Slow Burn (20 page)

“I was?”

“I guess I kind of got a little crush on you. I could tell how much you cared about your dad. And I knew that anyone who cared that much was good deep down. And it didn’t seem like anyone around me was good at that time. I felt like I was surrounded by soulless people.”

I smiled at him. “It’s not creepy. It’s sweet.”

He got up and came over behind me, winding his arms around my waist. “You’re only saying that because you happened to like me back. If you hadn’t, then I’d be creepy.”

I leaned into him, enjoying the way his body felt wrapped around mine. I stirred the hash. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Anyway, it wasn’t just about your dad. He did help me and Beth, and I do owe him. But you always intrigued me. I wanted to know you.”

I turned my head to get a look at him. “If that’s true, then why were you completely against being involved with me?”

He kissed my neck. “I wasn’t against it.”

“What?” I disentangled myself from him, facing him, my hands on my hips. “I seem to remember someone going on and on about how it wasn’t appropriate and how I would ‘distract’ him.”

“Oh,” he said, grinning. “That stuff.” He shrugged. “Well, I meant it. I wasn’t trying to come here and move in on you while I was trying to protect you. It seemed sleazy.” He pulled me against him again. “And you
are
distracting, you know.” He rained kisses down my jaw.

I giggled. “But you knew I was into it. I kissed
you
.”

He lifted his head and gazed into my eyes. “You’re pushing again, doll.”

“Pushing?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.

He heaved a sigh and turned away from me, going back to the breakfast nook.

“Griffin, what the hell?” He was moodier than a teenage girl sometimes, I swear.

“You scared me,” he said, tracing the wood grain on the table. “I hadn’t... You weren’t the first girl to try to kiss me since high school, but you were the first girl who kissed me, and I liked it.”

Oh. This was about the asexual thing. The thing that kept him from going all the way with me. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to spook him. I stirred the hash, but it was basically heated through at this point. I turned off the stove.

He didn’t say anything else. I watched him stare at the table.

“Griffin?”

He shook his head.

I got out some plates from the cabinet and dished up our breakfast.

“I can’t find the words,” he said as I put the plates on the table. “I don’t even know how to talk about it.”

I took his hand. “It’s okay. You’ll figure it out.”

He drew me into his arms, pressing me tight against him.

“That guy.” I pointed. Griffin and I were standing behind a stack of Nilla Wafers in the grocery store, peering at a man in a black suit. He was putting peanut butter in his cart.

“I don’t recognize him,” said Griffin.

“Does that mean he’s not Op Wraith?”
“He’s probably not,” said Griffin. “But I don’t know everyone who works there.”

“Right,” I said.

“We can’t keep hiding behind the Nilla Wafers,” he said. “It looks suspicious. Move the cart.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. If he’s Op Wraith, I’ll take him out. But we’ll wait for him to make a move.”

I inched my cart out, casting glances over my shoulder. The suit disappeared at the end of the peanut butter aisle. I let out a breath.

“Chances are that they don’t even know where we are,” he said. “Chances are we’re safe.”

“For now,” I said. “But maybe they’ve got spies or something. Maybe someone will see us at the supermarket and report that I’m here. People might recognize me around here.”

“Maybe,” said Griffin. “But I don’t think so.” He strolled ahead of the cart, and I had no choice but to follow him. He picked up a pack of ground beef. “How do you feel about hamburgers?”

“Get the 90/10,” I said.

“It’s more expensive.”

“It’s got less fat. Therefore more meat. And it’s better for you.”

He exchanged the packages. “Should we have made a grocery list?”

I looked around for the guy in the suit. I didn’t see him. I didn’t see anyone suspicious. But that didn’t mean they weren’t watching.

“Come on,” said Griffin, “stop doing that. You look scared to death. Now, we are a normal couple, shopping for groceries on a romantic trip to Nantucket. Act natural.”

“Okay,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Let’s get pasta. You like pasta, right?”

He smiled. “Love it.”

I turned the cart, and we headed to the pasta aisle. I scrutinized the options. “What shape?”

