“Ruined?” Clare looked down at her skirt, and she sighed when she saw the water stains oozing along the fabric. Now wasn’t the time to have to buy a new one. Then she realized that her white blouse was also wet. And somewhat transparent. And plastered to her. Yes, she was wearing a bra, but even that had been rendered a little too friendly by the water. Oh, dear Lord. She was way too old for a wet tee shirt contest—
“Clare.” Griffin’s eyes gleamed with wickedness that made her belly alight. “I’ll buy you a new suit. No excuses. Step up and defend the honor of the Gray women.” He waggled the hose. “Or are you afraid?”
Clare’s fingers twitched, and she couldn’t help mimicking Griffin’s wicked expression. “I have to work.” She did. She really did. But the challenge in Griffin’s eyes was tempting. “I’m not afraid.”
“No?” His gaze went to her mouth, and then slid down her body, in a slow, heated perusal. “You, of the closed doors, not afraid?”
She felt her cheeks heat up as she thought of last night when Griffin had knocked at her door. “Um—”
His smile widened, knowledge flashing in his wicked eyes. “You were awake last night, weren’t you? You heard me knock.”
“I had to get up early,” she protested. But oh, how she’d lain there, listening to his deep voice calling her name. The knowledge that he was so close. Right outside her door. She’d stayed so still, terrified he would decide to walk in...and praying he would. And then she’d been so furious with herself when she’d heard the floor creak as he’d walked away.
He raised the hose, challenging her. “I dare you to live, Clare.”
Katie was in the flower beds by the faucet that the hose was attached to. “Come on, Mom! Don’t fear him. We can defeat him.”
Griffin’s brows went up in challenge. “No chance. You both will go down.” He brandished the hose. “I’m the one who’s armed—”
The water suddenly stopped coming out of the hose. Griffin looked over his shoulder at Katie, who waved at him from the spigot, where she’d just cut off his water supply. “Go, Mom!”
Clare grabbed the bucket and hurled the contents at Griffin while his head was turned, catching him full on the side of the head. He bellowed in protest and whirled around as she dropped the bucket and began to scramble backward, laughing at his outraged expression. Water and soap were dripping off him. He was totally drenched.
Clare shrieked as Griffin charged her, laughing as he grabbed her around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder, holding her tightly. “You girls are going down now!” He sprinted up toward the faucet, and Katie shrieked and dove out of the way as he turned it on again. Clare braced herself against his back, laughing as she bounced. “Put me down! I’m going to throw up.”
“I’ve got you covered, Mom! Stall him!” It was a race back toward the hose, but Katie beat Griffin to it, grabbed the hose first, and sprayed it.
Griffin immediately turned so the spray caught Clare full in the face. “Hey,” she sputtered, laughing. “Katie!”
“Sorry!” Katie laughed. “It’s sort of hard to get a clear shot at him with you hanging all over him.”
“I’m not hanging all over him,” Clare protested. “I’m being held captive.”
“Well, move!”
Oh, right, because it would be easy to pry herself out of the steel pistons masquerading as arms that had her locked down. Clare looked down at the broad back that she was clinging to, surveyed the rigid muscles, and had a flash of brilliance. “Are you ticklish?” She poked her fingers into his sides and wiggled them.
“Hey!” Griffin twisted around with a yelp of protest, and she kept tickling as he spun around, trying to get her off. “Stop!”
“No way!” Totally amused that the big, tough man was ticklish, she attacked him relentlessly, laughing at his howls of agony. Katie was laughing so hard she had to sit down, and Griffin was spinning around, trying to protect himself without dropping Clare.
“Enough!” He flipped Clare off his shoulder, and Katie immediately sprayed him with the hose.
“Victory!” Katie shouted.
But as Griffin faced them, dripping like a waterfall, the tempestuous fire of a warrior burning in his eyes, Clare knew the battle had just begun.
And she was so looking forward to every minute of it.
* * *
“I haven’t had that much fun in years,” Clare said as she walked around the front of the house to where Griffin was sitting on the front step, enjoying the early afternoon sun.
Griffin watched her approach, and he felt something primal stir inside him as she neared. She had put on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, and her damp hair was curling around her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her only jewelry was a pair of silver hoops dangling from her ears. She looked unsophisticated, natural and infinitely alluring.
