Читать книгу Forever an Eaton: Bittersweet Love - Rochelle Alers, Rochelle Alers - Страница 16

Chapter 6

“I’ll take both of them.”

Belinda turned on her heel, walking out of the room to wait on the Sandersons’ back porch. She had to get away from Griffin or say something she would regret for the rest of her life.

Griffin had called his neighbor and set up an appointment to see the puppies. He’d told his nieces that they were going shopping after eating out at a local diner. But they were totally unaware that going shopping meant looking for a dog.

The remaining three-month-old Yorkies, both males, were spirited, friendly and adorable. The only question was which one Sabrina and Layla would choose. Belinda realized the quandary when each girl picked up a puppy, cradled it to her chest and then refused to relinquish them when Griffin told them to pick one. He’d become a victim of his own negotiating skills when each girl pleaded her case as to why they didn’t want to share one dog.

“I think your wife is a little upset,” Nicole Sanderson said in a quiet voice to Griffin. “Why don’t you go and see what’s wrong.”

Nicole was pleasantly surprised when Griffin Rice followed through on his promise to set up an appointment to look at the puppies. She, however, was more than surprised when he revealed that he was also coming with his wife and daughters. Paoli was a small town, with a population of fifty-four hundred, and it was inevitable that most residents’ paths would occasionally cross in the friendly, close-knit community. When Griffin Rice purchased a home in Paoli nearly eight years before, the town’s grapevine hummed with the news that they had a celebrity living among them.

“I’ll be right back,” Griffin said to the woman who was looking forward to selling her last two purebred Yorkshire terriers. Opening the door, he saw Belinda with her back to him.

“Lindy, baby.”

“Don’t you dare say a mumbling word to me, Griffin Rice!” With wide eyes, she rounded on him. “Don’t call me Lindy, and I’m not your baby.”

Griffin didn’t understand what’d set her off. She’d agreed to their nieces having a dog, so what could be so wrong with them having one more? “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Belinda repeated, approaching him. When she closed her eyes the tips of her lashes touched her cheekbones, and when they opened again the dark orbs were awash with moisture. “Marriages fail because couples don’t communicate. They argue about money, child rearing and lack of affection but not necessarily in that order. We are not communicating, Griffin, and we aren’t even married. I agreed to one puppy. How on earth did it become two?”

Griffin resisted the urge to pull Belinda in his arms. “Didn’t you hear what Layla and Sabrina said? They said this is the first time in their lives they’re not treated as if they’re joined at the hip. You’re the only one who doesn’t refer to them as the twins, or who bought them matching outfits. They had to wait twelve years to get their own rooms, where they won’t grow up as copies of each other. You relate to them as freethinkers, individuals, and that’s what they’ve become. Sabrina doesn’t want to share her puppy with Layla and vice versa.”

“Two puppies translate into twice the mess.”

Taking a step, Griffin rested a hand on the nape of Belinda’s neck. “A mess you won’t have to deal with. Each girl will be responsible for her own puppy. Not having to share will eliminate arguments as to whose week it is to clean the crate.”

Belinda tried ignoring the subtle, seductive fragrance of Griffin’s aftershave—but failed. “Why do you insist on complicating my life?”

“How am I doing that?”

“Instead of looking after one puppy when our daughters are away on their class trip, I’ll have to look after two.”

Griffin brushed a light kiss over her parted lips. “Remember, Lindy, you’re not in this alone. I’ll help you.”

“When? Don’t you have a company to run?”

He nodded. “A business I’m currently downsizing from six to two. I’ve already begun moving files from the Philly office to Paoli. I’m putting my marketing manager on retainer, and I expect to hire a retired paralegal who wants to come on board part-time, which fits perfectly into my business strategy. She’ll be responsible for typing contracts and filing court documents.”

“You’re moving your office.” The question was a statement.

“Yes. That’s why I built the addition onto the house. To be honest, I should’ve done it years ago. The money I’ve spent renting a suite of offices in downtown Philly could’ve fed every child in a small African country for at least a year.”

