Beach House No. 9 (22 page)

Panty ransom? She would have laughed, but he was giving her a burning, smoldering, serious look. So she stifled her little nervous giggle. “Okay.”

He stacked a couple of pillows against the wood-slat headboard. Next, he pushed her up against them, propping her there. “It’ll give you a good view,” he said. “Now put your hands here and here.” He moved them himself, making her curl her fingers around a slat on either side of her head.

It was Jane who was breathing hard now. Her breasts trembled with each inhale and exhale. Still wearing his unfastened pants, he swung a leg over her body to straddle her, his head at the level of her stiffened nipples. “You hold still,” he instructed, and then he bent his head to them.

She bowed into the wet heat, the avid tugs. Griffin tightened his knees against her legs, keeping her thighs pressed close together as he sucked her into his mouth. At first it was just the taut bead of the nipple, then he widened to take in more of her breast, then he drew his mouth away, letting the soft mound slide out until his teeth caught only the tight nub. She cried out at the little sting and then cried again when he lifted completely away. But he only moved to the other breast, performing the same salacious, delicious acts on it as one hand played with the already wet nipple.

Desire flowed outward from his touch. Her fingers tightened on the slats as he continued working over her breasts. Holding still became impossible. She twisted her torso, her lower half still caught by his powerful thighs. Then he was scooting down, trailing kisses toward her navel. He insinuated a leg between her knees, and then he was grasping her there, one in each hand, opening her to his gaze.

Chills raced over her body. He looked at her soft, swollen center. “Pretty,” he said, his nostrils flaring, his blue eyes blazing. One finger swiped through the drenched tissues and he brought it to his mouth. Sucked.

Jane’s breath seized.

“Tasty,” Griffin said, then slid lower.

Oh, God. She understood his intention, and instantly shifted her legs, trying to bar him access.

He glanced up, one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t… I’ve never…” She couldn’t get out the words.

“Well, I do,” Griffin said. “And there won’t be any ‘never’ about this.” Then he slid his palms from her knees to her inner thighs, widening her body, opening the delicate folds of flesh.

She really was the captive of a pirate. Because he was plundering again, his mouth taking her prisoner. The wet thrust of his tongue had her making a high, keening noise. Then it took a short excursion north, where he worried her clitoris with the tip, lashing it with tiny, measured strokes of pleasure.

He dipped low again, penetrating her with a firm wet thrust, then back up to the knot of nerves that now was pulsing with its own demand. Over and over, down and up, back and forth, in and out. Jane’s muscles went tense, started a fine tremble, and she could only hold fast as she watched his dark head move between the paleness of her thighs.

The view, as he’d known, only took her higher.

Each of her short pants ended in a moan. He glanced up, and she saw it all, his hot blue eyes, his extended tongue, his mouth glazed from her own wetness. It twisted her arousal tighter, and then he went after her clitoris again, sucking it into his mouth as two fingers speared her body.

His impalement tossed her overboard and into wave after wave of orgasmic bliss. She pitched and rolled with pleasure, wanting to ride them forever. Griffin stayed with her, his mouth easing as the seas calmed. On her final shudder, though, he still possessed her, his fingers deep inside of her.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her face.

“
That’s
putting you first, Jane,” he said.

In the haze of postclimax bliss, the words didn’t register. She only knew that she needed more of him. She protested as he slid his fingers from her and caught at his arm as he moved across the bed.

He laughed, low and smug. “I’m only getting a condom.”

It took too long. But finally he was over her, inside her, filling her again, and her inner tissues twitched as he worked her with his penis, finding the last twitches of the orgasm still waiting for him there.

His thrusts were heavy and decisive, and she opened wide in every way to accept him. His mouth found hers, and she opened there too, taking in the thrust of his tongue. She twisted against his chest, her sensitive nipples abraded by his hair.

“Can you go again?” he said, his voice breathless.

“What?” Her brain wasn’t working; only her body made sense to her now. Her body and his.

Instead of answering, he reached between them and found her clitoris once more. He stroked it gently, an irresistible counterpoint to the intense driving rhythm of his shaft. She lifted into both, her hips rolling upward, and then she was shuddering and Griffin was pushing deep, deep, deeper, drowning them both in sharp, sweet bliss.

