No Knight Needed (18 page)

“They’re just dessert,” Clare protested.

“No,” said Griffin. “They’re passion.”

“Oh...” Emma nodded. “He’s right you know. Just like my art and Astrid’s jewelry.”

Astrid grinned and slid a key across the table toward her. “Harlan slipped me the key to the Bean Pot when I told him that you might be interested.”

“I’m not interested.” But Clare couldn’t help but stare at the shiny silver key that looked like it had just been cut. It was sitting on the table so close, just waiting for her to pick it up. A sudden yearning pulsed through her. What if there was a way to make a living by doing what she loved? What if—

An envelope dropped on the table in front of her, and she looked up to see Jackson Reed standing behind Emma. “Morning, Clare. Here’s Jeff’s estimate for your roof.” He gave her an apologetic shrug. “It’s not as low as you were hoping for, but it’s the best he’ll offer. Let me know if you want to do it.”

“Okay, thanks.” Clare picked up the envelope with a resigned sigh. This was her life, this was her reality. Would a few cupcakes pay for her new roof? No chance. Was she going to force her daughter to sleep in the car so she could play in the kitchen? No, she wasn’t. She was going to do her job and take care of her daughter. The Bean Pot would just have to go to someone else. “I’ll look at the bid and get back to you.”

“Sounds good.” To her surprise, Jackson didn’t leave. Instead, he nodded at Griffin, as if they knew each other. “Hey, Griff.”

Griff? Griffin Friesé was so not a “Griff.”

But Griffin shook Jackson’s hand in one of those rough and tough handshakes between men who understood each other. “Morning, Jackson. Give my best to Trish.”

Jackson’s smile lit up his face. “Will do, my man. Will do.” He nodded at the rest of them. “Take care, ladies. Be nice to Griffin. It’s one against three at this table.”

Astrid laughed. “I think he can take care of himself.”

“Agreed.” Jackson grinned at them all, then headed out the door toward his truck.

“How do you know Jackson and Trish?” Clare asked.

Griffin shrugged. “Small town. He’s a good guy.”

Clare smiled at his perceptiveness. “He is. Trish is wonderful, and he’s so good to her.”

Griffin got a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched Jackson get into his truck. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

Emma pushed the key closer. “Take it, Clare. Just go take a peek at the store. That doesn’t mean you have to do it.”

“Trust me,” Astrid said. “Turning your passion into your work is amazing. I’ll even help you with the internet stuff. I bet you can get a serious online client base—”

“No.” Clare folded the roof estimate in half and put it her purse. Yes, for a moment, she had been almost tempted. But she was too sane to get caught up in irresponsible fantasies. “Now isn’t the right time. Maybe when Katie is done with college and—”

“You’ll be fifty by then,” Astrid said.

Clare snorted. “I’ll barely be coming into my prime.” She stood up. Nothing like a bill for necessary house repairs to motivate a woman to hustle off to the day job. “I have to go to work. I’ll see you guys later.” She turned to Griffin. “I’ll see you later—”

He stood up. “I’ll walk you.”

Excitement rippled through her. “It’s okay. I can manage.”

“Doesn’t matter if you can manage or not.” He set his hand on the back of her chair and moved it out of her way. “I’m still walking you.”

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” Astrid said as she picked her coffee back up. “You kids go on ahead.”

“Yes.” Even Emma leaned back in her seat, apparently giving Griffin the green light as well. “I’m not done either. See you later. So nice to meet you, Griffin.”

“My pleasure.” Griffin smiled at them both, and then set his hand on Clare’s back as she began to weave her way through the crowded store.

His action announced to the world that she was his.

She wasn’t. She absolutely wasn’t.

But she couldn’t quite get herself to move away from him. It just felt too lovely to have his strong hand supporting her.

Griffin reached past her to open the door for her, and as he pulled it open, Eppie walked in, wearing her rainbow straw hat with artificial tulips. Her sharp eyes took in Griffin’s possessive stance, and she gave Clare a long, hard look.

Clare stiffened and tried to duck away from her escort, but Griffin swept her past Eppie before she could extricate herself from his grasp.