“Where are you going to conduct your meetings?”

“In whatever city the team owners’ call home. If it’s local, then I’ll reserve a room at a restaurant with good food and service, or a hotel suite.”

The seconds ticked off as Belinda and Griffin stared at each other. He hadn’t shaved, and the stubble on his lean jaw enhanced rather than detracted from his classic good looks. Dressed in an olive-green barn jacket, jeans, black crewneck sweater and matching low-heeled leather boots he reminded her of a Ralph Lauren ad.

“When did you decide all this?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“It was the day I went to clean out Grant’s office—something I’d avoided doing for weeks—because I didn’t want to admit to myself that my brother had been right when he said that the price of success is grossly overrated.

“As I stood in his twentieth-floor corner office overlooking downtown Philadelphia I could hear a voice in my head. At first I thought it was my imagination, but it wasn’t because I was reliving the one time I saw my brother drunk. He’d just gotten a promotion and a coveted corner office. I’ll never forget his face when he stared at me, then said, ‘Success don’t mean shit when you look at what you have to sacrifice in order to achieve it.’ At first I thought he was just being maudlin until he talked about how he was able to remember everything about his clients’ stock portfolios but he couldn’t remember his wife’s birthday or their wedding anniversary. He talked about the meetings and business trips that took him away from home where invariably he’d miss a recital or his daughters’ school plays. For Grant, making it had become all-consuming. I suppose it had something to do with proving to your parents that Donna hadn’t made a mistake when she agreed to marry him.”

“My parents were never against your brother marrying my sister,” Belinda said, defensively.

“I didn’t understand how Grant felt until I met your family for the first time. My first impression was that the Eatons were snobs. You come from generations of teachers, doctors and lawyers, while my mother and father were the first in their family to graduate from college. Grant had less than a month before he would get his degree and he still hadn’t heard from any of his prospective employers when your father took him aside and said that if he ever needed money to take care of his daughter or grandchildren then he shouldn’t hesitate to come to him. His offer cut Grant to the quick, but he smiled at Dr. Eaton and said that he wouldn’t have married his daughter if he hadn’t been able to support her.

“So, the day Grant got his seven-figure salary and all the perks that went along with his position, he warned me about putting success before family. I never wanted children because I didn’t want them growing up with parents who fought more than they made love. And since life doesn’t always play out the way we want it to, I’m committed to making the best of the hand I’ve been dealt. I promised my brother I would take care of his children in the event anything happened to him, and that means being available for parent-teacher conferences, school concerts, supervising sleep-overs and chauffeuring them when it’s time for college tours.”

Belinda tried to hide her confusion. She’d believed that Grant worked long hours so that Donna could be a stay-at-home mother and the envy of the other women in their social circle who were jealous because they were working mothers.

“I didn’t know,” she said softly when she recovered her voice.

“I doubt if Donna knew how Grant felt. He wasn’t one for opening up about himself—not even to his wife. In that way he’s a lot like my dad. It has taken my father more than forty years to tell my mother that he’d been carrying around a world of resentment because she got pregnant and he had to drop out of medical school to take care of her and their child.”

Belinda couldn’t stop the frown forming between her eyes. “He should’ve accepted half the blame. After all, she couldn’t get pregnant by herself, Griffin.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, beautiful. People always blame others when something goes wrong in their life because it’s easier than accepting responsibility that perhaps they, too, were wrong.”

Belinda lowered her gaze, staring at Griffin’s strong, brown throat. “I should apologize to you.”

“For what?”

“I retract what I said about you not having any redeeming qualities.”

“You said no such thing.” Belinda’s head came up, her exotic-looking eyes filling with confusion. “You said, and I quote, ‘I’m not attracted to you, and there’s nothing about you that I find even remotely appealing.’” He placed his free hand over his heart. “You have no idea of how much you hurt me when you said that.”

