Irresistible Stranger (13 page)

It wasn't her fault that she caved. How awful could a day be? Being hauled to the police department. Being almost arrested. Feeling responsible for the fire in the library. Feeling responsible for the fire at Griff's. Not even knowing why she was feeling responsible. And then uncovering all that messy past stuff at the newspaper office—good information, good clues, but still nothing substantial enough to change the past or present. On top of which, Griff's dragging her into the diner that morning had been a stomach-clencher. Yes, people talked to her, but initially they'd looked at her with such suspicion, it had felt like wearing a red stripe in her hair. No one looked at her as if they saw
her.
They just saw the red stripe.

And Griff…damn the man, but he was turning into her vice. The best vice she'd ever taken up. She never thought she could do it—throw everything to the wind for one man, one wild fling of irresponsible sex, and not feel a single ounce of guilt. This was so right that she just couldn't care. He was so right for her heart, for her soul, for her life at this moment, that nothing else could possibly matter more.

He kneaded and rubbed and stroked, her neck, scalp, down the slope of her spine, pushing her shorts down to just the swell of her fanny, where he could rub the very small of her back. “You're tense,” he murmured. “Pecan Valley hasn't exactly been a vacation for you, has it?”

He didn't mean it as a question. Didn't mean for her to answer. But if he thought she was tense because of
her personal problems, she needed to correct that notion immediately.

She was tense, all right.

Because of him. For him.

She twisted beneath him, setting the raft on a wild rock, startling the vulnerable shine in Griff's eyes. Oh yeah, she wasn't the only one who needed love. She suspected he'd never had a shortage of offers for sex. But love wasn't the same thing at all.

She found his mouth, took it. It wasn't a moment of pleasure she wanted to offer him—but a moment of risk. It was her turn to rub and knead and stroke. Her hands stole under his shirt, pushed up the fabric, not caring that it bunched, not caring that her knees and elbows seemed to be in the wrong place.

“Hey, sugar…” His voice was lazy as molasses, but his eyes weren't. His gaze was all fire and heat, his skin already glazed, his intent as explosive as any accelerant could possibly be. “You started things last time. Don't you think we should take turns?”

“No.”

“No?” The hint of a smile in his voice. “Well…we could argue about it. I can't think of a more fun argument. But this time, this night, I just can't let you win, Lily, I'm sorry.”

He wasn't sorry. He wasn't the least bit sorry. What he knew and what she knew was a little like comparing candlelight to a forest fire. She was a quick learner, but it was hard to catch up with a guy who'd been around as many blocks as he had. And he was so darned fast.

Clothes were pushed and pulled and yanked free.

Some, she feared, went into the water. For sure, a shoe did.

Moonlight caught the gleam of his hair, the glisten of his skin…the need in his face, in his heart. Maybe he thought this was about seduction. But she closed her eyes and just…gave.

Everything she had.

His tongue on her breast, his palm sliding down into her panties, into her…the way he clenched that contact. He knew it would ignite her. He knew.

But she knew a few things, too. She knew as much about loneliness as he did. She knew intimately about traveling life solo, about a heart too damaged to risk any more losses, about always that need, that hunger, that hole deep down that never got filled. It wasn't something she shared with anyone else. It wasn't something she could even explain. But she knew Griff at some level, knew his heart at some level. Knew…

Knew nothing. Except to touch and give and lay her wants bare. They slid against each other, skin slick, lips wet, need trembling with more and more ferocity raging between both of them. She used her hands as an accelerant, finding a way to stroke him, to tease the long, firm length of him…until he let out of a growl of frustration. Such a growl that she had to laugh.

She quit laughing when he plunged inside her. Her eyes popped open, met his, matched his. She wound her legs up and tight on his hips, felt him scooch her even higher, felt him driving, driving, driving into her like a lion possessing his mate. He'd have hurt her, except he
couldn't. She was wet, willing, encouraging the wildness, encouraging him to let go, to be. With her. All he was.

He came on a long guttural groan that echoed her own fierce cry. The tight pulsing explosions seemed to go on and on, pleasure that stole both her breath and her heart.

Silence followed that symphony of sensation. He eased his weight off her, but then just pulled her close. She practiced trying to breathe normally, but it was tough, with his fingers softly threading through her hair, his gaze on her face as if she were the sun and the moon and then some.

