No Knight Needed (7 page)

He was wearing a heavy leather jacket that flanked strong thighs and broad shoulders. His eyes were dark, as dark as they’d been last night in the storm. Whiskers shadowed his jaw, giving him a hard look. His boots were still caked with mud, but his jeans were pressed and clean. His light blue dress shirt was open at the collar, revealing a hint of skin and the flash of a thin gold chain at his throat. His hair was short and perfectly coiffed, not spiked and rugged like it had been last night. A heavy gold watch sat captive on the strong wrist that had supported her so easily.

Today, he wasn’t the dark and rugged hero of the night.

Well, okay, he was. His power transcended mud, storms, nice watches and dress shirts.

But he was also, quite clearly and quite ominously, an outsider, a man who did not fit into the town of Birch Crossing.

Then he smiled, a beautiful, tremendous smile with a dimple in his right cheek. “How’s Katie?”

A dimple? He had a dimple? Clare hadn’t noticed the dimple last night. He looked so human, and so endearing with a dimple. Suddenly all her trepidation vanished, replaced by a feeling of giddiness and delight to see him. She smiled back, unable to keep herself from responding in kind. “She’s still asleep, but she’s okay.”

His smile faded, and a speculative gleam came into his dark eyes. “And how are you?”

No longer feeling like a total wreck, that was for sure. Not with Griffin Friesé studying her as if she were the only thing he ever wanted to look at again. Dear God, the way he was looking at her made her want to drop the cupcakes and her clothes, and saunter with decadent sensuality across the floor toward him, his stare igniting every cell in her body. “I’m fine.” She swallowed, horrified by how throaty her voice sounded. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe you.”

“No, you owe me nothing.” He shook his head, and an odd expression came over his face, as if the words he was thinking didn’t quite make sense to him even as he said it. “Seeing you hug Katie was plenty.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” Eppie muttered behind her. “Now he’s going to kill Katie, too.”

Clare stiffened and jerked her gaze from Griffin. The entire store was watching them in rapt silence, listening to every word. Oh, God. How had she forgotten where they were? Eppie had her arms folded and was glaring at Griffin. Astrid and Emma were leaning against the doorjamb, huge grins on their faces. Norm’s eyes were narrowed, and Ophelia was letting some scrambled eggs burn while she gawked at them.

Oh, man. What was she doing nearly throwing herself at him? She quickly took a step back and cleared her throat.

Griffin’s eyebrows shot up at her retreat, then his expression cooled, and his eyes narrowed. “Kill them off,” he said softly, almost thoughtfully. He looked right at Eppie. “Who else am I going to kill?”

Eppie lifted her chin and turned her head, giving him a view of the back of her hot pink hat.

“Your wife and daughter,” Astrid volunteered cheerfully. “But don’t worry. Not all of us believe it.”

Seriously with the commentary? How could Astrid insult the man who’d saved Katie? Clare glared at Astrid as Griffin’s face stilled into a cold mask as he looked back at her friend.

Astrid shrugged cheerfully. “Rumors. They get started.”

Griffin said nothing as he turned and looked at Clare. Waiting. For her answer? For her public declaration of support?

She glanced around and saw the entire store was waiting for her response. Eppie gave her a solemn nod, and Judith did the same, encouraging her to stand up and condemn this handsome stranger. Sudden anger surged inside her. “Oh, come on,” she snapped. “You can’t think he’s really here to kill his family?”

Astrid grinned, Eppie shook her head in dismay, and the rest of the room was silent.

No one jumped in to help her.

Um…yeah.

Clare glanced uncomfortably at Griffin, but his face was hard, almost bitter, as if she’d behaved exactly as he’d expected her to, and he wasn’t impressed. Oh, come on. Standing up for him against the entire town wasn’t enough for him? Or Eppie? Or anyone? What did everyone want from her? She was shocked when Griffin gave her a cool nod, and then turned away, ending the conversation.

Loneliness assaulted her, and she lifted her chin, refusing to let herself feel bad because Griffin had clearly deemed her unworthy. She spun away, fighting back a growing sense of despair, of things spiraling out of control. “Stop giving me that look,” she snapped at Eppie.

