Читать книгу From This Day Forward - Christie Ridgway - Страница 11

“Goodbye, Mother. Tell Dad I’ll be waiting for his call in my office tomorrow.” Shaking his head, Griffin hung up the phone, wondering if his mother would get the chance to pass along the message.

Though Laura and Jonathon Chase were vacationing in Hawaii, the way they spent their days seemed just as separate as when they were in California. He’d seen it with his own eyes on his way home from his stay abroad. He’d spent a few days at their house on the Big Island where he’d observed his father dedicating long hours to the golf course in the same intense manner he dedicated himself as CEO of Chase Electronics when he was in Strawberry Bay.

Griffin didn’t know what his mother usually did with those hours alone in paradise, but today she was worrying about Annie. Did she seem bothered by the bank robbery? Did Griffin think she would be recovered enough to cater their upcoming fortieth anniversary party?

Griffin had nobly bitten back a question of his own. Why the hell his mother wanted to celebrate forty years of glacial matrimony was beyond him. Instead, he’d merely assured her that Annie appeared perfectly able to fulfill her obligations.

Now he just had to ensure that he didn’t take another trek to her cottage to verify that assertion for himself.

Because he already knew she was fine. Naked, but fine.

No. Of course she wasn’t naked. She’d been wearing clothes. Just nothing underneath them. And why that was and why it would so strongly capture his imagination was something better left alone.

With that resolve, Griffin opened a drawer and pulled out his address book. He would find something to do and someone—a woman—to do it with. After working at home all day yesterday and then spending a few hours in the office this morning, he should enjoy Sunday afternoon, after all. But then his gaze snagged on the calendar.

Not just any Sunday, damn it. It was the fourteenth. February fourteenth. A totally lethal day for any entrenched-for-eternity bachelor like himself. Taking a woman out on Valentine’s Day was a statement, easily misread as a commitment for at least the rest of the year. He shuddered, quickly slapping shut his address book. If he wanted to reclaim his single-man, casual-with-women lifestyle—that his workaholic ways suited him for—he couldn’t take the risk of a Valentine’s Day date.

Which is why he was aimlessly wandering around downstairs and considering heading back to the office when his younger brother bounded through the front door. “Hey, bro,” Logan said. “Have you seen my tennis racket?”

Griffin shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks, slid them out. He looked over his shoulder, picked up his feet, then finally pulled at the front of his shirt to peer down at his navel. “No. I haven’t seen your tennis racket.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Logan said. He jogged toward the staircase that led to his old room. “I can’t remember if I moved it to the condo or left it here.”

Just bored enough to exert the energy it took to follow, Griffin started climbing the first flight of stairs after him. “Tennis with Cynthia, I presume?”

Logan froze on the landing, then looked back down at Griffin, a horrified expression on his face. “That’s not funny either. This is Valentine’s Day, have you forgotten?”

“Well, uh, no.” But Cynthia had been his brother’s girlfriend for ten years. From what his mother hinted at, an engagement was just a nudge or two away. “You’re doing something with her later?”

Logan blinked, then spoke slowly, as if Griffin had lost some brain cells. “Val…en…tine’s…Day.”

“I know.”

“Well then you know that Valentine’s Day is lethal to any firmly entrenched bachelor. You told me that years ago. It’s not something I’ve forgotten, Griffin.”

Griffin felt a spurt of guilt. Was it right for him to have passed along to Logan his own romantic pessimism? “I know, Logan, but—”

“Gotcha.” His brother grinned. “The truth is Cynthia herself declined to celebrate with me today. She’s up for some local commercial tomorrow and she wants to spend all day in a cucumber—or was it carrot?—mask. But we did exchange appropriately mushy e-mails this morning.”

Mushy e-mails? Griffin decided not to touch that with a ten-foot pole. “So who are you playing tennis with, then?”

“Tom Sullivan,” Logan said. “He’s the cop who talked Dad into sponsoring the mentor program at the company.”

As their father’s right hand, it was actually Logan who had convinced the old man to employ at-risk, though high-achieving, high-school students as interns at Chase Electronics. Some of those former students were already out of college and very successful in their own careers, thanks to the partnership between Chase Electronics and the Strawberry Bay Police Department.

Thinking of the police led Griffin naturally back to recent events. “Would your buddy Tom know anything about the investigation into the bank robbery?” Griffin had told Logan about it himself, when he’d finally returned to the office on Friday.

