Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series) (3 page)

Silence descended. The pitter-patter of rain dinged off the overhang just above her. The aroma of the Chinese food wafted to her again. Her stomach growled, loud and long.

“Come in,” he said, reluctance coloring his words. “I’ll take you home.”

“After we eat?” she asked. “I bought enough for you, too.”

His heavy sigh should have filled her with regret, but it didn’t. It had the opposite effect. Her insides tumbled.

Entering his domain, Prissy looked around. The dark, empty rooms poked at the sad, lonely place in her heart. “Did you just move in?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Months ago.” His clipped, short answer didn’t elicit more comments.

But Prissy pressed on. “Did you forget to decorate?”

“Funny,” he muttered. He led the way down the long hallway and to the back of the house.

Her footsteps echoed while his bare feet whispered across the wood floors. Like her, he’d changed into jeans. But he chose a black T-shirt. Now she didn’t have to imagine what his broad shoulders looked like; the fabric molded to his body. A stab of longing to touch him there sliced through her. “Wow,” she whispered.

“I heard that.”

“You weren’t supposed to.”

“Too late.”

They passed what she assumed was his den or study; there was a lone lamp turned on, sitting on top of a big wooden desk scattered with papers. Nothing else but his desk chair occupied the space. Even the built-in bookshelves behind his desk remained bare.
Stark
.
Barren
.

“This way, Miss Nosy,” he directed, essentially pulling her attention away from his office.

“Afraid I’ll discover something about you?” she baited.

He stiffened, and then turned. Nodding toward the study, he said, “Off-limits.” The command resounded in the high ceiling hallway. “Dinner in the kitchen. Then you go.”

“Ah, I’m sure when it comes time to give out awards for the best host, you’ll win.”

She thought he’d kick her out right there and then. However, he surprised her with a chuckle. It came out raw and nearly strangled, but it took her breath away.

“You have a sense of humor? Wow, wonders never cease.”

“Watch it, Pixie.”

***

Griffin James eyed the little bit of woman sitting near him on the only other bar stool at his kitchen island counter. She polished off the beef and broccoli. “Yummy,” she moaned, licking her lips.

Something stirred in him, low and deep. “How did you get my address?” He refused to give in to his cravings for her. She was not in his plan.

Her smile lingered, causing him to take a sharp breath. “I’ve got my ways.”

“Your stepsister? I’d have thought Charlie wouldn’t have given out confidential information.”

She slammed the empty carton down. “Of course she wouldn’t.” The fierce glare would have made a lesser man quake. It made him admire her, even more.

“So tell me. Convince me she didn’t.” He had his own idea now. “The ex-cop?”

“How did—” She stopped herself.

“It was him. Edward, did you say?”

“I didn’t,” she bit out. Priscilla pointed to his fortune cookie. “Aren’t you going to read your fortune?”

“I don’t have to. I already know what it says.” At her frown, he went on. ”A little Pixie will wreak havoc on your life.”

“Do you practice being a smart aleck or does it come naturally?”

That made him grin. “Maybe I should call you Sassy instead.”

“Here.” She cracked open her cookie. “I’ll read mine.”

“Aloud?” he prompted her when she remained silent.

“You will meet a dark, mysterious man.”

“It does not,” he said, taking the thin strip of paper from her outstretched hand. Quickly, he read the neat, typed script. “Damn, it does.”

“Show me yours.”

“Here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Why couldn’t he help himself around her?

Her gasp and flush brought him up short. She couldn’t be that innocent.

From the all too brief mention of her in the newspaper clip he’d just reviewed in his files, he had few clues to the type of person she was or the kind of life she lived these last few months away from her controlling, domineering mother.

Her teasing, outspoken behavior earlier in the evening had him assuming she knew her way around a man. Was he wrong?

“You read it.” He slid the fortune cookie toward her. She caught it deftly, and then pulled the white edge out.