“Good morning, Eppie,” he said as he passed her. “You look lovely today. Where did you get such a fashionable outfit? You look like an apple blossom on a sunny day.”

Eppie’s brow furrowed in confusion at the enemy’s politeness, and then they were out the door.

* * *

Clare burst out laughing as soon as she and Griffin were outside Wright’s. “An apple blossom on a sunny day? Seriously? Eppie had no idea how to respond to that. How on earth did you come up with that?”

Griffin grinned. “I’m an expert at getting people to part with things that matter to them. Money, their business, whatever it takes. Apple blossoms seemed like it might work for her.”

Clare waggled her finger at him as he guided her across the street. “You are a dangerous man, Griffin Friesé.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “That I am.” He kept his touch light, but there was no mistaking the possessiveness of his hand still strategically placed on her lower back.

She giggled again, feeling so liberated by the interaction with Eppie. Somehow, with one well-placed comment, he’d managed to spare Clare any judgmental comments by the older woman. “Well, I appreciate it. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Griffin followed her up the steps of the charming white building that housed her office, and for a moment, she contemplated inviting him in. She had no clients for an hour—

Seriously, Clare
?

Instead of grabbing him by his sexy leather jacket and dragging him inside, she stopped on the porch. It was time to tell him he had to move out. The fact she was even contemplating an on-the-desk-ravishment meant that she was losing her mind. She set her hands on her hips. “Griffin—”

“Thanks for coming to my rescue last night.” His eyes were dark and penetrating again.

“Oh, well, sure. I mean, you sounded like you were in trouble.” She cleared her throat, trying to steer the conversation and her thoughts away from his soul-melting kisses. “But—”

He slipped his hand behind the back of her head, his fingers massaging her neck. “I really enjoyed kissing you.”

She swallowed, her heart starting to race. Why did his hand have to feel so unbelievably amazing against her skin? Between the shivers racing down her spine and the desire spiraling through her belly, she could barely even remember how to talk, let alone resist him. “Um, thanks, but—”

“And I look forward to tonight.” Then the rapscallion kissed her.

In broad daylight.

In the center of town.

At rush hour.

With half the town passing by, or across the street at Wright’s.

And dammit, if she didn’t kiss him right back. With great enthusiasm, unabashed passion and altogether too much tongue tango.

She melted right into the kiss with a delighted sigh, and her entire body spiked with desire when he locked his arm around her lower back and hauled her against him. The kiss turned hot and fierce almost instantly, their bodies pressed against each other with a desperate wanting far too intense for eight o’clock in the morning on a public street. Within moments, she was out of breath, her body was trembling and she was utterly lost in the demands of his mouth and his body—

“We can’t do this here.” Griffin swore and pulled back, raw lust burning in his eyes.

Clare clung to his arms, fighting desperately to catch her breath, to gather herself, to keep herself from screaming, “Yes, we can!” and dragging him right off the porch into her office.

He tunneled his fingers through her hair, his eyes gleaming with anticipatory delight. “I’ll see you tonight.” Meaning was heavy in his words, and her whole body shouted with eagerness.

Clare shook her head. “No, we can’t. It was a mistake—”

“Not by me.” Then he kissed her again, a dominating kiss of promise and intention that swept away her resistance and replaced it with a quivering ball of burning need.

He pulled back, a satisfied grin on his face at her utter capitulation to his kisses. “Until tonight, my darling.” Then he turned and took the stairs two at a time, hitting the sidewalk before she had time to protest.

Oh, no. This was so not happening. “Griffin—”

He turned toward her, walking backward as he headed down the street. “Live a little, Clare. Life is too short.”

Then he was gone, loping across the street toward his truck.

Damn the man. But Clare couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she touched her lips. What had she gotten herself into?

Nothing. She wasn’t getting into anything. She was going to work late tonight.

Really she was.

She was entirely unprepared to handle this kind of thing with this kind of man in this kind of town.

And she never, ever went into anything unprepared.

At least not anymore.

She’d learned her lesson.

Really. She had.
Really.

Griffin was not generally a patient man.

He made things happen.

But apparently, in the town of Birch Crossing, it was Norm Wright who had the power. And Norm was apparently a man with more patience than a turtle.

