Modern Romance Collection July 2024 Books 1-4

CHAPTER NINE

GRIFFITHKNOCKEDON Rosalind’s door the following morning. He steeled himself when he heard her footsteps, stayed strong when she opened the door wearing a navy blue shirt and a vivid red skirt, her curls caught up into a loose bun that left her neck bare to his gaze.

Then lost his grip as he imagined trailing his lips from jaw to shoulder, then lower still—

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

Rosalind blinked and stepped back at the growl in his voice. He started to explain, then stopped. He just needed to get this conversation over with. When he’d suggested it yesterday, the offer had been rooted in guilt and curiosity. Guilt for the way he’d treated her not just the past few days, but the past few weeks. Curiosity about the woman who didn’t give up, who couldn’t let herself enjoy more than a few moments in a rose garden.

Who made him crave not just sex but something more. Something that carried a power he’d never experienced before.

Dangerous. Yet so tempting he couldn’t resist spending just a little bit of time with her.

Chances were these few minutes would finally relieve him of some of the attraction he felt. Take away the mystery, the anticipation, and he would be left with a beautiful woman who wasn’t a good match and, after this week, would be out of his life for good.

That was his plan. And that plan should not be unsettling him as much as it was.

“My office.”

She blinked at the command in his voice, but simply nodded. He turned and walked out. A moment later he heard her footsteps behind him. If he was going to do this, to concede to her and listen to something that threatened to rip out what was left of his heart, then it would be in the one place in this massive house he felt in control.

He gestured to a chair in front of his desk as he circled around and sat. She leaned over and handed him a thick bundle of papers in a leather folder before taking her seat.

“Your father’s estate is currently valued at approximately one billion, four hundred million dollars.”

A number Griffith had aspired to for years. To officially wield the title of billionaire. A number that, as he opened the folder and stared at the figure, stirred nothing but sorrow. Sorrow that his father had worked so hard while spending the last years of his life widowed and estranged from his only child. Sorrow that Griffith had been the reason for that estrangement.

“I have my own fortune.” He closed the folder, set it down on the desk. “I don’t need the money.”

“You have several options. You can accept the estate in its entirety. You can accept part of it. You could reject it all.”

“What happens if I reject it?”

“Then it goes to the next family member. A distant cousin living in Greece.”

He frowned. He knew the cousin she spoke of, a decade older than him with a predilection for alcohol and drugs.

He sighed.

“So I have no choice.”

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “May I make a suggestion?”

“I’m surprised you even asked.”

She arched a brow at him. “I read a lot about your family when I was assigned your father’s estate—”

“Why were you assigned to it?” Griffith interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“This is a rather high-profile account for a junior associate to take on.”

She sighed. “It is. My boss had it. When you declined to meet with him for so long, he put it on me, too. I think he thought I could either succeed where he hadn’t or, if it all fell apart, he could blame it on me. Either way he gets the win.”

Disgust slithered through him. “And you never get any of the credit.”

“He’s brilliant when it comes to law. Unfortunately, he only cares about the law as it benefits Nettleton Thompson.” She looked at him then and narrowed her eyes. “Back to the estate. Your parents were both involved with a number of charities and start-ups.”

“Yes. My mother invested quite a bit of her time and money supporting independent artists, fashion designers, photographers.”

“And your father, if I remember correctly, financed scholarships for underprivileged youth in his home country of Greece.”

“He grew up extremely poor. My grandfather founded Lykaois Shipping when my father was a teenager. He started off as a dockhand and worked his way up.”

“You must be proud of them.” She glanced at the papers, then back at him. “What causes are important to you?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Causes,” she repeated. “You know, charities, philanthropies.”

“I maintain donations to all of the charities and trusts my parents set up.”

A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Is there nothing you care about personally?”

Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, he shrugged.

“I continue to support the causes my parents championed. I ensure alterations to match inflation. I’m not capable of more.”

She frowned. “Not capable or you don’t want to open yourself up to more?”

He flashed her a cold smile. “Monsters aren’t capable of giving much, Rosalind. I give money. That’s my limit.”

Her frown deepened. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He pointed to his scars. “Inside and out.”

“I don’t believe that.”

The quiet conviction in her voice hit him. Made him, for the first time in years, want to be something more than the shadow he’d turned himself into. Drifting in and out of life, marking time until it was all over.

More temptation. More yearning. He didn’t want to end their time together just yet. But he couldn’t stand one more moment of talking about the damned contract. Talking about his life and all of his failings.

“Let’s talk about you.”

Her eyes narrowed as her nose wrinkled.

“Me?”

“Yes. You intrigue me. Tell me more about Rosalind Sutton. The woman who let her boss walk all over her without question.”

She shrugged as a pale blush stole over her cheeks.

“Not much to tell.”

“What do you do for fun?”

