Chapter 30
TIANA
By the time I get back to Griffin’s house, the adrenaline has worn off enough that my nerves are chewing through the lining of my stomach.
The house is quiet when I step inside. I slip off my shoes by the entryway and hang my jacket on the hook I’ve claimed as mine.
That hook used to feel temporary. Now my jacket looks like it belongs there.
A dim light spills from the kitchen, warm against the dark hallway. I hear the hum of the dishwasher, then the sound of a cabinet closing.
Griffin is still awake.
I walk toward the kitchen, rehearsing normal sentences in my head.
Hey, Griffin, I got a commercial.
No, too casual.
I have an opportunity in LA and need to discuss scheduling.
Ew. Why do I sound like HR?
So, plot twist, your favorite nanny is going to Hollywood!
Absolutely not.
I stop at the entrance and find him standing at the island in sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt, one hand braced against the counter while he looks down at an open laptop.
His hair is damp from a recent shower, curling slightly at the ends, and the sight of him like this—barefoot, domestic, unfairly broad in a room that feels too small when he’s in it—does rude things to my ability to breathe.
He looks up. “You’re back.”
“Observant.”
His mouth twitches. “How was it?”
“The Back Door?”
“Yes.”
“Great martinis.” I step farther into the kitchen, fingers curling around the strap of my purse. “Sylas asleep?”
“Yup, after negotiating bedtime terms like a tiny union leader.”
I smile. “Was there a counteroffer?”
“Two books, one water refill, and a formal complaint about the dinosaur pajamas being too itchy.”
A laugh slips out. “They are not itchy.”
“I told him that.”
“Can we talk for a second?” I ask.
His posture changes. It’s subtle, but I see it. His shoulders set and his hand slips off the counter.
“Did something happen?”
“No. Nothing bad.” I pause. “Actually, it’s good. I think.”
His brows pull together. “You think?”
“I’m still deciding whether I’m excited or one mild inconvenience away from throwing up.”
“That sounds promising.”
He closes the laptop without looking at it and gives me his full attention.
I lean against the opposite side of the island, grateful for the slab of marble between us; lately physical barriers are the only reason I’ve been acting civilized around him.
“I got offered a commercial.”
His face changes, pride moving through his expression. “Tiana, that’s incredible.”
“Yeah?” I smile, then bite the inside of my cheek. “It shoots in LA.”
“When?”
“Soon. They’re still locking the exact schedule, but it will probably last a week or so.” I straighten, rushing into the next part before I lose my nerve. “I know that’s inconvenient because of Sylas, and I don’t want to leave you scrambling. Mya said she and Worth could help, or I can—”
“Tiana.” Griffin’s voice cuts clean through my ramble.
“What?”
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing. I just don’t want you to think I’m being irresponsible.”
His expression softens, and this time he doesn’t hide it fast enough. “I would never think that.”
I swallow. “Sylas depends on me. You depend on me.”
Griffin looks down for a moment, his fingers resting against the edge of the island.
When he lifts his eyes back to mine, there’s something raw in them.
“I do,” he says. My heart stumbles. He doesn’t look away.
“I depend on you, probably more than I should. But that doesn’t mean you shrink your life to fit inside mine. ”
He steps around the island slowly, not coming too close but enough that I can smell his soap. “You should go,” he says.
My fingers tighten around my purse strap. “Just like that?”
His mouth curves into a big smile, and the sight almost takes me out at the knees. “Yes. I’ll make arrangements. Maggie can help, and I can adjust my schedule. I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to be afraid to tell me something good.”
My chest pinches. I look down at the floor; his face is too much.
“You’re really okay with me going?”
“I’m more than okay with it,” he says. “You earned this. I’m proud of you.”
I grip the strap of my purse tighter and force a smile because if I don’t, I might cry in his marble kitchen. “Thanks,” I whisper.
He nods, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
For a moment, I think he might say more. His hand shifts at his side, fingers flexing like he wants to reach for me but doesn’t trust himself to.
I don’t trust myself either.
Instead, he says, “Goodnight, Tiana.”
I sigh and turn before I can let the moment ask for things neither of us knows how to give. “Goodnight, Griffin.”
I make it halfway down the hallway before he says, “Wait,” and his voice is so much lower than before, it roots me to the spot.
When I dare to look back, he’s still standing at the edge of the kitchen, as if afraid to cross some invisible line. Watching me in that calculating way he gets when he’s trying not to let any emotions show.
The air between us thickens.
“Yes?”
Griffin doesn’t answer for a long moment, then: “Never mind. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I shake my head, sudden irritation prickling under my skin. “You’re so weird sometimes, you know that?” He smirks, but it’s tight. “You can’t just say what’s on your mind, can you? You always have to go for grumpy and broody. It’s like walking on eggshells with you.”
Griffin steps towards me, finally crossing that line. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer I send you an itemized list of my thoughts every morning?”
I scoff, tossing my hair back. “Don’t flatter yourself. If you think I want to know what goes on in there, you’re even more delusional than I pegged you for.”
I begin to march toward the stairs. He follows.
“At least I’m not a riddle like you. You keep everything buttoned up tighter than a drum,” I add.
Griffin shrugs, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Takes one to know one, Tiana.”