“I’m a big fan of spaghetti,” said Griffin.

“Boring,” I said.

“Classic,” he said.

I picked up a box of rotini. “How about this?”

“Fine with me,” he said.

“Now we just need sauce,” I said. “Do you like chunky or—”

The man in the suit appeared at the end of the aisle. I couldn’t breathe.

Chapter Thirteen

“How about Prego?” said Griffin, picking up a jar.

“Sure,” I said in a tiny voice.

He took the cart from me. I followed him.

“Leigh,” he whispered, “you are not acting natural.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t help it. I kept picturing that guy in a suit whipping out a gun and opening fire on both of us, jars of tomato sauce getting hit in the crossfire, splattering the floor.

It would be red. Like blood.

And then I thought of Stacey. Her blank eyes.

I felt like throwing up.

Griffin was pushing the cart ahead of me. I had to catch up.

“We need milk and eggs,” he said as I drew close to him. He seemed cheery and loose. I hated that he was so good at that. I was a knot of tension.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I said. “Buy whatever you want, but buy it fast. I want to go back to the house.”

He kissed my temple. “Trust me, doll. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Geez,” said Griffin, “you really did make too many French fries.”

“I know,” I said, surveying the cookie sheet that sat on top of the stove, still piled with fries. We’d finished gorging ourselves with hamburgers and potatoes, but there were all these remaining. “I guess I thought it would be better to have too many than not enough.”

“Should we put them in the refrigerator?”

“I don’t think so. Have you ever had warmed-over fries? They really don’t reheat well. They’re all soggy and funny tasting.”

“So I should toss them?” he said.

“I think so.”

He shook his head. “What a waste.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m teasing.” He took the cookie sheet to the trash can and dumped the contents inside. Then he handed it to me.

I loaded it into the dishwasher. “I love having a dishwasher. If my apartment in Thomas had a dishwasher, it would have been perfect.”

He smiled. “When were there dishes in Thomas? You cooked food that wasn’t in a prepackaged disposable container a whole two times while I was there.”

“I cooked more than that.”

“Nope. You didn’t. I noticed, because you happen to be a really good cook, and I was looking forward to more cooking.”

I beamed. “You were?”

“Absolutely.”

I leaned in close and kissed him.

He put his arms around me and trapped me against him, deepening the kiss.

His mouth against mine awakened longing within me. I pressed myself against the length of his body, wanting to be as close as possible.

He made a growling noise in the back of his throat, his fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt.

I pulled back. “Let’s take this upstairs. I want to use that big bed for something other than crashing.” Last night, we’d been too exhausted to do anything more than put sheets on it. The minute we’d lain down, we’d been asleep.

Griffin laughed, a deep rumble. Without warning, he picked me up.

I shrieked. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Really?” he said. “I could put you down.”

On the other hand, it was nice to feel so small and safe. “Okay, I lied. Never stop doing that.”

He carried me up to the bedroom and tossed me on the bed. I screamed with laughter as I bounced on the mattress.

He crawled on after me.

I raised myself on my knees and met him halfway. I kissed him and thrust my hands inside his shirt, over his smooth stomach.

He made a strangled noise. He caught my hand. “Hold it.”

I groaned, pulling my hand back. “Griffin, what’s going on with you?”

He clenched his eyes shut. “It’s fine. You can do that. It’s fine.”

“Really?” I said, smiling.

He opened his eyes. “Yeah.”

I put my hands back, exploring the planes and angles of his body. He was powerful and firm, but also silky under my touch. I ran my fingers over him, pulling off his shirt, pushing him back on the bed. I seized the front of his pants, undoing the button.

And I was on my back suddenly, the wind knocked out of me.

Griffin stood at the edge of the bed. He’d thrown me off him.

I sat up.

“This was a bad idea,” he said. He looked anguished.

Guilt stabbed me. “I’m sorry. I pushed. I shouldn’t have tried to—”

“You should be able to do that, though,” he said. “You should be with someone who will let you touch him.”