Eventually frogs got around to burping again. Owls restarted their hoot thing. Maybe those sounds had been happening before, but she hadn't heard them. She hadn't heard or seen anything but Griff.

“We can't ever do this again,” she murmured regretfully.

His brow raised. “Hmm. I could have sworn you were having a good time a few moments ago.”

“Oh. I was. But that's just the thing. We keep doing this, you'll have permanently ruined me for anyone else. Before you, I was perfectly happy thinking that making love was a nice thing to share between two people who really, really care about each other.”

His eyebrows raised again. “And now you don't think that?”

“Of course not. You're ruining me, like I said. I didn't know it could be…you know. Insane. Crazy. Wanting so much you hurt. Needing so much you can't breathe.
Flying over the moon so high you don't need wings. That kind of thing.”

“All right. If you're willing to get into that deep, dark confession territory—I have to admit, I've always been fond of sex.”

“No kidding?”

He tugged her hair. Gently. “But I can't say I've ever experienced what we've been doing. The incendiary thing. The starting a fire that turns into an explosive, hot, uncontrollable thing. The wanting you beyond being able to think or speak or even care if the rest of the world were falling in.”

“See what I was saying? We just can't do this again. It's too dangerous.”

“You don't think there's any other answer?”

“Well…maybe we could just stay here. Right here. On this raft. Forever.”

She didn't mean any of it of course, because she was a practical, serious, responsible person, always had been, always would be. But just then…she meant every word. She loved the banter. Loved the roll of his voice, the hush of it, the promise of it. She loved his tenderness. Who knew? That a man so full of the devil could have that much tenderness? Could show it?

Could share it.

She started to say something—then heard the buzz, saw the mosquito, and fast, slapped Griff's shoulder.

“Uh-oh. Is the love affair over already?” he complained.

“I was helping you. I killed the mosquito before it got you.”

“Well, shoot. I thought we were both pretty well coated up with bug spray—but I suspect if they're starting to land, we'd better get out of here.”

“Are you going to let me pole back?”

“Sugar, I'd let you do anything you wanted, anything you asked for. Just try me.”

“Oh, good. Because I was rethinking that jewelry business. I've never been that fond of diamonds, but I do like amethysts. All the colors of amethyst, purples and greens, the whole lot. Oh. And opals. I've never seen an opal I didn't lust after. Rings, earrings, necklaces, bracelets…” He may or may not have noticed that she never wore jewelry, but roleplaying a greedy golddigger kept him chuckling as she poled them back.

It was fun. Figuring out how to make the raft move via the pole took a certain rhythm to figure out, but then it was like…dancing. Gliding into the darkness, with the white-silver ridge behind them, and the snowy moon speckling light through the leaves.

For tonight, Griff had done the impossible—made her forget fears and worries, fires and frauds. Not completely. But somehow, when she was with Griff, she believed everything would ultimately come out all right.

If that belief was irrational, she didn't care.

When they reached shore, he tied up the raft, grabbed the armload of gear he'd brought, and still managed to find a hand to hold hers, climbing back up to the car. “You're coming home with me tonight.”

He didn't phrase it like a question, but she answered it that way. “Not a good idea.”

“Why.”

“Because…I need fresh clothes. I don't have anything but what I'm wearing.”

“I've got a shirt you can put on. And a washer and dryer just like everyone else.”

“Louella will worry if I don't come home. The darned woman waits up.”

“So you can phone her.”

“I can't phone her! Then she'll know I'm sleeping with you!”

“Ah. The puritan streak surfaces. But we can still solve that.
I'll
phone her and tell her some lie. Like that you fell asleep while we were watching a Walt Disney movie, so I just let you crash on my couch.” He paused, apparently saw the “no” was still on her face. “Okay, sugar. Now what's the real reason you don't want to sleep over?”

“Because.” She climbed into the car seat, curled up, and strapped on the seat belt with a major yawn.

When he climbed in the other side, he reached over, kissed her, turned the key, and then resumed their mature conversation. “Because why?”

“Do I have to have a reason? Can't a girl just say no?”

“Of course you can. But I won't stop badgering you until you give me one.”

