Rounding the corner to the road leading to the cabin, Griffin came to a hard stop, throwing up a shower of gravel in his wake. Hopping off the bike, he reached for Tara and lifted her to the ground. When he took off her helmet, he couldn’t help grinning at her. Her hair had come loose from her ponytail and was hanging in tangled waves over her shoulders. He was sure she would be surprised, maybe even a little horrified, at how disheveled she looked. But in his mind, her mussed hair, flushed cheeks, and shining eyes only made her more beautiful if possible. Indeed, she was even sexier than usual.
Tipping up her chin, he smiled. “I have a suggestion, sweetheart. How about you hustle your extraordinary bod into the cabin and head for the shower.” He qualified, “Not that you look dirty . . . ” At her surprised frown, he quickly added, “No, no, sweetheart. If anything you look positively ravishing. Or at least ravished.” A sexy smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, and do know, I like dirty girls. Especially ones who wear unusual underwear.”
When she pulled back but couldn’t keep a smile from curving her lips, he continued, “It’s just that given what your body has been though in the last couple of hours, Tara, I have to believe a hot shower would be a welcome respite.”
Tara returned his grin. “Are you implying that I just might have a scratch or two on my butt? And at least a handful of pine needles in my hair and likely in a few more hidden places?” At his agreeing laugh, she said over her shoulder as she sauntered up the stairs, “By the way, big guy, you might just find a few pine needles in some special places on your sexy bod. At least I seem to remember I wasn’t the only one who was flat on their back . . . ”
Quickly following her up the stairs, he reached for her. Pulling her up next to him, he murmured in her ear, “I believe you are right about that, sexy lady. I also remember that at one point, a very beautiful woman straddled me and climbed up on top of my very substantial prick.” He laughed at her embarrassed flush and piled on. “Oh yeah, that was quite a scene. And by the way, Tara, any time you want to throw me down and ravage me, you have my permission.”
Tugging her close to him, he tipped up her chin. “On to more mundane issues. While you are washing off the remnants of our extraordinary love fest, I’m going to fire up what looks like an impressive grill. What’s your pleasure, lovely lady? A man-sized porterhouse steak or a more delicate swordfish?”
Tara shrugged. “Will you think I’m a wuss if I ask for swordfish?”
“Heck no. That was my choice as well. It’s a good thing Magnus is as free with my money as he is. I haven’t seen a more prime piece of swordfish than the three-inch thick beauty he found. Given that I’m so damned hungry I could chew off my arm, it’s a good thing that there are enough rations in that refrigerator to feed an army of voracious men. Or in our case, feed a stunningly beautiful woman that this particular voracious man would eat up if he could.”
Following her into the cabin, Griffin caught her arm as she started down the hallway. “One more thing, sweetheart.” Her surprised frown confirmed that she’d seen his expression tighten. He quickly reassured her. “Hey, don’t look like that. It’s just that in addition to feeding our deserving bodies, we need to have a conversation.” He couldn’t hold back a sigh. “I assume you agree. I have a lot of things I need to talk to you about, Tara.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then grasped her shoulders and turned her toward the bathroom. Smacking her lightly on her bottom, he added, “Now, go get clean—at least on the outside. You can keep that feisty and, yeah, dirty little imp alive and well on the inside. Know that I’ll be seeing her again before the night is over.”
With his sexy threat ringing in her ears, Tara acknowledged how much she was looking forward to the shower. She planned to stay there until the water ran cold if necessary. Allowing the steaming water to course over her body that was aching in some very surprising places, Tara tried to come to grips with her crazy life. This morning before they went to the development site, she’d texted her sisters and father telling them that she was fine and not to worry about her. Of course Tanya had responded with a dozen questions that Tara answered with a simple “later.” Tatiana was less pushy but clearly concerned that she was okay. Her father’s response was the most surprising. He’d said quizzically, “Trust yourself, Tara. Don’t be afraid to go after what you want.”