Belinda was hard-pressed not to laugh at his affected theatrics. “Suck it up, Rice. What I said pales in comparison to when you said I wasn’t at the top of your list for what you’d want in a woman.”

Griffin angled his head and smiled. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I lied.”

Her smile matched his. “I suppose since we’re into true confessions, then I’ll admit that I lied, too.” She wanted to tell Griffin that she was attracted to him and found him very appealing.

Griffin brushed a light kiss over her parted lips. “Let’s go back inside and close this deal. I’m certain Sabrina and Layla are anxious to take their puppies home.”

Belinda caught the sleeve of Griffin’s jacket. “Before we go in I just want to remind you that the girls are leaving to go on a class trip to D.C. two days before I’m out for spring break. We’re going to have to make arrangements to board the puppies for those days.”

“They won’t have to go to a kennel.”

“They’re too young to be left alone.”

“Don’t worry so much, Lindy. I’ll stay at your place until you come home.”

“What if you have to leave town on business?”

“Whatever it is can wait,” he said softly. “Remember, family comes first, even if it’s of the four-legged furry persuasion.”

* * *

Roberta Eaton smiled at her granddaughters, each holding a tiny puppy with dark fur and tan markings. “What do we have here?”

“Grams, this is Cecil Rice,” Sabrina announced in a loud, dramatic voice. “He’s a Yorkshire terrier.”

“And this is Nigel Rice,” Layla said, introducing her puppy. “We gave them British names because Aunt Lindy told us that Yorkshire is in England.”

Roberta Eaton pressed her palms together. “They’re so tiny. How much do they weigh?”

“Nigel is two pounds and three ounces and Cecil two pounds and six ounces,” Sabrina answered, bragging like a proud mother.

Roberta shook her head in amazement. “Together they don’t even weigh five pounds.” She leaned over, kissing her granddaughters who were now as tall as she was. “Go show your Gramps the puppies, then put them away because it’s time to eat.”

Belinda hugged and kissed her mother before heading toward the kitchen. She hadn’t missed sharing a Sunday dinner with her parents since Donna passed away because she knew what it meant to her mother to have at least one of her children with her for what throughout past generations had become a family day.

Myles, who lived and worked in Pittsburgh, wasn’t expected to return until the end of the school year, and her younger sister, Chandra, was now a Peace Corps worker assigned to teaching young children in Bahia.

Roberta gestured to the tall, casually dressed man standing behind her daughter, clutching the handle of a crate. “Griffin, please find some place to put that doggy prison, and then come eat.”

Griffin complied, putting the wire crate in a corner of the spacious entryway. “I have to go back to the car and bring in dessert.”

“You didn’t have to bring anything. I made a coconut cake.”

Smiling and sharing a knowing look with Belinda, Griffin said, “I guess ours will keep.”

“No doubt,” Belinda crooned, playing along with him.

Roberta caught the surreptitious exchange between her daughter and Griffin. “What did you bring?”

“Carrot cake.”

“From where, Griffin?”

“Ms. Tootsie’s Soul Food Cafe.”

“Bertie, stop playing,” Dwight Eaton called out with his approach. “You know you love Ms. Tootsie’s carrot cake. But then again, any dessert from Ms. Tootsie’s isn’t as good as yours,” he added quickly, always the diplomat.

Belinda gave her father a wide grin. He always said the right thing. Dr. Dwight Eaton was only a couple of inches taller than his wife, but what he lacked in height he compensated for with wit and personality. His patients loved him as much for his medical expertise as his gentle bedside manner. His dark brown face was smooth, except for a few lines around his equally dark eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses.

“How are you, Lindy?”

“Wonderful, Daddy.”

Dwight smiled at Griffin. “Are you taking good care of my girls?”

“I’m doing the best I can, sir.”

The older man waved a hand. “Please, Griffin, none of that ‘sir’ business. Don’t forget you’re family.”