Logan shrugged. “I can ask. How’s Annie doing, by the way?”

Griffin frowned. “How the hell should I know?” he asked in irritation, even though he’d wondered the same thing himself all morning, causing the report he’d been drafting to take twice as long.

Logan’s eyebrows rose. “Hey, it was just a question.” He glanced at his watch. “If I can find that racket, maybe I have time to check on—”

“Don’t bother.” For some reason, Griffin didn’t want his Valentine’s Day-free and not-completely-taken brother to visit Annie. “I’m going by there myself soon.”

Thinking back on it, he remembered Logan tolerating Annie pretty well when they were kids. So Griffin didn’t think it was fair for his brother to make a February fourteenth visit. She just might get the wrong idea.

“Whatever you say, pal.” Logan gave him one strange, thoughtful look, then headed up the stairs.

Griffin headed down them. He’d told Logan that he’d check on Annie.

At least it was something to do.

It took just a few minutes to cut through the oaks and climb up Annie’s steps. When he raised his hand to knock, the sound of loud, yet mild cursing floated through the closed front door. “Darn and darn and shoot, shoot, shoot!” Something clattered against the floor.

Eyebrows drawing together, Griffin knocked.

There was a moment of silence—an almost embarrassed silence, he imagined—and then the noise of odd, uneven footsteps. Clop click clop click clop click. Annie opened the door.

Griffin shoved his hands in his pockets, struck by an unbidden, unwelcome need to touch.

Honey-haired Annie was wearing pink. A soft, talcum-powder pink. A long-sleeved top criss-crossed her breasts and tied at the side of her waist like something a ballet dancer would wear. It revealed a V of pale skin at her neck and a very modest swell of cleavage. The top was tight enough for Griffin to make out the thin outline of her bra.

Yesterday vividly came back to him. The pang in his chest when she’d broken down, the fragile warmth of her in his arms, his hand stroking her back and the sudden realization that his palm didn’t bump over a bra strap. And then her realization of his realization. Her nipples had tightened into hard little pearls that had branded his skin.

Just the memory shot twin arrows of heat from his chest to his groin. Griffin set his jaw and ignored the sensation.

Forget all that. Think about today. She’s wearing underclothes today.

But the discovery didn’t make her any less appealing, not when she was in a matching short, swingy skirt that revealed a length of slender legs. The clop click clop sound of her footsteps was explained by the fact that the strap of one cute, high-heeled shoe was buckled, while the strap of the other shoe hung free.

He smiled at her, he couldn’t help himself. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, before thinking better of it.

Her cheeks flushed, pinker than her outfit. “Well, thanks. Same to you.”

“I’m just checking in.”

“Oh,” she said, making a little face.

Another memory of the day before surfaced. Her big brown eyes wide, Annie had told him she didn’t need a keeper or a brother or a “whatever.”

Because she had a boyfriend?

He was annoyed that the thought hadn’t occurred to him before. Just because there hadn’t been a man in her cottage yesterday morning didn’t mean she didn’t have a man in her life. And Annie struck him as the type of woman who would be very particular about her bed partners, so if there was a man in her life, he wouldn’t be a casual kind of man.

And she was all dressed up—in pink even—for Valentine’s Day.

He tried peering over her shoulder to see evidence of standard February fourteenth fare, like flowers or candy. “Having a good day?”

She made that funny little face again. “Okay, I guess. I’m having trouble with my new shoe.”

“Can I help?” Without waiting for an answer or an invitation, he moved forward. Inside the cottage he would be able to observe more boyfriend evidence. Maybe even be there when the guy came to pick her up. As her post-robbery rescuer it was certainly natural, almost imperative even, that he perform a thorough inspection of the man, Griffin decided.

“Okay.” Blinking rapidly, Annie moved back, click clop click.

Shutting her door behind him, Griffin looked around. It appeared much the same as the day before. No flowers. No boxes of candy, no striped boxes from lingerie stores. Only Annie herself, looking like a perfectly sweet, perfectly tempting Valentine in all that pink.

And one imperfect shoe. She took it off and held it up. “I can’t get the strap through the buckle.”

With all the confidence of a man faced with a simple problem, he took the light piece of leather in his hand and made his way to the love seat. “I’m sure I can fix this in no time flat.”

