Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series) (9 page)

“My father,” the words were hard to get out, “suffered at her hands.”

“And how. I think he got it worse than anybody else. You know why? I’ll tell you. He exposed her, to the rotten core. She fought back, bad-mouthing him.”

“Lying,” Griff corrected.

“Don’t you know it, too. But you yell long enough and loud enough, other people start thinking there’s something to it. I think because she was the widow, the press sympathized with her.”

“And against him.” Griffin recalled the agony of those days. They waited outside the house morning to night; flashbulbs went off any time his father or he would leave; the way they hurled accusation after accusation against him. “He wasn’t a thief.”

“I know that. Didn’t have it in him. But that bottle,” he murmured, “took his credibility away.”

“Hard to hide the drinking problem, wasn’t it?” He tried. How many mornings had Griff found him splayed out on a chair, passed out? How many days had Griff begun brewing coffee, splashing water on his father’s face to wake him up, help him as he staggered to the table once Griff had scrambled some eggs?

“Mr. K. got him straightened out years before, kept him together by believing in him. But once Mr. K. passed, well, he took it up again. She found his weakness—fed it, too.”

“Years before?” Griff asked, zeroing in on that phrase. “I just assumed her relentless attacks were the cause.”

“I wish I could blame her for everything. Nah, he wasn’t as bad, mind you, but it was there.”

Griffin swallowed hard. At the serious look on the other man’s face, he couldn’t doubt the truth. She hadn’t caused it. Shock rushed through his veins.

“Executive offices, clear,” the male voice came over the radio.

“Roger, that,” Bruno responded into his radio. “We got ten, maybe fifteen minutes, tops.”

Time was running out. He cut to the chase. “Bruno, I have to ask you something. Did you ever hear about another will, the
original
will?” He held his breath for the answer; everything hinged on this. Was it just the rambling of a drunken, defeated man? Or did Agnes King really forge a second, more lucrative will to gain control of King’s and all the money that went along with it?

Priscilla flipped through another design magazine, tapping her foot. Where in the world was Griff? She had all these questions she needed to ask him and discover what he wanted his home to look like. They only had a short time to get this together before the campaign launched next week. She had to get the questions up on the website, too. However, she’d keep his answers to herself until the big reveal.

How many messages could she leave with Peg, anyway? Priscilla didn’t dare call him on his cell phone, especially during work hours. But really, he could just have Peg set up a meeting with her. Or was he dodging her?

“Miss, you want this packed up?” one of the construction workers called to her, pointing to the stack of paint samples and brochures a few feet away.

Jumping up from her seat at the reception desk, Priscilla joined him. “If you could just lift them in the box, I’ll seal it and write on the side.”

“No problem.” A few days ago, his smile and hooded look would have registered on the interest meter. However, since meeting Griff, she couldn’t care less.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, some of my friends and I are getting together later. Just throwing back a few and playing darts. Nothing fancy. If you want, you can join us.”

Pulling back, she looked at the goofy grin and swagger of the blond-haired guy.

“Interrupting?” Griff asked, coming in unexpectedly.

She jerked around. Priscilla knew packing the bell over the door already had been a mistake, but with the crews coming and going, the constant ringing had gotten annoying fast. “Oh, Griff, Mr. James, I didn’t know you were here.” Why did she feel guilty at his raised eyebrow? She hadn’t done anything wrong. “No, we’re just deciding what gets packed and stored during the remodel.”

Griff looked at the younger man and nodded. “Excuse us.” He touched Priscilla’s elbow and steered her away to the big glass doors of the salon.

Her arm tingled where he held it. His grim look made her insides jump. Did he care?

“Free tonight?” he asked in a low voice, facing her now.

That was the last thing she thought he’d ask. “Yes,” she said without hesitation. His eyes burned with a light she’d never seen before.

“Good. I’ll pick you up. Six good for you?”

She nodded numbly. Was this a date?

“Casual. Jeans.” He glanced at her short leather skirt and sparkly high heels. Heat traveled over her as if his hands had made that same journey. “Low-heeled boots, too, if you have them.” With one last look, he exited.

