Читать книгу The Naughty List Bundle with The Night Before Christmas & Yule Be Mine - Fern Michaels - Страница 11

She’d let the lion straight into her den. What was she thinking?

She could feel him behind her, almost like a physical caress. It was that ridiculously sexy brogue of his, she understood that. And the twinkle. Okay, and his mouth. Something about those hard lips, suddenly becoming very sensual and appealing when he smiled—which made no sense, set as they were in his otherwise rugged face. His jaw and cheekbones looked as if they’d been chiseled from a block of smooth granite. He had a beautifully shaped head, but with his hair clipped so very short, the whole aura should have been menacing rather than sexy.

So, why was she feeling all tingly, and warm, and, well…needy?

“I’ve got one hundred cupcakes to decorate,” she announced, as if by putting the workload out there, she’d create a wall of some kind. Whether it was a wall between her and Griffin, or her and her libido, she wasn’t entirely sure. Nor did she care, as long as one of them worked. “I also have several other cakes to be baked and decorated, but I’ll come down early to do the detailing on those.”

“Come down?” Griffin glanced upward just as she turned back to look at him, then lowered his gaze to hers. “You live above your shop?”

It was a good thing she’d studied tax law. She’d have made a lousy defense attorney. “I do, Mr. Gallagher. Now—”

“Can we at the very least lower our shields enough to consider a first-name basis? I assure you, I won’t mistake the familiarity with the idea that you’ve gone soft on me, or my plans.”

She looked at him and desperately wished there were no soft parts in her. Starting with the ones that were eagerly responding to his every request. She scooped up two heavy oven mitts and thrust them at him. “You can be on oven duty,” she said, in lieu of a response.

He didn’t reach out for the mitts, but rather raised one eyebrow. On anyone else, the resulting expression would have looked malevolent at best. On him…well, let’s just say her soft, tingly parts were getting a lot warmer.

“Griffin,” she finally relented, rolling her eyes when he grinned and took the mitts from her.

“Wasn’t so ’ard now, was it?” he asked, as he removed his coat.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, turning her back to him as she rolled the tall, aluminum racks toward the ovens in the back of the kitchen.

“Aye,” he said, quite affably. “It’s a large part of my charm.”

Luckily he couldn’t see her responding smile. Damn the man.

“And my success,” he added, his voice coming from just behind her.

“I can understand the latter part.” She carefully smoothed her expression before turning to face him. “The pans on the top three trays go in this one,” she said, gesturing to the oven behind her. “The bottom two go in that one. Center the pans, front and rear, leaving several inches between them. They’re already preset, just hit the timer button after you shut the door.”

She was normally very compulsive about things like pan placement and rack spacing. Both were vital to a perfectly baked cake. At the moment, however, she couldn’t afford to be picky. As it was, she was putting more pans in one oven than she’d like, but time was of the essence. She’d already set up the cupcakes that needed to be decorated on one of the worktables, so she headed over to it, leaving Griffin to do as directed. She would double back and check on them once she got the base frosting on the first tray.

“How long have you been a baker?” he asked, over the clatter of the pans sliding onto the oven racks. “Does it run in the family?”

“No,” she said, knowing small talk probably wasn’t a bad idea, but finding it a challenge. His presence was unnerving. Perhaps if she kept things casual and civil, she could gain a bit more knowledge about his plans for Hamilton. The more information she had, direct from the source, the better chance she’d have of getting her starry-eyed, fellow business owners to listen to her concerns.

She could hardly believe the pied-piper spell he’d cast over them. She’d known going in that the sentiment had not been running high in favor of the rumored new plans. So she’d been more than a little stunned to walk into the auditorium and feel a very distinct vibe of excitement, rather than frustration, or even outright anger.

She’d looked over the brochures she’d grabbed as she’d stomped out of the auditorium and quickly away from the inquiring eyes of her neighbors. Not that it had mattered. Every one of them had found one reason or another to drop by the shop later that afternoon. Some had been circumspect in expressing their curiosity about her apparent earlier run-in with Griffin. Others had been downright blatant. She shuddered to think what the rumor mill would be saying if they knew he was with her after shop hours. It led her to belatedly wonder if anyone had seen him enter as she was flipping the CLOSED sign.

