Beach House No. 9 (24 page)

“Are you kidding? Russ barfed all over me. If I’m going to get it, I’m going to get it.”

The argument persuaded her, and they kissed until she claimed to be dizzy from it. And knowing what she’d just been through, he didn’t insist, instead drawing her against his chest and cuddling with her, their gazes on the fire.

He idly ran his fingers through her hair, and her contented sigh released the last knot of his tension. “I’m sorry I had the vasectomy without telling you about the appointment.”

She shook her head. “We had agreed. It was just another sign of your distance that I objected to.”

He pressed a kiss to her head. “Did you really want more children?”

“After the past two days? No. Or maybe it’s the whole Cheetos thing.” She tilted her head to send him a wry look. “I’m counting on you to train that out of the boys.”

And that’s how he knew they were going to be good again, because she was smiling and because she’d said
I’m counting on you.
It was the single most important job they had, he realized now…to be the person the other could depend upon.

And David Quincy, forty-plus years old, no longer feared the passage of time. Because age had wrought wisdom.

* * *

J
ANE
HADN
’
T
LIVED
with anyone since graduating from college. Even during those years she’d rarely had time to socialize with her various roommates. She’d been a full-time student and a part-time nanny. The mother of the children she’d overseen had been head writer for a top-rated TV show. When the woman wrote a book on screenwriting, she’d asked English-major Jane to beta-read a draft…and a career had been born.

So waking up with a roommate who was also a workmate in your—his—own bed should have been a shock.

It was shockingly easy.

She rolled her head on the pillow and gazed at Griffin. He was lying on his stomach, and his face was turned toward hers. He didn’t look little-boy in his sleep. The stubble of his dark beard was too harsh for that. But he appeared rested, and she thought it good that his TV-all-night habit had been broken since she’d started sleeping in the room.

One midnight she’d awoken to find him absent from the bed. Her bare feet hadn’t made a sound on the floor, but he wouldn’t have heard her, anyway. When she’d found him lying on the recliner in the living room, he’d been clad only in boxers and had had an iPod lying on his bare belly, its buds tucked into his ears. He must have felt her gaze, because he’d opened his eyes.

There’d been weariness in them and a bleakness that she couldn’t address with words. So she’d thrown off the T-shirt of his that she’d been wearing, shifted the iPod to the arm of the chair and crawled into his lap. She’d figured he was listening to music that was hard rock or heavy metal and her touch was the antithesis to that. Every kiss gentle, every movement languid, the rhythm when she took him inside her mouth had been slow and measured. All meant to conquer the beast that wouldn’t let him sleep.

He’d never left her in the middle of the night since.

Jane was no idiot. She knew that there was danger in their compatibility and propinquity, though he continued to tease her and get annoyed with her and sometimes became mad enough to stomp out of the office. But underlying it all, she thought they had an understanding of each other that she’d never expected to find with a man. She told herself that she was lucky. With a set end point to the relationship, that understanding could never be ruined.

When she left Beach House No. 9, she would leave the laughing, the arguing, the sex, behind. But she could retain it, she hoped, like a little snow globe in her mind. A tableau that she could shake up and revisit: the sand, the cottage, a palm tree and two little figures that were she and Griffin, forever caught in a together moment.

“Jane,” Griffin murmured now, his eyes still closed. “Did you know that I can feel your mind at work from here? It’s irritating.”

His growl chased away the little melancholy that was edging into her thoughts. “Some of us can rub two brain cells together before sixteen ounces of coffee.”

“Then if you’re so all-powerful, why don’t you get up and make that coffee, or, better yet—” he suddenly reached out and grabbed her “—let’s find some other kind of cells to rub together.”

Squealing, she pretended to fight him off, turning her mouth away from his with a breathless complaint about his morning beard.

He gave an evil laugh. “All the better to make you burn, honey-pie.”

“Chili-dog—”

A banging on the front door had them halting midtussle. When the sound came again, Griffin groaned. “I’d know that rat-tat-a-tat-tat anywhere. It’s the minions.”

The way he said “the minions” in his gloomiest voice made her giggle. “The Cheeto minions?”

“Definitely the Cheeto minions.” He was already rolling from the bed, one hand reaching for a pair of shorts he’d left on the floor.

She watched him head for the door, shirtless, and the play of muscles in his back made her sigh. “Griffin…”

He glanced over his shoulder, then his feet stopped moving and his gaze softened. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

More memories for her snow globe. “You,” she said. Since it was just for a little while more, she could say it aloud.