When she came to herself, he was sliding back into the bed. He had a warm washcloth that he drew over her face and neck, down her midsection, and finally to the still-throbbing place between her thighs. He held it there.

She felt drugged by sex and intimacy. He used the intoxication to worm yet more out of her. “You think I should relax, Jane? Then fine, we’re going to be relaxing like this a lot. Until we leave Beach House No. 9, I’m saving all my one percent for you.”

Drowsy and pliant, she could only murmur. “Yes, sir. Aye, aye.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

G
RIFFIN
FOUND
Jane standing at the shoreline, her toes being teased by the foamy outermost hem of the incoming surf. Approaching her from behind, he sighed a little at how very
Jane
she looked in a lemon-colored two-piece bathing suit. Petal-like ruffles cut high on her tush, and he knew there were matching ones edging the deep vee of the halter-style top. She looked both sweet and tart, like a lemonade Popsicle.

She made him hungry.

He slid one arm around her waist, and she squealed. He growled in her ear as he pulled her back against him. “The eels have landed.”

With a twist, she squirmed out of his hold. “You scared me!” But before he could respond, she clutched his arm with one hand and pointed with the other. “But I’m glad you’re here. You need to rescue the boys.”

Duncan and Oliver stood in the surf, the water swirling around the flapping hems of their hibiscus-print swim trunks. They were tan despite the sunscreen his sister slathered on them. Oliver, the fairer of the two miscreants, had a white triangle of goop on his nose. Between them they held an inflatable raft, but they were having trouble keeping it steady. Every time they tried to throw themselves on it, belly down, it popped free of their weight and dumped them in the shallow water.

“Sweetheart, they’re fine.” The breeze blew a piece of her golden-hued hair across her face, and he caught it with his hand and tucked it behind her ear. “Where’s your lotion? Your nose is turning pink again.”

She cast another anxious look toward the water. “Are you sure? I told Tess I’d keep an eye on them while she gets Russ some juice. The baby’s been very fussy today.”

“You have to stop involving yourself with my sister’s kids.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Thanks to you, I had to suffer through an hour-long meeting with Old Man Monroe about the presentation to Rebecca’s class. He was so cantankerous I let Private dig for bones in his flower beds before we left.”

Not only had the antique been his usual curmudgeonly self, he’d been his usual
nosy
curmudgeonly self. “What’s changed?” he’d demanded. “You look rested, son, like you might actually be sleeping.”

Griffin had shrugged a shoulder. “You’re my worst nightmare. Guess I’m just getting used to you being next door.”

The coot had slapped one age-speckled hand on the tabletop. “It’s that pretty woman. She’s smart, so I don’t know what she can see in you, but Jane’s doing you some good.”

He hadn’t denied it. Jane was smoothing some of his rough spots, and he wasn’t going to feel guilty about it either. They both understood the situation was temporary. Though very satisfying.

“Hell’s bells, boy,” Rex had said, his mouth dropping open. “You’re smiling.”

“So?” he’d countered, not even bothering to scowl.

“So don’t screw this up,” the old man had cautioned. “You’ve got a good reason to beat back that darkness inside you now. Don’t use it to shove her away instead.”

“Griffin?”

Jane’s voice jerked him back to the present. “What?”

“The boys,” she said, “I’m worried about your nephews.”

“You need to stop that,” he said, putting Rex and his ramblings from his head. “I’m going to make a rule. No more contact between you and the devil’s minions.”

“You and your rules,” she scoffed, with a little flounce that fluttered the ruffles at her ass.

“Don’t you forget them, either,” he said, enjoying the way her cheeks went as pink as her nose as he pointed his finger at her. They’d come to an understanding three days before, and he didn’t mind mentioning it again because it always made her blush and shiver. “You must be the first to get naked. You must be the first to—”

“I get it, I get it.”

He grinned. “So you do, honey-pie. Each and every time, by my hand or my mouth or by my—”

She clapped a hand over his lips. “Stop.”

“Not gonna,” he said against her palm. Then he grabbed her wrist and drew it low, twisting it so her body was brought flush to his. “Not as long as we’re living together at Beach House No. 9.”

His kiss took the sass out of her, and he reveled in her pliant warmth. His free hand cupped the back of her head as he took the kiss deeper.

She broke away, breathing hard.

