Chapter 1

Val was in an epic stare-down with her blank computer screen. She tapped her lilac-painted fingernails on the edge of her desk and waited for her muse to feed her the next great love story.

A knock sounded on her front door and Val flinched as the small but loud Pomeranian in the next room went berserk. The stare-down was lost. So was Val’s concentration.

With a growl—she’d learned that from Sweet Cheeks since she’d been caring for the little yapper while her neighbor, Alma Edwards, recuperated from hip surgery—Val stood up at her desk. It was the end of her first week of summer vacation from her school secretary job. She’d been hoping that by now Sophie Evans, her much smarter, way cooler alter ego, would have finished writing the first few chapters of her next book. Instead, Val had typed one sentence, deleted it, and repeated—for five days running.

She walked to the front door and picked up Sweet Cheeks, rubbing her softly between her ears. “Good girl,” she lied, then went to see what the UPS man had delivered. She hoped it was the Train Your Dog in a Week book she’d ordered last night, when she’d been desperate and grieving the loss of the last glass of wine she’d planned to enjoy while enduring yet another stare-down with her computer. But Sweet Cheeks, a.k.a. Devil Pup, had gotten under her feet as she’d carried the glass to her desk, sending her flying and spilling the red wine all over her tan rug. At least she hadn’t ended up with a broken hip like Alma.

Val picked up the box on her doorstep and smiled to herself. She would be reading this book just as soon as she got back from her book club meeting at Seaside Harbor nursing home this morning. The last thing Alma needed when she returned home was another puppy-induced fall. Collecting the little dog and the purse that she rode in, Val grabbed her keys and headed to her old Volvo in the driveway. A book club with a group of elderly women wasn’t exactly going to get her creative juices flowing so she could meet her August deadline, but it would take her mind off things like bills and devil pups, and that first gray eyebrow hair she’d discovered while tweezing this morning. She was only thirty. Thirty-year-olds did not have graying hair—at least, not without undue stress, which her latest deadline was causing.

As she drove, Val tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, singing along with the music. Then she squealed as Sweet Cheeks jumped onto her lap and slid her grainy wet tongue across Val’s cheek. Disgusting. Slobber was one reason she didn’t have a dog of her own. Sweet Cheeks licked her again. “Stop that,” Val said, shooing the puppy away. Maybe it was her vanilla ChapStick that had Sweet Cheeks all but French-kissing her as she drove. The puppy wasn’t giving up. Hopping over the center console, Sweet Cheeks landed back in Val’s lap and dug her little nails into the bare skin of her thighs. Then the little dog started licking her again.

“Get off me!” Val turned her face from side to side, trying to see past the puppy to the road. Then she screeched as she realized her Volvo had crossed the country road’s center line. Jerking the steering wheel to the right, she overcorrected and went off onto the bordering stretch of grass. Righting her course again, Val jumped at a loud honk from an oncoming motorcycle.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said, pushing the determined puppy back into the passenger seat. Her heart was pounding after what couldn’t have been longer than five seconds. She slowed to a stop at the side of the road to catch her breath, because in those mere five seconds her life had flashed before her eyes. Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but that’s what authors do: they exaggerate both the good and the bad.

Sweet Cheeks barked at her side.

“You are in so much trouble,” Val growled, glancing in her rearview mirror. Her spine withered as she saw the motorcycle she’d nearly plowed into had turned around and pulled over as well. She was in so much trouble, too. She watched as the driver removed his helmet and came walking toward her.

Tall.

Lean.

He had black hair and wore dark jeans and a leather jacket. Everything about him screamed trouble. And sex appeal. In any other circumstance, she’d have been considering how to get this guy to notice her. Instead, she’d nearly killed him with her car. He’d definitely noticed her, and judging by the grim set to his mouth—a very nice mouth—he was about to toss some choice words in her direction.

