“Over my dead-”
His palm curled intimately under her bottom, shifting her over to the passenger side. Her legs promptly tangled in the stick shift, her green skirt fluttering back to reveal an expansive length of stockinged leg. “Now you just listen here-”
“How much? I’ll reimburse you for the bar bill, since I’m responsible.” He dipped down to grope for the dropped car key, rearranged her legs, covered her thigh again and inserted the key in the ignition as he slammed the car door.
A moose wouldn’t fit in a shoe box. He filled the car, but the engine that had been giving her such trouble purred like a kitten for him. “Listen,” she sputtered.
“Honey, it’s all right,” Griff assured her mildly. “I’ll drive you home and call a cab to get back to my car. We can both tell Julie that we met and the mesh just wasn’t there. I’ll have my sister off my back for at least another month or two, and you’ll be happily tucked into your bed within an hour. No offense,” he rushed in smoothly. “I don’t mean to imply that you couldn’t negotiate a straight line, but you belong in bed right now, curled up with a nice warm aspirin.”
Susan settled back in a rather dizzy huff next to her door. This was the sedate, conservative, respectable captain of industry, the one so desperate for company, the one who never thought of anything but his children? His sister was under some terrible illusions. Those big dark eyes held more sexual experience than a spring day held sunshine, and as for his being hard up for female company…no. Not in this life. “You don’t even know where I live,” she protested.
“I think I can manage. Your address and phone number have repeatedly been given out to me for the last six months. In case I mislay any of my sister’s notes, she calls regularly just to ensure-”
“I get the drift.” She had been through Julie’s water torture herself. Griff shot her a look that reluctantly won a smile, and then a helpless little chuckle. Those big brown eyes just looked so long-suffering.
“My sister…” he began.
By the time they arrived at her apartment, Susan’s alcoholic fog had settled into a pleasant sort of dizzy euphoria. He’d so nicely spelled out all the reasons why he very honestly wasn’t looking for a relationship-in spite of his sister’s best efforts. He was divorced. Divorced men were bad news. Susan wholeheartedly agreed. Having been married for thirteen years and divorced for four, he had no urge whatsoever to change his single state. In the meantime, he had three children and alternate-weekend visitation rights. Plus all the unscheduled visits he could get. The children had to come first in his life. Susan wholeheartedly agreed. At the time of the divorce, he went on, his kids were torn apart, and because he was a damn fool and confused at the time, he had let custody slip into Sheila’s hands. The problem was that she wanted the money and not the children, and he was tearing himself up worrying about them. So as far as inviting anyone else into his life, knowing that somehow he was going to regain custody of his kids or die trying…it just wasn’t the time for him to be looking for a wife, regardless of what his sister Julie thought about his bachelor state. Susan, once again, wholeheartedly agreed.
In fact, she agreed with everything he said. It confused her. Griff Anderson was telling her his life was a mess. At the same time, he created the impression of a man who knew exactly what he wanted, had figured out exactly how to get it, was big enough to admit his mistakes, and adored his children. As she snatched up her purse and opened her own car door, she was still trying to figure that out. She liked the man. She certainly didn’t want him in her life, but she did like him. And despite his sending out all those I am safe messages, she had the terrible feeling as they walked up the sidewalk together that she would be making an irreversible mistake if she let him into her apartment.
He didn’t give her much choice. For one thing, he had the keys…and was using them. For another, he had a crooked little smile that just dared her to object to letting a strange man into her apartment. Averting her eyes, Susan walked in as soon as he’d opened the door and flicked on a light. She hung up her coat, then waited patiently by the closet door for him to hand her his jacket, praying her double vision would recede shortly. He gave her the jacket, then walked past her and stood with his hands loosely on his hips as he surveyed the place.
The apartment was old, St. Paul style, on a street with huge, fat trees and thick ivy, close to the university. A pair of giant potted fig trees stood sentinel in the corners near two nubby beige chairs. The coffee table was Indian, intricate patterns of carved wood covered with glass. A twenty-pound aquarium occupied one corner, its light reflecting the darting moves of a half-dozen silver and fluorescent fish. Bookshelves, made from bricks and planks, surrounded the tank. Hanging plants dripped greenery onto a six-legged French desk that was two centuries old, her pride and joy. The couch was off-white, littered with a pink silk blouse and an open magazine. The effect, overall, was of a very personal and individual haven, Susan style.
Griff turned back to her, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. Her apartment, apparently, had passed some test…and so had she.
“The telephone’s in the kitchen,” she told him. “For the cab.”
Obediently, he strode toward the kitchen, but she had a feeling he’d recognized her remark for the defensive ploy it was. She followed him, and gave a loud, expressive sigh when she saw him bending down to stare into the open refrigerator.
“You need food,” he pointed out. “If you’re going to drink on an empty stomach-”
“I don’t drink on an empty stomach. I just don’t drink. Normally. But I couldn’t just play with my hands for more than an hour-”
“I know. I was late. And the very least I can do is fix you something to eat.”
So virtuous. “It is not necessary.”
“So…” He drew out a casserole of macaroni and cheese and looked vaguely around the kitchen. “We know you’re not much on blind dates, that you can’t handle alcohol, and that my sister has a better eye for a good-looking woman than I ever gave her credit for. You might as well tell me the rest of it.”
He made the dinner. She watered the plants in between sips of strong black coffee and feeding the fish. By the time they sat down at the table, neither of them seemed to be wearing their shoes anymore. With the salad, he served aspirin for her headache.
He was a big believer in equal time, so over dinner she gave him all the reasons why she had been just as opposed as he was to being fixed up on a blind date. She had opened her book and craft shop five years before, with the help of a big dream, a very small inheritance from a distant uncle, a banker who actually seemed sympathetic, and a halfway decent collection of rare old books her father had contributed to the cause. Undercapitalized was the operative word. All of her time and energy had been channeled into getting the shop on its feet the past few years. Independence came to her naturally, as an only child, and perhaps also because her mother had died when she was young. She had only a father to harass her over her single state, which he did regularly from retirement in Arizona, a nice distance away. A nice distance away as far as harassment went-Griff mustn’t misunderstand. She loved her father. In fact, ironically, her father was one of the main reasons why she had never thrown herself into the marriage market.
Her parents had been wonderfully happy-a tough act to follow, but Susan couldn’t imagine setting her own sights any lower. And when her mom died, her dad had been wise enough to worry about filling his hours with things that counted to him. He didn’t believe in seeking out relationships from sheer loneliness, or in settling for less than the special love he’d had with his wife. Susan adhered to her father’s own values. She wasn’t panic-stricken if she had to spend an occasional Saturday night alone. No, she wasn’t brooding over someone from the past; there were no scars, no torches still carried. Yes, she’d almost married once in college, but it hadn’t worked out. Her father was getting a wee bit itchy for grandchildren. Well, occasionally she got a wee bit itchy for children herself, but the men in her age bracket seemed to equate maturity with bed immediately following dinner. The issue had become tiring. Maybe next year she’d figure out what was supposed to be such fun about waking up next to a stranger. For now, she passed.