Voices raised in excitement preceded a streak of dark fur running across the living room. Roberta caught a puppy—Belinda still couldn’t distinguish whether he was Nigel or Cecil because their markings were identical—and Griffin put the runaway puppy into the crate, while she went to retrieve the cake from his SUV.

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, everyone sat down at the dining room table to enjoy a traditional Southern dinner of macaroni and cheese, smothered pork chops, collard greens, buttery corn bread and sweet tea.

Sabrina and Layla talked nonstop about school, the students who rode the bus with them on their new route and the research they’d gathered from the internet on Yorkies. It was the first Sunday dinner since the death of their parents that the sisters were animated and their mood ebullient. Both decided to forego dessert to play with the whining, yipping puppies that were anxious to be released from their confinement.

Griffin, at Belinda’s urging, said their goodbyes at six to return home and prepare for the upcoming week. When Belinda retired for bed later that night her thoughts were of Griffin—how she’d come to look forward to seeing him, sharing meals and the responsibility of raising their nieces.

* * *

Belinda stared at her reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the image. It wasn’t so much that her face had changed but the woman to whom the face belonged—she had changed.

She never would’ve imagined four months ago, or even four weeks ago that she would’ve accepted Griffin Rice’s request to step into the role as his hostess. She’d rehearsed for the part by making his house appear lived in. With the exception of his home office, every room in the large colonial was picture perfect, as if each piece of furniture and objet d’art had been selected and positioned for a magazine layout.

Griffin admitted to hiring a design firm to decorate his house in a style reminiscent of grand Caribbean plantation homes erected during the British colonial period. Dark, heavy mahogany four-poster beds with posts engraved with decorative pineapples, leaves and vines, tables with curving legs, highboys, armoires, secretaries, settees, wall mirrors and chests of drawers transported you back to an era of ruling-class elegance whose enormous wealth was derived from slaves, sugar and rum.

It’d taken her less than a day to transform the house into a home with large green plants in glazed hand-painted vases, fresh flowers and dozens of pillars, votives and tea lights in decorative holders. The gathering was small, with a confirmed guest list of fourteen. A caterer and bartender arrived an hour before the first guests were scheduled to arrive.

For the first time in a week, anticipation at meeting their sports idol shifted Layla’s and Sabrina’s attention from their pets to the party. Much to Belinda’s surprise, the girls kept their promise to take care of the puppies. They set their clocks to rise earlier than usual to clean the cage and put out food and clean water for Cecil and Nigel before readying themselves for school. Playing with the puppies had become a priority. As soon as they came home after school the cage was opened and each puppy bounded out to pounce on its respective owner.

She’d continued to call the Yorkies by the wrong name until Griffin pointed out that Nigel had a tiny tan spot on the tip of his tail. The dilemma of transporting the puppies and their supplies between households was eliminated when Griffin bought a cage large enough to accommodate both pups and purchased an ample supply of wee-wee pads, food, treats and chew toys to have on hand in Paoli.

Peering closer in the mirror, she checked her makeup for the last time, pleased with the results. Eye shadow, which she rarely wore, and vibrant vermilion lipstick highlighted her eyes and lips. And, because the get-together was casual, Belinda had chosen a pair of black stretch cuffed capris, a long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder fitted top and added an additional three inches to her five-six height with peep-toe pumps.

She left the bedroom and walked down the hallway to the staircase, shiny curls bouncing around her head and face with each step. After a week of painstakingly brushing her hair each night to keep the strands smooth, she’d gone back to her curly hairstyle.

Her steps slowed as she looked down to find Griffin waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase. Belinda smiled. She and Griffin were dressed alike. He was wearing a black pullover, slacks and slip-ons. The recessed light glinted off his close-cropped black hair.

Griffin extended his hand, helping Belinda as she stepped off the last step. His gaze lingered on the curls framing her round face, then moved lower to her full mouth outlined in a shimmering, sexy red shade. However, it was her eyes, the lids darkened, lashes spiked and lengthened by mascara that held him enthralled. Expertly applied makeup had served to highlight and accentuate Belinda Eaton’s natural beauty.

