EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE (10 page)

He’d never told that story to anyone. Had no idea why he’d told Hollin. Certainly not because he wanted her pity. But had he told her so he could hold it over her, make her feel guilty? Make her understand the hate and resentment he felt for her.

He realized she was staring up at him. Raw hurt glittered in her eyes as well as a gentleness, an understanding. She raised her free hand and touched his cheek. The cheek she’d slapped only moments ago.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Coming up on tip-toe, she brushed her soft lips to his cheek, jaw, neck, raining his skin with tiny kisses. “I . . . am . . . so . . . sorry.” A tear escaped from beneath her lashes and landed on his collar bone.

Griffin released her wrist, intending to step back. Away from her, away from her reach. But she lifted her hand and brought it behind his neck, pulling his face down to hers. Something intense flared through his insides. She was so disturbing to him in every single way.

He hated her, or at least he’d tried to convince himself he did. Grasping her by her shoulders to hold her back, he gave her a gentle shake. Her head snapped back, allowing him to look deeply into her tear-filled eyes. Did she have any idea what she did to him, how she made him feel?

“Damn you, Hollin,” he said between clenched teeth, and then he kissed her.

#

Hollin was shocked by her eager response to the touch of his lips. Her mouth opened, letting his tongue inside to swirl with hers. She tasted the liquor he’d been drinking, warm and potent.

He kissed her with a savage intensity, like he couldn’t get enough, angling his mouth one way to cover hers, and then tipping his head to the other side and kissing her again.

Her breasts were crushed to his hard chest, and his hands were all over her. On her back, the sides of her breasts, her waist, her butt, pulling her tightly against him. The way he ground against her pelvis told her he was clearly aroused, as she was sure he’d intended for her to know.

She let her hands fall from around his neck to explore the hard muscles of his back and shoulders. Deftly, she lifted the T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans to feel the blazing heat of his skin.

His mouth left hers to graze at her earlobe. His breath was hot and moist against her skin. “Hollin,” he whispered. “I want you so badly. I’ve wanted you for so long.” He found his way under the cashmere sweater, his rough palms firm and persuasive on the backs of her thighs, pulling her leg up to wrap around his hip.

Their lips met again, lingering, savoring with hungry, open-mouthed kisses, as he molded her bottom, kneading, pressing her into him.

Something within her burned, awakening her passion and sweetly draining all the fears and doubts she’d had. With a boldness that surprised even her, she brought her hands to his hard abdomen, her fingers toying with the crisp hair around his navel. She ran her hands up his chest, teased his flat nipples to tiny little peaks, then smoothed a path down his stomach, stopping at his navel again.

It would be so easy to lower a hand inside his jeans, to touch his erection. Instead, she touched the snap of his jeans. It was open, like it was when he’d answered the door. His zipper was only a fraction of an inch away. With shaky fingers, she tentatively touched the zipper pull, giving it a tiny tug. But Griffin jerked her hand away, and at the same time, broke the kiss.

“Hollin, you’re playing with fire.” His voice was raspy, his breath coming in heavy gulps.

She planted both feet on the warm hardwood floor. But rather than heed his warning, she looked up into his passion filled eyes. “Make love to me. Please, Griffin,” she begged.

His chest rose and fell with each of the heavy breaths he took. His eyes narrowed, hardened. The way he was staring at her she thought for sure he was going to push her away. Then his eyes glazed over and he lowered his head to kiss her again. Slowly, gently this time, yet he was being thorough, his tongue reaching every recess of her mouth.

Raising his mouth from hers, he gazed into her eyes, watching her reaction as he pushed his hand inside the waistband of her flimsy boxers. His fingers searched out her heat. He teased, separated her folds, and pressed a finger inside her.

Shivers of delight followed his touch, and wanting more, she opened her legs slightly to accommodate him. She clung to his muscular arms, allowing him to explore. But soon her legs grew weak, and just when she thought she couldn’t take any more without exploding, he lifted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her to his bedroom.

