Part 32 (1/2)
And with that, the snarled mess that was her current situation took on yet another twist.
GRIFFIN WAITED AT No. 9 for Jane to return. She'd let The Author Ian Stone-for some reason, he'd started imagining the guy would introduce himself that way-take her down the beach to Captain Crow's for a drink and conversation. He checked his dive watch, then addressed his dog. ”How long could it take to say, *h.e.l.l, no'?”
Private didn't reply, and Griffin's patience wore thinner. He had things he wanted to say to the librarian-as well as subjects he wanted to avoid. On the To Say list: Thank you for being kind to my dog and my elderly neighbor. You did good with Tess and the minions. Not anybody else in the universe could have gotten me to touch a single page of that book. On the Subjects to Avoid list was just one item: Last Night.
Despite what he'd told Jane, he remembered everything about it. Well, there was a little missing between having drinks with Ted and falling on the sand with Jane. The impact had knocked him near sober, and the shower had made him even more clearheaded. What happened after...
The memory made him hard. He threw himself into the lounge chair and stared at the ocean, willing thoughts of it away. But they were like the surf, drawing back for a moment but then charging back in. And in. And in. Jesus. He threw his arm over his eyes as if that could prevent the image of a naked, delectable Jane as she'd been last night in his bed. High on her knees, her sweet hips in his hands as he took her with everything he had. He was dimly aware of Private settling on the deck beside him with a thump and a canine sigh.
”I was about to confess I'm a dog,” he said, reaching out to stroke the Lab's fur, ”but that would be an insult to you, my friend.”
He'd been hard on Jane. Used her as a way to empty himself. It made him no better, he thought, than that a.s.shole, The Author Ian Stone. But she hadn't complained, had she? Everything we did-I loved it.
Because she thought she was in love with him. Jane hadn't said the words out loud. She'd stopped herself, and yet the truth of it was written all over her face for anyone who knew her as well as he did.
Her ”I love you” had hovered between them in the s.e.x-scented air. It had horrified him then and made him sick to recall now. His intention had never been to engage her heart-he didn't deserve it, and he was sure she wasn't thrilled about it either-but those big silver eyes of hers couldn't lie.
Yeah, she was in love with him, and that's what he really didn't want to talk about.
Just thinking about it made him restless. He sat up. ”I'm going,” he told the dog. ”If Stone's not taking no for an answer, then I can provide Jane some backup. I'll be happy to see him on his way.”
Griffin considered putting on nicer clothes. The a.s.shole Author Ian Stone had looked as if he was ready for a photo shoot. But then Griffin shrugged. His ragged jeans and soft s.h.i.+rt printed with pineapples and naked wahines might have seen better days, but, h.e.l.l, so had he. It took a moment to slip into his second-best flip-flops and then he was ambling down the sand toward the restaurant.
”She'll be grateful,” Griffin said aloud, addressing a seagull picking at a mound of drying kelp. ”It'll be my small attempt at paying her back.” For the way she made him laugh, for that annoyed little squint of her eyes when he was teasing her, for those ridiculously frilly shoes and fascinatingly plump mouth.
For the great s.e.x.
Yeah, he owed her a lot for that.
It was conch-sh.e.l.l time at Captain Crow's. From his Party Central days, he recognized most of those crowded on the beach saluting the martini flag. As they all climbed back up the steps to their tables and drinks, he joined them, and was immediately tugged into a free chair.
A beer was shoved in his hand. A girl in a bikini plopped onto his lap and slid an arm around his neck.
A month ago, life wouldn't have been any better than this, but now he could only think of Jane. He slid out from under the pretty girl and surveyed the deck for his pretty girl. Yeah, she wasn't really his, of course, but she certainly didn't belong to The Smug Author Ian Stone.
That's exactly how he looked too, gazing on Jane as if he knew all her b.u.t.tons and exactly how to push them. Griffin would bet a billion bucks that the other man didn't know how Jane took her coffee-one dollop of half-and-half and a stingy sprinkle of real sugar-how she liked her pencils-sharpened to the point of battle-readiness-how sweet she looked in the morning wearing only the perfume of lovemaking and a pillow crease.
