Beach House No. 9 Part 10

"What? Huh?"

"There's a guy over there on the volleyball court staring at us. Staring at you."

Tess pretended she didn't know who he was talking about and glanced over her shoulder. "Oh," she said, shrugging, "that's little Tee-Wee White. We knew him when we were kids. I think Gage put him upside down in a garbage can the first day he showed up on the beach."

David grinned at that, looking more like the man she'd married. "Speaking of Gage...have you heard from him lately? Is he okay?"

"Griffin says so. He's the one I'm worried about...." Tess frowned, letting that thought die off. In the old days, she would have discussed this with David too. Her concern over how her brother wasn't coping with his year's experience in Afghanistan. But her husband had turned away from her now, and she didn't feel like talking to his back.

She'd spent too much time at their home in Cheviot Hills talking to his back.

"He's still staring," David muttered.

Tess gazed at the stretch of her husband's shoulders beneath the smooth poly-cotton-light starch, she always told the dry cleaner-wider now that he'd become a dedicated gym rat. "I'm thinking of getting back into commercials," she said.

The sudden turn in conversation had him spinning. "What?"

"I've been thinking about it a lot. I could do it. You know my agent calls me up twice a year-"

"Your agent! I never liked him when he worked at Wallis-Downs. He's worse now that he's on his own. That dirty old man calls you up twice a year just so he can drool-or worse-to the sound of your voice."

"Ew!" She glared at him. "That is not true." And his derision only made her more determined to pursue the idea.

David appeared to read the intention on her face. "Who would watch the kids?"

He wouldn't, she thought. "Day care. A nanny, maybe." David wanted distance from her and their children. He'd proved it, with all those weekend work lunches, all those spin cla.s.ses and bench presses. Then conscience p.r.i.c.ked her a little, because he was here, after all, to take Duncan and Oliver to soccer.

"Did you tell the boys to track down their s.h.i.+n guards and cleats?" she asked, her voice warmer, because he had followed through on his promise.

"Yeah." David nodded. Hesitated. "But could you pick them up afterward, Tess? There's this spin cla.s.s I'd really like to make."

Again, her temper spiked but then was washed cool by a wave of chilly disappointment. She just stared at him, gritting her teeth to hold back her tears. Where did you go? Where did my wonderful husband and dedicated family man go?

She tried tracing back the change for the hundredth time. And then she had it. Maybe it took getting away from their home to see the situation clearly. The hinge was his fortieth birthday. Everything had seemed normal until then. They'd bickered over the usual stuff, of course, whether Rebecca planned too many sleepovers, whether they really needed that second fridge in the garage, but they'd still had those quiet moments when one or the other would look over and say, "I love you. You should know how much I love you."

Now Tess didn't know anything. The ocean breeze ruffled his hair. Maybe they should have it out now. She would put it to him, insist he tell her what was going on.

"Dah?"

Both their heads whipped toward the other occupied chair on the porch. Russ was sitting up in his nest of blanket, his whiskey eyes trained on his daddy. "Dah?"

Expressions chased themselves so fast across David's face that she couldn't catch a one of them. "Russ," he whispered. Then he looked over at Tess. "I've got to go. Don't want to be late to soccer."

In a blink he was gone, without another glance at their youngest child.

"Dah," Russ said, his voice rising to a wail.

Tess rushed to him, taking him into her arms for comfort. For both their comfort. "Sweet baby," she said against his soft hair as he snuggled close. His warm weight settled her unsteady heartbeat. "It's okay, it's going to be okay."

For her too, she decided. And it was okay David was gone. She was glad she'd lost the chance to grill him on the great change that had come into his life.

Because she was pretty sure she wasn't ready to hear the truth.

GRIFFIN DIDN'T flinch when Jane confronted him in the kitchen the morning following her visit to her father. He set down the newspaper and gave her his full regard. After that t.i.tillating exchange of kisses in the storeroom at Captain Crow's, he figured he knew exactly how to handle her when her badgering became unbearable. When she started nagging him about the writing and about his feelings, he had a simple strategy he could implement.

She'd had a day and a night to mull over what had happened between them, and about now he imagined she'd be very wary of any repeat of their lip-to-lip, skin-to-skin contact. Sure, there was definite chemistry between them, but he'd bet she didn't appreciate it in the least. As smokin' hot as they were together, she'd appeared bewildered by the subsequent s.e.xual daze. To be honest, her sweet confusion had surprised him-and was yet another turn-on-but the dazzle would surely put up Jane's hackles.