“Come on, Griff. The first time I met you, I told you to stay away from me. People love you here. And you've been standing by me, which I appreciate. But I don't want you hurt by being with me. By being associated with me.”

He shot out on the highway. “I had a feeling it was a really dumb reason like that.”

“It's not dumb.”

“
You're
not dumb. You're plenty smart. But that
is
a dumb reason. We're in the South, sugar. A few are still concerned about who won the War of Aggression. But even if we don't talk about it, grown-ups are generally allowed to be in love. To love. And if anyone had a problem with that, I wouldn't want to know them. Or for you to waste your time on them. And—”

“And what?”

“And if you come home with me, we can take a shower together. You saw my shower room. It has seats. You can choose pulsing spray or rain or jets or any other speed of water you want. Any temperature you want. I've got towels thicker than your finger—”

“Stop.” She put her hand over her ears. “I can't stand this level of temptation.”

“Good,” he murmured and took her home.

G
riff knew what a long day she'd had. As he ushered her inside, his thought was a soothing soaker for them both, after which he'd pour her into bed.

That wasn't his preferred plan. Ideally he'd make love to her again—maybe twice. His body was inspired to replicate the extraordinary experience on the raft—on a comfortable mattress. But that was pretty damned selfish. There was always the morning.

And the next morning.

And the next morning after that.

“Griff…” She yawned as she stumbled in behind him. “I see the blinking light on your machine. You've got messages.”

“They'll wait.” He switched on a living room lamp, only to illuminate their path back to his room. He'd turned off his cell, knew she'd turned off hers for a few
hours that evening. Surely they were safe from any more emergencies or catastrophes for a few hours. He needed that time with her.

It was still rattling in his head—an awareness that all the sweet talk after making love hadn't been sweet talk. Not for him. He was hooked.

He'd never been hooked. In lust, a million times. In crush, more than a million. In love. Real love. Never.

The sensation was damn near terrorizing.

Abruptly, he heard her shriek coming from down the hall, and had to grin.

“Come on. You've seen the bathroom before.”

“I wouldn't care if I'd seen it a dozen times. That's not the point! The point is that I'm living with you forever! That's it! Don't argue with me! Nothing and no one will ever make me leave you!”

“Yeah, yeah.
Now
you talk big. But the first time I snore you'll probably run for the hills.” He pushed off shoes, switched on the bedside lamp, pulled off his shirt—but she wasn't paying any attention to him.

She was still shrieking and crowing from his bathroom. “This is
sinful.
You should be ashamed! Talk about sybaritic. Talk about—”

“Don't be so shy. Tell me what you really think.” The bedroom, truth to tell, wasn't much. He never spent much time there. The mattress was the best money could buy, the sheets high quality, but otherwise, it was just a big room that did a good job of shutting out noise and distractions. Back when he'd been a serious insomniac.

That had been part of his motivation for the fancy shower. De-tensing wasn't easy for him. Everyone
thought he was a low-key guy—everyone except Lily, anyway. The reality was that he used to walk the floor at nights, so tired he couldn't think, yet still unable to sleep. He told her about that.

“Sounds like pretty serious insomnia,” she said.

“It was. One time, I went three days without sleep. I started to get downright weird.”

“Of course you did.”

He frowned, unsure how she'd sort of manipulated things. He'd barely stepped in the bathroom before she was pulling off his shirt, peeling down his shirt, looking up at him with a grin that…well, hell. Obviously he was aroused again. He could have nailed railroad spikes with the hammer strength of his hard-on. That was her doing. He was
trying
to be good.

She'd raved about his bathroom before, but he figured she might be laying it on thick because she was Lily, and she knew he loved the damned room. The core structure was white marble and lapis—nice, but the big to-do was the shower room. The glass wall overlooked the ravine. It was fun as hell, being naked, feeling like you were in the open. Every bird in the county could see you—maybe raccoons, if they could climb high enough. But there were no houses or humans with that kind of visibility.

The other three walls of the shower were redwood, as were the long, layout benches. The shower had a double step-down, so you could soak feet, or sit in waist-high water…or you could just stand there and do the shower thing, choose either a deluge or tropic storm or spring rain, depending on the force of water you wanted.