Val opened her car door and got out, deciding to face this challenge head-on, like she did everything. Wit was one of her God-given gifts. In an argument, she’d always excelled at having a quick reply. Her mouth was dry right now, though, and she was willing to bet that her “gift” had crawled into a corner to hide. Sweet Cheeks’s claws tapped against the car window behind her. The puppy barked, then growled low in her belly at the man walking toward them—like she could save Val from impending doom. If this had been a Sophie Evans book, the stranger would have looked directly into Val’s eyes, forgotten about words, and started peeling off her clothes like a man possessed.

Fiction is so much better than reality.

“You okay?” he asked, bringing her back to the here and now.

“I should be asking you that. I’m so sorry,” Val said, leaning against her car door and willing Sweet Cheeks to shut up. “The puppy jumped on me as I was driving and I jerked the wheel.” She was talking fast, her wit nowhere in sight. “I think she likes my ChapStick.”

He hesitated, which made her squirm just a little. He was wearing dark sunglasses, but she got the distinct impression that he was staring at her dog-slobbered lips.

“You’re Valerie Hunt,” he finally said.

She knitted her brow and realized he did look familiar. She usually saw him under the local bar’s dim lighting, but she’d never actually exchanged words with him. “Hi,” she said for lack of anything better to say. “You’re Lawson’s friend,” she said.

“I’m Griffin Black.” He held out his hand for her to shake, as if she hadn’t nearly maimed him two minutes earlier.

His skin was rough as he took her hand in his, holding on to it for a second longer than necessary. She’d obviously spent way too much time alone in her office lately, because this was all it took to completely turn her on. A little buzz zipped from her hand down through her stomach, lighting up those dormant places she’d denied satisfaction over the last year.

“You need to keep your dog in a crate when you drive,” he said. “It’s not safe to have her on your lap.”

Val nodded. She’d never been a dog owner, so it hadn’t occurred to her to do that. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

He smiled, slow and deliberate, then pushed his sunglasses up on the top of his head, revealing rich brown eyes that she could stare into forever.

Stare into forever? She chastised herself. She was still in writer’s mode, and her overactive imagination was navigating all the creative avenues of a man and woman coming together—which wasn’t what was actually happening here. No, in this situation, she had said her apologies and should now continue on her way to the nursing home.

“I’ll definitely put her in a crate next time. I promise. Thank you, and I’m sorry again.” She turned to reach for her car door. But she realized that if she did that, Sweet Cheeks was going to launch herself at Griffin or, worse, into the road. She couldn’t allow Alma’s precious puppy to become roadkill.

She paused and was contemplating what to do when Griffin headed around the car toward the passenger-side door.

“I wouldn’t do that. I’m not sure if she bites,” Val started, holding up a hand.

Not listening, he opened the door anyway. Sweet Cheeks hopped the center console and onto the passenger seat, barking all the way, and stopped at his outstretched hand. Sniffing every square inch of it, her ears perked at his gentle speech. “Sit,” he ordered.

The devil pup hesitated and then, magically, sat. Griffin pulled a treat out of his coat pocket and slipped it to her.

He has dog treats in his pocket?

Val stood dumbfounded for a second and then opened her driver’s-side door and got in. Sweet Cheeks turned and hopped back into her lap.

“You can’t drive like that. You’ll get yourself killed,” Griffin said, dipping his head through the passenger door. “Do you have a leash for her?” he asked.

“Um. Yeah.” She reached for the jeweled leash in the middle console and handed it to him, watching as he pulled a MacGyver-style maneuver with the lap belt. Sweet Cheeks couldn’t move more than an inch in either direction, so she relented and laid down on the seat, lowering her head between her paws. “Wow,” Val said.

Griffin nodded. “You should be safe now. And so should everyone else in your path.” He winked, which did silly things to her stomach, and closed the door. She wondered if he’d just walk away and leave it at that. That’s what she needed him to do, because her morning and this incident had her all out of sorts.