Even after twenty minutes under the blistering spray, Tara had to admit that she wasn’t any closer to knowing what she wanted than she’d been before she stepped in the steamy haven. Shaking her head, she admonished herself. That wasn’t true. She knew what she wanted, she just wasn’t sure that what she wanted wouldn’t be her downfall. After all, Griffin Black, as compelling and frankly overwhelmingly attractive as he was, was also the man she’d intended to take down. That task now seemed strikingly simplistic—if not impossible. It was one thing when she viewed him as her enemy, the land-grabbing, robber baron she’d painted him as. She now had to deal with the fact that he might just care as much about the land he planned to develop as she did. And, she conceded, his plans might be as worthy of the land as hers were. The problem was squaring the circle. Which at least on the surface, was a seemingly impossible task. Thinking back on her father’s perplexing text, she admitted that she did know what she wanted. She wanted Griffin. But did that mean that she would have to compromise her values, her beliefs? With a hard sigh, she remembered Griffin’s cautionary frown when he told her that they needed to talk. She sniffed disparagingly. If that wasn’t an understatement, she didn’t know what was.
Not wanting to think anymore, she reached for the box that Magnus Armstrong had provided for her. Buried under a couple of sweatshirts, she saw what looked like pajamas—if a filmy halter and virtually see-through harem pants could be called pajamas. Given that the red lace underwear were now truly scraps and part of Griffin’s growing collection, Tara admitted it was either the harem attire or a sweatshirt and jeans. Donning the filmy concoction and looking at herself in the mirror, Tara once again conceded that the brazen consigliere knew his stuff.
Griffin’s low-pitched whistle when he saw her confirmed her assessment, as did his husky conclusion. Dropping the grill tool he was holding, he stepped toward her, his eyes shining with lustful intent. “Uh, Tara. Remember how I told you we needed to talk and that I was starving?” When she nodded, he groaned. “Forget both. Jesus God, Tara. Without a doubt you are the most beautiful and surely the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
Tara held up her hands and shook her head. “And you have a budding Hugh Hefner on your staff. If Magnus Armstrong isn’t the wardrobe manager of a brothel in his off-hours, he’s missing his calling.” She couldn’t help adding with a sniff, “Unless dressing your harem is one of the expected roles he plays for you.”
Griffin’s expression darkened as he reached for her. “Uh-uh, Tara. No more cheap shots. Not an option. I’ve admitted to my profligate past. The defining word being ‘past.’ And, by the way, don’t think for a moment that the present and the future won’t include a bare-assed spanking if you continue to assert that there are any woman in my life except you.” Grasping her chin, he forced her to meet his hard gaze. “Are we clear on that point, Tara?”
She managed to twist free, then asked with a shrug, “Which point, Griffin? That your profligate past is truly past or that you are brazen enough to think that I would actually allow you to spank me?”
He yanked her up next to him and swatted her butt. Ignoring her shriek, he growled in her ear, “Ah, sweetheart, you don’t have a good enough imagination to know half of the things I plan to do to you.”
Aiming for nonchalance, and fighting the flurry of electricity storming her core at his sexy threat, Tara aimed for impudence. “How do you know, Mr. Sex on a Stick, what I know or don’t know? Don’t forget my last name. And dammit, it’s not as if our grocery store racks don’t hawk Cosmopolitan.”
Griffin laughed and eased his grip. “You’re correct about that family moniker of yours, Tara. If anyone deserves the name Trouble, it’s you. It’s a good thing that I’ve spent a lifetime dealing with troublesome issues. I’ll concede to your assessment of me being Mr. Sex on a Stick if you’ll concede that you are Trouble with a capital T. As for Cosmo, honey, what we’ve already done and given what I plan to do to you, that grocery store rag wouldn’t make it to kindergarten in my lascivious school.”
Before she could fire back, Griffin smiled at her and shook his head. “Dammit, Tara, I don’t know how you or Magnus expect me to cook a meal for us seeing you dressed like that. But I’m going to force myself to finish my chef duties so that we can eat. I know you have to be as hungry as I am.”
She leaned against him and nodded in agreement. “I am hungry, Griffin, but can you hold me for a minute and still cook?”
Understanding her need for closeness, he tugged her up next to him. “Sweetheart, I can do anything you ask as long as you don’t think you are going to get more than six inches away from me tonight. And thank goodness, I was just about to load up our plates with what may be the best swordfish either one of us has eaten.” Leading her over to the small table, he pulled out one of the chairs. Striking a match, he lit the candles and shook his head. “I didn’t think anything could be more lovely, Tara, than this beautiful night sky. But that was before you entered and exponentially raised the glamorous quotient of this setting a thousandfold.”