Gulping, she moved to hold the door open and watched him walk away. Dang, he looked good coming or going. “Wow!”

He turned swiftly; a grin played around his mouth. “I heard that.”

***

A constant buzz hummed in her body for the rest of the day. Now, Priscilla yanked out another blouse, and then tossed it on her daybed. The pile grew. Standing in her jeans, boots, and bra, she peered into the back corner of the small closet. “Nothing,” she muttered, going back to the shelf. Sorting through a stack, she yanked out two of her favorites.

“Purple long sleeve tee layered over the green one,” she said in defeat. It wasn’t high fashion, but she knew Rico, her fashion consultant, would approve.

Smoothing the last one over her, she jumped when her cell phone rang. She leapt for it on her nightstand. “Hello.” She kicked herself mentally for not looking at the screen first to see who was calling.

“Can you meet me downstairs?” Griff’s deep voice poured over her like honey.

Her heart jumped to her throat. “Be right there.” Hanging up, she kicked herself again for such a lame answer.

By the time she raced down the three flights of stairs, Priscilla was out of breath. Flinging the door open, she stopped short at the sight before her. There, at the curb, he sat on his big, black Harley. His slow, sexy grin made her insides melt. “Black Beauty! You are so kidding me?!” she asked, holding her hands over her mouth, unable to contain her excitement.

He held out a black helmet for her. “Ready for the ride of your life?”

With you? Always!

***

Nestled behind him, with their helmets in place, Priscilla let him pull her hands around him and settle them on his hard, firm middle. “Heaven,” she said.

He started the bike, revving it. It vibrated underneath them.

Before she knew it, he pulled out of the parking spot and eased to the traffic light at the corner. It turned green. He expertly drove through the city streets, taking them to the highway, and then down so many back roads she had no idea where they were or how long they’d been riding. She didn’t care. The wind rushed by and her middle dipped in the best way possible.

She held onto his powerful body, reveling in the strength and warmth of him. His scent tickled her senses. She could get used to this, used to him.

The change in the motor brought her back to the moment. Griff pulled into the dirt parking lot of a little wooden shack of a restaurant.

“Hungry?” he asked, tugging off his helmet and helping her off the back of the bike. With a few swift movements, he assisted her with her helmet.

“Starving,” she said, running a hand through her hair.

“Best burgers in town.” He nodded to the place.

Looking at him, her heart melted. “I can’t thank you enough for the ride. It was so much fun.”

He got up, swinging his leg over the seat, standing close to her. “I’m glad you liked it.” The smile in his voice settled in her, warming her.

“You were right about the ride of my life,” she whispered.

His soft chuckle caused butterflies to flutter in her middle. Oh, no, she couldn’t really be falling for him, could she?

***

A few minutes later, with his hand lightly on her lower back, she followed the waitress to their table. She shivered at his touch. He must have felt it, too; he moaned.

“Need menus or you know what you want?” the middle-aged lady asked, pulling out the stained, worn placards from her apron as they settled in the booth.

Priscilla turned to Griff. “Cheeseburger and fries sound good to me.”

“Make that two,” he said to the waitress. “Root beer for me.”

“Me, too,” she added. After they stated their preference on how they wanted their burgers cooked, their waitress scooted away to greet the family a few tables down. “Not a beer drinker or is it because you’re driving?”

“Both.”

His short, clipped answer yanked her gaze to his. She raised an eyebrow. “Not telling?”

Griff looked at her long and hard. In his smoky gray eyes, she witnessed the debate of emotions going on within him. “I watched my father drink himself to death.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. How many times and in how many ways had he gotten hurt?
No one stays
. Reaching out, she covered his hand with hers. It gave her comfort he didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry. It must have been agonizing for you.”

He turned his hand, allowing her to lace her fingers with his. Long fingers; big, slightly rough palms… She loved the feel of warmth and strength there. “I’ve never had a drop. I saw the damage it did.”

“And the suffering it caused,” she guessed.