The older lady’s eyes widened. “Clare! What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. God, nothing!” She felt so frazzled right now. “I’m going to work.” She grabbed the cupcakes and headed for the door. “Emma, here you go—”

“I need a place to stay,” Griffin said. “A place without rats, preferably.”

Griffin’s low request echoed through the room, and Clare spun around in horror. Then she saw he was directing his question to Norm, not even bothering to watch her go. For a split second, agonizing sadness surged through her at Griffin’s rejection, even though she’d caused it by stepping back from him.

No, no, that was good. She couldn’t afford a connection with him. Everything was fine. He wasn’t asking to stay at her place, which was good. Because yes, she owed him, on a level beyond words. But staying at her place... she glanced at Eppie, and the old lady shook her head at her in obvious chastisement, warning her not to dare jump in and help this man who would be so wrong for her.

“He stayed at the Dark Pines Motel last night,” Judith whispered, just loudly enough for the whole store to hear.

Clare shifted uncomfortably. The Dark Pines Motel was quite possibly the most unkempt and disgusting motel in the entire state of Maine. She hadn’t even realized that it actually still rented rooms, until Judith had said that Griffin was staying there. How had he found that place last night?

“Fitting, I should think,” Eppie said, “for a man like that.”

A man like what? A man who would risk flipping his truck so he could help a woman he didn’t even know? Anger began to simmer inside Clare at the way Griffin was being maligned. Didn’t anyone care that he’d come to the rescue of four teenagers?

Clare paused, warring with the urge to go back and defend him. It was one thing for Eppie and Judith to orchestrate her well-being, but doing it at Griffin’s expense was wrong.

But as he leaned his hands on the counter, his broad shoulders flexed, Griffin didn’t look like a man who needed defending. He looked strong, powerful and utterly unconcerned about what anyone thought about him. Clare’s heart sank a little bit. There was nothing she could do for him. He didn’t need her, and he never would. He wasn’t the kind of man who needed anything. What could she possibly offer a man who had everything he needed?

“Well, Griffin,” Norm said as he tipped his chair back and let it tap against the unfinished wall. “Most of the nicer places won’t open for another month when the summer folk start to arrive. And the Black Loon Inn is booked for the Smith-Pineal wedding for the next week.”

Clare turned toward her friends. “Let’s go.”

Astrid raised her brows. “Strong hands, indeed.”

Emma lowered her voice. “He might be a killer, but if I could have a man look at me that way for one minute of my life, it might almost be worth it.”

Clare felt her cheeks heat up, and she glanced back at Griffin. He wasn’t even looking her way. So, yeah, that heated look between them had meant nothing. Resolutely, Clare pulled open the door. “Just stop already.”

“Looks like you’ll have to pick another town, Mr. Friesé,” Eppie said cheerfully. “There’s no place for you to stay here.”

“Yes, perhaps you should go back to Boston,” Judith added, peering at him through her glasses. “Maine isn’t the right place for a man like you.”

Clare bit her lip against the urge to jump in. What purpose would it serve? Griffin could defend himself just fine, and she didn’t need the grief she would get if she interfered. She had to live in this town, and she already had enough people chastising her for how she wasn’t doing enough for her daughter or herself. She knew Eppie and Judith’s hostility came from their need to protect her, and she would stir it up even further if she started defending him.

Both she and Griffin would be better off if she didn’t defend him, and it was pretty clear from his body language that he didn’t want her interfering anyway. The magical moment in the storm had not translated to real life, even though for a split second, when he’d looked at her so intensely, she’d thought maybe it had.

It hadn’t, and she had to move on. Life was not a fairy tale.

Clare stepped outside, wishing she hadn’t let her mouth drop open in an awed gape when she’d seen him. The only reason the town was giving him such a hard time was because they thought there was a personal relationship between her and Griffin, thanks to her dramatic reaction to seeing him. Yes, if he was a total stranger, they’d still think (or hope) he was a soon-to-be murderer, but they’d be more curious than hostile. The hostility was her fault, and she regretted that.

“Clare’s renter just moved out,” Astrid said, her voice ringing out in the store. “Griffin can stay in her spare room. No rats, and it comes with free Wi-Fi. Best deal in town.”