I reached out and took his hand. “Come here.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s not your fault, doll.”

“Can’t you talk to me? I don’t understand.”

He swallowed. He took a deep breath. He fiddled with his hands. He looked down at his stomach, staring at the crude tattoo there. He closed his eyes. “I can’t.”

I touched the tattoo.

He recoiled as if he’d been burned.

And then, abruptly, it made sense. A horrible, repellent sense. “Oh God,” I whispered.

He raised his gray eyes. They looked wounded and destroyed.

“Griffin, did something happen to you?”

His jaw twitched. His gaze flittered away from mine.

“Did something happen to you in prison?”

“Yes,” he choked out.

“Oh God,” I said again.

He stood up. The bedroom had two inlaid dormer windows that looked out over the water. He walked away from the bed, over into the alcove that contained one of the windows, and he rested his forehead against it. “Not some
thing
, though. It wasn’t like it was once.”

“Oh God.” I didn’t seem to be able to say anything else.

“I told you that I was a minor, but that they sent me to an adult facility, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

He was still staring out the window. “I was a scrawny kid back then, and I’d never spent any time learning to defend myself. I didn’t need too. No one had ever tried to hurt me before. I was weak and tiny. I was their wet dream.”

“Griffin.” I wanted to go to him. I wanted to say something. A comforting thing. But what could I say to something like this? I had no idea how to comfort him. And there was no way I could make it better.

“It happened the first day.” It was like he’d somehow been released, like the words were tumbling out of him. “And it wasn’t just one guy. There were a bunch of them. They held me down, not that I could really fight back. I didn’t know how to do anything like that. I tried, but I couldn’t do anything. That was the worst part of it, I think. Fighting so hard and being completely helpless. There was a moment when I realized that I couldn’t do anything about it. That they were in control of what happened to my body. Them. Not me. It was like something in me snapped. It broke me.”

I flinched. It was the worst thing I’d ever heard.

“They forced me to do things. They...” Only now did he seem to falter for words. “Raped me.”

The words hung there in the bedroom with the both of us. He was half-naked, silhouetted in the window, and he suddenly looked so vulnerable.

I got up off the bed and went to him. Hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around him from behind. I waited for him to stiffen, or to stop me, but he didn’t. He put his hands over mine.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. It was inadequate. It was stupid. It didn’t even come close to making up for the horror he’d been through.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

“I meant that I...”

He lifted my fingers to his mouth. He kissed them. “I know what you meant.”

I lay my head against his back. He breathed.

“It wasn’t just once either,” he said. “The tattoo was a mark. Who I belonged to.”

“Jesus.”

He shivered. “You know, when we were playing that drinking game at your house. Never have I ever given a blow job.”

Oh. Oh, God. I shut my eyes against it.

“I should have taken a drink.”

“No,” I said, and I moved around to face him. “Because it’s not the same thing. You didn’t
give
anything. People just took it.”

His eyes looked bright, like there were tears trapped in them.

I wanted to hold him, to engulf him. But he was too tall, too much bigger than I was. I led him back to the bed. I pulled him down with me, and he crawled into my arms, his head against my breasts, his arms wrapped around my waist. I cradled him, trying to hold as much of him as I could.

His shoulders shook.

But he didn’t make any noise.

And when he lifted his face, his eyes were dry. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want to make love to you, Leigh. I want it so bad.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “Don’t worry about. You’ve been through too much to ever worry about me.”

“But sometimes when you touch me, I don’t know why, but... it’s like I’m back there again. Like I’m trapped there and it’s all I can see or think or taste or smell and—”

“You don’t have to ever—”

“And I don’t want that with you. I don’t want to feel like that with you.”

“Griffin, please. I won’t ever try to do anything again.”

He pulled away. “That’s not what I want.”

I was surprised by the forcefulness of his words. “Okay.”

He softened. “No, I mean, I want you. I want you to touch me, and I want to enjoy it. I don’t want to give that up.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said, understanding. “Because then they never stop taking things from you.”