She was driving his hormones crazy. Hormones, hell, she was driving him crazy. He could smell the light fragrance that she wore. Jasmine. Clean, promising eternal spring after a too-long winter. He longed to bury his face in it.
"I thought you said they were family gatherings."
She smiled at him patiently. "We're allowed to bring in strays. That's what makes Christmas Christmas, Griff. Sharing."
For a moment, just for a moment, he was tempted to find out what it would be like to spend the holidays with a loving family, a family who really cared. But what would be the point? He wasn't part of them. He'd only be on the outside looking in again.
Christmas had no meaning for him. If anything, it had meant a time of intensified hurt and loneliness when he was younger, nothing more. "No, thanks."
We'll see, she thought, not willing to give up just yet. "Up to you." She looked away, wondering what had happened to him to make him like this and what it would take for her to find out.
He paused. "I'm sorry I snapped at you before— when you came in."
She turned to look at him again. "That's okay. You were worried."
He shifted, uncomfortable with her assessment. "It's just that she's so small and—"
Liz leaned forward again and put her hand over his. "You don't have to explain, Griff. It's natural to worry about babies. It comes with the territory."
He pulled his hand back. What he really wanted to do was take hold of her and kiss her until he no longer ached from the desire. But he couldn't let himself do that.
"I didn't stake out the territory."
"No, it seems to have staked you out in this case, but it's still your territory."
He shouldn't have called her. "Not for long."
"So you say."
He should have his head examined for ever thinking she could help—and for thinking what he was thinking right now. It was asking for trouble.
"Do you know you have this damn smug look on your face?"
Her mouth was inches from his. "What are you going to do about it?"
Her breath feathered along his lips. There was just so long he could resist, just so much a man could stand before he broke. "Wipe it off." Griff took hold of her shoulders and pulled her toward him.
"I thought you'd never ask."
It was worse than before. And better. Inconceivably, infinitely better. She had an impact on him that left him shaken and wanting at the same time. He knew he should back away now while there was still time.
He couldn't have stopped himself even if his life depended on it. And maybe it did.
Part witch. She was part witch. There was no other explanation for it, no other explanation for why she was preying on his mind like this, why his self-control, always so strong, seemed to break down each time he was alone with her. He could blame it on a million things, but none of it would stick and he knew it. The thing that did stick was the fact that he couldn't let her get to him. He couldn't open up. There was nothing inside to give her.
So where were all those sensations she was stirring coming from?
His mind told him to end it right now, to move along, but his body begged him stay. His body and something else, far away and nebulous. But insistent.
He stayed.
If she had been tired a moment ago, she wasn't any longer. Every inch of her was awake to what was going on, to the width and depth of the kiss that claimed both their souls. Although he tried to keep a distance between himself and the immediate world with words, the man who was kissing her now, whose hands molded her body to his, was vulnerable and sensitive and everything that Griff tried to tell her he wasn't.
He rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. She felt his desire, hard and hot. It excited her beyond all normal bounds. She pressed against him, reveling in the world he was creating for them.
It was need and power, possession and submission, all rolled up into one. If she was being reckless, she'd pay the price later. Now there was nothing but this feeling he generated within her. So sweet, so painful. She didn't want to lose it, no matter what it cost her. She didn't want to lose him.
His head reeled from all that he took from her. And still there was more, so much more. He couldn't get enough. He needed it to breathe, to feel alive. It was as if his soul was emerging out of some deep, dark cave into the bright sunlight.
Was he crazy? Had he lost his mind? He was babbling nonsense to himself and yet that was the way he felt, as though he were bathed in sunlight after an eternity of darkness. He sounded like a kid. Like some damned adolescent trembling on the brink of his first love.
Love.
He moved back from her so abruptly she nearly pitched forward.
Liz struggled to catch her breath. "Was—was it something I said?" she asked in a hoarse whisper, her eyes wide.
It took a minute to refocus, a long minute to fight the urge to sweep her back into his arms, to get her out of that maddening dress with its beads that pressed against his flesh, and into his bed.
"We shouldn't be doing this."
She refused to show her disappointment, but that didn't mean she didn't need to know what made him turn from her so suddenly. She had felt his passion. It was no less than her own. "Why?"
Because I can't love you, he answered silently to himself. I can't love anything. It's all dead inside.
But he couldn't tell her that.
"Do you always have to ask questions?" he retorted.
"It helps to clear things up. Although in your case, I'm not so sure." She fought to keep her emotions from spilling out. Hurt feelings weren't going to help.
Almost afraid to, Liz reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "Griff, I'd like to understand."
He shrugged off her hand. "Understand what?"
Because he wouldn't turn to face her, she walked around until she faced him. "What it is you're afraid of. It can't be me "
The hell it can't. "I'm not afraid of anything. You don't know what you're talking about."
Look at me, Griff. Look at me. "Then tell me."
"It's late—"
"It was late five minutes ago. That doesn't change the subject."
"You're making something out of nothing."
He struggled to sound as though what had just happened between them hadn't shaken him to the core of his existence, hadn't made him face his devils and come up wanting.
"You're attractive. You're falling out of your dress," he told her, trying to pull himself back into control. "And maybe I got a little carried away."
For a moment, she hated him for the wall he was putting between them. Glaring at him, Liz pulled up the sinking décolletage.
"Besides, men kiss women all the time."
He began to walk toward his bedroom. She was obviously not invited.
Quickly, Liz stepped around in front of him and put her hand on his chest to keep him in his place. There was now fire in her eyes. "Yes, they do. But you're forgetting something."
No, not a damn thing could be forgotten, not the way your body feels, or your mouth, or the honey in your hair. Or the fact that it will all turn to ashes if I reach for it. "What?"