Griffin braced his arms on his thighs as he restlessly swayed the bench swing that Ophelia had directed him to when he’d shown up at nine, which was the time that Wright’s officially closed.

It was now nine forty-five, and he could still hear Norm inside discussing the loon nesting situation with a man that seemed to be about his same age. Twelve nesting pairs last year, five babies, but only eleven had been sighted this spring so far. Where was the missing pair?

Griffin groaned and dropped his face to his hands.

“Here now, Griffin,” Ophelia came out the door, wiping her hands on her white apron and holding a beer. “Have a cold one while you wait.”

“Thanks.” Griffin accepted the beer and read the label. “Birch’s Best?”

“Local beer, made by some fellows down the street.” Ophelia winked at him. “Much better than some German import, but it’ll give you a kick in the pants that might keep you up all night. You sure you’re up for it?”

Griffin grinned. “Sounds like just the thing I’d be looking for tonight.”

Ophelia set another one down on a small pine table beside his swing. “For later.”

“Thanks.” Griffin took a swig, and his head nearly blew off. “Damn.”

Ophelia raised her brow. “Too much for you, Boston Boy?”

“No.” But hell, he’d never look at beer the same way again. “What’s in this stuff? Dynamite and Tabasco sauce?”

“No one knows. It’s a well-kept secret.” Ophelia peeked at Norm, then walked over and sat beside Griffin. “Hand me that beer, young fellow.” As soon as Griffin handed it to her, the gray-haired deli-owner took a swig twice the length of his. “Brilliant stuff. They really need to go regional with this.” Ophelia held up the beer. “Hear you’re looking for a new venture. Go with these guys. They’re going to change the world.”

Griffin didn’t even bother to ask how she knew he was looking for a new business. He was beginning to suspect that even his thoughts weren’t safe from the town’s gossip channels. “I’ll think about it.”

Ophelia leaned back and studied the sky. “She’s a good girl, our Clare Bear.”

Griffin smiled. “She is.”

“But she’s been dead for a long time.”

Griffin glanced over at her. “What do you mean?”

“Like you.”

He shot her a quizzical look. “Me? I’m not dead.”

“You’ve woken her up.” Ophelia took another long drink. “But if this venture with you goes south, we’ll lose her forever. She’ll never come back.”

Griffin ground his jaw. “Clare’s not that fragile. She has amazing strength and courage. No one can stop her if she doesn’t want to be stopped.”

“This is true.” Ophelia set the beer on her knee and swung her feet gently. She’d changed out of her day shoes, and was wearing a pair of faded, white house slippers that softened the edges of the tough old gal. “That’s the thing, Griffin. Clare has to want to come alive. If she wants to retreat, she’ll do that better than anyone has ever done in the history of this town.”

Griffin spun the bottle in his hand. “What’s your point?” Was she about to give him grief that he was too much of an ass to be worthy of Clare’s time? He wouldn’t have thought it from Ophelia, but he supposed he should have. Women seemed to be of a mutually-shared opinion about him.

“My point, young man,” Ophelia said, “is to stop thinking and start feeling.”

Griffin turned his head to look at her, not quite able to decipher her unexpected comment. “What does that mean?”

She tapped his forehead. “It means to shut this off.” She then banged her fist against the left side of his chest. “And turn this on. Then you’ll be just fine.”

“Turn off my mind? No chance.” Griffin rubbed his chest where Ophelia had thumped him with surprising vigor. “That’s my greatest asset.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Ophelia asked.

“Of course I am.”

“Well, then, there’s nothing more to say,” Ophelia sighed as Norm opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

A beautiful smile lit up Ophelia’s face as she rose to her feet, making her look a dozen years younger. “He’s all yours, Norman.”

Norm’s face creased into a soft expression Griffin had never seen on the older man’s face. “I’ll be up soon. Wait for me.” He held out his hand as Ophelia passed by, and the couple clasped hands gently.

Their fingers drifted off each other, but their gazes stayed on each other’s faces until the door shut behind Ophelia.

And even then, Norm stood and watched his wife as she walked through the store, shutting the lights off as she went. “Have you ever seen a sexier female than that?” He set his hand over his heart. “Every man should be so lucky.”