He stalked to their corner table. Without looking at the other man, he addressed Jane. ”Hey, I've been waiting for you back at No. 9.”
Her expression was cool. ”I thought you'd be busy packing.”
”And we're busy having a private conversation,” The Annoying a.s.shole Author Ian Stone put in.
Griffin showed him his teeth. He didn't believe either of them would call it a smile. ”Let me make it a much shorter conversation. She said no. Goodbye.”
”I want to work with her again,” the other man started. ”It's a good offer.”
”And I'm considering it,” Jane put in.
Griffin stared at her. ”Are you kidding me? This guy's a smarmy hack who treated you like c.r.a.p when he had you.”
”That's number one New York Times bestselling hack to you,” Stone said in his sn.o.bby voice.
”This isn't about what you write, okay? This is about Jane.” He narrowed his eyes at her. ”Is this because your father gave him some sort of endors.e.m.e.nt?”
She waved that away with a sour look on her face.
Griffin's stomach was sour. Sour with the idea of Jane working with this man. He'd once thought she was still in love with Ian Stone, but of course Jane wouldn't love someone who had the looks of a bowl of oatmeal and the kind of mind that imagined every great love affair meant someone had to end up weeping on the last page. Who would think up s.h.i.+t like that?
He pointed at the other man, the churning burn in his stomach turning to fire in his blood. ”He's a pessimist, you know that, don't you, Jane? How can you think of working with someone who is...who is...”
”Kind of like you?”
That hurt. He pulled over a chair and slammed into it, turning his back on Ian Stone to focus exclusively on the librarian who was looking at him as if she wished she had a ruler or, better, one of her lethal pencils. ”I'm not a pessimist, Jane.”
”I'm not one either,” That a.s.shole Author put in.
Griffin ignored him. ”Jane...”
Her gray eyes were calm, and when she crossed one leg over the other, he couldn't help but notice the funky shoes, so Jane with their cork wedge and leather-and-rope straps. Over the toes was a matching bow. Ian Stone probably didn't even realize she had a most unique and arousing taste in footwear.
”He didn't appreciate you before. He won't appreciate you now,” Griffin said.
”I have to work. And personal history aside, there's merit to the idea. Another success with him will recoup my reputation.”
The one that Griffin had failed to improve. He put the heels of his hands to his suddenly throbbing temples. ”I still say this is about your father. You're thinking if you do this, Daddy'll be happy. His seal of approval on the job makes you think you'll have his approval for yourself.”
”Stop,” she said. ”Stop talking.”
He wouldn't. She'd flapped her mouth at him plenty of times, hadn't she? ”But your father's opinion is not worth the hot air it rides on, Jane. He should know how special, how special and lovable you are. Success is not a necessity to make that happen. And neither is working with Dumb-a.s.s.” His thumb jerked toward Stone.
The other man's chair sc.r.a.ped back. ”Who are you calling Dumb-a.s.s?” he asked, leaping to his feet.
”You.” Griffin flicked him a careless glance. ”Christ, man, you have to know that already. You're the one who stepped out on Jane. You're the one who lost her and then went out of your way to hurt her in the aftermath. Just another idiot who doesn't know a real treasure when he has one.”
He must have touched a nerve, because The a.s.shole Author Ian Stone wrapped his fingers around the back of Griffin's collar and tried to yank him from his seat. Of course, he was too short and Griffin too solid to budge. Still, it added another layer of p.i.s.sed-offness to what was turning into a really s.h.i.+tty day. Grabbing the other man's wrist, he jerked his hand free of his s.h.i.+rt.
The old fabric ripped. ”I love this s.h.i.+rt,” he said from between his teeth. Then he shoved out of his seat.
”Griffin,” Jane said. ”Calm down.”
”As soon as I beat the c.r.a.p out of this guy.” It suddenly seemed like a great idea. A real problem-solver. He turned to confront the man and gave the cla.s.sic gimme gesture.
Face going red, the author charged him like a bull.