No such luck. He reappeared at her window and knocked. She rolled it down, pulling her lower lip into her mouth as she met his dark eyes again.

“It was nice to finally meet you, Val,” he said. “Maybe next time we see each other at Heroes, you won’t be stuck up and will say hello.”

Her mouth fell open. What the hell? Before she could reply—and how did you reply to such a rude statement?—he turned and headed back to his motorcycle. She watched as he straddled the bike—which also did all kinds of silly things to her stomach—revved it up, and steered it back onto the road. Then he drove away in a blaze of dust.

He’d been joking, right? She wasn’t stuck up. She just hadn’t wanted Griffin to catch her staring at him at the bar—all for research purposes, of course, because she was the preacher’s daughter and he looked like sex on a skewer. He was someone she could fantasize about when she was writing under her pen name, Sophie Evans, but not someone she could bring home to Daddy for dinner.

Stuck up?

Val looked at Sweet Cheeks, who looked equally offended by the comment. Then she checked her rearview mirror and pulled back onto the road. She would indeed be exchanging words with Griffin Black the next time she saw him.

Griffin pulled his Harley back onto the two-lane road and headed toward the nursing home where he’d recently had his mother transferred from California. Trooper, his retired military K9, could’ve eaten Val’s puppy—if you could call it that—for a snack. Not that Trooper would’ve. He was a gentle German shepherd who’d seen too much during their tours together in Iraq and Afghanistan, and he now deserved “the spoiled life,” as Griffin called it. He was happy about Trooper’s freedom. He, on the other hand, had at least another ten years to serve before he was eligible for early retirement, which was fine by him. He loved his job as a military K9 officer.

Griffin pulled into the parking lot of Seaside Harbor nursing home and parked, leaving an empty space on each side because, while Trooper was his closest friend, his motorcycle came in a close second. Yeah, he had friends here—Lawson and Micah, to name a couple—but his dog and his bike were…hell, with his mom in her current condition and the rest of his family in California, they were the closest thing to family that he had these days.

He laid his helmet in the metal compartment on the back of his bike and headed inside the large brick ranch-style building. His mother hadn’t called him by name or even recognized him in over a year. That’s why he’d moved her here from the facility she’d been at before. He would be stationed at Camp Leon for at least another two years. That was time he could spend helping his mother remember, if possible.

“Hey there, Griffin,” Louise, the head nurse who often manned the front desk, called.

“Hey. How’s Mom?” he asked.

“She only ate a few bites of her lunch, but she declared it the best food she’s ever had. Now she’s watching TV in the community area.”

Best food she’s ever had? As a prestigious professor who’d lectured around the world, his mother had eaten at some of the finest dining establishments in the country. Now Seaside Harbor evidently had the best grub. Things had changed a hell of a lot since he’d been away.

“Thanks.” He kept walking down the long center hall, toward the community area. Inside was a large flat-screen TV, several chairs, and a sofa. There was also a table in the corner for playing cards, which his mother no longer understood.

Several residents looked up as he entered the room.

“Griffin!” Alma Edwards cheered. She was in a housedress, as she was every day, and her hair was in perfect rolls that added two inches to her head in each direction. She clapped her hands in front of her chest, smiling at the sight of him. His own mother stared right through him, like he was a stranger there to visit someone else.

“Hey, Alma. How are you?”

“Ready to go home and see my precious,” she said, folding down her lower lip.

“No, you aren’t. You like it here. Admit it,” another elderly woman said. “Now come join us to look at Maggie’s new magazine.”

Alma nodded and stood, holding tightly to her walker. “Her family brings the best magazines,” she explained, waving at Griffin and following the other lady across the room.

Griffin turned to look at his mother. “Hey, Mom,” he said, walking over to where she sat in a rocking chair. A small smile stamped her thin lips as her gaze fluttered up to meet his.

“Hello there,” she said, confusion lacing her expression. She was just as polite as ever, not saying out loud what her eyes clearly did: Who the hell are you?