Hollin wrapped her arms around Griffin’s neck. Her head fit perfectly into the hollow of his neck and shoulder, where his skin was nice and warm.

Just inside the door to his bedroom, he flicked a wall switch with his elbow, and a lamp lit the room with a soft glow. The room was masculine. Classy, but without the frills. Hardwood floors, big but functional furniture with an iron bed that looked like an antique. A butter cream leather sofa sat near the sliding glass doors.

The black, goose down comforter and red, black and white striped sheets were rumpled. Griffin set her down gently in the center of the bed and gazed into her eyes.

He pressed a knee to the mattress, climbing atop the bed, and reached for the sweater he’d loaned her, pulling it over her head with one clean sweep.

Her first instinct was to cover her bare breasts, and her hands began to lift of their own accord, but she lowered them just as quickly. She watched his face, gauging his reaction as he sat on his knees staring at her chest. Did he find her appealing? Too small?

And then he lifted his heated gaze and met her eyes. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Her heart swelled with something she refused to call love. She wasn’t going to kid herself. Griffin wasn’t in love with her, nor was she in love with him. What they were about to do had to do with need, comfort, pleasure. She’d never wanted to make love with anyone except Griffin. But the night she was raped all thoughts about being with a man had quickly dissipated.

Looping an arm around his neck, she pulled him with her as she lowered her head to one of the feather pillows. After a long, sweet kiss, his mouth sought out her breast, and with his tongue, he traced a pattern around her nipple.

Shivering with a mixture of fear and delight, she tugged at his neck, until he fastened his entire mouth onto her nipple and sucked it with greed. Flames of passion licked at her insides, the spot between her legs growing hot and wet like molten lava. “Yes. More. Please, Griffin.”

He didn’t disappoint, nipping, suckling, remembering to use the same torture on her other breast until she thought she would explode. She couldn’t lie still. She pressed the palms of her hands into the mattress, lifting her hips from the bed.

Griffin released her nipple with a wet, sloppy pop. “Relax,” he whispered, trailing a finger from her breast, past her navel, to the waistband of her boxers.

“I can’t,” she sighed. “I need you.”

“Shhh,” he said. “I’m going to take care of that.”

He lifted her hips off the mattress, stripping her of the boxers. She was completely naked in front of a man for the first time. This time, she did cover herself, but Griffin pulled her hands away, and pinned her wrists at her sides. “Let me look at you.”

Gazing up at her with a question in his eyes, he put pressure on her wrists at the same time. She could read his mind, knew him so well, this man she’d known when she was a young girl. He was asking permission to hold her wrists down. Normally, she wouldn’t have been able to stand it, but this was Griffin.

“I want to taste you. Do you trust me not to hurt you?”

A hot shiver ran up her spine. Hollin closed her eyes, telling herself to relax. “Yes. I trust you,” she whispered.

She felt his tongue dip into her navel and swirl around her belly, searing a path down her abdomen and lower. He teased the insides of her thighs, coming dangerously close to her center, then moving away. Instinctively, her body arched toward his mouth, begging him to taste her.

“Please,” she moaned.

And then he touched his tongue to her most sensitive spot.

She gasped, her eyes popping open to watch him. His expert touch was a huge turn on. He seemed to know exactly where to place his mouth and tongue and how.

“Spread your legs for me,” he mouthed against her, and she did, giving him better access. He groaned as if he was enjoying the taste and smell of her, which also excited her. And then shivers of delight spread throughout her body, reaching between her thighs. Her head shifted restlessly on the pillow, her hips bucking.

“Griffin,” she called out, barely able to speak.

“It’s okay, baby. Come against my mouth.”

And then there was no turning back. Wave after wave of pleasure washed through her as Griffin lapped at her juices. He released her wrists, molding his hands over her sensitive breasts and squeezing, giving her time to return to normal.

Slowly, he raised himself over her and kissed her throat, her face, her lips. She could smell and taste her own scent.

“Are you okay?” he asked, peering down at her.

She nodded, smiling sweetly with an exhausted sigh. Her eyes drifted shut. Her whole body was weary, languid. “Never felt better.”