Hah. The delicate shoe with its even more delicate strap made him feel like each hand was the size and shape of a baseball mitt.

“I need a tool,” he finally said, frowning at the stubborn strap. As slender as the damn thing was, he just couldn’t feed it through the gold-toned buckle either. But with a tool a man was never at a loss.

“What kind of tool?”

He looked up. Annie had a tiny, concerned crease between her light-brown brows that he wanted to erase with the pad of his thumb. He wanted to touch her there, or that place on her cheek where a dimple would wink if she smiled, or at that very smooth, very sweet spot on her temple where he’d touched her yesterday, where he could see her pulse beating today.

Her mouth moved. He thought of touching her there, too. His thumb against that puffy surface, his forefinger painting the deep dip of her upper lip, his own mouth lowering—

Her lips moved again, and he heard the words she said this time. “What tool?” she prompted.

Griffin shook himself. God. Valentine’s Day must be messing with his head. “Needle-nose pliers?”

She nodded and left the room, giving Griffin time to take a few deep, get-his-brain-back-in-the-right-hemisphere breaths. When she returned with the requested tool, he focused purely on the problem at hand and had the strap threaded through the buckle in moments.

Without taking his gaze off the shoe, he set it on the floor. “Slip your foot in and I’ll buckle it for you, then pull the strap through the other side.”

After a hesitation, she obeyed. Encased in a sheer stocking and with each toenail painted a matching talcum pink, the foot slowly lifted. As she pointed it through the wide circle made by the strap, her standing leg wobbled. Griffin quickly knelt on the floor and she placed her hand on his shoulder for balance.

He went to work on fastening the shoe, his hands back to baseball mitts. Crouched next to her, he felt the warmth of her sleek leg against his cheek and the scent of her filled his lungs. It was cinnamon, he thought. Spicy yet still sweet. He felt a tremor run through her, but he wasn’t sure if she was off-balance again or if his nearness affected her the way her nearness affected him.

Little Annie Smith, he reminded himself again.

Annie Smith all grown up, that evil little voice inside him answered.

He cleared his throat and used all his powers of concentration to ignore Annie in order to pull the strap through the second half of the buckle with the help of the needle-nose pliers. “Whew.”

He dropped the tool on the floor and straightened just enough to take a seat on the cushions of her love seat. “Mission accomplished.”

Annie didn’t lift her eyes off the newly fastened shoe. He thought perhaps she was breathing a little fast, but since his breaths were coming even faster, he couldn’t be sure. “Is it okay?” he forced himself to ask.

God forbid the shoe was too loose or too tight and she sent him to work on it once more. If he got that close to her legs again, he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t run his tongue along the pretty curve of her calf.

“I’m just wondering…” Annie started.

“Wondering?”

“If I’m going to have to wear this shoe to bed tonight.”

To bed. A woman with a boyfriend would count on him to get it off her, wouldn’t she? “You don’t have a man to take care of that for you?”

Her head came up, and her brown eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, no.” She blushed. “Well, maybe. But…not yet.”

Griffin frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her blush deepened. “I’m kind of…shy. A watcher. So I usually hate Valentine’s Day,” she confessed.

He smiled. “We’re soulmates then.” It was on a Valentine’s Day that he’d finally accepted the lesson of his parents’ marriage. It was the day he’d finally accepted his own true nature.

Annie shook her head. “Somehow I doubt that, Griffin. But I’m determined to get over how I feel about the day.” Her shoulders squared. “Did you know I’m almost twenty-five years old?”

Jail bait would be safer for him, but he’d figured she was somewhere in that range. “Congratulations.”

“No congratulations are in order. That’s the problem.” She frowned, her soft, pink mouth pouting a little. “I’ve been waiting, you see. But today, tonight, I’m seeking.”

A small rush of alarm ran through him. “Seeking?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m beginning to think that the fact it’s Valentine’s Day is a good omen.”

Valentine’s Day and good omens didn’t go together in his book, but he just said, “Exactly what are you doing tonight?”

“I’m going to a party.” Her voice held a note of pride. “I, Annie Smith, on Valentine’s Day, am going to a party as a seeker of…of love.”

Griffin stared at her. A seeker of love? The idea struck him as horrifying. Annie Smith seeking love. Terrifying. Heading out on a day like today, full of romantic hope, could spell disaster for her. Who knew what kind of men were out there, ready to take advantage of such optimism?