Priscilla chuckled. “Your life will be turned upside down.” Holding it up, she showed him.

“I told you I knew what it said.” Inside, he tried to brush aside the rush of heat that swept through him at the musical sound of her laughter.

Hopping off the stool, she gathered the white cartons with food still in them. “And they say those things are made up. Who knew?” She carried them to his refrigerator and deposited them inside. “Your fridge doesn’t look much better than mine.”

He followed her lead, picking up the empty cartons and tossing them in the trash. “Thanks for dinner.” Somehow, he didn’t think her motives for coming here were entirely pure. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “Now, do you want to tell me why you’re really here?”

Nudging him aside until he moved, she washed her hands in the sink. She stood so close to him, he could smell her hair.
Flowers
?
What kind
?

“Not talking to me?”

“Nope.”

“Strange, you were so talkative until now.”

She glared at him under her lashes as she wiped her hands on a towel.

“Priscilla,” he tried out her real name, “do you often drop by men’s homes unannounced?”

Her gasp echoed in the nearly empty room. The color drained from her face. “Of course not.”

Griff had his answer. She wasn’t experienced. Somehow that made him angry at her callous assumption he, a complete stranger to her, would be a true gentleman. “You should be more careful of who you visit late at night.”

“You won’t harm me,” she stated with utter confidence.

“How do you know that? You don’t even know me.”

Her green-eyed stare met his, taking his breath away. “I trust you.”

Of all the things she could have said, this sliced through the stone wall he’d built around his heart. “Don’t,” he warned. “I can’t be trusted.”

She leaned close, coming within inches of him. “Liar.”

The pounding rain pelted against the windows. Cold seeped into the house. She shivered as he directed her into his study. The storm outside had turned nasty. Griff’s looks could have been called the same.

“I’ll build a fire while we wait for the storm to pass.”

“Don’t go to any trouble for me.” Even her voice sounded wounded. Why had she said that to him? But she did trust him. She had no clue where that feeling had come from, but it was there nonetheless. It was his fierce reaction to her declaration that cut her. The warning still blared in her head.
I can’t be trusted
.

His heavy sigh bounced off the walls. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Do you have a cell phone on you?”

“It’s in the other room in my tote—”

“That you left in my kitchen,” he finished for her. “Do you know karate or judo?”

“No.”

“Any self-defense moves?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

He knelt in front of the fireplace, striking a wooden match he pulled from the box. Expertly, he lit the pile of sticks and shredded newspaper. It took a few minutes, but it caught. Standing, he dusted off his hands. The flames licked, slowly spreading to the logs.

The sound of snaps and pops from the crackling fire surrounded her.

“I’m trying to protect you, Priscilla King.” His words were so soft she barely heard them.

“From who? You? I already told you.” She came up beside him, holding out her hands to warm them.

“I know.” He heaved a breath. “Not every man will be honorable. In a bedroom or a boardroom.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Do that.”

She took a small side step toward him; somehow she felt safer near him.

***

“It’s not letting up,” he said, nearly an hour later as he sat behind his desk and leaned his head back against the desk chair. The lights had flickered, and then gone off for good right after he’d started the fire.

He’d scraped up his files on the King family and tucked them in the top drawer of his desk long ago. But still he couldn’t shake the feeling he betrayed this woman he’d just met by having them in the same room with her.

He gazed at her, lying on a blanket he’d yanked from his bedroom and spread out in front of the roaring fire. In her stocking feet, she rested on her forearms on his pillow, staring at him. He could so easily lose his mind just looking at her, this lovely foreign creature inhabiting his nearly empty house, anticipating what it would feel like to touch her skin again, kiss those lips, see her naked body, and feel flesh on flesh…

“No radio, no little portable TV, no cell phone connection?” She shook her head. “Just a laptop that doesn’t work.”

“The Internet service is knocked out from the storm,” he corrected.

“So we’re stuck,” she said, resting her chin on her hand.

