he offered the box in her direction.

Deirdre felt any lingering coldness inside of her warm. He hadn't meant to warn her off, at least not in a personal sense. His admonition had been strictly professional, a legal opinion. "No, I haven't tried the moo shu pork." She reached for the messy box. "Thanks."

"And do you have any of that Kung Pao left?"

"Uh..."

Ricky laughed at her sheepish expression, and Deirdre laughed with him. Yes, they were okay, they were together. And she would stay confident.

Deirdre passed what little was left of the Kung Pao chicken across the table to Ricky, who was still chuckling. Laying a moo shu pancake on her plate, Deirdre mused that it was a funny thing. She'd been counting on Ricky to give her an idea how to answer the bank guy's questions about the water. But since he'd refused to help, she'd just thought up a way of her own.