He hadn’t lied to Belinda when he told her that he’d dated his share of women, although he was very discriminating with whom he slept. But none of them could match her natural beauty.

“You look so incredibly beautiful.” The sincerity in his compliment was evident.

Lowering her gaze, Belinda glanced up at him through her lashes. “Thank you.”

He angled his head and pressed a kiss to her ear. “You’re welcome.” He didn’t think he would ever get used to her smell. It was an aphrodisiac he was helpless to resist.

It’d taken Griffin only two weeks to come to the realization that he did like his nieces’ surrogate mother, that he’d changed his opinion of her and he wanted to get closer to the intelligent, intriguing woman who unknowingly made him forget all the others.

Increasing his protective hold, he tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow and led her across the living room. Recorded music floated from concealed speakers throughout the first floor. An outdoor fireplace provided additional warmth for those who wanted to dine or sit outdoors.

“I asked Keith to get here earlier than the others. That way Sabrina and Layla can talk to him one on one.”

Belinda smiled. “I’m willing to bet they’ll do more gawking than talking.”

“You’re probably right.” Reaching into a pocket of his slacks, he took out an ultra-thin digital camera. “Evidence,” he drawled, grinning. “I’m certain they’re going to want to prove to their friends that they do know Keith Ennis.”

“I hope it doesn’t backfire on them.”

Griffin’s expression mirrored confusion. “Why would you say that?”

“If they tell everyone their uncle’s on a first-name basis with a major league ballplayer, some students can get jealous. I’ve seen it happen enough at my school with a few situations escalating into bullying and fighting.”

“I’ve seen that happen, too, but thankfully most are good kids.”

“Speaking of good—you know the girls adore you, Griffin.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “They don’t adore me any more than they love you, Belinda. I’m sure they see me as Santa or a magic genie that grants their wishes. It’s you who must deal with them twenty-four-seven, but instead of withering they’ve bloomed. I know they miss their mom and dad, but you’ve saved them.”

Belinda didn’t know why, but she felt as if she was holding her breath and waiting for the time when one or both of the twins would experience a meltdown. “You have to remember that they were in therapy only days after we buried Donna and Grant,” she reminded Griffin. “I don’t want to think of what would’ve happened to them if they hadn’t had professional help.”

Griffin shook his head. “Therapy aside, it’s you and how you relate to them that makes the difference. I overheard them talking about how much they love mani-pedies—whatever that is—and getting their hair done every week.”

“A mani-pedi is a manicure and pedicure. I go every week, so I just take them along with me.”

“Stop trying to minimize your importance in their lives, Belinda,” Griffin chided softly. “You’re not Donna, but she knew what she was doing when she asked you to take care of her children. In other words, Belinda Eaton, you are an incredible mother, and I hope Mr. Sunshine knows how lucky he is to have someone like you.”

Belinda was caught off guard by the warmth in Griffin’s voice and wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to concern himself with Raymond Miller. “I need to tell you—” The chiming of the doorbell preempted what she was going to tell Griffin about the man who was her friend and not her lover.

Griffin pressed his face to Belinda’s soft, sweet-smelling hair. “I’ll be right back.”

She stood in the middle of the living room staring at the massive floral arrangement on an antique English pedestal table until delicious wafting aromas coming from the kitchen propelled her into action, and she turned and made her way toward the rear of the house.

The night before, Sabrina had admitted that she liked staying over in her uncle’s house because it made her feel as if she’d stepped back in time. What the teenager liked in particular was that although Griffin had enclosed the back porch, it was still accessible through the French doors. When the doors were open the space was perfect for dining al fresco. Belinda viewed it as the perfect place for having tea or simply enjoying the landscape while rocking on the porch.

She stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. A toque-wearing chef, wielding a whisk with a vengeance in a large sauté pan, ordered a waiter to bring him a platter. “Today, please!” he drawled impatiently.