I turn to glare at him, one step above on the stairs, so we’re almost eye to eye. “You can’t possibly be serious,” I hiss. “You, who treats basic conversation like a hostage negotiation, are going to lecture me about emotional availability?”
He clamps both hands on the banisters, leaning in until I can see every glint in his gaze. “Who made it a negotiation? You walk around here with your head held so high people have to send up weather balloons to reach you.”
“At least I use my words,” I snap, “instead of acting like every feeling is a liability.”
He yanks out a breath through his teeth. For a second, I’m sure he’ll say something scathing, but he just stands there, looking a little wrecked. Then his lips press together, and it takes everything in me not to look away when he answers.
“You’re right. I’m bad at it. But you’re not exactly giving master classes either.”
My fingernails bite into my palm. “You know, it kills me that you can be so damn brilliant in every other area of your life, but when it comes to anything closer than arm’s length, you just—”
“I freeze up,” he finishes for me. “I’m not built like you, Tiana. I wish I knew how to not do that.”
A quiet laugh bursts out of me, echoing up the stairwell.
“You think I’m good at this?” I gesture at the space between us.
“I’m just as much a mess as you are, maybe worse.
I’m the queen of bottling it up and pretending nothing fazes me.
But it does,” I say, my voice cracking. “And now I’m standing in your stairwell, arguing about feelings, because I can’t seem to not care how you see me. ”
Griffin’s shoulders slope, his breath softening. “I don’t see you as a mess. I see you as the only person with the guts to tell me when I’m being impossible.”
“That doesn’t take much courage,” I mutter. “You could just be normal for once and say what you’re actually feeling.”
His brow arches. “You want normal? Is that what you want?” He’s so close, the fabric of his shirt brushes my arm where I’m clutching the banister.
“I want you to stop acting like you’re made from stone,” I say.
He lets go of the railing and takes the step up, so now he’s looming over me, eyes searching mine.
“You think I can’t get hurt?” he says, so low it’s almost a growl. “You think I don’t feel anything?”
I open my mouth, but the words tangle there.
All I can do is look at him, at the faint flush at the edge of his jaw, the brightness flickering in his eyes. He’s angry and so stubborn, I could shake him. I want to press my palms to that shirt and rattle him until something breaks loose.
But before I can, he does it for me.
He grabs my face with both hands, any space between us collapsing. His touch is rough, clumsy, but it crackles through me.
And then he kisses me, with none of the hesitation I’ve come to expect from him. It’s all teeth and heat, and I feel the shock of it all the way down to my knees.
I immediately melt into the space he makes for me, like we’re two halves of a completed equation. His mouth is hot and urgent, the stubble of his chin scraping my jaw.
I clutch his shirt in both fists. His hands are everywhere at once—my hair, my neck, the small of my back, dragging me up against him like he has to make sure I’m anchored here with him.
After a beat, the world falls away.
The cavernous house could burn down around us, and I’d barely blink.
He slows down the kiss, breaking it long enough to suck in a ragged breath, then he’s back for more.
I gasp against his lips, surprised at the noises I’m making.
Griffin’s hands slide to my hips as he backs me up the steps, never breaking contact.
My heel hits the top stair, and then we’re spilling down the hallway.
With each step, he pulls me with him, one hand knotted in my hair, the other bracing me against him so I don’t tumble backward.
My heart is in my throat, my knees barely operational.
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a half-moan. He’s kissing the corner of my mouth, my jaw, his breath fast and uneven. My legs are jelly, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just hauls me with him.
It takes me a second to realize he’s steering us toward my room.
Griffin shoulders open my door before he shuts it quietly behind us, mindful of Sylas sleeping down the hall.
He breaks the kiss for a fraction of a second, crowding me against the wall, just enough to mutter, “I’m not done with you yet,” and then his mouth is at my jaw, teeth skimming my pulse.
Griffin kisses me until my ears ring. I don’t want him to stop.
The room is dark except for the slat of warped city light through my blinds, and I have the sense that I am both breathing and drowning at the same time.
He hoists me up, and my legs wrap around his waist. I think about resisting, about how we should stop, how complicated this is. But I want him and he wants me, and every part of me is tired of pretending that’s not true.
My skin goes taut where Griffin’s fingers scrape my ribs. I exhale straight into his mouth. He pulls me tighter, his hips pinning me in place until my spine sings against the pressure.
There’s a tiny voice in my head still telling me this is a bad idea, but my hands are already up under his shirt, and his skin is so hot I lose the thread of what I was supposed to be worrying about.
Nothing about this feels like a mistake.
The first button on my blouse snaps open. Then two.
Griffin’s fingers pause against the next button.
I pull back first and place my hand on his chest, not pushing him away, just giving us room to breathe.
His jaw flexes. “I want this but—”
“I know.” I smooth my thumb over the fabric of his shirt, feeling his heart beneath it. “But you’re in your head. I’d rather stop now than have you hate yourself after.”
He looks away. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be. This is complicated.”
“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” Griffin admits.
He closes his eyes, breathing out, and when he opens them, I can see the ache of wanting something and not knowing how to let yourself have it.
I touch his cheek before stepping back. “Then figure out what you’re ready for, Griffin.”
He watches me like he wants to stop me, but he doesn’t.
So I button up my shirt and give Griffin one last look, as Griffin retreats from my room before either of us can do something we might regret. Again.