“I’m Griffin. Your son,” he said, reaching for her hand.

She quickly drew hers away. Strangers, at best.

“How’re you doing, Mom?”

The lines on his mother’s forehead bounced softly as she tried to figure out what to say. The doctor he’d spoken to about his mother’s condition had said her early-onset Alzheimer’s disease could affect more than memories. She might “lose her words,” he’d said. Or forget basic things like what to do with a cup. She might remember those things again temporarily, but for the most part, the disease was progressive. It would only get worse.

Not responding to his question, his mother returned to watching The Golden Girls on the TV. Griffin watched, too. They sat together quietly for a long moment until a commotion arose among a few of the women sitting on the other side of the room. Griffin saw the spunky woman who’d nearly killed him ten minutes earlier walk in. She had a long bag draped over one shoulder and a little purse with a puppy’s head peeking out over the other. The puppy spotted him first and started yapping loudly, poking a leg through the hole and doing her best to wiggle out of confinement.

Why didn’t she use the purse in the car? he wondered, thinking for the millionth time that people should have to have a license to own a dog.

Oblivious to his presence, Val headed toward Alma. She wore a fitted knit top and a short skirt that made her legs look as long as the night would be trying to erase the image from his mind. Her attire didn’t fit with his knowledge that she was the daughter of a well-respected preacher in town.

She started to open the zipper on the puppy purse and Griffin’s heart went full throttle. Was she on a mission to kill everyone she came in contact with today? Her puppy needed training before she brought it to a place like this.

Griffin left his mother sitting in her rocking chair and walked swiftly across the room, placing a hand firmly over Val’s as she was about to open the purse.

Her eyes widened and her mouth made a little o that he could imagine it doing in other, more favorable circumstances.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, a little more forcefully than he’d intended.

She looked down at his hand on hers and back up at him. “I’m, um—”

“Now that’s no way to speak to a lady,” one of the women sitting off to the side said.

Alma nodded in agreement. “Apologize now,” she demanded.

Griffin took a breath and lowered his voice to talk to Val. “You can’t release this puppy here. It’s not safe.”

As if on cue, the pup growled low in its little belly.

Val looked at his hand again. “Take your hand off me, please.”

He did as she asked. Then she proceeded to pull out the puppy. Griffin watched, on high alert, as Val handed her to Alma.

“Aw, baby,” the elderly woman said, nuzzling the dog, who lapped her tongue over her wrinkled cheek. “I’ve missed you so much. Have you been a good girl for Ms. Valerie? You have?” She laughed joyfully.

“It’s her puppy?” Griffin asked.

“I’m taking care of Sweet Cheeks while Alma recovers from hip surgery.”

“I see.” That made him feel slightly better about the dog. She was spoiled and undisciplined because her owner had a bad hip and couldn’t exactly keep up.

“Sweet Cheeks got under Alma’s feet recently and caused her to fall.”

“The puppy broke her hip?” Griffin asked, lifting a brow.

“She didn’t mean to,” Alma chirped, listening to their conversation.

Griffin massaged a hand over his face. His job was working with dogs. An untrained one always sat wrong with him. He felt like taking her outside and doing rounds with her until she sat, rolled over, and begged on command.

“Are you okay?” Val asked again. “I’m sorry again about nearly running you over on the road.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “More like nudged me into the grass.”

She tugged her pouty lower lip between her teeth. His gaze lingered there for a moment—better than letting it drop back to those long legs of hers. This wasn’t Heroes, though. This was a nursing home.

“And you called me stuck up,” she reminded him. “Your turn to apologize.”

“Why would I say I’m sorry for that? It’s true.”

She shoved her hands onto her hips. “It’s not true. I’m very social. Ask anyone here.”

This made him grin. She was gesturing to a group of people who were three times her age. “Maybe so. But you never talk to me.”

“I’m talking to you now,” she pointed out.