“Then let me get those damn kids out of No. 9.”

When he didn’t return right away, though, she got curious. Pulling on her bathing suit and a beach cover-up, she headed in the direction of the kitchen, from which came the smell of coffee and the sound of male voices. Inside she found Tess’s husband at the table with Griffin, who sent her an apologetic look. “David and the boys came over to borrow some milk and…”

And it looked as if the two men were having a serious talk. She could see Duncan and Oliver on the deck outside, still dressed in their pj’s and tossing the plastic jug of milk back and forth. “Why don’t I see that the beverage gets safely next door,” she said. “I’ll take the boys with me.”

On her way past him, Griffin caught her hand. Slanting her a brief smile, he pressed her fingers, then let her go.
Sorry…and thank you.
That brief and silent communication between them was as intimate as any kiss.

She was smiling as she followed Duncan and Oliver into No. 8, where she found Tess standing over a bowl of pancake mix and cracked eggs. “Looking for this?” she asked, handing over the milk.

“Yes, thanks.” She scattered some Cheerios on the tray of Russ’s high chair at the same time that she instructed the bigger boys to turn down the volume on the TV.

“You guys got over your flu?”

Tess smiled. There was no doubt she’d always been a striking beauty, but now there was a serene glow about her. She’d lost the brittleness that she’d shown the past couple of weeks. “We got over a lot of things.”

“David’s next door,” Jane said.

“He was here last night. Was the real deal when we needed him.”

Jane nodded. “I wanted to come, but Griffin insisted on calling him. According to your brother, your husband made a land-speed record from your house to here.”

A little smile crossed the other woman’s face. “He’s a by-the-book sort of man, but if his family’s threatened…” She poured milk into the mixing bowl and began stirring the contents with a wooden spoon.

“I’m happy for you, Tess. It sounds as if you two worked things out.”

“The cove has a way of making good things happen.” Duncan and Oliver came clomping into the kitchen, swim fins on their feet. They were out of their pajamas and into swim trunks, mask-and-snorkel combinations perched on the tops of their heads. Tess easily dodged them as one chased the other, Frankenstein-style, arms reaching. “Despite David’s and my troubles, the kids have had a great time here.”

Jane had to grin at the small boys. She ruffled Duncan’s hair as he staggered past her. The touch stopped him. “Hey,” he said, as if a lightbulb had gone off.

“Hey back,” she said, still smiling. Griffin claimed they were destined for a life of crime due to their unceasing energy and incessant curiosity, but she figured they were more likely headed for careers of adventure and excitement like their uncles. With their dark hair and blue eyes, Tess’s boys were prototypes of the children that Griffin might have someday.

“Don’t be sad,” Duncan said.

She realized she’d dropped her smile. With effort, she pinned another back on. “Okay.”

“’Cuz I’m going to make you happy today.” He hitched up his board shorts in a move that looked just like his uncle’s. “You said you’d love to.”

“Hmm.” She mentally walked back through her memory. “I said I’d love to…what?”

“Get buried in the sand.” His voice lowered. “Me ’n’ Oliver are going to bury you alive from your crumpy bitty toes to your scrawny chicken neck.”

The words sounded like something from a story, but his tone was so bloodthirsty that Jane wondered if Griffin might be right about their criminal tendencies. “I remember that now. It’s going to be today?”

“Has to be today,” Duncan said. “’Cuz we go home this afternoon.”

“Oh.” She glanced over at Tess for confirmation.

“Yep. I have flower beds that have been neglected, and it’s easier for the kids to do all their activities from our regular home base. Rebecca’s ecstatic at the idea of closer proximity to her friends.”

“I’ll…I’ll miss you,” Jane said, realizing how true it was. The other woman had become a friend in the days they’d been neighbors.

“Me too,” Tess said. “But we can get together beyond the cove too, you know.”

Could they? Because once Jane left here and ended her working relationship with Griffin, she didn’t know how it would be to see his sister on a regular basis. Would it be weird or even…painful?

From the onset, she’d settled in her mind that the period to all this was the day she left Beach House No. 9. Without speaking, she watched Tess pour circles of batter into a heated frying pan and then retreated toward a corner to keep out of the way when she called Rebecca to set the table. “I should be going.”

“Stay for breakfast,” Tess offered. “We’re going to make it a leisurely one, and then we’ll get serious about packing for home. Which reminds me…I found a few of your things when I started doing some organizing this morning. Will you want to bring them next door or should I leave them here?”