He grinned at her and the hard points of her nipples that were pressing against her swimsuit. “Oh,” she said, glancing down. Clearly flustered, she crossed her arms over her chest. They covered the little buds but plumped the tantalizing curves of her cleavage.

“That meeting with the old man still has me all wound up,” he lied. “Think we could go inside and find some way to take the edge off? I’m pretty certain I need to relax.”

“No.” Her head tilted toward the surf. “Little boys? Unpredictable surf?”

“Whale snot. Green-scaled eels.” When she frowned at him, he caught her hand and carried it to his mouth. The woman had given him hours of pleasure in bed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t tease you.”

“I shouldn’t be so easy to tease.”

They both watched Duncan and Oliver for a few more minutes, and when they finally got a good ride into shore, Jane clapped her hands. The boys grinned at her, then dashed back into the water.

“They make my fear seem even more ridiculous,” she murmured.

“Do you want to get over it?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, her expression suspicious.

It was the cutest damn thing. “Honey-pie…” He’d forgotten what he meant to say.

“Chili-dog?”

He was never going to think of that menu item without thinking of Jane. The governess had changed him and he wanted to return the favor. His fingers tightened on hers, and he stepped toward the water. “Come in with me, sweetheart.”

Biting her lip, she dug her heels in the sand. “I don’t know.”

“I won’t let go of you, I promise.”

Her head wagged back and forth. “Your kind always lets go. That’s how I learned to stay afloat in the first place. My father carried me out in the deep end of the pool. When we were far from where I could stand up, he released me. I had my arms around his neck, and he just went under, slipping out of my grasp. So it was up to me alone. Sink or swim.”

Griffin had to look away from her earnest, unsmiling face. When his temper had cooled a little, he tugged her toward him again. “Trust me, Jane. We won’t go too far. When you’re done, you say so and I’ll get you right back to shore.” It was suddenly important to him that he do this, that he be different than the others of his “kind.”

She hesitated another moment, then took a step forward, wincing when the Pacific washed over the top of her foot. “Cold.”

“Bracing,” he said, walking backward. “Now don’t forget to do the stingray shuffle.”

“Stingray shuffle?”

“They bury themselves in the sand and if you step directly on them, they’ll strike with their tail. So you do the stingray shuffle to avoid the less dignified—and pretty painful—stingray hop.”

Doubt creased her forehead and she eyed the water around her. “Maybe my brothers weren’t so wrong.”

“The eels are much farther offshore.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He laughed, once again tugging on her hand. “Come closer and say that to me.”

To his satisfaction, she kept pace as he waded backward into the surf, checking over his shoulder every so often to make sure a wave wouldn’t catch him unawares. They made it past shins and knees, and were approaching the tops of her thighs when she froze up. She peered into the water around her. “Something touched me. This is why I don’t like the ocean. There are things in here with me.”

“Probably a piece of kelp,” he said, his voice soothing. The sound of an approaching wave had him glancing back again. It was tall enough to hit her belly. “Heads up.”

She did the girlie shriek when the water struck her midsection. “It’s freezing.”

“Bracing,” he repeated.

They were getting in deep enough water that she could float, if she wanted, and hold on to him. When he suggested it, she hesitated a moment, then took a breath and went prone on the water, stroking toward him. He caught her, and she circled her arms around his neck. He drew in her silky legs so they wound his waist.

He gave a maniacal laugh. “You fell right in with my plot.” Then he hitched her closer and kissed her. In contrast to their ocean-cooled skin, their mouths burned. Griffin slipped one of the hands propping up her bottom beneath the elastic of her swimsuit. He palmed the round cheek, and she wiggled closer. The kiss turned feverish.

Then Jane jerked her mouth away. “We forgot the boys!”

“They’re fine,” he said, quarter-turning their twined bodies so she could see them on the shore, engaged in some kind of behavior that was likely preparing them for a life of crime. Really, those two little kids made him nervous.

With a wet hand, she brushed back his hair. “Thank you,” she said.

“No, thank
you.
” He grinned at her and bent his head, intent on another kiss. “Now where were we?”

Before lip met lip, they were tossed over by a wave. Damn, he thought as she tumbled out of his grip. Then a second wave struck, and he was submerged again.