"I was there for that kiss, Foster. That wasn't 'nothing.' You didn't exactly phone it in."
Don't, Liz. Let it go. For both our sakes. "It was purely physical."
"Not exclusively." As she was tossing her head, the remaining pins in her hair came loose and the sea of blond silk finally tumbled down to her shoulders. He almost reached out to touch it, to run it through his fingers. He clenched his fists at his sides. "What makes you such an expert?"
She looked him squarely in the eye, daring him to deny it. "Intuition."
He did. "Well, your intuition is wrong."
Liz shook her head. "I don't think so. Tell me you didn't feel anything just then."
It was easy to say the words as long as he didn't look at her warm and tempting mouth. "I didn't feel anything."
"I don't believe you."
"That's your problem." He looked at her and knew he had lost. "And mine." She was more than his match. He seized her into his arms. "Damn you, anyway...."
Laughter highlighted her eyes. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Because it was the only way to stop her mouth, he kissed her. Kissed her long and hard with all the loneliness and longing that he had suddenly become aware of. There were barriers within him, barriers that begged to be freed. He couldn't free them, couldn't let them loose. But for a moment, for one brief, shining moment, he could give in to temptation.
He wanted to lose himself in her. To pretend that the past hadn't happened, to pretend that his life had begun the moment she had swept into it, sliding past that stop sign in that dusty, absurd little car of hers.
But he couldn't. Not for long. The past had too good a hold on him, had been forged out of too strong a steel to give up its grip. He was a product of it.
He was who he was and he knew that there were no happy endings, not in this life. Not for him. If you gave your heart, it was returned, more than slightly damaged and totally unwanted. He had learned that lesson over and over again until he had sworn to himself that no one and nothing would ever hurt him again.
Especially not a woman with lips that tasted of all the sweet things he had ever longed for when he was still young enough to dream.
She sensed the withdrawal, could feel him thinks ing.
Don't think, damn you, feel. For once in your life, feel, she wanted to cry. But she knew she couldn't hurry him, or them. That was a step that was going to have to evolve. Just like trust.
He took her face between his hands and looked down into her eyes. He saw his reflection mirrored there, small and lost. Yes, he could get lost there—at a price. "I think it's time for bed."
She smiled, letting him know that she understood—even if she didn't entirely. "I'll be in Casie's room if you need me."
He watched her go.
I do need you, Liz. But it would be the worst thing in the world for me to give in to that.
Quietly, he switched off the light and went to bed alone.
Chapter Eight
Coffee?
Was that coffee that he smeïled?
No, he had to be still dreaming. He was in his own bed. Coffee didn't just make itself.
As the early-morning haze of sleep began to lift from his brain, the aroma of coffee continued to seep into his room. Subconsciously, his mind related the presence of coffee to there being something different, something out of the norm happening.
And then he remembered.
She was still here.
It was coffee.
Griff bolted upright, knocking the blanket off his bare shoulders.
There was a knock on his door just as last night came back to him. Liz. A thousand jumbled thoughts and feelings assaulted him at once. It was too early to deal with any of them. Or her. Even fresh and alert, he had difficulty dealing with her.
"Foster, are you decent—clotheswise I mean?" It was basically a simple, honest question. Yet just the sound of her low, whiskey-smoldering voice wafting through the door unsettled him. "I already have the answer to any other meaning."
Six-thirty in the morning and she was already making wisecracks. It figured.
"Yeah." He ran his hand through his hair, wishing he had time to pull himself together mentally before facing her, then decided that there probably wasn't that much time available in the world. "Listen, why don't you come back in a few—? "
She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. The word come was all she needed. She opened the door and took a step in, then stopped. Griff was sitting up in bed, the blanket gathered down around his waist. He was naked from the waist up, possibly from the waist down, she thought as a warm, electric sensation danced through her. With his hair in his eyes and sleep etching his face, he still exuded sensuality from every pore. Liz stayed where she was, telling her pulse to settle down.
He hadn't thought she'd come barging in, but then, he knew he should have. That she remained in the doorway seemed almost out of character, but he was grateful for it. She wasn't alone, either. On her hip, resting comfortably as if she had been created there, was Casie. The baby was obviously in better spirits than she had been last night. But it wasn't Casie who held his attention. It was Liz. She was wearing a bathrobe.
Liz saw him staring at her. She looked down, following his line of vision. "Oh, this," she answered his silent inquiry, hoping that she didn't sound too flustered. "I found it hanging in the bathroom. I hope you don't mind, but I couldn't see fixing breakfast in a beaded dress."
He conjured up a vision of her doing just that. It had its pluses. But so did seeing her in his bathrobe. It fit her like a navy-blue pup tent and gave every indi- cation that it was going to slip off her shoulders if she made any sudden movements. He wondered what she was wearing underneath it. He felt desire surge through his loins and forced his mind elsewhere. That worked for about half a minute.
Casie tugged at the sash that was lightly tied at Liz's waist. Liz grabbed it before it had a chance to unceremoniously come apart.
"You do eat breakfast, don't you? Or do you just get up and begin growling on an empty stomach?"
Casie was tenacious, Griff noticed. He wondered if Liz was aware that the baby was now making an effort to disentangle the other side of the sash. Maybe he should tell her. Later. "I eat breakfast."
What was he looking at? Was something showing? She doubted it. She felt positively enshrouded in his bathrobe. The tops of her feet barely showed. "Is there anything in particular you want?"
Yeah. "Whatever's handy."
She saw a smile begin to grow on his lips. Now what was that about? "I've seen the cereal box. The cereal's stale," she pronounced. "I threw the last of it out." She saw his eyebrows go up. Quickly, she tried to forestall his annoyance. "French toast strike your fancy?"