“Do you have a date to escort you during this, uh, seeking?” he asked hoarsely.

She shook her head and then her chin came up a notch. “I’m going alone.”

Griffin closed his eyes. “Oh no, you’re not.” Maybe this was payback for all those times he’d ignored her when she was a little girl. He vaguely remembered she’d lost her doll once and he’d refused to help her look for it. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t send her out in the world alone.

Seeking.

God.

On Valentine’s Day. She could get hurt.

Griffin sighed, stood up. “Somebody’s gotta be around to unbuckle your shoe.”

Annie had sputtered some half-hearted protests, but Griffin guessed that she was really grateful she didn’t have to walk into the Valentine’s Day party alone. Not long after he’d fastened her shoe, they found themselves outside the home of their hosts, a recently married couple who were friends of Annie’s.

There was some sort of holdup at the door, and they stood behind a line of six or eight others who appeared equally puzzled by the delay. Annie introduced him to the couple in front of them and he was pleased to discover they weren’t complete strangers. The male half was the brother of an old friend, while the man’s date was the daughter of a golfing buddy of Griffin’s father.

He’d forgotten how small Strawberry Bay really was. By tomorrow noon, it would be all over town that Griffin had escorted Annie to the party. If he wasn’t careful, by tomorrow evening the gossips would concoct some sort of grand romance for the two of them.

Griffin subtly shifted farther away from her and put on his best big-brother expression. Maybe it was too late to question the wisdom of appointing himself her Valentine’s Day protector, but he could make it clear to the partygoers that there was nothing the least bit passionate between them.

Then after tonight, he’d let her go.

As they shuffled closer to the front door, a round of infectious laughter had both Griffin and Annie shrugging and exchanging puzzled smiles. Not until they were at the front of the line did they understand what the giggles were all about.

Annie introduced Griffin to their smiling host, Jeff, and then the man explained what was happening. “It’s a party game,” he said, gesturing at the video camera set up on a tripod in the entry. “Everyone who attends as a couple is kissing on tape. We’ll play the whole thing later and award prizes.”

Jeff wiggled his eyebrows and his grin widened. “You know, best, worst, coldest, hottest.”

Uh-oh, Griffin thought. He looked over at Annie.

She wasn’t looking at him. “We don’t want to play,” she said quickly. Still without meeting his eyes, she took hold of Griffin’s forearm and tried tugging him through the entry.

Jeff blocked their way, his good-natured grin still in place. “C’mon Annie. Be a good sport. It’s not fun unless everybody plays.”

She frowned, shaking her head.

But Jeff wouldn’t give up. He elbowed Griffin in the ribs. “Griffin. You tell her. You gotta play. And you wanta play, right?”

Oh, hell. What was a man supposed to say? He knew Annie wasn’t keen on kissing him for the camera. But they were holding up the line behind them by refusing and people were gathering closer to see what was happening. So with all these partygoers looking on he was supposed to disagree with Jeff and say that he didn’t want to kiss Annie?

Both the rock and the hard place pinched like hell.

“What’s the big deal about one kiss?” he murmured to Annie. He took her hand in his—her fingers were almost insultingly cold—and drew her beside the wall Jeff indicated.

While the other man fiddled with the video camera, Annie looked up at Griffin and spoke through her teeth. “I don’t want to do this,” she said. “I feel…silly.”

With his forefinger he notched her chin an inch higher. “Better silly than a party-pooper.”

“Go ahead guys!”

At Jeff’s command, Griffin obediently bent. He focused on the soft pink of Annie’s lips and tried gauging just what kind of kiss it would have to be. Short enough to maintain their dignity, but long enough to prove her desirability, he thought. Annie wouldn’t thank him for making it appear he wanted to get it over with.

As he closed in, she let out an almost panicked rush of breath. It puffed mintily against his mouth and mingled with that cinnamony scent of hers. He cupped her shoulders with his hands and felt her stiffen. “Relax,” he whispered, then brushed his lips against hers.

She tasted sweet, but she kept her lips primmed and stiff as he brushed by them softly again. Griffin gave a mental frown. At this rate they’d win the prize for best boring kiss.

Damn it. Male pride made him want to avoid looking as if he’d lost his touch with women. And didn’t Annie claim she’d come here as a seeker of love? Well, no one of the opposite sex would be seeking either one of them back if they didn’t demonstrate their ability to provide a halfway decent kiss.