As far as he could tell, Lily wanted it all. Just stood
there and lapped it all in like a sea nymph. He shampooed her hair, because she was such a sucker for a head rub. From the suds to the sluice of water to the slick textures of soap and silky skin, he saw the building laughter in her eyes. That natural sensuality coming out of hiding. That come-on in her expression, as if all inhibitions had been stripped away, locked out of this room—
their
room—their moment together.

And it was light in here, not dark, like on the raft. He could run his hands down—
walk
his hands down—all the slopes and valleys at a nice, slow pace. Her breasts had an extra tightness. “Lumpy,” she whispered.

He understood. She was warning him that she was tender, probably pre-period tender. He was more than happy to be careful, infinitely careful. He could have played on her skin all night. Cartwheels. Sonatas. Poetry. Rock and roll. Art. He wanted to drink her in in every which way….

Until out of the blue, he noticed her suddenly trembling.

“Hey? You cold?”

“No. No.” She lifted her head. Smiled. He saw the terror in her eyes. “I know what you're doing,” she said.

Her voice was brave.

“Yeah?”

She rushed on. “Both of us have been doing a lot of play talk. Pretending like we have a relationship. But you live here, Griff, and I don't. I can't even imagine coming back here to live. And I just want to be sure you know—I'm happy playing. I never expected more.”

“No?” He murmured, and started switching off the jets, the faucets. She sounded as sure as a leaf in the wind.

“Absolutely not,” she promised him. “I'm happy with us. Just as we are.”

That chin was tilted up, but she still couldn't hide that crack in her voice.

He reached for a towel—one of those bigger-than-a-blanket towels, so it was easy to get her immediately covered and warmer. He rubbed her dry, thinking this was the best job he'd had in a long time.

“I don't want more,” she said. “You don't have to worry. This is perfect just as it is.”

“Uh-huh.” It was hard to buy the deal she was selling him. Lily was a player like Bambi was a wrestler. He'd known it from the start. She wasn't a one-shot deal. An affair. A wonderful—but forgettable—lover.

She was unforgettable even before he'd taken her to bed.

For a man who'd resisted all efforts to be tied down—who had never allowed himself to believe in permanence, who didn't believe himself capable of caring that much—she was shaking his timbers. And he didn't like it.

Still, if he was stuck suffering the terrors of falling in love, he wasn't the only one going down.

“Hey,” she murmured. “I'm smothering.”

When he wrapped her up in the big towel, her face had gotten accidentally covered. “I will never,” he promised, “smother you.” He laid her down on the bed, switched off the light, then dove down beside her. He pulled back the towel edge just to see her face.

A wicked smile was waiting for him. Her eyes were dark with desire, with boldness. Some of that bravado was still hovering in her trembling mouth when he dipped down and took it. In the process of that kiss, he discovered that his own damn mouth was trembling, too.

“Lily,” he whispered, and started to say something else—when the telephone rang.

The cell phones had been turned off, and the ringer wasn't from his landline. The chime was from the private cell he kept on the dresser, an emergency number that only a handful of people had.

Lily saw his expression change. “Go,” she said.

“I have to answer it.”

She just nodded, lifted up on her elbows as he vaulted across the room and grabbed the phone.

He didn't know ahead which kid was calling, just that it was a kid. Jason's voice could sound as if he were one hundred and ten years old or four. This was a small child's voice. “You said I could call if I ever really had trouble.”

“You know you can. Where are you?”

“The road into Shanty Creek. The woods left of the entrance road there.” A pause. “The bugs are pretty bad. I just wondered if—”

“I'll be there. Take me less than ten.” He filled Lily in while he yanked on pants, a tee, pushed on sandals, grabbed his car keys.

“Do you want me to go back to Louella's?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to make up a bed, that kind of thing…?”

He should have known she'd get the picture.

Less than a half hour later, he was bringing Jason into the house. The boy had been in worse shape. There were no broken bones this time, no burns. But the right eye was almost swollen shut, and he'd taken a kick to the kidneys that made him wince when he walked. Every mosquito in the county had nailed him, and his face had that look—that no one's gonna reach me look—that Griff had seen before, but Lily sure as hell hadn't.