Dammit.

“So, then”—came his voice from directly behind her left shoulder, giving her another little jolt—“what did get you into baking? I understand you’ve only been back in Hamilton for a few years.”

She tried to turn around, then realized how small the space was between the worktable and…him. She seemed to be making a habit of that whenever he was around. Of course, like the gentleman he wasn’t, he didn’t shift to give her more space.

“I’ve been back almost four years now. I’m surprised, if you’ve been doing homework on me, that you don’t already know why I came back.”

“I know your best friend was quite ill.”

“Yes. I came back to help with her business, and…be here for her.”

There was such compassion in his eyes then, she almost couldn’t believe it was the same grinning man of a moment ago, shamelessly using his charm and his accent to woo her good favor.

“God rest her soul,” he added, with quiet sincerity. “I’m sorry for your loss, Melody. The world doesn’t often see fit to populate our paths with those who become near and dear to us. It’s a shame, indeed, to lose a single one of them.”

He was standing so close, and sounded so damn…earnest. She wouldn’t have thought he had it in him, but as close as she was standing to him, she was pretty sure she’d have been able to detect even the slightest hint of artifice. She wanted to ask who he’d lost, why his understanding was so keen. But the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t want to get to know him in that way. She didn’t want to care about him.

“Th-thank you,” she stammered, groping for the anchor her frustration and anger had provided her thus far with him…and coming up empty-handed.

“Was this her shop, then?”

“It was,” she said, hearing the clipped tone in her voice. But at his continued look of sincere interest, she finally relented. “I’d helped her set it up a year or so before, and came back to help her run it when she became too weak to handle the workload.”

“What was it you gave up to come back?”

“You mean, what did I do for a living before this? I thought you checked up on me.”

“I asked after you with the innkeeper, the lovely Mrs. Crossley, but we were interrupted by new guests arriving before she got much further than telling me about your friend. I haven’t had time to do more than that.”

“Ah.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about his asking around town about her. “Well, I was born here, I left, I came back. Having been gone, I have a much greater appreciation for exactly what Hamilton has to offer. I’m afraid I don’t see the tourist draw that you do. Nor do I think that’s the right direction to push our town.” One corner of her mouth kicked up. “Sorry, ‘village.’”

To his credit, he smiled too. While her non-answer had diverted their conversation from the more serious direction it had been heading, it didn’t do anything to create the distance she so badly wished to reestablish between them. Getting him out of her personal space would be a great place to start…she just didn’t seem to be able to accomplish it.

“You’d like for your hometown to stay just as it is for the remaining years of your life. I can understand that, the sentimental attachment, the security that comes with the familiar, the trusted. But what you don’t see is that if Hamilton doesn’t reach forward, it will sink hopelessly into the past. And that won’t allow you to thrive. Not as you could, if you’d be willing to embrace new ideas. I’m no’ looking to destroy your home, Melody. I’m looking to expand on it, improve it, and with that, give you a greater opportunity for bigger successes.”

“You seem to forget I did do my homework. I’ve seen the befores and afters of some of your handiwork.”

He didn’t seem remotely abashed by either her pronouncement or her clear lack of respect. He also seemed entirely too close to her. Still. She could see the tiny, darker flecks that tinted his almost translucent green eyes, could see that he had, indeed, broken his nose at some point. And there was a hairline scar that ran along the top of one eyebrow, and another still, high on his forehead, clearly indicating she hadn’t been far off in her assessment of him as a competent, or at least willing, brawler.

“Some places required more work than others to shore up the foundations,” he responded with the ease of someone who was quite used to defending his work.

It made her wonder how often he had to do that very thing. But rather than make her feel more confident in her arguments, she worried instead that she was going to be outmatched by someone who had fought and won the battle many, many times.

