Rumor Has It Read online

  eventually she realized that she was wrapped around a big, hot-as-a-furnace, hard body.

  Griffin.

  Earlier she’d found him prowling her living room, then standing at the sliding door, arms up, hands braced overhead on the doorjamb.

  Sexy as hell.

  Tense as hell. And armed.

  No longer tense or carrying a knife, he was breathing slowly and evenly, clearly deeply asleep. Taking advantage of this fact, she drank him in. He lay sprawled on his back, all loose-limbed and utterly relaxed. Pride filled her at that because it was her doing. Knowing it, a smile crossed her face, and she had to force herself not to touch. Or stroke.

  Or lick.

  Yeah, she really wanted to lick, but he looked so peaceful that she didn’t want to disturb him. He seemed . . . younger. And completely sated.

  She was sated, too. And naked and a little bit sore in spots. Not to mention grinning like an idiot because finally—finally—she’d gotten an adventure.

  And oh, what an adventure it had been.

  On a normal day Griffin was a force. He was strong inside and out, he was intelligent and tough and dead sexy, and he knew how to get his way in life—and as she’d discovered—also in bed.

  She’d gotten everything she wanted out of the night, too, and if she hadn’t been wrapped around him like a pretzel, she’d have been floating on air.

  Her phone lit up on her nightstand. Moving slowly so as to not wake up Griffin, she reached out and grabbed it. It was a text from Ashley.

  WHERE ARE YOU?

  Oh crap. She’d completely forgotten. Of course she’d had a few other things on her mind, such as the big, bad, naked Griffin Reid . . .

  Don’t go there . . .

  She shook her head and tried to clear her thoughts. It was her dad’s birthday, and this one was special for more than one reason, because it was also an anniversary of sorts.

  Her family had planned to meet at the diner at eight, and it was . . . ten after. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed an armful of clothes and tiptoed out to the living room to dress as quietly as she could.

  Stuffing her feet into her sneakers, she took a last peek into her bedroom. Griffin was still out like a light, spread out on her bed like a fantasy. Damn. Walking away was the hardest thing she’d ever done. But after a quickly scrawled note that simply said, “I’ve gotta run,” she did just that.

  Fourteen

  Griffin bolted awake, sitting straight up in the bed, heart pounding, ears ringing. He had a split second of disorientation when he didn’t know where he was or why everything was a need-sunglasses-to-look-at-it sunshine yellow. Then he saw the lace panties hanging off the footboard.

  Kate.

  He was in Kate’s bed. But no Kate. He slid a hand over the sheets. Still warm. He rolled over, but he could tell by the stillness of the place that he was alone.

  It was a Sunday morning, crack of dawn—or close enough to it—so where the hell was she?

  He pulled on his tux pants—all he had—and strode through the townhouse.

  Empty, except for her short note.

  Why?

  The answer to that was painfully clear—he was an idiot. He should have kept his hands—and the rest of him—to himself. He’d known damn well she had a crush on him, forever in fact, and he’d taken unfair advantage.

  Holly was going to kill him, and Adam was going to help, and Griffin deserved it.

  A little shell-shocked by the events of the past twelve hours, he stood in the empty, quiet living room. The belongings he’d sent flying off the couch last night were still scattered across the floor. The couch itself seemed to stare at him incriminatingly, but all he could remember was the way Kate had wrapped herself around him, rocking up, holding on tight, crying out his name . . .

  Christ. He rubbed his hands over his face. It was Sunshine, he decided. It was being home. He’d been prepared to hate it as much as he’d always hated it, but that hadn’t happened. The small-town life wasn’t stifling him, wasn’t sucking the soul out of his body.

  And part of it was watching the people in his life go on with theirs. Holly getting married to Adam. His dad with Deanna. Realizing that love and affection had been missing from his life for a damn long time . . .

  Also his own doing.

  He’d left here on purpose. Run hard and fast. But not Kate. She’d stayed in town for the responsibility, which he admired the hell out of. He admired other things about her as well. Like those warm mossy green eyes. The taste of her. The feel of her satiny skin sliding along his, the sounds she’d made when she’d come.

  Sweet, slightly repressed second-grade teacher Kate Evans wasn’t so sweet and repressed after all . . .

  Someone rang the bell. Thinking she’d somehow gotten locked out, he buttoned and zipped his pants and tugged open the door to a tiny little girl in pigtails and a pink and white dress.

  “Hi!” she said at a decibel level that made him wince, and she thrust out a book with the picture of a puppy on it.

  He stared down the book.

  “Read,” she demanded.

  “Uh . . .”

  “Kate. Read.”

  Ah, now he got it. “Kate reads the book to you?” he asked.

  She nodded and waited expectantly.

  “Kate’s not here,” he said.

  The little girl took a look at the book and then back up at him, her eyes huge and filling with tears.

  Shit. “She’ll be back later,” he said quickly, desperately, just about as undone by a three-year-old’s tears as he’d been by Kate’s.

  The little girl opened the book for him, her pigtails bouncing.

  Oh no. No, no, no. “I’m not Kate,” he said.

  She stared up at him, her eyes swimming. “Read,” she said soggily.

  “You’ll stop crying?”

  She nodded.

  “I mean it,” he said, and pointed at her. “One more tear, and it’s over.”

  She flashed a fast smile, the tears instantly gone. “’Kay.”

  Suspecting he’d been had, Grif crouched low and looked her in the eyes. “If you tell anyone I did this, I’ll . . .” He broke off, unable to figure out a threat suitable for a three-year-old that wouldn’t scare the shit out of her or scar her psychologically for life.

  “Brooklyn? Where are you?” A pretty brunette stepped outside the townhouse next door. “Sweetie, it’s Sunday. Kate’s at the diner with her family for breakfast— Oh.” Catching sight of Grif, she stopped short. Her gaze drank in the sight of him, making him realize he stood there in only his tux pants, which he’d thankfully buttoned.

  “Hi,” the brunette said awkwardly.

  ”Hey,” he said, doing his best to look like he wasn’t some sort of perv.

  Little Brooklyn took her book and ran home.

  Grif’s gaze went to where Kate’s car should have been parked. Empty.

  Yep, apparently, she’d ditched him for breakfast with her family. A longer note would have been nice. Like, thank you very much for all the orgasms, Grif . . .

  Except she’d say his whole name, Griffin, in that soft voice, and he’d want to give her more . . .

  In his experience, women loved to leave long notes. Unless they were upset. He added up the clues and came to the logical conclusion.

  She was indeed upset.

  He scanned the street out of habit, and zeroed in on the Lexus down the street. That asshole Anders. Stepping off the porch, he strode to the car, rapping once on the window, hard.

  Trevan slid the window down two inches and gave him a wary look.

  “Why are you still out here?” Grif asked him

  “I just came outside.”

  Grif felt the hood. Indeed, it was cold. Before he could say anything, Dustin ran up to the car, out of breath. “Jeez, dad, why do you always park so far down? It’s a long walk.”

  “It’s exercise,” Anders said. “You should have run it as a warm-up for practice instead of being lazy.”