CHAPTER TWO #2
For some reason, this man seemed to have activated that part inside me that was supremely conscious of the opposite sex.
And sex. I don’t think I’d ever actually thought about sex with a man.
But as soon as he’d walked into the diner that first time…
my dreams had gone from somewhere over the rainbow to let’s get it on.
He was just there to see that I got to my car. He’d probably been driving through. Going home from a dinner date with a woman. I reminded myself he was no Prince Charming as Maggie had suggested. Not that I wanted him to be that type of man. No, his type was okay by me.
But he’d stopped, to check on me, and something about that made my insides quiver.
No one looked after me anymore. Sensing arguing with him would be a losing battle—and did I really want to anyway?
I gathered my things and turned out the lights.
He was waiting for me by my car, leaning against the hood, arms and legs crossed.
He looked so damn sexy, I had to remind myself to breathe.
“I would tell you thanks, but I didn’t ask for this.”
“I know. Do you always close this late?”
“Most nights,” I admitted. “The tips help pay for nursing school. It’s taking me a little longer, working full time and helping raise two younger siblings.”
“I know how much you’re carrying, Keely.”
“What? Did you ask about me?”
“Yes.” His answer was simple and straightforward. And made me feel good inside—he’d been interested enough to ask about me. “Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “Life doesn’t wait for perfect timing.”
His gaze dipped lower, again as if he couldn’t help himself. I waited for the part where his eyes did the thing. The quick scan, the recalibration, the almost-imperceptible decision. Every man did it eventually. Saw the whole picture and quietly revised their interest downward.
He kept looking.
I didn’t know what to do with that, so I talked instead.
A small silence stretched between us before I grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe I need to find myself a mountain man. One who isn’t afraid to take on a readymade family?”
His body stiffened. “What does that mean?”
“That means I’m a big sister to two six-year-old twin brothers who are, even though I love them fiercely, holy terrors.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?”
“I’m not looking for anything. What man would want to sign up for a woman like me?”
I regretted it the second I said it. Because the way his head snapped toward me, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened—
“A woman like you?” I started when he moved closer.
“Yeah. The too much type. I’ve got too many responsibilities. And you’ve got eyes in your head. I’m curvy.”
“You’re too damn young. Twelve years, Keely. I’ve got years on you and every one of them left a mark. That’s what’s wrong.”
But his eyes weren’t on my face when he said it. They were doing a slow, controlled drag down my body and back up that said the age gap wasn’t the only thing he was fighting.
My body softened. This wasn’t just attraction. This was something deeper. Something I didn’t understand.
I had not only never had sex with a man before and I’d never done this.
This type of dance with one either. And he was so much older.
So much more certain of everything. He didn’t fidget or second-guess or fill silence with noise the way guys my age did.
He stood there, steady and immovable, and waited for the world to come to him.
I found that unbearably attractive and deeply unfair.
I didn’t know if we were flirting or exchanging demographics.
“What does that mean?” I finally had the courage to ask. I was aware of every inch of him. The way his chest rose and fell. The way his fingers flexed at his sides. The way his jaw ticked, like he was holding something back.
“Everything. It means everything.” For a moment, I thought he might kiss me. I thought I might let him. I thought—
He reached around me and opened my door. My breath caught. His arm brushed mine, and I felt his touch all over.
“Get inside.” He looked like he was ready to pull the car door from its hinges, so I did what he said. He stood there for a second before heading to his big black truck parked a few spaces down.
I put the key in the ignition and cranked the engine. I was still so caught up in my reaction to Griffin that it took me a minute to realize something wasn’t right.
I pumped the gas pedal twice and turned the key again.
Nothing. Just a click-click sound that I knew meant trouble. And in my life, trouble equated to money. I leaned my head against the steering wheel and gave a small groan that came out more of a whimper. “No. No. Not tonight.”
Since I wasn’t the type of woman to give up, I turned it again. The engine didn’t even try to turn over this time. Just a hollow, mocking silence.
