Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Notorious in the West\Yield to the Highlander\Return of the Viking Warrior (9 page)

She grabbed his hand back. She held it tight between both of hers, a fierce light brightening her eyes. “No wonder,” she said with a shake of her head. “No wonder you hide away! Griffin...” Olivia broke off, probing his gaze with hers. “You're lonely.”

“No. You're wrong.” He shook his head. Bluster and fury and hard-drinking isolation would keep him secure. He should never have abandoned them. “Until now, I've rarely been alone. Don't you know who I am? Don't you know what I've accomplished?”

She was undeterred by his rough tone. “I told you before—all I care about is who you are
now.
You, Griffin, are lonely.”

Lonely.
That simple word barely began to describe the emptiness he felt. It was insufficient to mark the solitude inside him. It could not contain his deep yearning for more.

Griffin felt that yearning claw at him now, with needy fingers and a heart that wanted more. He fought back brutally.

“
You
are lonely,” he accused, “with your small-town life and your ‘family' of hotel workers and your apathetic father.”

But Olivia refused to be dissuaded. “Another time, we'll talk about my father,” she said, sliding nearer on the settee and taking his other hand. Her skirts rustled, marking her femininity and her closeness alike. “For now,” she went on, still holding his hands, “I only want you to know that I'm sorry for all you went through.” She inhaled deeply, keeping her gaze fixed on him. “You deserved better. You deserve better now. You deserve more than a fickle woman who'd break your heart—” for he'd told her about Mary “—and a father who'd use you for his own gains—” because Griffin's father had, indeed, taken advantage of Griffin's early ambitions for his own purposes at first “—and a mother who would be so cruel to you. You deserve better. Everyone does!”

Warily, Griffin regarded her. “Ah. This
is
pity, then,” he judged. “You would treat anyone in my place this way.”

“Anyone?” Olivia raised her eyebrows, then gave a lilting laugh. Meaningfully, she raised their twined hands. “No, not anyone,” she specified. “But if this demonstration of my feelings is not apparent enough for you, please let me clarify.”

“There's no need. I understand everything.”

Another laugh. “Of course you do. All the same, allow me.”

Astoundingly, Olivia released his hands. She lifted one of her hands to his jaw, then mimicked her gesture on the opposite side. With his face duly framed in her affectionate grasp, Griffin froze.
No one
touched his face. Not his mother, not his father, not the few loose women he'd known as a grown man.

Not even Mary had touched him this way, it occurred to him. Theirs had not been an overly passionate relationship. Perhaps he
had
been like a brother to her, he mused. Perhaps he'd nurtured an adolescent infatuation for too long, prompted partly by fondness for her close-knit household. Certainly, Griffin had never felt for Mary one-tenth of what he now felt for Olivia.

“Don't.”
Desperately, he closed his eyes, trying not to savor the light and caring touch of her palms against his face—trying not to imprison it in his memory forever after. He opened his eyes. He stared at her. “You don't want to touch me.”

Griffin clung to that belief like a drowning man. He needed to. What was the alternative? To
believe
that Olivia wanted him?

Yes,
he recalled her saying.
I was alarmed by you at first.

She was the only person who'd ever admitted her initial wariness about his appearance. Now she was the only woman who'd ever touched his face willingly. That had to mean something.

Perhaps, the cynical side of him suggested, it meant that Olivia Mouton really, determinedly wanted The Lorndorff back.

But then she delivered him a mind-scramblingly playful look, stroked his jaw with her fingers and shook her head.

“You can't tell me what I want, Mr. Turner.”

“Griffin,” he managed, mesmerized by her nearness. “It's—”

“Griffin,”
Olivia repeated, her gaze warm and wonderful as she looked at him. Clearly, she was bewitched somehow. She caressed his cheeks, then brushed her thumbs over his beard stubble. “I
do
want to touch you. See? I'm doing it right now.”

He couldn't help seeing. He couldn't help
feeling.
But that didn't mean...