She'd pulled on a T-shirt of his, a pair of his shorts, somehow found some string, tied it into a belt to hold up the crazy outfit. His washing machine was running. A first-aid kit sat open on the counter. She took one look at Jason, sucked in a breath, lifted frantic eyes to him—and then just moved.

“Well, if you aren't a complete mess,” she murmured gently. “Let's get you cleaned up and some ice on that eye. You go bury yourself in mud, did you? You hungry, honey?”

Jason didn't want to look at her, didn't want to talk to her, clearly didn't expect anyone to be there but Griff.

Griff could see she was handling him. She kept up a steady patter of gentle talk, which enabled him to do what he needed to immediately do—which was to hit the phone.

He called Sheriff Conner first, woke him up, told him where the boy was. “Nobody getting any sleep this week in the whole durned town,” The sheriff grumbled. “You know Lily hasn't left town besides.”

“Lily is right here with me.”

“Well, at least we know she isn't setting fires. You call Loreen?”

“She's next.”

“Need a hospital?”

“Close. But no.”

“All right. I'll check with you first thing in the morning.”

He called the social worker, Loreen. They'd been through the same routine a half-dozen times before.

The house didn't quiet down until past three in the morning. Lily sat in the spare bedroom until Jason fell asleep. She left a light on, the door open, tiptoed into his bedroom with zombie eyes. His were just as blurry.

“How often does that happen?” she asked. “And what happens to Jason after this?”

He gave her the rundown. He called, told people where Jason was, so there'd be no question. The sheriff would roust Jason's father, coop him up for a few days. It was like a lot of life's problems: everyone knew what should happen, but it wasn't that simple to make “right things” happen in an imperfect world.

“I've gotten Jason out of the house, into foster care before—but so far, he's always found a way to steal back home. He doesn't want to leave his mom and younger brother. So he goes back. The mom'll get counseling. The dad'll get counseling and jail hours. The dad'll be real, real sorry. And it'll happen again. Until Jason's mom leaves the creep. That's the real answer. But so far she's not willing to do it.”

“And how did you get involved?”

“Beats me. I'm just trying to sit around and sell a little ice cream.”

“Griff.”

“What?”

“It's a little late to sell me the lazy bad-boy persona.”

He shut his eyes. “He wants me to take him in. But that's not an answer, you know? I know Jason thinks it is. Steve. A couple other kids. But what they really need is more complicated than that. They need a legal system that works for them, that they know how to use. They need to develop enough insight to analyze who to trust, who not to trust. They need to see and believe that good people will stand up for them. They need to believe that life can work, that things can be better, that there are other choices and how to get to them.” He yawned.

“You didn't need this on top of the arson problem, did you?” she murmured, and then, “What is this? We're talking like kids on a sleepover. It's the middle of the night.”

“Well, quit talking then, sugar.”

“You first.”

“I can't go to sleep if you're going to spoon against me like that.”

“Oh, yeah you can,” she whispered again, and the damn woman—and really, Lily could be mighty annoying sometimes—was right.

That was the last thing he remembered until daylight.

 

When Lily awoke, she was burrowed into Griff's shoulder like a squirrel in wintertime. The room was snuggle-cool, all the shades drawn, Griff's warmth the perfect way to open her eyes.

Until she did open her eyes, and unfortunately remembered her life.

She was in a strange bed, wearing nothing at all, in the middle of a town of people who seemed to think she was an arsonist, where trying to clear her father's name had caused unexplained trouble for everyone. On top of which, she was in love with a man she had as much in common with as peanut butter and anchovies.

It was enough to wake up a girl fast.

She sneaked out of bed, tiptoed around to find toothpaste and steal his deodorant, then pulled yesterday's clothes out of the dryer and went in search of a coffeemaker. Griff needed all the sleep he could get, she figured—since being around her seemed to have shortened everyone's sleep in the whole town. Including her own.

She peeked in on Jason, who was also sleeping like the dead, curled up in a fetal position, the light still on, looking very much like a normal, innocent ten-year old…except for the swollen red-and-black eye. Her heart clenched. It wasn't
totally
her fault she'd fallen for Griff. The big faker was exactly that kind of man—the type who'd take in a battered kid, who'd take on the system, who'd pick up a child who wasn't remotely his responsibility in the middle of the night and stand up for him.