The minute he started smoldering at her again, she'd go into full retreat. Giving him the upper hand.

He'd had many long, wakeful hours in the dark to convince himself of that conclusion. And to decide that he was right...the best way to keep her out of his head would be by coming on to her.

Her hands were on her hips and her eyes were narrowed. "What are you grinning like that for? Give me one good reason why you didn't do as you promised and set up your home office yesterday."

"You're cute when you're lecturing me," he said, ignoring her question. She was. She had on a prim little pale blue dress, the cotton dotted with sprigs of white flowers. Her flat shoes were white too, with a leather bow over the toes. "Tell me about your panties. Are they another pair with baby-doll ruffles? Or something different? I love those kind with a lot of cheek peek."

Her eyes rounded and her mouth dropped open.

My work here is done, he thought, lifting the newspaper again.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hands and tossed it onto the counter behind her. "Let's go, buster," she said, grabbing his wrist and tugging him to his feet. "I almost broke my neck on the boxes when I came in the door last night."

With a grimace, he let her lead him out of the kitchen to the entryway. Okay, the delivery did pose a bit of a danger. Jane swiped up the carton that held computer paper, yellow notepads and packages of pencils and pens. Then she tucked a three foot by two foot whiteboard under her arm and turned her expectant gaze upon him.

The remaining boxes were bulky but not heavy, and he could watch her hips sway as he trailed her to the small room adjacent to the living area. Apparently she'd decided that s.p.a.ce made the most sense as an office. It held a leather love seat, some bookshelves and had a desk positioned near the window overlooking the beach. At least he'd have something pretty to look at when he pretended to be writing.

"I don't usually do this kind of thing for an author," she said, perching on the love seat and beginning to tear open the package of dry-erase markers. "I'm not the office help, you know."

"Feel free to leave it to me," Griffin offered, setting the boxes on the desk. Getting her out of his hair was going to be even easier than he'd thought. "I'll let you know when I need your services."

"Why do I think that might be on a cold day in h.e.l.l?" she asked, her voice dry.

He popped open the cardboard flaps of the laptop carton and then struggled to lift the sleek machine from its Styrofoam nest. "It might freeze over before I can get this d.a.m.n computer free," he muttered.

"Let me help." She tossed down a package of pencils and walked over to grip the edges of the box. "Now pull."

She was close. Too close. He breathed in the fragrance of her shampoo and felt the radiating warmth of her small body. His muscles tensed. When he didn't move, she glanced up. It brought her mouth close. Too close.

They stared at each other.

"We should talk," she suddenly said.

And just as suddenly, Griffin didn't want to. The subject would be the kissing and caressing of the day before. Knowing Jane, her type of "talk" would be to dissect the event. The practical librarian in her would surely speak in terms of hormonal reactions and biological directives. Her governess tendencies would prod her to start spouting rule after rule and the consequences of breaking them.

Prompting Griffin to want to do just that very thing-break rules-as soon as possible.

His glance lowered from her silver eyes to her plump mouth. He remembered the sweetness to be discovered inside of it. Her instant pliancy when he thrust against her tongue. The rush of blood to his c.o.c.k, the first erection he'd managed in months.

He was half-hard again just thinking about it, and he didn't want to take away from that common miracle by getting all clinical.

Nothing she said could explain why he had her panties stuffed in the bottom of his right pocket at this very moment. And he didn't want to try justifying it to himself, either.

"My visit to my dad's house brought something to mind," Jane continued. "I'm...I'm worried about your niece."

The non sequitur-at least to his train of thought-rocked Griffin back on his heels. He'd been obsessing about hot kisses and hard-ons and she was thinking about his family?

He yanked the Styrofoam-and-laptop sandwich free of the box. "Not my problem," he growled. Jane was his problem! Her maddening, confounding, unpredictable ways. b.u.t.toned up on top, oh-baby on the bottom. Mouth made for sin, mind bent on meddling.

"You see," Jane persisted. "Rebecca-"

"Why don't you go away now?" he said, stopping her before she got going. "I'll take care of the rest."

She blinked at him. "What's the matter with you?"

He considered smoldering at her, but he thought it wiser to refrain from its overuse. Instead, it would be his tactic of last resort. So he blew out a breath and made some lame excuse about not getting enough a.m. caffeine.

At least she returned to the love seat and continued tearing into the packages of office supplies, giving him a little more breathing room. His gaze wandered out the window. From here he could see his sister under a beach umbrella, that littlest kid of hers playing with plastic blocks on a blanket. The hoodlums-in-the-making were running in circles, chasing each other with clumps of dripping seaweed.