“I'm going to go right on doing it,” Olivia said in a low voice as she brought her pretty face closer to his, “because I find that your big, angular jawline provides a very convenient means to steady myself while I prepare to do
this.
”

Then she took a deep breath, gazed moonily into his eyes and brought her mouth to his. Once, twice, she kissed him.

She leaned back. She lowered her hands to her lap.

Griffin stared at her, his heart pounding thunderously.

“I don't want pity,” he warned with the last of his wits.

“Did that feel like pity?” Olivia posed her question with a sham sense of consternation. “Perhaps I'm not kissing you correctly. I don't have very much experience in these matters.”

To his amazement, she brushed her lips against his again. Kissing Olivia, Griffin learned, was like being walloped by an angel, blessed by a temptress...driven mad by an innocent.

It was all he could do not to delve his hands in her hair, yank her still closer and bring them both down on the settee's upholstered cushions where they could continue this properly.

Sucking in a cooling lungful of air, Griffin gawked at her. “Have you lost your mind?” he blurted. “You're not supposed to want...” Wildly, he gestured between them.
“Me.”

“Mmm. You'll find that I have a long history of wanting things I'm not supposed to want. Like books. And experiments.”

“And me?” Damnation. He didn't mean it as a question.

A nod. “And you.” She stroked his cheek again, then shrugged. “I can't help it. I tried to stay away. I couldn't.”

Distrustfully, he eyed her. “Why not?”

“I couldn't stop thinking about you holding my hand,” Olivia confessed. Her gaze swung to meet his, then dropped to coolly examine her fingernails. “And...some other things.”

“The hotel.”

“Yes.” To her credit, she didn't quibble. “Naturally. I thought about that, too. This is my home, so its future is of pressing interest to me.” Olivia's wave indicated the entire hotel. “But I didn't kiss you to save my father's hotel.”

Still astounded by her kiss, Griffin thought about that. If she had, it might have worked. Given the riotous effect she had on him, he might have given her anything she wanted.

Then, “I also thought about
you.
In bed,” Olivia said.

Griffin bolted upright from the settee, feeling his heart race with alarm. “You should leave.” He jerked his thumb toward the door, then began pacing. “You should leave right now.”

Olivia eyed him with amusement. “All I want to know is, on the first day I came here, if you were
really
naked under the bedclothes. My imagination has been running wild, I'm afraid.”

As she said it, Griffin stopped. Their gazes locked. He felt sure she could somehow sense him remembering that moment. It had created a sort of cock-eyed intimacy between them that could hardly have been sparked in another, more clothed, way.

“Let it,” he said roughly. “The truth would scare you.”

She chuckled. “I doubt that, Griffin. You're just a man. I've seen men before.” Olivia's voice pursued him with maddening unreality. “Not entirely nude, of course! But this was a lawless township when I arrived here as a girl. Drunk rail workers aren't known for their delicate manners. I'm not
that
refined.”

“Yes, you are. You don't know what you're saying.”

“I'm saying,” she said patiently, “that I'd like for you to verify my impression, please. For observation's sake. I place a great store in my observational abilities, you see, owing to my interest in the sciences, and it would be a tremendous favor to me if you would let me know—did I guess correctly?”

“Did you guess correctly about my
nakedness
on that day?” Griffin wheeled around in his suite, still pacing, hardly able to credit what he was hearing. “For the sake of
science?
”

“The scientific method, to be more precise. Yes.”

He dug his nails in his palms. “I am dreaming. I must be.”

“Shall I wake you up?” Her bantering tone suggested she'd already decided for herself. “With another kiss, perhaps?”

Alarmed, Griffin held out both hands to ward her off. At that, Olivia appeared undeniably disappointed. He loved that she could not—or did not try to—hide her honest reaction to him.

Heaven help him, he increasingly loved
her.
She filled his days with sunshine and chatter and helpfulness. When she looked at him... Well, she
looked
at him. She saw
him.
Not his past.

Not detestable Hook Turner, with all his inborn badness.

How could he have not scared her away already?