Jane froze. That’s right. When Tess and company headed home, that would free up this cottage. Her original purpose for moving in with Griffin had been to give his sister and family the space they needed. After today, there wouldn’t be any good reason for her to remain in No. 9.

Tess frowned. “Jane, are you—” She broke off as David entered the house.

“Honey,” he called. “Gage is on Griffin’s cell. Why don’t you go over and get your chance to talk with him.”

“Oh!” She reached around her waist to untie her apron. “Can you flip the pancakes?”

“Sure.” He kissed her cheek as she handed over the spatula.

As if struck by a sudden thought, Tess touched her husband’s arm. “Is Gage all right? Everything’s okay?”

“Seems so. He’s got some new assignment he’s stoked about. Wants Griffin to meet up with him so they can work together in faraway Somewhere-istan.”

Tess slid a look at Jane. “When?”

“Sounds like he wants him on the first plane out.”

Jane put a hand to her suddenly still heart. Was the idyll over just like that? Her snow globe filled with all the memories it would ever have? An emptiness opened in her belly, and cold loneliness swamped her like a Pacific wave. She hadn’t seen it coming so soon, but if Griffin headed to his brother, there wasn’t any reason for her to stay in Crescent Cove—or at Beach House No. 9.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

J
ANE
HAD
DISAPPEARED
on him. Griffin tried tamping down his annoyance but hell! That mouth of hers was always flapping about deadlines and work to be done and then she was nowhere to be seen when he was ready to get to it. He’d ended his call with Gage twenty minutes ago, and she’d done a complete Houdini.

Of course he didn’t need her to be nearby for him to continue with the memoir. But her presence made it easier to confront those photos she’d taped around the office. His gaze would catch on a face, and something odd would pop into his head. He’d remember that person’s blood type, for example, because it was posted on them from head to toe: A POS, on helmet, vest, boots. Griffin could have taken the images down, but Jane was right, they helped him taste the flavor of the dirt, smell the stench of the men’s sweat after combat, remember the incongruously blissed-out look of a bleeding soldier sucking on a fentanyl lollipop to block the pain.

Good times.

So he didn’t want to do any of that without Jane in the room. When it got to be too much, he’d look over at her wacky shoes or her pouty mouth, and find himself centered in the present. He’d think about
her
center, and instead of wallowing in the past he’d be dreaming up ways to get her into bed and the ways he’d take her once he did.

After wandering around No. 9 for a few minutes, he ventured next door. His sister was the calm in the middle of chaos, as there were piles of kid crap on each bed and pretty much everywhere else. He leaned on a doorjamb, watching her pack up clothes while discussing with Russ the merits of cutting his beloved blankie in half. “Think of it, my sweetness—then if we did the unthinkable and lost it somewhere, we’d have an extra at home.”

“Why don’t you just buy the baby another one?”

Her head turned to him. “It’s a comfort object. You can’t just buy another one, because they’re not interchangeable. It wouldn’t smell the same, feel the same,
be
the same.”

“Creepy. You’re making it sound like Russ has a relationship with a square of fabric.”

“And it’s probably more meaningful than the ones you have with the people in your life,” she retorted. “Russ doesn’t hesitate to become attached.”

He blinked. “Hostile.”

“I’m not hostile, I’m being honest. And honestly, Griffin, you need to be careful or people are going to get hurt.”

He retreated from the doorway.

Tess pointed at him. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You back off when things get a little too real.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Let me be clear.” She huffed out a sigh. “It’s going to hurt Jane when she sees how easily you can walk away from her.”

The back of his neck felt hot. “We’re colleagues. Professional colleagues.”

His sister skewered him with a look that she’d learned from their mother. A look only the female half of the population could deliver. “Cut the crap, brother dear.”

“Fine,” he said, defensive. “But it’s just sex.”

“And I suppose you’ll tell me Jane sees it exactly like that,” Tess replied, a wealth of doubt in her tone.

“Of course she does.” He’d told her from the beginning that he didn’t have anything more to offer than temporary fun and games. Besides, it was pretty clear from their recent encounter with Ian Stone that Jane was still hung up on her ex, though Griffin didn’t know why the thought bothered him so much.

Tess shook her head. “Then I suppose it’s best. Go chase after the carrot that Gage dangled in front of you. If you’re going to get out of Jane’s life, then you should do it now—the sooner the better.”