A heavy knock on my window made me jump even though I should have been expecting it. Griffin was standing there, staring down at me. Since I couldn’t roll the window down, I opened the door and got out. “It’s temperamental,” I told him fiercely. “Give it a second.”
“Your battery is dead, Keely.”
“It’s resting.”
I honestly didn’t think his face could be any darker, but he proved me wrong, starting down at me.
“I am perfectly capable of handling this.” I hated the defensive edge in my voice. I was a confident, curvy woman who handled everyone else’s problems. I didn’t want to be the problem.
Griffin rested one hand on the open door and the other on the hood of the car.
He was so close I could see the faint lines around his eyes and almost feel the dark stubble on his sharp jawline.
“I know you’re capable. I know you don’t need me to fix it.
But I’m here, I have a truck, and you need a ride home. Get your stuff.”
I glared at him. He stared back, entirely unfazed by my attitude.
“Fine,” I snapped, grabbing my purse and book bag. “But I’m paying you for the gas.”
“Try it and I’ll leave you on the side of the road,” he replied flatly.
I barely resisted the urge to stick out my tongue at his high-handed manner. Instead, I locked my door, wondering why I even bothered. But it was a good little car, and the only one I had.
Griffin led me to his truck. He opened the passenger door, and I looked at the height of that seat and sighed. There was no graceful way to do this, but I did it anyway—hoisted myself up and felt my jeans pull tight—and told myself it didn’t matter. I was in. I was seated. I was fine.
I tugged my shirt down and stared straight ahead.
He shut the door, walked around to the driver’s side and got in. “Where to?” he asked, throwing it into gear.
“Oak Street.”
The drive was agonizingly quiet. The cab was small—I hadn’t registered how small until now, until his arm was six inches from mine and every time he shifted gears I felt the movement in my peripheral vision like a pull.
He kept his eyes on the road. I kept mine out the window.
The dark trees blurred past and I watched them and thought about nothing and thought about him and thought about nothing again.
His hand moved on the wheel. I looked. I looked away.
“Turn left at the stop sign,” I murmured a few minutes later. “It’s the blue house at the end of the block.”
He pulled up to the curb and killed the engine. The house was dark save for the porch light I always left on for myself.
I expected him to leave the engine idling and drive off. Instead, his door opened and clicked shut. By the time my sneakers hit the pavement, he was already walking around the front of the truck to meet me.
“I can walk myself up the driveway, Griffin. It’s twenty feet.”
“Humor me.”
I gritted my teeth and marched up the cracked concrete path to the porch.
I dug my house key out, aware of him stepping up onto the wooden planks right behind me.
I winched as the second one from the top gave under my weight.
I prayed it wouldn’t cave in under his. The house wasn’t much, but it was ours.
It needed more work than we could afford, but the roof didn’t leak. Yet.
I shoved the key into the lock and turned it, pushing the door open a few inches.
Then I turned around to face him. I caught him taking in the house.
I knew, even in the dark, he’d be seen every loose shingle and rusted gutter.
But that was him, always aware of his surroundings.
When his gaze finally dropped to mine, the intensity effectively killed the smart-ass remark I’d been ready to spit out, replaced by a pulsing awareness I knew better than to feel for a man like him.
“Thanks for the ride. I’ll get the battery sorted tomorrow.”
“What time does your shift start.”
“I work the breakfast shift, but—”
“What time, Keely?”
“Griffin—”
“What time.” He stepped a fraction closer, his eyes dropping to my mouth for one long, agonizing second. Just like the night before, I thought he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to. Oh, how I wanted him to. But then he stepped back. “Lock the deadbolt,” he commanded.
“I always do.” I stepped inside knowing he wouldn’t leave until I was inside. Locked safely behind the door. I threw the deadbolt and leaned against the door for a heartbeat.
Why did this man get to me like this? And why, heaven help me, did I want to know what his kisses tasted like?