Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series) (4 page)

“Off-limits.”

She swung the light to focus on the half-opened door. “What, in there? Secrets? Come on, you can’t have much, if the looks of the rest of the house is any indication. Or, wait maybe you’re a clothes-horse and you’re embarrassed by that fact. You know, my friend, Rico, would like to see. He’s a clothes-horse to the max.”

Griff frowned. “Who’s this Rico you keep mentioning?”
Is he that important to you
?

“He works at King’s. He’s the wedding consultant. He took over for my sister, Francine, who is now a wedding dress buyer for the store since she and Marcus married. And she trains more employees for the wedding boutique.”

Now he knew who Rico was. “Used to be the beauty salon manager?” Relief shot through him. That feeling concerned him. Why should he care who she was close to or if there were a man in her life?

“Yes, he’s funny, throws the best parties, and a dream to pull pranks with.”

The smile in her voice caused warmth to spread in his veins.

“He’s my best friend.” Coming close, she said, “And my mother hates him!”

“She’s met him?” He thought since her and her sister’s departure from the family home that she’d had nothing to do with the woman.

“No. That’s the problem.” She sighed heavily. “She calls and begs me to listen to reason. She’s all about appearances. He doesn’t fit into her neat and tidy ideal. Plus, I don’t either.” He could see her shrug. “Her loss.” Her voice caught.

It bothered her that her only remaining parent couldn’t accept her for who she was. His chest tightened.

“So are we sleeping in here tonight?”

The innocent question rushed back to him now. He bit back another groan.

Hours had passed, the storm still raged, and she slept beside him, both of them fully clothed under the blankets, in his king-sized bed. Sleep eluded him.

He turned to his side, away from her. She snuggled closer. “Cold,” she muttered, pressing her body along his. She murmured approval. “Nice. Warm.”

How many ways and in how many languages could he curse? Maybe if he began, it would stop him from thinking about turning over and having his way with her. “Damn, Pixie,” he grunted.

She giggled. “I heard that.”

Griff clamped his eyes shut, counting to ten before he answered. “Go back to sleep.”

Her non-answer eased his mind; maybe she’d dozed off. But when she put her hand on his side and reached around to rest it on his middle, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Relax,” she soothed. “I don’t bite.”

“Funny,” he said, trying to remove her hand, but she laced her fingers with his and held it against his thumping heart. She didn’t bite, but she could do a whole lot more damage than leave teeth marks. She already had.

***

The sound of rushing water woke Priscilla. She blinked her eyes open, and then frowned. Recollection returned. “Drat!” She bolted upright. “Griff,” she whispered, realizing he was in the shower.

Gray light peeked in the windows. The rain had eased up to a soft drizzle.

The alarm clock on the floor beside the bed flashed twelve. Well, the lights had come back on, she reasoned, but she had no idea what time of the morning it was.

Looking down, she checked to make sure all her clothes were still on. Prissy shouldn’t have been concerned; he didn’t even try to kiss her. Half of her was relieved. What would she have done if he’d tried anything? The other half was disappointed. What would it feel like to kiss him on the lips?

The water stopped running. She scrambled out of bed. Looking around for a mirror, she mumbled under her breath. “Who doesn’t have a mirror?”

Gazing at the rumpled covers, she wondered if she should make the bed. Was there etiquette for adult sleepovers?

Rustling from the closet cued her into the fact he must have another door connecting the bathroom to his off-limits space and he was in there now. She smiled at that. What could be so secretive?

Prissy made her way to the bathroom, knocking softly on the door just in case. No answer. “The coast is clear,” she whispered and snuck in. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “Good Lord, what in the world?” Her strawberry blonde hair stuck up in strange directions. “Rico would have a fit if he saw me looking like this.” Quickly, she raked her fingers through her bangs, taming them to the side, and then finger combed the layers so the length curled under to rest along her neck and fluffed up the crown area. She splashed water on her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted his toothbrush and toothpaste.