His silence stretched. The muted voices of the nearby customers, the clink of glasses, and clanging silverware settled around them.

“I tried a sip of beer once and couldn’t stand the taste. I just don’t get the appeal. Wine, yes, sometimes when I go out. Lately, I don’t even want it. Rico gets silly and loud.”

This made his lip twitch. “And he’s not already?”

She laughed.

Her phone blared. He pulled away. The intimacy evaporated right before her very eyes. Her heart sank.

“Maybe you should answer.”

She dug it out of her back pocket and glanced at the screen. Groaning, she shook her head. It wouldn’t stop ringing, so she silenced it and shoved it away.

“Trouble?”

“Ever since the Colonel left my mother, she won’t stop calling. Each message is a little bit more desperate than the last.”

“Here’s your root beers, guys.” The smiling waitress placed them on the table and tugged two straws out of her pocket. “Cheeseburgers will be out in just a few more minutes.”

“Thanks,” Priscilla said as the woman bounced to another table, where an older couple settled up their bill.

“The Colonel?” Griff’s question brought her back to their conversation.

“Her beau, I guess you could call him, for the last four months or so. He distracted her from us, her daughters, for a while. It was such a relief. I could breathe for the first time in my life.” She sighed, dunking the straw in her soda, and leaning in for a sip. Fiddling with the silverware, she said, “But, she couldn’t resist stirring the pot again. He didn’t like her antics. I’m sure you’ve gathered she’s not the nicest woman.” Her middle clenched. “She says she’s broken and lonely,” she winced, “and is begging me to come back home.”

“You’re not going, are you?” Was that concern?

Shaking her head, she said, “I’m trying to stand on my own two feet. She’s making it difficult, though.”

“How so?”

Priscilla blanched as she recalled the messages. “She calls four, five, sometimes more a day. At first, I answered, thinking she’d seen the light and would apologize. Wrong, so wrong. Then, she tried every trick in the book—from hollow compliments, to constructive criticism, to pressuring me, to trying to bribe me.”

“Bribe?” He sounded disgusted.

“My very own business—fashion or decor, whichever I want. All bankrolled by my mother, who will retain the controlling interest, of course. I get to put my name on the place and do everything else I desire.”

“In exchange for what?”

“A tax write-off and moving back home, to begin with.”

“Why don’t I like the sound of this?” he murmured.

“She wants to wed me to Francie’s cast off, a podiatrist with a foot fetish.” She felt the blush creep up her neck. “If he doesn’t work, there’s more to follow.”

“Not interested?” Why was he staring at her so hard?

“Me, marriage? Please. I’m free. I don’t want to be tied down.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

Priscilla jerked her head up to catch his intense gaze.

“Your sisters don’t have that type of arrangement, so why would you?”

She chuckled. It came out strangled. “They were much smarter. Mother allowed Charlie’s marriage because Alex agreed to buy King’s and make her very rich, which, in turn, he later gifted the store to Charlie.”

“Francine and Marcus?”

“They went behind her back. She was livid about it. No, you don’t know my mother. I’m the last daughter. She won’t let her one last shot slip away. She’s intentionally selecting prospective wealthy grooms who will bend to her will and thus she can control the entire union.”

“Not if you don’t let her.”

Griffin watched the riotous emotions chase across her face. She gulped hard, and then turned away, searching the small, rustic eatery. “Oh, look, a jukebox.” Her face lit up. “Can we play something?”

How could he refuse her when she smiled like that? “Sure.” He slid out of the booth. Following her to the corner where the old music machine stood, glowing with colored neon, three thoughts sliced through his mind. First, he couldn’t believe he let his guard down with her, opening up about his father. Never had he revealed that secret to anyone. Somehow, she understood his pain. Second, she was adorable and sexy at the same time. He blew out a hot breath, trying to ease the heat building inside him. And last, he’d do anything to protect her from her own mother; he refused to allow his pixie a life trapped in hell.

When they reached the jukebox, she ran her finger down the glass. “What do you suggest?” she asked.