He held up his hand to her, inviting her to join him. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and allowed him to take her hand just long enough for her to sit down beside him. Not quite touching him, but close, so very close.
“You’re welcome.” Griffin rested his arms on his knees. He hadn’t bothered to change after the water fight and had finished waxing his truck while the women had gone inside to warm up and dry off. He had to admit, there’d been something elemental and satisfying about polishing his truck, and he’d enjoyed it far more than he would have expected. “I haven’t had a water fight since I was a kid.”
“Me either.” She lightly brushed her finger over his hair. Her cheeks immediately turned pink when he looked at her. “There was soap in your hair,” she explained, jerking her hand back.
“You don’t need a reason to touch me,” he said quietly, something pulsing deep inside him in satisfaction at her intimate gesture.
“I know. I mean, I guess. Thanks.” She rolled her eyes at herself, as she folded her hands in her lap, a response that wasn’t quite what he’d been hoping for. “I was awake last night when you came by.”
Her confession made him smile. “I figured you heard me.”
Clare pursed her lips, as she fidgeted. “I haven’t dated anyone since Ed died.”
He set his hand over hers, stilling their restless movement, wanting to ease her sudden tension. “That’s a long time,” he said gently, letting her know that he understood what she was trying to say.
“I know.” She studied their entwined hands, but didn’t try to pull away. “I find the entire prospect of you daunting.”
Griffin chuckled as he picked up one of her hands and set it on his knee. “I find the prospect of you intriguing beyond words.”
Clare made a noise of protest. “I don’t think I’m capable of handling you when you say things like that.” But she didn’t remove her hand from his knee.
“Nothing to handle.” Griffin tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear, then took her other hand in his. “Just accept the words and enjoy them.”
She bit her lower lip and lightly scraped her fingernail across his knee. “How long are you staying?”
Griffin rubbed his thumb over her palm, relishing the softness of her skin. “I don’t know. A few days. A week. Two at the most.”
Her eyes darted nervously to his face. “You wouldn’t consider moving up here with Brooke?”
“No,” he said automatically. “My life is in Boston.”
“Okay.” Clare took a breath and flattened her hand on his knee. “I needed to hear that.”
He could feel her tension, and he saw the uncertainty flicker across her face. Shit. “Deal breaker?”
But she surprised him by shaking her head and tapping her fingers against his knee. “I don’t know yet, but I needed to know the truth so I don’t delude myself about the reality of the situation.”
He smiled at her serious expression, so different from the carefree woman who had let herself get caught up in the water fight. “Do you ever let yourself just go and not analyze every decision to death?”
She raised her eyebrows at him skeptically. “Do you?”
Ah…she had him there. “Touché,” he acknowledged.
They said nothing for a few moments, nothing between them but the small circles he was drawing on her hand, and the weight of her hand still on his leg. Her fingers were still again, no longer caressing, but she was still touching him, maintaining their connection. It was a perfect moment of connection, one that made him want more, one that made him take a risk and try for more.
“What are your plans tonight?” he asked, surprised that his heart was racing a bit. “Can I take you to dinner?”
Clare’s gaze shot to his, her blue eyes wide with sudden panic, but her fingers dug into his knee, as if she were trying to hold onto him to keep herself from retreating. “You’re asking me on a date?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He held her gaze, willing her not to run away. Now that he’d put it out there, he realized that was exactly what he was doing: asking the woman he was craving out on date. He felt as nervous as a fifteen-year-old hoping she would agree to go out with him.
A smile flirted across her face, and relief rushed through him. She was going to say yes.
But then she sighed and shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “I have plans. Softball game against the Grizzlies. I’m selling cupcakes as a fundraiser for the new rec center.”
Ditched for a softball game? Adrenaline charged through Griffin, a need not to give in, to pursue what he wanted. Hmm...could he change her mind? Griffin pressed his lips to her palm. “Who are the Grizzlies?”
“Men’s softball. Our town’s team is the Pirates.” Watching him nervously, Clare toed her sneaker through the dirt, leaving behind a circular pattern that reminded him of a design she’d put on her cupcakes the other night. Always the artist. “The whole town shows up for their games,” she told him. “This is the first of the season. There will be a barbecue and games and stuff. It’s really fun.”