He lowered his weight to the bed, pulled her head to rest on his chest and cradled her in his arms. “Go to sleep.”

Hollin opened her eyes to search his face. “But, what about you? I thought we were going to make love.”

“This time was for you.” He kissed the top of her head, easing her head down again.

“But--”

“Hollin, have you ever made love with a man?”

“No,” she said, almost embarrassed.

“I didn’t think so. When and
if
we make love, I want to make sure it doesn’t have anything to do with you feeling guilty or sorry for me. I want you to be able to look me in the eye while I’m inside you. I want you to ride me fast and hard. And I want to take you in every position I can think of, without you being afraid.”

Tiny electrical charges raced through her veins as she listened to his words. Was she feeling guilty for ruining his life? Did she feel sorry for him? And would she freak out once he penetrated her? She wished she could answer “No” to all those questions, but she was afraid Griffin was right. She did feel guilty, and sorry for him. And, in spite of wanting to make love with him, she was terrified.

Hollin smoothed a hand over his T-shirt covered chest and nestled more closely. She loved the smell of him, soap and man. “Griffin,” she whispered.

“Hmmm?”

“Remember the sheriff’s deputy found your pocketknife near my garage.”

She heard him swallow thickly. “I swear to you, Hollin, I don’t know how it got there.”

“I know. I believe you.” She touched her lips to his throat. “Before I showed up on your doorstep earlier, I’d gone over all the details of that horrible night.”

“And?” he prompted, massaging her arm and shoulder.

“And there was no pocketknife lying on the ground that night. I remember Deputy Barnes pointing to where he’d found it. At the time, I could barely look at the area where . . .” She sighed. “All I know is that after it was over, I had stared at those lilies and there was nothing on the ground beneath them but dirt.”

They lay together in silence for a few minutes, then Griffin pulled the covers up around her, his fingers lightly touching her hair. The sun was coming up. She could see the lake’s reflection bouncing off the sliding glass doors, which led to a wooden deck. The wind howled, but the sound of the waves rolling into shore was soothing.

She lifted her head, looked at him thoughtfully. “Whoever hurt me that night is still out there.”

Griffin met her gaze, took her face in his hands and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Listen to me, Hollin. No one is ever going to hurt you again. Not as long as I’m alive to protect you.”

She believed him. And his reassurance allowed the sleep to come she so badly needed. When she opened her eyes several hours later, Griffin was gone.

#

Hollin drove home shortly after noon, wearing the sweater Griffin had loaned her under her trench coat. She parked the car in the drive and was about to enter the back door when Neil Thorpe stepped from behind a bush.

Startled, she brought her hand to her throat, and at the same time dropped her keys on the brick walkway. Her heart pounded in her chest. “Neil, what are you doing here?”

He bent over to retrieve her key ring, and for the first time she noticed the bald spot at the top of his sandy blond head. So much for him not aging.

“I was waiting for you to come home.” He closed in on her, handed her the keys.

Hollin took them, then retreated hastily. “Why?”

“What are you wearing?” he asked, his gaze glued to the front of her body.

At the tone of his voice, a shadow of alarm slipped into her senses, and she immediately closed and belted the coat around her. “Neil, what is it you want? You can’t keep dropping in on me like this.”

His gaze traveled slowly up her body to her face. “Josephine said you were upstairs asleep when I got here over an hour ago. But when she went to wake you, you were gone.”

“I left early this morning. I took a drive,” she said defensively, even though it was none of his business.

“Are you seeing someone else?” he asked, looking as if she had betrayed him.

“Someone else?” she mocked. Anger and fear singed the corners of her control. Could Neil have been the one who’d hurt her that night? She sucked in a breath and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Who I see and where I spend my time is none of your business, Neil. I’d like for you to leave.”

“But, Hollin--” He reached for her, managing to touch her elbow before she jerked away from him.

“Don’t touch me. And don’t ever hide in my bushes again.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought I’d stay out of sight in case you weren’t alone when you came back.”