Only because I just marched up and ordered you not to let the monster pup out of the purse, which you did anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he said, halfheartedly. “I was only teasing.” Flirting, really, which he had no business doing. He had his hands full with work and his mother right now. He didn’t need anyone else to worry about, or placing demands on him.

Val looked past him toward his mother. “Do you have family here?” she asked.

“My mother, who I should probably return to.” Not that his mother would care. The prestigious Helen Black, who’d stood before auditoriums packed with people and known everything about psychology and the human condition, didn’t even know who he was anymore.

“I’ll make sure I say hi to you next time I see you, to avoid being called stuck up,” Val said.

She was smiling when he met her blue eyes. They were a soft blue, the color of the ocean in Carmel. “Good. I hope you do. I’ll talk to you later then, Val.” He turned and walked back to his mom, needing to distance himself from the sexy brunette. Kneeling at her side, he whispered, “Sorry about that, Mom.”

Helen started, as if she’d been drifting off to sleep. “You?” she said, running her gaze over him.

For a moment, hope sprang from the depths of his heart, where he’d pushed it for safekeeping. Hope left a nasty hangover, he’d learned.

“Me,” he confirmed, wondering who exactly his mother thought he was. Maybe just this once she would remember that he was Griffin, her only son. He’d give anything to hear her tell him that a man needs a belt, whether his pants fit or not. That T-shirts are meant to be worn under clothing, they aren’t outerwear. He’d give anything to have her call him son.

He waited, breathing shallow, as he willed her to say his name.

Griffin. Your only son. Please remember me, Mom.

“What’s for dinner?” she asked.

Hope splintered, cracked, leaving a dull ache in his heart. Sucking in a breath, he tried to remember. “The menu says meatloaf. You love meatloaf,” he lied—she never had. Apparently her tastes had changed since coming here, though. A lot of things had changed in the years he’d been away.

She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “Oh.” Then she returned her gaze to The Golden Girls. She’d never liked that show, either. He sat quietly beside her and pretended to watch, too. And pretended not to watch Val across the room in that short skirt that crept up her thighs everytime she picked up the monster puppy.

After a long afternoon at Seaside Harbor, Val collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling. It was better than staring blankly at her computer screen. Her deadline hung over her like a dark cloud. She’d heard of writer’s block, but never believed in it. Words had always come easy to her. Making up imaginary worlds and friends were her favorite pastimes. But now she was at a standstill, and had been for the past six months.

Val blinked and continued staring at the ceiling, letting her eyes blur and refocus.

One of the blocks to her creativity was Griffin—although her mind was being very creative at the moment, imagining undressing him and exploring the many tattoos she’d seen peeking out from under his T-shirt.

Sigh. The trouble with being a romance writer was that men in real life never lived up to the ones she created in her mind. “Created” being the key word. Her heroes were fictitious down to their extra-large endowments, as unreal as her alter ego, Sophie Evans. Val could only imagine what her father would do if he found out what she was doing in her spare time besides reading to the residents at Seaside Harbor. And the congregation of his church would be all aflutter if they knew she wrote about love and sex, sex and love. Some things are better left untold. It wasn’t like she was harming anyone—just the opposite. Romance makes people happy; it makes the loneliness a little less lonely. She should know.

Rolling onto her stomach, Val came face to face with Sweet Cheeks. “Real-life men are much smellier, cruder, and nowhere near as charming. They don’t call when they say they will,” she informed the puppy.

Sweet Cheeks cocked her head to one side.

“They spit and scratch. Watch too much football.” She rubbed behind the puppy’s ear, smiling as her tail thumped happily on the bed. “And treats? Forget it. They never bring you treats.”

Her doorbell rang, and Sweet Cheeks launched herself off the bed and down the hallway. Another package? She didn’t remember ordering anything else.

As she opened the front door, Val’s mouth fell open. “What…? How…?”

Griffin smiled at her, slow and easy, exactly like the hero would in one of her books. “I come bearing treats,” he said.