Chapter Ten Ruby #2
Griffin pursed his lips slightly, studying me from head to toe. My hand gripped the eggplant-purple cardigan, just to make sure he didn’t get an accidental glimpse of nipple underneath my shirt.
Note to self: sleep in a sports bra while Griffin is in town.
“I think I’ve got this figured out,” he said.
“Have you?”
Despite my dry tone, he nodded. “Now, while that water’s heating, come show me your three favorite outfits. Not to feel sexy or attract attention, but your favorites for when you want to dress nicely.”
Sighing heavily, I followed him down the hallway, acutely aware that he filled so much space in my tiny little house. My room felt like it had shrunk down by half.
Instead of dwelling on that, or how it felt having him loom behind me while I studied my closet (honestly, it was obnoxious how much smaller I was than him), I gave my closet a cursory scan, then picked the first three things that came to mind.
A black sheath dress I’d had for the better part of a decade—my go-to for funerals or fancier events. I’d been known to wear it to weddings too.
A black-and-white tweed pencil skirt that I paired with different blouses.
And the light-blue set he’d seen me in.
Griffin did his best to hang the cardigans back in place, and afterward, he turned to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer.
“Hey.”
He whistled. “This was not purchased to be utilitarian.” Dangling on his finger was the single nicest piece of lingerie I owned. The bra was a delicate lace design in a deep, rich blue color, and it came with a pair of matching high-cut bikini panties.
I snatched it out of his hand. “It was a gift. I’ve never actually worn it.” His eyes stayed locked on the bra in my hand, and I pushed past him to shove it back in the drawer.
“Now that’s a fucking shame. Who gave it to you?”
“My friend Lauren,” I said. “She’s . . . very pushy sometimes.” My cheeks flushed. “She bought me a monstrous dildo for my birthday last month.”
Griffin’s eyes sparkled like he was laughing, but his mouth stayed remarkably even. “No kidding.”
“I made her take it home with her.”
He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Why would you do something like that?”
Instead of answering him honestly—that I was slightly terrified the thing would eat me alive—I said, “I was afraid Bruiser would think it’s a chew toy.”
“I think I’d get along with Lauren.”
“That’s why you’re never allowed to hang out with her.” Griffin laughed. Such an easy, rich sound. Ignoring the way it raised the hair on the back of my neck, I clasped my hands in front of me. “Now what? You going to donate all my clothes? Burn them in a ceremonial bonfire?”
“Nah.” He clapped his hands together. “We’re going shopping.”
The blood drained from my face. “We are not.”
Griffin’s gaze swept over me. “You gonna pass out, birdy?”
“I hate shopping,” I said miserably.
“This wouldn’t be normal shopping, though. I can call in a few favors, we’ll have the place to ourselves—”
“So everyone in there will know I’m naked behind a curtain and fawn all over me? No thank you.” I shuddered lightly, because that felt like emotional trauma waiting to happen. “There’s a reason we have the internet, and it’s so we never, ever have to set foot in a clothing store ever again.”
“Really? You don’t want your own Pretty Woman shopping montage in an upscale boutique? Most women—” His voice cut off when I narrowed my eyes. “Right. No sweeping generalizations about the opposite sex. Got it.”
My shoulders deflated. “It’s a generous thought, Griffin. I just can’t.”
“You are a terrible student so far,” he observed.
I pushed my tongue into my cheek, holding his gaze unflinchingly. If that man wanted to get me into a mall or something equally horrid, he’d have to pay me.
There was no hiding his disappointment when he sighed, but to his credit, he didn’t try to argue. His pointer finger tapped over his lips, a considering look on his face.
Griffin studied me head to toe again, this time his gaze lingering on my legs. “Do you mind taking off the sweater, just for a moment?”
My hand gripped it tighter. “Why?”
“Research.”
With that cryptic word hanging between us, Griffin watched me carefully as my hand eased its grip on the fuzzy purple and I let it slide off my shoulders, tossing it on the bed.
With the knitted armor gone, I was left in some inexcusably short shorts, all but invisible underneath the oversize T-shirt.