She shook her head at the toothbrush.
I don’t know him that well
. But she did grab for the paste and within seconds squirted a dollop on her index finger. Scrubbing her teeth and then rinsing her mouth made her feel almost human again.

After using the facilities, she came out of the bathroom. No sign of McGruff. Maybe he’d gone downstairs.

More sounds came from the closet. Curious, she tip-toed to it, easing the door open. His bare back was to her as he tugged up the zipper on his jeans. “Wow,” she mouthed at the sight of his broad shoulders. The overhead light beamed down on his skin; the area near his left shoulder seemed shinier. Then she looked closer, seeing the long, jagged scar running from his shoulder to shoulder blade. “Griff,” she gasped.

He turned quickly, revealing the wound continued and ran down the front of his shoulder and ended near his heart. Reaching out, he yanked a soft blue denim shirt off its hanger. The wooden object swung wildly, and then fell on the floor. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Priscilla came all the way into the barely filled walk-in closet, halting in front of him. “No, don’t cover it.”

Something in her tone must have stopped him. He stilled.

Lifting her hand, she touched the wound, gingerly running her fingers over the slightly puckered skin. In the back of her mind, she noted the straight line with pricks on either side. Surgery. But there were places where the edges blurred, weren’t as neat. Something had torn through his flesh. “How?”

His hooded stare watched her. “In combat.”

Those two short, clipped words spoke volumes. She shook her head, stemming a sudden rush of tears. “So much pain.” Without thinking, she leaned forward, kissing him there.

His swift, sharp breath whizzed past her cheek. But he didn’t push her away.

She rested her head against his chest, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around him. His heart thumped beneath her ear.

For long moments, he did nothing. Then he surprised her by holding her close, hugging her back.

Warmth surrounded her. His fresh scent tickled her senses. The sensation of soft skin covering hard muscles seemed at odds with each other.

But it was the feeling of being sheltered and cared for that stayed with her long after he pulled away.

His strange mixture of gentleness and gruffness stirred something in her heart. Who was this man and what was he doing to her?

***

A few minutes later, she found him in the kitchen, fully dressed now.

“Coffee?” he asked as he poured milk into a bowl.

“Can’t stand the stuff.” Her attempt at eliminating any awkwardness between them did gain a slight smile from him.

“You’d be surprised at how it comes in handy some days.” He waved to the fridge. “Help yourself to Chinese leftovers or whatever else you can scrounge up.” Picking up the bowl, he went to the back door, unlocked the bolt, and then opened it. Bending down, he placed the milk on the back stair.

“Do you have a cat?” Prissy followed him, sticking her head out the door to watch him.

“No.”

“So, you’re feeding what, may I ask?”

“Cat.” He stood, turning to face her.

Frowning, she stepped back as he moved toward her, and then closed the door behind him. “I don’t get it.”

He sighed. “It’s not mine. It started showing up about a week ago.” He shrugged. “She’s expecting.”

“Ah, how sweet. Little kitties.” She grinned at that tender side of him.

A meow pierced the air. They both turned, peeking out the window in the back door. He let her move in front of him. “She’s skittish around people.”

“You named her Cat,” she whispered, liking how his chest brushed against her back. Spotting the big orange cat licking at the milk made her smile.

“What else is there?”

“Tabby. Isn’t that what orange cats are? It can be short for Tabitha. What are you going to do with the kittens?”

“She’s not mine, so they’re not mine.”

“I think she may have adopted you, whether you like it or not,” she said, turning to face him.

He scowled. Moving away, he muttered, “No one stays.”

Priscilla’s heart tugged. Is that what he thought?

***

Griffin James had two choices: call her a cab or take her home. Something in him had already decided. “Ready?” He nodded to her empty glass of juice and half-eaten toast.

“I’ll clean up.”

“No need.” He wanted her out of his house. She disturbed him, upending his usually solid blockade at letting people in. He’d already revealed too much. Priscilla King was too damn sexy and dangerous.

She grabbed her pink tote bag and hopped off the stool. “Uh, do I get to ride in the Vette?” Her enthusiasm couldn’t stay contained.