“I work a lot.” Embarrassed, she stood and started walking around the room. Pacing like she was caught in a trap. “Sometimes I read.”

“Fairy tales?”

That surprised a small laugh from her. “Sometimes. I do love the happier ones. Romance and cozy mysteries if I’m not reading briefs or final testaments.”

“What about family? You mentioned three brothers.”

“They’re wonderful unless they’re being terrible,” she said with a grin. “Always looking out for me.”

“What about your parents?” Too late, he remembered what she had said about her mother. “Disregard that.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled at him, a truly kind smile meant to reassure. “It happened so fast.”

“Were you able to be with her?”

“I was in Chicago at school. I didn’t make it back in time.”

She swallowed hard, grief evident in every subtle gesture, every slight movement of her body. Never before had he been so in tune with someone, read every single one of their emotions. Grief, regret, a lingering sadness. It all echoed his own. Everything he never allowed himself to feel, never allowed another soul to see.

“But you came back to England?”

“I did. My parents were very proud of me getting the internship. When my mom heard about the job offer, my chance to live abroad...” She looked back at him and smiled. “I don’t think I ever saw her so excited.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Were you excited?”

She blinked, as if she’d never been asked such a question before. Irritation flickered inside him. She spoke about her family in glowing terms. But what kind of family relentlessly foisted their own dreams on their children? His parents had made it clear that his path forward would be his own. His father had told him multiple times that, while he enjoyed the idea of his son taking over as he had done for his father, it was always Griffith’s choice.

“I mean, yes. Not many people make it out of the small town I grew up in, let alone all the way to London.”

“What about your work? Did your parents push you into that, too?”

She scowled. “They encouraged me to get a degree and move out. Take advantage of opportunities they didn’t have.”

He dialed back his frustration. If it didn’t upset Rosalind, it shouldn’t upset him. Only it did. It bothered him that everything she’d worked for, everything she should be proud of, came second to her parents’ happiness.

“And you chose law.”

“I took a career exploration course my first year in college. I enjoyed the legal unit we did and excelled at math, reading legal documents. A professor recommended I look into estate planning.” She smiled. “And here I am. I like helping people, and the stories they bring into my office. They’re interesting. Helping them navigate that stage of life, and giving them peace of mind to enjoy the rest of their days. Never something I saw myself going into when I was younger, but I really love it.”

“And you like working for Nettleton Thompson?”

There it was. That same flicker of emotion he’d witnessed down in his office when he’d lashed out at her.

“I do.”

“But?”

“Sometimes the prestige... I’m just not always sure that Nettleton Thompson is the place I’m meant to be.”

“Then why continue with it?”

“Wanting to see it through. I promised my parents I would.” Her fingers traced a circle on the surface of the table. “Maybe I’ll do something else later. Open my own firm.”

He heard the faint, dreamy note in those last words. Started to ask more, but she interrupted him.

“Anyway, back to business. What if you donated your father’s estate? Contributed to causes they believed in, and some that you believe in, too?”

He sat back in his chair. She sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders as if readying for a fight.

“I’m not talking about the contract. I’m just pointing out that you seem removed from everything in your life. Let’s take you right now, in this moment, with a wealth few have. Why don’t you find something you care about? Something personal? Donate the estate so you don’t have to worry about it, but do something good with it, too?”

“I had something I cared about,” he shot back. “Now it’s gone. I do the bare minimum, which when it comes to my personal situation, still means millions of dollars every year getting funneled into charities and organizations around the world, not to mention paying some of the highest salaries in the shipping industry. Take the stars out of your eyes, Rosalind. I do more than enough with what I have. Just because I don’t get my hands personally dirty doesn’t lessen the impact I’m making.”

“Perhaps if you were to get more involved, you could find something else you care about.”

“Why are you pushing me on this, Rosalind? Surely, this is beyond your legal duties,” Griffith warned her. This conversation was taking a turn he had never intended. Had not permitted. And yet, she still persisted.

“I don’t know you,” she admitted. “But I see a man who has so much potential, that could be so much.”

“Because I’m rich?”

“It’s not just about the money. There’s this whole other man beneath the harsh exterior, but you’ve got him locked away so deep down inside that I don’t think even you know who he is. Maybe you did once, but not anymore.”

The accuracy of her statement hit home. Anger welled inside him as he stood, his chair scraping against the wood.

“And what about you, Miss Sutton?”

“What about me?”

“Do you know who you are? Or are you simply the woman everyone else wants you to be?”

Her lips parted, closed, then parted again as she stared at him.

“What?” she finally gasped. “I just told you how I went after my career—”

“Yes, at a school your parents pushed you to. A job you accepted because it would make your parents happy.”