Huh. Maybe he should show them where Rex Monroe parked his car.

Then his niece wandered into his line of sight, dressed in a bikini top with a sarong wrapped around her narrow hips. Her slow movements and put-upon expression made clear she was dragging the heavy weight of teen martyrdom behind her.

Not my problem.

They were all going to grow up one day, from the one who smelled like diaper wipes to the girl with the grumpy face, and make choices or take orders that would put them in harm's way. He couldn't stop that. All he could do was separate from them so whatever happened couldn't hurt him.

h.e.l.l, the hoodlums, now belly-crawling on the beach in pursuit of some poor unsuspecting seagull, probably wouldn't make it to twelve.

Not my problem.

"Of course, all girls go through a rebellious stage," Jane said from the other side of the room. "It's not unusual, but..."

"Yeah?" All girls go through a rebellious stage? He glanced back at her. "Does that include you? What, you went a morning without flossing? You, gasp, once let your library books go overdue?"

"I would never do that!" She made a face at him. "The library was right next door to my school, so it was easy to return them by the due date."

The little egghead had probably gone to some hoity-toity private school where each student was a.s.signed a private SAT tutor and college essays were critiqued by retired admissions officers. "Where'd you graduate from? Smarty-pants Prep?"

She was focused on picking at the shrink-wrap covering the notepads. "My brothers were homeschooled. I attended the regular public school three blocks away."

Weird. "What? Your parents thought they needed the extra attention and you didn't?"

She made a sound that was suspiciously like a snort. "My brothers have genius IQs. They excel in math and the sciences. When I didn't show an apt.i.tude for those particular subjects..."

My father always says I have no head for science, Griffin remembered.

"...Dad decided the public school was plenty good enough for me."

"Ouch," he said.

Her eyes didn't meet his. "I received a very good education, actually."

"Just not the same one as your brothers."

She shrugged. "I'm not like my brothers at all."

He turned to lean his back against the desk. Because she still wasn't looking at him he had the opportunity to study her face-the gentle curve of her lashes, the generous pillows of her lips. Another arrow of heat shot toward his groin, and he thought of that origami bundle of her panties just inches from his c.o.c.k. He groaned.

Her gaze shot up. "What's the matter?"

"Uh..." His mind scrambled for some intelligent remark. "Rebellion?" Hadn't they started with that? "You rebelled because you were different than your brothers?"

She shrugged again. "I don't really know. I just think it's important to pay attention to girls Rebecca's age. The impulse to rebel is natural, but they can get into actual trouble if no one's watching."

Griffin pictured the governess as a young teen, as one of their pack of Crescent Cove summer kids. She would have been as big as a gnat and as annoying as one even then. He could see it. A little dab of a thing with those eerie eyes and that puffy mouth. Gage would have bet his twin he could steal a kiss from her first.

Griffin wouldn't have let that happen.

"What kind of trouble did you get into, Jane?" he asked idly, still imagining. There would be a bonfire, and he'd have drawn her just outside its glow, lowering his head to- "I ran away from home at thirteen. Left L.A. and made my way to San Francisco."

The words jerked him out of his reverie. "What?" he squawked. He couldn't fathom it. "Jesus, Jane." It shook him up to think of it. And he f.u.c.king hated being shaken up.

"It's actually kind of a funny story."

His gut didn't believe that for a moment. "I've got to hear this."

She rose from the love seat and paced toward the desk and window. Her gaze took in the ocean view. Griffin took in the clean lines of her profile and the soft wave of her sandy hair. "I decided to take a road trip. I had some babysitting money I used for bus fare."

A shudder worked its way down his spine. Thirteen years old and alone at the Los Angeles bus station. The stuff of any thinking person's nightmares. "Why San Francisco?"

"My mother was from the area. I think I missed her."

"What? She was visiting there?"

"She was dead." Jane turned her head to look at Griffin, her silver eyes mirroring no emotion. "She died when I was a baby."

His hand squeezed into a fist, echoing the sudden tightness in his chest. "Oh, this whole story's hilarious," he said.

"Wait. It gets funny!"

He had good instincts. This was not going to get funny. But she looked so sincere, he couldn't say it aloud. "Tell me when I should start laughing."

"Right about when I changed my mind and turned around and took the very next bus back to Southern California."

He felt some relief at that. Apparently she'd avoided drug traffickers and slave traders. "Go on."

"When I got back to my house...there was n.o.body home."