“In those cases,” he went on, “the citizenry was happy to have their home restored in such a way as to guarantee its longevity well into the future. You were right about this not being an Old World town. But some of the ones you’ve researched were. There were few options for renewal without rebuilding, restructuring. It made sense to modernize, to give those villages every opportunity to become successful, thriving communities that could sustain themselves in the modern world, and into the future. Yes, old traditions may have to evolve into new ones. But age-old traditions, while cherished and fondly remembered, won’t sustain a community alone. There has to be flexibility and room for reinterpretation, for building new traditions, new legacies. Isn’t that the very core of your country’s philosophy? If you didn’t embrace growth, you’d all still be driving horses and buggies.”

He made it sound so…necessary. So simple. But it wasn’t.

He tilted his head, ever so slightly, and that mischievous twinkle seemed ready to surface in his eyes at any moment, in contradiction with the absolute seriousness of his tone and the set of his jaw. “If you’d spoken to any of the residents of those places, Melody, you’d have heard how happy and excited they are about their prospects for the future.”

She sighed, and her shoulders slumped a little. He was good, she’d give him that. “Mr. Gallagher—Griffin—I—”

“Let me finish.”

She nodded, so caught up in his eyes, the mellifluous sound of his voice, the vibrancy that radiated from him when he spoke about what he so clearly believed in, that she couldn’t have looked away then if she’d wanted to. “Go on,” she said, ceding him the floor, if not the victory.

The tension in his jaw relaxed just a bit, as did his tone, but the vibrancy was no less potent when he spoke. “I’m no’ in the business of ruinin’ lives,” he said quietly. “I’m no’ here to make your life, or any of those who live here, more challenging, or diminish, in any way, the things you love about Hamilton. I come from a place where traditions are important, too. I consider all of that when coming up with my plans.”

She struggled to keep her head from becoming hopelessly fogged by him, to keep her thoughts clear, her arguments concise. “The pictures you have in the brochure make Hamilton look like some bright, shiny FutureWorld. You can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. We’re a dyed-in-the-wool, homespun-and-happy-for-it sow’s ear. We don’t want or need to be some kind of resort town getaway. Most of us are here because we like permanently being away.”

“Melody—”

“My turn,” she said, hoping he saw that she was just as earnest and sincere as he was. “We’re happy you’re here.” At his arch look, she said, “We are, Griffin. Truly. We’re happy that Lionel has someone he can trust to take over his business, so we can continue forward. With Trevor Hamilton bowing out, it’s been a great concern, where the future would lead without a Hamilton heir at the helm. But if you’d just work on growing Hamilton Industries, the town will grow by default.”

“But no’ fast enough.”

“What is the big rush? We’re not unhappy with our slower way of life. We all know we’re not going to get rich living and working here. We’re not failing as a town, so—”

His previously open gaze grew shuttered. And a whole new kind of alarm sprang to life inside her.

Her heart squeezed hard inside her chest. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Or all of us? Is something wrong at Hamilton Industries? Are we in some kind of trouble?”

“You’re on the brink of achieving a success like you never dared hope for.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the answer I bring, Melody. It’s an answer that will work.”

She looked into his eyes and realized he was not going to give her anything more. She understood. His loyalties lay with Hamilton Industries. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. “Perhaps you, and by extension, Lionel, should have more faith in the people who keep this town running. Why don’t you focus on the people who run your company?”

“It’s no’ mine as yet.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t underestimate us, Griffin. You’ll garner the kind of real loyalty and support you’re trying to charm us into, if you tell us the truth. We don’t scare off. And we don’t give up.”

“You’ve seen my list of successes, Melody, so I’m going to ask you, based on my track record, to trust that I know what I’m doing. I’m handling the situation the best way possible for everyone involved. Everyone.”

She sighed a little at that and tried not to be frustrated. Before, she’d been prepared to dislike him and cast him as the bogeyman, come to ruin her bucolic little life. It was harder to do now that he’d allowed her to glimpse the real man behind the charming Irish accent and glossy Power-Point presentation.