He'd certainly tried. He'd tried to be as formidable as possible on the day they'd met. He'd all but dared her to laugh at him—to see him as some hideous, huge-nosed, black-clothed monster. Somehow, his warnings hadn't stuck. He'd have to try harder. For Olivia's sake, he'd have to make her see the truth.

All the same, the masculine, prideful part of Griffin took exception at her notion that
she
would manage things between them, should any additional, soul-shattering kisses occur.

Despite everything, Griffin heartily hoped they occurred.

“Any more kissing will be at
my
instigation,” he told her.

She wasn't the least bit dissuaded. “I liked kissing you.”

Her candid admission nearly unraveled his will right there. Griffin turned around. He confronted her expectant and almost scholarly expression of interest. He groaned aloud.

“I was wearing trousers!” he confessed. “No shirt. Boots.”

Olivia wrinkled her nose. “Boots in bed?”

“Now you're an expert?”

“Enough of an expert to know boots don't belong in bed.”

“Neither do nosy, opinionated, book-pilfering women belong in the hotel suites of notoriously unprincipled men.”

Her eyes sparkled at him. “I won't be scared away.”

“You will be. When you see the truth.”

“People who are afraid of the truth usually
can't
see it,” Olivia told him. “They refuse to. Oftentimes quite stubbornly.” In thought, she eyed him. “Take you and Mary, for instance. You were sweet on her for years. But given what you told me about your relationship, it seems to have been fairly unromantic. So—”

“Enough.” Again, Griffin groaned. At the settee, he fell to his knees before Olivia. He took her face in his hands, then tilted her chin upward. He loved the way she looked, the way she sounded...even the way she opened her mouth in a surprised O.

But he
truly
loved the way she felt when he brought his mouth to hers, when he took possession of her lips and tongue and breath, when he delivered to her all the passion and confusion and trepidation he felt, ladling it all into a single heartfelt kiss. He wanted to stop her from studying him.

Instead, he stopped them both from thinking altogether.

When Griffin broke off their kiss at last, Olivia was gazing at him with stars in her eyes. He knew then that he'd done it again. He'd made a mistake. He'd misunderstood her.

Olivia didn't really see him, Griffin realized. She appeared far too dreamy for that. For both their sakes, he had to make her see. He had to make her see who he was and who he would always be. Clearly, his hat and his dark clothes and his hair had failed to do their proper jobs and sensibly deter her.

“You need to see something,” he announced, standing.

“Does it involve more kissing somehow?”

She was going to kill him. “No. Please listen to me.”

With unbelievable cooperativeness, she prepared to. Meticulously, Olivia straightened her voluminous flowery skirts. She clasped her hands in her lap. She smiled, then gazed up at him. Any man would have believed her an ideal feminine companion...instead of a secret firebrand who'd steal his whiskey, make him quit his cigarillos and inspire him to club his hair.

“I would settle for holding hands with you,” she said.

Wordlessly, Griffin shook his head. His hands shook, too. This was going to be difficult enough without her touch to rouse him. Even a chaste handclasp would likely inspire passion now.

Now that he knew how ardently she might respond to it.

Setting aside that tantalizing truth, Griffin situated himself in front of her. He squared his shoulders. He frowned.

“So far, I don't like this,” Olivia said. “Come sit by me.”

Griffin wanted nothing more. But he could not proceed while believing Olivia was purposely ignoring the truth about him.

He believed her when she said she hadn't kissed him for the sake of her father's hotel. He believed she was truthful. That left only one explanation. She'd misled herself into blindness.

So first Griffin took off his suit coat. Then he removed his woolen vest. Olivia gave him a wary look, studied his shirt and trousers then reclasped her hands. She was clearly willing to wait and see how this situation unfolded—likely for the sake of “scientific interest.” “Why did you do that?”

“To show you the truth. To show you who I am.”

“I've spent almost two weeks with you. I think I know—”

He cut her off by shucking his hat next. It sailed across his suite to land on his mattress and disordered bedclothes.