Hollin tried to swallow the bile building in her throat. “Neil, please stay away from me. Don’t drop in, and don’t call me.”

“Hollin, please,” he said, looking like a young boy about to cry. “Have you any idea how I feel about you? Griffin Wells is a pig. He hurt you. I can’t believe you’re still talking to him.”

She gasped, a shiver of panic shooting through her insides. “Have you been watching me? Following me?” She jabbed her keys at his chest, and he moved back a step, raising his hands defensively in front of him.

“No! It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t following you. I was--”

“Stay away from me. The next time you come anywhere near me I’m calling the sheriff.”

She bulldozed her way past him, charged up the back steps and into the kitchen.

“Hollin, wait! Listen to me!”

Hollin slammed the door shut and flung herself against it. “Oh my God,” she whispered, dropping her keys and purse on the floor. Thoughts that Neil could have been the one curdled her stomach. Heaving, she ran up the stairs to her private bathroom.

She told herself to calm down, to be rational. Because she had pointed the finger so quickly thirteen years ago, Griffin had spent three years in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed. Did she really want that to happen to someone else?

She didn’t like Neil. He gave her the creeps. And he’d been following her. But those weren’t reasons enough to think he may have raped her. Or were they?

#

Griffin had just disconnected from his third phone call in five minutes, when Frannie buzzed him. “Sorry to bother you, but there’s someone here to see you,” she said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper.

“I’m really very busy at the moment,” he said, distracted with looking for a set of drawings he’d had only minutes ago. “Does he have an appointment?”

“No, and it’s not a he, it’s a . . . she.”

Griffin waited for his secretary to announce the woman’s name, but she didn’t say anything more. She simply hung up the phone, leaving him with no choice but to go see for himself who it was waiting to see him. “I don’t have time for this shit,” he mumbled, getting to his feet. He opened his door and peered out into the reception area.

Frannie glanced up at him with an apologetic look on her face. Her frizzy, burgundy hair clashed with her plum suit. Griffin followed her gaze to the small sofa across the room.

Hollin sat perched on one end, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck and secured with some kind of clip. She stared up at him and blinked.

He hadn’t seen her since the morning he’d gone to work and had left her sleeping in his bed. That was three days ago. He hadn’t bothered to change the bedding, loving the lingering smell of her against his pillowcase and sheets.

He’d thought about leaving her a note that morning, had gone as far as picking up a pen and notepad, but then changed his mind. What could he have written that wouldn’t sound corny? Instead, he’d been hoping she’d simply call, or stop by, but he hadn’t heard a word from her. And it had annoyed him.

“Hollin,” he said. From the corner of his eye, he could see Frannie’s fingers dancing frantically at the keyboard. On the monitor was a bunch of gibberish. She was obviously pretending to be busy working, when she was really listening in.

The woman he’d gotten to know so well over the past three years loved to gossip, and he had a feeling she would be on the phone with a friend as soon as he and Hollin stepped into his office. It was a good thing she was so damn efficient, or he would have said something. Not wanting to offend her, he let it go. The poor woman had been married for close to thirty years, when her husband announced he was leaving her for one of his twenty-year-old college students.

Hollin stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her prim, navy blue skirt and jacket. “Hello, Griffin. I apologize for not calling first but I’d like to talk to you, if you can spare a few minutes. It’s business,” she added, her gaze flashing quickly to his secretary and back.

“Sure. Come on in,” he said, then turned his attention to Frannie. “Hold my calls, please.”

GW Construction was located in the center of town. They occupied the first floor of a century-old house he’d renovated. The place was unique in that each room had a woodburning fireplace and the original hardwood floors, crown moldings and trim. The local newspaper had even written a story, complete with photos, when he’d opened his office here. A real estate broker was renting the upstairs.

He closed the door once Hollin stepped inside and was about to offer her a seat when he noticed both chairs were covered with blueprints. “Sorry,” he said, gathering the rolled tubes from one chair to make room for her. “Spring is the busiest time around here.” He set the tubes atop the ones in the opposite chair, then went around to sit behind his desk.