That man seemed sincere, smart, and very determined.

She broke their gaze, looked down, wanting, needing to regroup. And felt his knuckles beneath her chin, drawing her gaze back to his.

“I think you’ll find that my way isn’t a bad way.”

She looked into his eyes, wanting to find what she needed, so she could get past the ball of fear in her gut. All she knew, in her gut and in her heart, was nothing was going to be the same again. She knew it, just as surely as she’d known moving back here to be with Bernie, to take on a whole new life challenge, was the absolute right thing to do. She prayed like hell this was going to work out half as well. “I hope, for all of our sakes, that you’re right.”

“I am,” he said simply and without arrogance.

Standing, all but in his arms, their gazes locked, she felt connected in a way she hadn’t ever been before, and certainly wouldn’t have expected to be. She saw how easy it could be to trust him, to put her faith in him, let him lead the way, and believe everything would be okay. And she knew the townspeople would feel exactly the same way. Maybe her time in Washington had left her too cynical, too suspicious. But she strongly felt that she was right to protect what was hers, what she saw as the most valuable parts of the life that fulfilled and contented her. She hadn’t thought she was alone in those feelings. She’d heard the same sentiment over and over, expressed by everyone in town. But she saw what had swayed them and understood the temptation. Lord knows she felt it. But that didn’t mean she had to give in to it. Not when so much was at stake.

As she moved to break the moment completely, to shift away from him, do whatever she had to, kick him out if necessary, to regain her perspective—not to mention control over her own libido—he spoke.

“Do you know what I wish for, Melody?”

She smiled at him. She was finding it increasingly easy to do. Danger, danger, she thought. But she didn’t step back. “That I’d stop being a thorn in your side?”

His lips curved, and somehow, that half grin was sexier than all the sparkling, charm-filled ones that had come before it. He had offered it naturally, rather than as a calculated play.

“That, too, of course. But I’m referring to a rather more…insistent, immediate wish.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, then slowly returned to meet her eyes.

Her heart started an erratic tattoo inside her chest, and her skin had gone beyond warm and tingly to an almost steamy dampness that had nothing to do with the huge ovens cranking out heat. She should have stepped away when she had the chance. At the moment, she was rooted right to that spot.

“Which is?” The words came out as a damnably soft whisper.

The pupils in his clear green eyes expanded until they threatened to swallow up the rest. That darkness added an element that made him seem all the more dangerous.

“That I could court your favor quite personally, for reasons having nothing to do with business. And everything to do with kissing. Your lips tempt me. Mightily.”

She swallowed reflexively against the sudden tightness in her throat. “How…direct.”

“You wanted honesty.”

“If only you could be so where it mattered,” she said, her voice still not as strongly confident as she’d hoped.

“So tempting…”

“Honesty…or—”

“The natural color and shape of your lips is so striking. Your bottom lip fair begs a man to…” He trailed off, his gaze fixed on her mouth, then lifted back to her eyes. There was so much electricity, it was as if a live wire had brushed against all her nerve endings at once. She felt…carnally singed. And it was only an intent look. Were he to put his hands on her just then, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t combust into a ball of flames.

“Griffin—”

“Miss Duncastle…”

She couldn’t help it, she smiled.

He groaned, just a little, as her lips curved deeper. She should take some much-needed strength in the discovery that she held some sway over him, as he did with her. He with his accent and otherworldly eyes, and she, apparently, with her…lips.

Odd, but she’d always felt her strength was a keen mind. She should be insulted, perhaps, or at the very least feel condescended to, that his attraction was so seemingly superficial. Instead she felt rather primal and intensely female. And she wasn’t at all upset about it.

His knuckles, still resting beneath her chin, uncurled, and his hand opened to slide up and cup the side of her face. For a man who purported to have made his fortune using his own keen mind, she was surprised to feel the calluses on his palm.

Although they perfectly fit the cunning, Irish devil who was tilting her jaw and lowering his mouth to claim hers.