A small town softball game? Griffin kissed the inside of her wrist. “Sounds like a great party.”
“Don’t be a grump.” Clare whacked his arm, making him laugh and distracting him from his seduction. “It is fun. It might not be some fancy night at the opera in Boston, but it’s great. Sports can be fun, you know.”
“I don’t like opera,” he retorted. “And I’m great at sports.”
“Not an opera fan?” She ran her hand down his arm and tapped his watch, which he knew didn’t exactly fit with this town. “I would have thought you loved to get dressed up in a tux and be with the pretty people.”
“I work. I don’t have time for things like that.” But he had time for Clare’s hand on his wrist, that was for sure.
“Ah...” Some of Clare’s excitement faded. “Yes, work.”
Griffin sat up at her sudden tension. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just had a tough day.”
Protectiveness swirled inside him, and he leaned closer to her. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on.”
Before she could answer, a horn honked and Jackson’s beater truck pulled in the driveway. He hopped out of the truck as Clare quickly pulled her hands away from Griffin. He reclaimed her hand immediately and tucked it under his arm before she could retreat.
“Griff! I’m glad I found you.” Jackson grinned at Clare. “Afternoon, Clare. Looking gorgeous as always.”
Griffin casually slung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her up against him, ignoring Clare’s sharp look to desist. Jackson might be married, but he was a man and he’d noticed that Clare was beautiful, so yeah... “What’s going on, Jackson?”
“Bruce Weller blew out his shoulder installing a dock today. We need you to fill in.”
Um...yeah. That made sense. “On your construction project?”
Jackson barked with laughter. “Sometimes I forget that you’re new.” He pushed his ball cap back on his head, his face cheerful and happy as always. “Bruce is our pitcher, but his shoulder’s sidelining him tonight. You pitched in college, right? Can you throw for us?”
Clare looked at him. “You played baseball?”
“Yeah, a bit.” He shifted his arm, pulling her a little closer as he inspected Jackson with renewed interest, impressed that the man had done his research. “How do you know all this about me? Who’s keeping track?”
Jackson grinned. “Trish was worried that Clare had rented a room to a serial killer, so she looked you up on the internet. There was a ton of info about you, but not a single record of charges against you, so she decided you’re safe. It was her idea to track you down when we heard about Bruce. You in?”
Griffin shook his head instinctively. “I haven’t thrown a pitch in almost twenty years.”
“It’s softball,” Jackson said. “I’m sure you can manage.”
“Yeah, yeah, I could manage but—” He thought of the scene Clare had painted for him. A rousing town affair. People everywhere. Women, kids, small town life. It was so not his thing. He had no idea how to be the kind of man who would fit in that scene.
“We’ve got no one else,” Jackson said. “We’re lean this year. You don’t pitch, and we forfeit.”
Griffin scowled at Jackson, feeling like he was losing the battle to control his evening. “You realize that’s not my problem, don’t you?”
Clare whacked him. “That’s not nice.”
“Sure is your problem.” Jackson was undaunted. “You live here now.”
“I rent here and I’m leaving—”
“But for now, this is your town.” Jackson slammed his hand down on Griffin’s shoulder. “See you at 6:30 for beer and warm up. First pitch is at seven.”
“Beer before the game?” Now, that was a new one. He didn’t even drink at a business dinner, let alone
before
trying to perform anything. Especially something he hadn’t attempted in several decades.
Jackson winked at him. “Birch’s Best sponsors us. It’s our moral obligation.”
Clare touched his arm. “Come on,” she said. “It’ll be fun. You’ll totally impress Katie with your athletic prowess.”
He laughed at that one. “I’m not so sure I have enough prowess left to impress a teenage girl.” Damn. It had been a long time since he’d even thought about holding a ball in his hands.
She patted his stomach. “Look at that. Rock hard abs. You’ll do fine.”
Griffin’s body tightened with sudden awareness at the feel of Clare’s hand on his stomach. Rock hard abs, eh? Damn, he liked the sound of that. And he decided to ignore Jackson’s snort of derision. “Well, I am a physical specimen,” he admitted.