Leaving as quickly and quietly as she’d entered, Belinda reversed course, passing the dining room where the bartender was setting up. Griffin had decided on buffet-style service because it was more in keeping with the casualness of the gathering. His invitations stressed casual attire, and anyone wearing a tie or suit would be ushered out the door.

Grant and Donna had been frequent guests at the social gatherings Griffin hosted at his house, but Belinda always had responded by politely declining. At first the invitations slowed in frequency then they stopped entirely. Donna always called to tell her who she’d met, or brag about the quality of the food, then ended the conversation with “You don’t know what you were missing.” Belinda’s rejoinder was always, “What I don’t know, I don’t miss.”

Avoiding her brother-in-law had strained their relationship. She’d spent years believing what she read in the tabloids, and never bothered to ask Griffin if the stories about him were true. She’d fallen victim to a very human fault—believing what you read.

A deep voice, on an even lower register than Griffin’s, reached her as she walked into the living room. Keith Ennis appeared taller, larger than the images she’d seen on television. She’d suggested Sabrina and Layla remain in their rooms until the ballplayer’s arrival.

Griffin approached Belinda, beckoning. “Come, darling. I want to introduce you to a client who’s also a good friend. Keith, this is Belinda Eaton. Belinda, Keith Ennis.”

Belinda was too starstruck to register Griffin’s endearment as she smiled at the larger-than-life superstar ballplayer. His sparkling raven-black eyes, shaved head, mahogany-hued smooth skin and trimmed silky mustache and goatee were mesmerizing.

She offered him her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Keith raised the delicate hand that he had swallowed up in his much larger one. “I can’t believe Rice has been holding out on me,” he crooned, winking, his baritone voice lowering seductively. “Where has he been hiding you?” he asked Belinda.

A rush of heat stung her cheeks. “I’ve been around.”

Griffin looped a proprietary arm around Belinda’s waist. “Sorry, man, but she’s not available.”

“If the lovely lady is unavailable, then why isn’t there a ring on her finger, Rice?”

Belinda grimaced when she felt the bite of Griffin’s fingers as they tightened on her waist. She flashed Keith a tight smile. “Please excuse me. I’m going upstairs to get Sabrina and Layla so they can meet you before the others arrive.”

Belinda mentioning his meeting Griffin’s nieces reminded Keith why he’d come to his attorney’s home. His team had played a Saturday afternoon game, and he’d planned to unwind at his condo with the woman who usually kept him occupied during home games. However, Griffin got him to change his mind and his plans when he gave him a generous check as a donation to his alma mater.

Keith’s gaze lingered briefly on Belinda Eaton before coming back to rest on Griffin’s scowling face. “Look, man, I know I was out of line.”

“You were.” The two words were cold, exacting.

Keith recoiled as if he’d been struck. “Will you accept my apology?”

The seconds ticked off, the silence swelling and growing more uncomfortable with each tick. Griffin’s face was a glowering mask of controlled fury. His client had stepped over the line. He’d taken Keith Ennis, a naturally talented athlete from a disadvantaged Baltimore neighborhood to instant superstar status with a five-year multimillion-dollar contract, along with high-profile product endorsements.

Griffin was normally laid-back, quick to smile, slow to anger and willing to give anyone three strikes. Unfortunately, Keith Ennis had just used up one of his three. He angled his head. “That’s something I’m going to have to think about. Can I get you something to drink?” he asked in the same breath.

Keith flashed a tremulous grin. “Sure.”

* * *

Layla and Sabrina stared at their sport idol, tongue-tied as Griffin snapped pictures of them shaking hands with Keith, flanking him when they posed as a group picture and when he autographed their brag books. The ballplayer, seeking redemption for his misstep, signed autographs for their teachers and fellow students. Clutching their treasured memorabilia to their chests, the sisters raced upstairs to text their friends.