Not sure if she could eat another bite of the scrumptious meal that Griffin had prepared seemingly out of nothing, Tara leaned back in her chair with a sigh.
“May I assume that is a contented sigh?”
“How could it be anything but, Griffin? I should be embarrassed. I think I ate twice as much as you did, but it was wonderful. Thank you. I truly was hungry.”
Although he was smiling, he seemed solemn. “As was I, Tara. I think we’ll postpone dessert for the moment if that works for you. How about we go over here and sit by the fire. I don’t want you to get chilled.” He led her over to the padded sofa and settled her on it. He put an afghan throw over her knees, then went back to the table to retrieve their wine glasses and the bottle of wine. He refilled both glasses and sank down beside her. Raising his glass, he tossed her a smile, but Tara noted that while it curved his lips, the shuttered smile didn’t reach his eyes. Her breath stuck in her throat when he blew out a hard sigh and said, “We need to talk, Tara.”
His tight expression telegraphed that what was coming next was serious. Her stomach lurched in anticipation. Later, she was glad he’d warned her. His first words were calm, conversational. “You don’t know much about me, Tara. Yes, you’ve researched me and probably know every acre of land I’ve bought and the specifics of the development I created on that land. You’ve also likely read every negative thing that has been written about me, and given what you said today, you’ve even managed to scare up some positive press. What you haven’t read, because I’ve made it a practice to maintain my privacy at all costs, is much about my personal life.” He took a substantial draught of his wine and then allowed himself to breathe out a sigh. “That may seem incongruous given that I’ve been closer to you in these last several days than I have been to almost anyone in my life.” Again, he was silent for a long moment and then nodded and frowned. “Unfortunately, the parts of me that I have studiously kept off the record rose up and bit me in the ass this week.”
Tara was surprised to admit that his seriousness frightened her. Since she’d met him, her primary concern was that she could protect herself from the powerful, arrogant man. Now, just when she was seriously considering dropping her reserves and inviting him into her inner sanctum, which she was certain was as private and concealed as his could possibly be, her pitching gut told her she was wrong. Taking a hearty swallow of her wine, she maintained her silence, hoping it would encourage him to speak. When he did, she almost wished that he hadn’t. It was clear that his world was ever so much more complicated than hers. It was also clear that his pain was intense.
“I’ve been able to keep my personal life sketchy through Magnus’s efforts and my own. You likely know that I was married and divorced. What you don’t know is that I have two children, a ten-year-old girl, Brooke, and a seven-year-old boy, Hunter. My former wife and I were divorced when Brooke was three and Hunter was a baby. I regret to say that I’ve only seen my children sporadically over the years, a fact that I’ve spent the last five years trying to rectify. My former wife was determined to keep me as far away from the children as she could—I guess to pay me back for the divorce. God knows why, except out of spite. I’ve handsomely supported all three of them, but Carolyn wanted more than money. Unfortunately, she wanted me, which wasn’t an option.”
Griffin rose to his feet and made a production of refilling their glasses. He strode over to the railing and leaned against it, facing her. His voice was strained. “A week ago, the night that you and I were together at my house, Carolyn tried to kill herself. It was the third time she’s attempted to commit suicide. To put it mildly, she is a bit of a drama queen—although this time she came close to pulling it off.”
He took a long draught of his wine and then continued. His voice was flat, almost cool, as if he were reviewing a movie that he didn’t particularly like. “Unfortunately, Carolyn’s parents blame me for their daughter’s unhappiness and managed to convince a lower court that I’m responsible for her attempted suicide. They are determined to keep my children from me. At least according to my former in-laws, who were able to convince—make that buy—the lower court’s agreement, my children prefer to live with them. I know that isn’t true, but at this point, I’m forced to accept the preliminary ruling. Even with all of my resources, it has taken me these last five days contesting the decision to get the court to re-hear my plea. The hearing is scheduled for a week from today. In the meantime, I’ve been barred from seeing Brooke and Hunter.”