The more he talked, the angrier he became. He was a lost cause. But this woman, so full of life, so full of potential, was wasting it all on someone else’s dreams. The anger also helped to restore his sense of control. Anger he understood, an old friend that kept his heart guarded and hurt at bay.

Except once again, she didn’t turn around and walk out. Didn’t capitulate or surrender. She faced him, fierce and furious.

And gorgeous. Gorgeous with her eyes snapping emerald fire and color high in her cheeks. Her determination had drawn him in that day at the Diamond Club. Now it harnessed his anger, fanned the fires of his fury into something hotter.

Her eyes darted down, rested below his waist. The blush deepened as her chest rose and fell. He saw the blink, the sharp intake of breath, the desperate attempt to regain control of her own desire.

Seeing the naked lust in her gaze yanked him back to that edge. But right now, with his blood roaring and his body pulsing, the boundaries didn’t seem like something to avoid. No, he wanted to take her in his arms and hurtle over the edge, wrapped up in each other.

Her tongue darted out, touched her lower lip.

“Sometimes we do things for people we love.” Breathy, husky, her voice wound through his veins, a siren’s song he could no longer resist. He took a step toward her, his body thrilling when she didn’t retreat.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Surely you must have loved someone once.”

“Once.” He stopped just inches away, stared down into her eyes. “Not something I plan on repeating.”

“When you love someone, you’ll do something for them even if it’s not what you want for yourself.”

He leaned down, left a whisper of space between their lips, imagined he could hear the frantic beat of her own pulse as she tilted her head back. The seduction came naturally, a skill he hadn’t used in what felt like ages, but that was easy to summon.

The desire, however...that was beyond his control. And right now, he didn’t give a damn.

“I’ll take your word for it, Miss Sutton.”

With that pronouncement he laid a hand on her waist, the other sliding into her hair as he tilted her head back farther still. He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt the warmth of her skin beneath his hands.

And then his lips met hers and his world exploded.

For a moment she didn’t move. When she came alive, he knew he’d made a mistake. She didn’t shy away, didn’t pull back and call him a monster.

She returned his caresses with a fervor he hadn’t anticipated, couldn’t get enough of. Her lips pressed against his. He reached up, pulled at the band securing her hair and thrilled to the feel of curly silk cascading down, a strand whispering over his scarred cheek, his neck. She trembled as his hands moved up and down over her arms. When her fingers threaded through his hair, tugged, he groaned. His hands moved to the waist of her skirt, pulled the hem of her shirt free. He touched the bare skin at her waist, knew he was lost when just brushing her with his fingertips brought him to the edge.

His tongue slipped inside her mouth, deepened the kiss. Her answering moan, the way she met him with strokes of her own, drove him mad.

His hands slid higher, over her ribs, his knuckles grazing the silk of her bra.

He wanted it gone, wanted to touch her bare skin.

He reached around, fingers settling on the clasp. It wasn’t until he heard her whisper his name, felt the eager press of her body against his, that it hit him just what he was doing.

Stunned by his loss of control, he pulled back so quickly she stumbled. She stared at him, eyes wide, breasts rising and falling as she sucked in a shuddering breath. One hand drifted up, as if she were moving through a dream, her fingers settling on her swollen lips. With her shirt wrinkled and her curls pulled free of the bun, now hanging in wild disarray about her face, she looked ravished. Seduced.

Aroused.

No. Her wanting him, returning his desire, was the last thing either of them needed.

“Griffith...”

He shook his head. “Rosalind... Miss Sutton... I’m sorry.”

“No...” Her eyes were wide, luminous.

Wanting.

“Don’t be sorry.”

Her breathy voice curled around him, smoky seduction and tantalizing temptation.

It also had a surprising effect on Rosalind. She blinked, as if waking from a trance. Her fingers wrapped around the top of her chair. Something primal inside him howled, reveled in the effect he had on her even as he hated himself for surrendering to his base instincts.

She bit down on her lower lip. “I... I have to go.”

She grabbed the leather portfolio off the desk, turned and walked out.

Oh, Theé mou. At least she had come to her senses. That would make keeping their hands off each other easier over the next few days.

Liar.

It made nothing easier. Now that he’d tasted her, felt her answering passion, his need had become so intense it physically hurt.

How long could he spend with Rosalind before he dragged her down, too? Took that beautiful, optimistic light and squelched it with his own selfish needs and grief?

Is it worth the risk? Worth hurting someone else, hurting her?

He knew the answer. Knew the answer and hated it as much as he hated how he had very nearly lost control.

He moved to the bank of windows behind his desk. The gardens behind the house lay before him in all their glorious summer splendor. Roses swayed back and forth in the breeze. The benches and archways scattered throughout, providing havens for readers, explorers and lovers.

He turned his back on the gardens. Refocused on his office, the sanctuary of his own company, even as he ignored how his footsteps echoed off the walls and amplified the void inside his heart.