With a tilt of his head, he took a step closer. The spicy, crisp scent of him filled my head, and I tried to hide a slow inhale as he came a bit too close for comfort.
Griffin lifted both hands and reached out, stopping just shy of touching my ribs when I tensed. “If I put my hands right here,” he said quietly, “I could almost wrap them around you completely, couldn’t I?”
Every inch of my skin buzzed with invisible currents. He was right. If he grabbed me around the waist, if he stretched his palms out around my rib cage, his massive hands would cover so much of my body.
The thing about strength is that it’s intoxicating to be around when you’re someone not in possession.
Even if you’re normally not impressed by such a thing, and I wasn’t.
Griffin was in possession of mind-boggling strength.
His frame—so overwhelmingly large compared to my own—carried a massive amount of power, barely leashed, in the muscles he’d spent his life honing to resemble his own sort of weapon.
And right now, he was being so careful not to let that weapon be something that scared me.
Because I was small. And rather weak, at least in comparison.
Strength, in this strangely charged moment, looked like outstretched hands that could crush bones and do even more damage to someone’s heart.
Not mine, of course. Someone’s.
My eyes felt like they weighed a thousand pounds when I tried to lift my gaze to his.
“Trust me, I’ve heard enough in my life that curves are what make a woman sexy.
I know I don’t have that.” Gritty sand coated my throat when I tried to talk next.
“Like trying to fuck a corpse,” I said evenly, although the words hurt coming up.
His brow furrowed immediately, eyes darkening. “Someone said that to you?” There was a dangerous timbre to his voice. An invisible pitch that he probably wasn’t even aware of. A growling edge that crept into those five words.
That edge felt like a balm over a scar that I’d carried for years, something meant to heal and soothe the cracked, angry edges.
Almost like he’d sliced open some hidden side of himself for the sole purpose of making me feel better.
It would be so easy to sink into his protective streak if I allowed myself to.
Breaking the intensity was a necessity, so I cleared my throat, turning to pull the cardigan off the bed. “It’s a general thought among most men, I’d wager. Am I allowed to put this back on now?”
Before I could wrap it around my shoulders, Griffin took yet another step closer. I backed up slightly, my calves hitting the edge of my bed.
“Most men would never, ever say that to you. Wouldn’t think it either. Not in a million years. And if someone did”—he dipped his head, and I couldn’t look away—“then he’s a fucking moron who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”
There was a horrid burn at the back of my eyes, and I looked down at the ground, where his much larger feet were bracketed around mine.
Shame felt like a sticky, oily cloak stuck to freshly washed skin, and if you tried to pluck it off, it simply left behind a black residue that wasn’t easily wiped away.
There was shame behind so many emotional reactions, wasn’t there?
Even if I hadn’t been the one to say it, I still felt the slightest hint of that shame simply by being the one who’d inspired it.
It was so fucked up. Wrong. Unfair.
But it was still there, no matter how much I wished otherwise. Another switch I couldn’t flip, stuck in the wrong position for far longer than I’d ever wanted it to be.
“I should get ready,” I told him. “I have a doctor’s appointment in Denver, so I need to be out the door by eight thirty.”
Griffin was quiet for a moment; then he slowly backed up. Some of the pressure eased around my rib cage, and I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose.
“When will you be back?” he asked.
“Not before two. I have a couple places I’d like to stop while I’m downtown.”
“Got any plans tonight?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, big ones.”
His eyebrows rose fractionally.
“You asked what my vices are,” I said, gesturing back toward the big, comfy couch in my family room. “I plan to sit right there and watch period romance movies until I fall asleep. And it’s how I always end my days off, so I don’t want to hear a word out of you.”
Griffin notched his fingers to his temple in a mock salute. “Can I come back after dinner?”
“Why?”
Oh, the way he grinned in answer—it was devastating, and I fought the urge to place a hand over my stomach to calm the rioting burst of nerves at the sight of it.
“Do you trust me?”
No.
Yes.
Sort of.
The indecision must have played out over my face, because he laughed quietly under his breath. “Trust me,” he said firmly. “I’ll be back later.”