Eyes open, he looked for Jane in the swirling green world of rising bubbles and undulating seaweed. He saw something yellow, but it was a garibaldi fish and not Jane’s swimsuit.
Hope she has her eyes closed,
he thought. Then he popped up, and immediately began surveying the surface of the water. “Jane?” he called as he regained his footing.

Alarm squeezed his chest.
“Jane?”

Then, a few feet away, thrashing arms and legs rose from the water. He rushed toward her, hampered by yet another, smaller wave. When he caught hold of one of her arms, the other smacked him in the shoulder.

“Sweetheart.” Her eyes were tightly closed, and she didn’t seem to hear him. “Honey-pie!”

Her wet lashes blinked open. He yanked her against him, and she latched onto his body. “You’re okay,” he said, keeping her close. “You’re fine.”

“I almost died!” she said, in Rebecca-like tones.

“Not even close.” Her hair was sodden, and he finger combed it off her forehead.

Her breath was sawing in and out, and he just held her, waiting for her to calm as he kept one eye on the incoming waves. Finally, she shuddered, and her head dipped, her forehead against his chin. “I feel like an idiot.”

“It was my fault,” he said, moving a little closer to shore, Jane still in his arms. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I was thrashing.”

“More like floundering.”

Her head lifted. “Gee, thanks, I feel so much better now.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“I don’t like looking foolish,” she said. “
You
didn’t panic.”

Only when I thought I might have lost you.
He shook the words out of his head. “You don’t have to corner the market on competence, Jane.”

“Funny you should say that.” She wrinkled her nose, then her pretty, clear eyes gazed past his shoulder at the horizon. “My father told me not long ago it was better to be competent than lovable.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, then he drew her head to his shoulder, holding her cheek to his salty skin. “You’re a pain in the ass, Jane, you know that? But somebody’s going to find that lovable about you. Somebody’s coming along real soon and you’ll know just how lovable you are.”

She was still for a moment, her mouth touching his wet shoulder, pressing it there in the semblance of a kiss.

The water, the world, swirled about them for a quiet few moments. Then Griffin cleared his throat. “Want to go any farther, Jane?”

“No.” She had begun to shiver, but he didn’t think it was from the sixty-eight-degree water. “I’m afraid I’m already out of my depth.”

* * *

E
VERY
PARENT
KNEW
the worst day in a normal family household was the day when all the kids were hit with the flu at the same time—and then the mom was struck down too. Tess tried telling herself that wasn’t happening, though. It was the washing out of the barf bowl for the tenth time that was making her nauseous. She was only burning up one moment, then shivering with cold the next because one minute she was running to her room where she’d placed the two middle boys in her own bed, and the next she was sitting with the baby on her shoulder, trying to console his unhappy whimpers.

She and Russ were the only ones who hadn’t disgorged the contents of their stomachs. But she had a terrible feeling it was only a matter of time.

The sounds of retching reached her. Duncan or Oliver—too sick to be counted on to make it to the bathroom—was making use of the big plastic bowl that she planned to never see again once this was over. Closing her eyes, Tess willed her legs to move. When they didn’t obey, she raised her voice. “Rebecca, do you think you could—”

The remainder of her sentence was drowned out by the pitter-patter of her daughter’s feet on a mad dash from her “bower of death”—the teen’s own words—to the bathroom across the hall.

There would be no help there.

She pushed off with her bare feet and managed to stand. A short spin of her head later, she stumbled toward her needy children.
Women manage alone all the time,
she reminded herself.
It’s good preparation for your life ahead.

Tears gathered, but she blinked them away. She needed to be clear-eyed to wash the despicable bowl. Next she wiped down Duncan’s and Oliver’s faces with a cool, wet cloth. When she asked them if they could take a sip of water, they didn’t bother answering. She was a little more forceful about offering the pediatric drink that she tried to foist off as “juice,” but they both turned their faces away.

In a last-ditch effort, she dangled the image of cold cola—a rare treat—and it was testament to how ill they felt that neither gave a twitch.

Rebecca’s footsteps sounded zombielike as she moved from the bathroom back to her bed. Tess wet another washcloth and bathed her daughter’s face as she lay sprawled on the mattress. The cell phone on the small table beside Rebecca’s pillow started a little dance. Things were serious when the teenager didn’t even reach for the device to check the sender of the text.