* * *

Griffin and Belinda became the consummate host and hostess as they greeted guests with exotic cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. The Moroccan-style meatballs, deviled eggs with capers, mini crab cakes and beluga caviar on toast points were the highlight of the cocktail hour.

It didn’t take Belinda long to understand why her sister liked socializing at Griffin’s house. Excellent food, top-shelf liquor, friendly, outgoing guests and an attentive host made for certain success.

The thirtysomething crowd included college classmates, frat brothers and three newlywed couples. She knew a few of the guests were surprised to see her as hostess, but they soon got used to it. The music, which included old-school and new-school jams, had several couples up and dancing when everyone filed out of the dining room to the back porch.

It was ten o’clock when Keith bid his farewell, saying he had to get up early for batting practice. Others followed suit over the next hour. Griffin paid and tipped the bartender, the chef and waitstaff, then led Belinda out to the patio, seating her on a cushioned chaise. The outdoor fireplace emitted enough heat to warm the mid-forty-degree temperature. Dozens of candles lining a long wooden table flickered, competing with millions of stars in the clear night sky.

Belinda slipped off her heels. “I’m going to need a throw or a blanket,” she said, as Griffin joined her on the chaise.

Griffin nuzzled her neck. “I’ll warm you up.” Without warning, he effortlessly lifted her so that she sat between his outstretched legs. “Lean back against me.”

Fatigue swept over her, and she closed her eyes. “It was a nice little get-together.”

“It was nice,” Griffin said in agreement, as he, too, closed his eyes.

She opened her eyes and peered up at him over her shoulder. “Some of your friends were somewhat surprised when you introduced me as your hostess. Were they perhaps expecting to see you with some other woman?”

Griffin opened his eyes. “I don’t know what they expected, Belinda, because I’ve never concerned myself with how other folks see me. If I did, then I’d stop being who I am. And I deliberately didn’t introduce you as my brother’s sister-in-law because I felt it was none of their business.”

“Did you tell Keith that I’m the girls’ aunt?”

“Nope.”

“Do you plan on telling him?”

“Nope.”

“Why are you so monosyllabic?”

Using a minimum of effort and movement, Griffin changed positions until Belinda lay under him. “I don’t feel very much like talking, Miss Eaton, because I’d rather do this.”

She knew Griffin was going to kiss her, but was helpless to stop him. The truth was she didn’t want to stop him. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d replayed him kissing her over and over—in and out of bed. Griffin had ignited a spark that grew hotter and more intense each time she saw him. A part of her wanted him to stay away—the sensible Belinda. Then there was the other Belinda—the sexually frustrated woman who hadn’t slept with a man in three years.

Blood-pounding desire rushed through her veins. Her lips parted, she swallowed Griffin’s warm, moist breath as his mouth covered hers in a hungry joining that left them tearing at each other’s clothes. Belinda grasped the back of his sweater, pulling it up from his waist and baring flesh in her journey to get to know every part of Griffin Rice. She’d become addicted to him, his scent and the hard contours of his toned, slender body.

Griffin kissed Belinda with an outward calm that belied his hunger to take her—on the chaise and without protection. One hand slipped under her blouse, while the other slid up her inner thighs. The heat coming from between her legs was an inferno. Belinda was on fire, the flames spreading and racing out of control. He fastened his mouth over a breast, the nipple hardening when he suckled her through the cup of her lace bra.

“You are exquisite,” he whispered, pressing his groin to hers so she could feel how much he wanted and needed her.

Looping her arms under Griffin’s shoulders, Belinda held on to him as if he were her lifeline while waves of ecstasy rocked her like a ship in a storm. He suckled one breast, then the other before trailing moist kisses down her belly. She was hot, then cold as Griffin released the zipper on her slacks, pushing them down her thighs; his head replaced his hands as he pressed his face to the apex of her legs.

Griffin inhaled the womanly essence through the scrap of silk. His longing to be inside Belinda bordered on insanity, but sanity won out when he moved up the length of her quivering body, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the chaise.

“One of these days we’re going to finish this,” he promised.