He nodded, trying to hold onto any shred of what she liked to call McGruff. He failed.

A few minutes later, he directed her into the attached garage. The overhead motion detector light came on. She stopped short. He bumped into her. “No way! Tell me I’m dreaming.”

What was she talking about? Before he knew what happened, she rushed to the blue tarp, pulling up a corner and trying to get a peek.

“It’s a Harley, isn’t it? I saw one in a magazine once.”

“Whoa, now!” He stepped between her and the bike.

“Come on, let me see.” She shifted to the right to look around him, and then to the left. But it was when she reached out and put her hands on his waist that he caved. He had to stop her from touching him like that or any other way.

“You can look,” he warned, gently, but firmly taking her hands off him. Within minutes, he rolled the tarp off.

She tried to whistle. It came out in a sputter.

He chuckled.

“What do you call it? Black Beauty?”

“Why does everything have to have a name with you?”

Her pink flush and shrug sent a rush of heat through him. “I don’t know. I just like to. Names are important. They help define who you are, I guess.”

“How so?” He never put much merit in a name; he dropped his when he left foster care. Like a suit of clothing, Griff shed the outer persona of his grueling, lonely lost years of his boyhood. Once he exited the system, he refused to allow any remnants of doubt to strangle him or any chance he had left. His survival and success depended on creating a new life and forging ahead. Losing was never an option. Even if that meant dismissing his last concrete, public link to his father.

“I’m still trying to live up to the King name. Someday I hope I can.”

That hit him hard.

What would she think of him when he fulfilled his mission to destroy what she held dear?

***

After he allowed her to take pictures on her cell phone of him on the bike, he sighed with relief.

Griffin opened the car door, helping her in.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Real leather.”

He groaned and shook his head. A part of him liked her excitement at discovering new things. But, the part he shielded warned him: She’s getting too close. She knows too much already. Warning alarms went off in his head.
Danger!

Now easing into the driver’s seat, he prayed for strength.

She pointed to each instrument, asking what each one was and did.

He answered, one after the other, keeping himself on autopilot. Maybe, just maybe, he’d keep his feelings bottled up, too. Her light, feminine scent drifted to him as she leaned close. Griff sucked in a sharp breath. He doubted it.

“Would you let me borrow this sometime? Well, after I learn how to drive.”

Surprised, he pulled back. “You don’t know how to drive?”

“Nope. Not when I had drivers most of my life. At one time, King’s Department Store thrived, leading the pack. There were threats.” She frowned, and then shivered. “It was scary. I remember the police coming to the house.”

Griffin couldn’t imagine the thought of her being that vulnerable. “You need to take some self-defense classes.”

“You can teach me.”

“Think again.” He pointed to the glove compartment. “Garage door opener.”

She fished it out, and then handed it to him. “Why not?”

“I have better things to do with my time.”
Like stay away from sexy pixies.

“Like what? Decorate?”

He shoved the garage door opener onto the dash, and then twisted to face her, his arm resting on the back of her seat. Leaning close, he warned, “Priscilla King, you will not always get your way with me. No matter what tactics you try.”

She gasped; her breath feathered across his face.

An ache shot through him. Dropping his stare to her lips, he debated the wisdom of everything he’d done since meeting her last night.

***

His intensity snatched the breath right out of her. Priscilla stared into his eyes, seeing her stunned expression reflected there. Looking deeper, she saw not anger, but desire blazing. She gulped hard.

If there were anything she ever wanted, it was to kiss him. Right now.

With all the bravery she could muster, she reached up, cupping his face between her hands. Thankfully, he didn’t pull away. She glanced from his mouth to his eyes, and then back again. The moment she placed her lips on his, she moaned. “Soft,” she whispered in awe.

Never having kissed a man before, she did what felt good, sliding her lips across his. Once. Twice. He didn’t resist. When she pulled back, he stopped her.

Griff caught her chin in his hand. “Relax,” he murmured. It was his turn to cover her lips with his. He moved his over hers with expert ease, and then sliced her lips apart with his tongue. She gasped. He groaned.