Oh, dear
God.
Clare’s whole body flamed hot, and she whipped around.
Please tell me he didn’t hear that.

But Griffin was staring right at her.

Oh, yes. He’d heard. And so had everyone else.

Griffin’s instinct had been to turn down the suggestion of staying at Clare’s house, but his refusal died in his throat the moment he saw her stricken face.

Her eyes were wide with horror, and she was clutching her precious cupcakes so tightly he was certain she’d crushed them. In that moment, he saw the woman he’d met last night. The one whose passion, courage and vulnerability had made him want to whip out a sword and slay all her dragons.

Yes, there was still confidence and strength emanating from her, but there was also a frailty that touched something inside him. Clare might put on the persona of being tough and independent, and she might even live that life, but inside that courageous exterior was a softness that touched the very depths of his being.

When Clare had flounced in there to retrieve her cupcakes, Griffin had been compelled by her energy and dynamism. But when she’d looked around and realized that people were watching, she’d shut him out faster than his ex used to do on a regular basis.

He knew what it was like to have a woman retreat on him, and he’d known instantly when Clare had shut him down. He didn’t waste time with that crap anymore, and as soon as she’d done it, he’d checked out. Done.

But as he saw her gaze flicking nervously around the room, he saw fear in her expression that belied the apparent aloofness and independence. Clare was vibrantly alive, unabashedly emotional. She was thrumming with fire and passion, and something inside him flared back to life at the realization.

Her gaze snapped back to him. “I don’t think you’d like my place,” she said, her voice strident across the store, but now that he was listening for it, he could hear a tremulous waver in her voice. “There’s no privacy. Shared bathroom and kitchen. It’s just a room. I’m sure you’re used to your own space.”

“I am.” And he damn well liked his space, too. He basked in his gleaming penthouse condo, he appreciated his massive office with floor to ceiling windows, and he liked to order in whatever he wanted for dinner.

Relief flickered across her face, her emotions on such display that his heart softened even more. “Well, so, then great. I mean, yes, I’m sure you’ll find something else—”

“There’s nothing else,” the old man behind the counter said. “Not until next week.”

“Oh, well...” Clare swallowed, her nervousness apparent. “Well, if your wife and daughter are in River Junction, there are some nice places near there—”

“Ex-wife,” he interrupted. How in God’s name did she know about Hillary and Brooke?

“She’s his ‘ex’ because of his rages,” the old lady with the lavender hair whispered loudly enough to be heard all the way back to Boston. And from the way the energy in the room shifted, it was clear that everyone there was right on board with her sentiments.

“Ex-wife,” Clare repeated, and there was something softer in her voice, something he couldn’t decipher. But that gentleness drew his attention back to her, and suddenly, the world was gone again. Just them.

His life was a crazy whirlwind of action, negotiation, movement, and people. Never had it closed down into a single moment, a single person, a single thought.

But in this moment, with Clare, he was consumed by her. By nothing but her. He felt his entire body thrum with focus and energy, and he knew he wasn’t finished. Not with this moment. Not with this woman. Not with this feeling. “I’m not going to stay in River Junction,” he said to her, only to her. “I’m going to stay here.”

Her forehead furrowed anxiously, and tiny tension lines creased around her eyes. “Why?” Her question was almost desperate, as if she could will him to go somewhere else.

Because you’re here
. The thought sprang unbidden into his mind, and he dismissed it as quickly as it had come. He was here because he’d plotted his strategy, and this was the best place to launch his assault. Like Jackson and his tires, Griffin knew that every successful invasion began with a solid foundation, and Birch Crossing was his launching point. “Because this is where I need to be.”

Clare pressed her lips together, and he smiled. No, she was definitely not the cold, ruthless female his ex-wife was. Clare was different. She couldn’t conceal all the emotions rolling so turbulently through her, and he relished that expressiveness. Her passion was such a tremendous relief after spending so many years fighting to get past the hard shell with his ex-wife, to have some glimpse of the humanity beneath. Clare poured everything she was out into the world, and it ignited a response in him that made him want to stride across the room and bury himself in everything she was.

“You don’t want to stay at my place,” she said. “The roof is leaking and I’m always up late working...”