He refused to let her older-sibling act unleash his hold on his temper. It was a beautiful day, he’d heard his brother’s voice so he knew Gage was safe, and Bossy Big Sister and her minions would be out of his hair by the afternoon. He should be able to get a lot of work done today if he could just locate the missing governess.

He stomped out of No. 8 and surveyed the beach, scanning the sand for her. When she’d left their place that morning she’d had a lacy white cover-up over that yellow swimsuit. A slender piece of lemon meringue should be easy to spot.

The only figures in the vicinity were Private and the munchkin mafia. Duncan and Oliver were on their knees, their expressions intent as they…

A little chill ran down Griffin’s spine. What were they doing? They both held short shovels that weren’t the customary plasticware that kids used at play. These had wooden handles and metal blades and looked exactly like what a hit man would have in his trunk in order to bury the evidence.

Griffin drew closer, then stopped, gaping. “What the hell?”

Jane’s head, the only part of her that hadn’t been laid to rest—so to speak—turned toward him. “Don’t use that word in front of the boys.”

“Yeah,” Duncan said. “’Cuz me or Oliver will say it by mistake at school and then get sent to the principal’s office.”

Griffin figured that wouldn’t be a new experience for them. “Sorry, boys. What the
heck
are you doing?”

Oliver cackled as he upended a plastic bucket of sand over the mound that covered Jane’s body. “We’s burying her alive from her crumpy bitty toes to her scrawny chicken neck.”

The kid was wigging him out. Seriously. “Uh, Jane?”

“I think it’s from a book,” she said. “At least I hope it’s from a book.”

Oliver nodded. “A book about a pirate.”

“And buried treasure,” Duncan added.

“And dead bodies,”
Oliver said in a sinister voice. Then he turned to his brother. “You know what we need, Dunc?”

The older boy appeared puzzled, then his eyes sparked and his face split into a gap-toothed smile. “I know exactly what we need,” he said, raising both fists to tap them against Oliver’s. They followed that up by taking a running leap at each other to bump scrawny chests, yelled “Crabs!” in unison, then swooped up their buckets to race toward the surf. Barking in happy abandon, Private followed in their wake.

Shaking his head, Griffin crossed his arms over his chest and returned his gaze to the librarian’s head. She bit her lip, her eyes darting from Griffin to the boys and back again. “Crabs? Maybe you should help me out from under here.”

“Having a problem with your crumpy bitty toes?”

“No. I’m just not sure I like the idea of being pinned under here when the minions come back with crabs.” She bit her lip again. “I actually loathe the idea of being pinned under here when the minions come back with crabs.”

Griffin sat cross-legged beside the Jane-sized mound of sand and grinned at her. “There’s something about you being restrained like this that I kinda like. Later, we’ll get in the bathtub, and I’ll help you get the sand out of all those pesky places it’s sure to be hiding, like from between your crumpy toes and from between your—”

“I get it, I get it,” she said hastily. Then her gaze shifted away, and her voice turned casual. “I heard you got a call from Gage this morning.”

“Yeah.” Probably his Big Mouth Big Sister had let it be known, just as she’d told his twin about Griffin’s involvement with Jane. “It was good to hear his voice.”

Though his brother had gone bossy on him too. Gage thought he should cut the strings with Jane, and pronto.
It doesn’t sound like you, bro, shacking up with some chick.

Jane was not some chick, damn it!

You breaking more hearts, bro?

He and Jane had an understanding, not that his siblings could comprehend that. Everybody just assumed he was on his way to harming the smartest, sexiest—

“Gage’s offer sounds perfect for you. You should take him up on it.”

—most annoying and most troublesome woman in the world. “What the hell do you know about it?” he demanded.

Inside her sand tomb he could discern her shrug. “I picked up bits and pieces. David said it’s an in-depth piece on a new rebel training camp in Somewhere-istan.”

“Somewhere-istan,” Griffin muttered. “Everybody’s a comedian.”

“It sounds right up your alley. And it’s a chance to work with your brother.”

“I’ve already got work,” he said. What was wrong with her? Didn’t she remember that this project was necessary to recoup her reputation? “Not to mention a dog.”

“Tess and family would take Private. I will, if it comes to that.”

“Tess’s minions keep her busy enough. And I can’t leave him with a talking head.”

She just looked at him. “Griffin—”

“And Rebecca’s presentation. You think I can skip out on that? The old man will live another twenty-five years just so he can tweak me about it.”

“Be serious,” she said. “For this, you can probably get an extension on your deadline. Maybe you can work the new assignment into the memoir. Or just finish it while you’re on the road. You know you can do it.”