Why did he think staying behind his desk, separated by yards from her, would stop his imagination from running wild? It didn’t.

He shoved away from the desk and rose. Before he knew it, she jumped up. “Show me around?”

“Hmmm?”

“Your house.”

“My house?”

“You do have a flashlight, right?”

Griff nodded.

“Then, come on.” She grabbed his arm, tugging on him.

He bit down on a groan. Yes, he was right: her skin felt so soft against his.

***

Prissy swung the flashlight beam around the large, dark room. “Look at that,” she whispered in awe. “I love the arches, crown molding, the mantel above this fireplace.”

“The previous owners restored it all a few years ago.”

“And look! There’s a chandelier. Does it work?”

“I’m sure it does.”

“What, you don’t even know for certain?” Turning, she walked toward him, keeping the beam of light low. But she could see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. “You don’t care what your house is like?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She waved a hand to encompass not just this room, but all the rooms he’d shown her on the first floor already. “No, but it shows.”

“Why does that bother you?”

His question pulled her up short. Why did it? “A home reflects the heart of a person,” she said softly.

“My heart is dark and empty.”

A wave of empathy crashed through her. She cared. “Who hurt you?”

Griff stiffened. For a long time, he didn’t answer. The storm turned to thunder and lightning a few minutes ago. Now a flash of lightening lit up the room and revealed his stony expression. “A long time ago…both my parents died. One when I was a baby, the other when I was a child, brought on by a series of misfortunes.”

Even this little piece of information seemed a lot coming from someone like Griffin. “How sad. I’m sorry. Where did you go? Who took you in?”

“First an elderly aunt.” She could sense his movement, a shrug. “When she died, foster care.”

She didn’t have to be a genius to understand the outcome. “Not good.”

“An understatement.”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “I don’t know how you survived it all.” Swallowing hard, she said, “At least I had a parent, not a very good one, but my mother kept us after my father left her before I was even born. She tried. Francie, my older sister, took care of me for the most part. Then, when I was five, Charles King came into our lives. It was like a fairy tale. He was a very good man. I’m grateful I had him, even for such a short time.”

“He gave you hope.” Griff understood.

“Yes. I knew there was something better than what I had gone through. Life wasn’t just about the bills not being paid and threats of eviction, or no food to eat at night, or even shabby clothes to wear to school and be made fun of day after day.” She stopped, her memories haunting her. “I said more than I should have.”

“It explains some things.” His odd statement puzzled her, but she let it drop.

“You survived yours, by all accounts. You showed them. You’re a gazillionaire, right? You can do anything you want, go anywhere you like, most likely have any woman you desire.”

His chuckle came out choked. “Really? You make it sound much more exciting than it really is.”

“Life is what you make it, Griff.” She went to him, stood on tip-toes and gently kissed him on his cheek. Before he could react, she scrambled away to explore some more. The feel of him lingered and her lips tingled.

***

Griffin lounged in his bedroom doorway. He didn’t dare step inside the room while she looked around. And she thought
he
was lethal.

Her innocent questions had turned to a much more serious conversation. Her revelations about her earlier life stunned him.

Nowhere in any file or report had he uncovered the former life of Mrs. Agnes King. It was as if she’d erased that part of herself. Now, he could see why. The stain of her first husband leaving her pregnant and with a toddler along with living in poverty conditions soon after would have been a great deal to overcome, most likely impossible, in the wealthy society she so desperately clung to all these years.

But now he stared at the part that poked at him, stirred his emotions enough to melt another piece of his sheltered, guarded heart. Priscilla King surprised him. With her sunny disposition and caring gestures, he would never have guessed at the dark moments in her past.

Life is what you make it
.

Thankfully, she’d overcome it. For that he would always be grateful.

At least one of them had thrived.

“Just a bed? Really, Griff, you need some serious help here.” She poked her head into the bathroom. “Nice,” she murmured. But when she made her way to his closet, he halted her.