Without her. That’s what she was saying.
Go ahead, go on and go about your life.

He stared at Jane. She’d forgotten sunscreen again, and her nose was going to peel if she kept this up. Tess and Gage had been worried he was on his way to quashing her romantic dreams while the clear-eyed, pouty-mouthed book doctor was intent on sweeping him away without the smallest sign of hesitation or regret. Why did everyone, including Jane, assume he’d snatch up the first opportunity to ditch her? What kind of man did they think he was?

Besides the kind he’d professed to be from the very beginning, a mocking voice in his head answered.
I don’t do serious with women, never have.

The thought turned up his temper, which had been simmering since the munchkin mafia interrupted his morning nooky, to a boil.

He jumped to his feet. “Why does everyone think they know what’s best for me? Nobody goddamn knows me at all, and that includes my sister, my twin and you.
Especially you.
”

* * *

J
ANE
FELT
THE
WEIGHT
of the sand on her chest long after Duncan and Oliver returned—crabless, thank God—and dug her out. She walked down the beach to the outdoor shower near the entrance to Captain Crow’s and rinsed off. Then, even though she didn’t have any money on her, she was able to smile a glass of iced tea out of the guy behind the beachside bar.

Nobody goddamn knows me at all.

She supposed Griffin was right, despite her earlier claims that they had an understanding. After that call from Gage, she’d expected to find him packing a bag and double-checking the expiration date on his passport. She’d promised herself she’d be happy for him. Shouldn’t she be happy for him?

But now, well… Private was going to be thrilled that the man was sticking around.

Later she wandered back down the beach. Tess’s Mercedes station wagon was stuffed to the gills, and it looked iffy that there’d be room for all the kids in David’s SUV. While Griffin was working with his brother-in-law to find places for the stroller, two skimboards and a mountain of beach towels, Jane slipped into No. 9 and quickly collected most of her clothes and personal items. Whatever she left behind could be retrieved later, since he’d decreed they’d still be working together on the memoir.

Not fifteen minutes later, she was smiling and waving as the Quincy clan exited the cove. “I’m going to the office,” Griffin said.

“I’ll be there in a little bit,” she remarked to his retreating back. When the door to No. 9 shut behind him, she located her stashed suitcases and reached into her pocket for the key to the cottage next door that Tess had handed over. When she turned the knob, she pushed one bag across the threshold with her foot. The other she deposited on the narrow bench that stood in the small entry.

A gust of air blew through the open door, and she left it standing, allowing the salt-tinged breeze to mix with the mingled scents of crayon, baby powder and nail polish. It was so quiet without the minions.

Which was why she heard the footsteps behind her. Startled, she whirled around, only to see a stone-faced Griffin stalk through the entrance. He brushed past her to grip one suitcase and then the other bag. Without a word, he turned back toward No. 9.

“What are you doing?” she said, hurrying to keep up with him.

“Do you think I’m blind? I passed by the laundry room, and the first thing I noticed is that your filmy bits of sexual torture are missing.”

Her lingerie. She’d hand washed a batch the day before and hung it on the drying rack. Of course she’d collected the garments as part of her packing process.

“This is kind of high-handed, you know,” she said, as he walked through the door of No. 9 without even looking to see if she still followed.

“Pot, meet kettle,” he muttered.

She trailed after him on his way down the hall. “Maybe I want some alone time.”

“So take an hour next door when you need it. The rest of your days and nights you’re with me.” Then he dropped her belongings on the floor of the master bedroom and took her in his arms, making sure she knew exactly what he meant by “with me.” And Jane, seduced by that long, strong body enclosing hers, pressed her cheek into the delicious, heated skin of his throat and abandoned any more thoughts of escape.

* * *

D
ESPITE
HER
DECISION
to remain at No. 9, Jane realized over the next few days that things didn’t go back to the way they’d been. He wasn’t the same Griffin as before. Though he was at turns teasing and seductive and brooding, there were times when he went even quieter now, as if every part of him stilled. Like a body submerging in deep waters, he would sink inside himself to a place that was unreachable.

Nobody goddamn knows me.

She kept coming back to that, and as more time went on, she acknowledged it was true. Though she read the pages of his memoir and thought she understood something of his experience while embedded in Afghanistan, there seemed to be a link missing in the connection between herself and Griffin. Between him and the world he lived in now. He wasn’t tethered to it in any meaningful way, and he didn’t seem in any hurry to make the essential attachment.