Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1) Read online

  Griffin folded his arms as he leaned back in his chair, giving her space she didn't want now that she'd gotten used to him being so close to her. "If your work doesn't energize you, then you've got the wrong job."

  "The wrong job?" She smacked him on the head with the folder. "I better not have the wrong job. I owe too much money in student loans and too many hours of free babysitting to Eppie to have made a mistake." She leveled the folder at him. "Don't even suggest it, Griffin. Those kinds of words will get you sent to bed without dinner."

  He laughed and caught her wrist, deflecting the folder. "A man can't risk not having food. I'll never broach the topic again."

  "Good." He was still holding her wrist. Lightly. But with a hint of possession. She stared at him, and the laughter faded until the only sound was the click of her oven working.

  This time, when his gaze went to her mouth, she didn't have to wonder what he was thinking. Hot, raw desire burned in his eyes, and her entire body leapt in response. Her pulse began to hammer in her throat, and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

  She knew it was a bad idea, oh, she did. But it didn't matter. All she could think about was what it would be like to have Griffin lean forward, slide his hand through her hair and stake his claim on her. She wanted to be claimed by him. She wanted him to rip through her shields and make her unable to deny the hot desire racing through her, desire she'd thought was so long dead.

  Griffin was making fire burn through her veins and pulse deep in her core. It was terrifying, but at the same time, her very soul cried out with the need for him to stoke that heat, to show her what it could be like, to make her burn from his kisses. What would it feel like to have his mouth on hers? To feel his palm slide over her belly? To cup her breast? To feel his hard, muscular body sinking down onto hers, making her his in every way?

  His eyes darkened, and he slid his hand along her jaw, his touch a sinfully erotic sensation as it eased along her skin. "Clare," he whispered, his voice raw with such need that she ached for him.

  Yes.

  He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and she knew he was going to kiss her—

  A loud thump from upstairs made them both jump. Griffin went still as they heard the sound of Katie's footsteps padding across the floor and the rush of water from the sink in the upstairs bathroom.

  Oh, God. What was she doing? Reality rushed over Clare with the cold ache of loneliness and responsibility. She couldn’t do this, not to Katie, and not to herself. Griffin was leaving. He was leaving.

  Slowly, her heart screaming at her not to retreat, Clare forced herself to pull back from Griffin. Regret flickered in his eyes, and he released her, but he didn't take his gaze off her, raw lust still burning in those eyes. He was a man who had conceded the moment, but he hadn't acknowledged defeat.

  She felt her cheeks heat up. "I need to work."

  He nodded. "I do, too."

  For a long moment, neither of them moved, the possibility still hovering between them. Was he going to kiss her anyway? Would she stop him this time, or would she tumble into his spell again?

  The bathroom door slammed upstairs, and Griffin grimaced and finally turned away, breaking the connection and severing her last bit of hope.

  Intense relief and agonizing disappointment filled Clare as she quickly picked up her folders and tried to regroup. While she shuffled papers, Griffin woke his computer from standby and began to read.

  For a few minutes, she couldn't concentrate. She was too aware of his breathing. Of the creak of his chair as he shifted position. The faint scent of his aftershave mingling with the cupcakes. The slide of his boots across the floor as he concentrated.

  His presence was enormous, even though he was saying nothing.

  Griffin looked up, caught her watching him, and he smiled, flashing her that dimple. He tapped her keyboard with one finger. "You'll be mad at yourself if you don't work. Step it up, Ms. Gray, or you won't have time to frost."

  She laughed, and her tension dissolved. "Keep being pushy like that, and you won't get any cupcakes."

  "I like mine frosted, so work."

  She grinned at his serious tone, amused by the twinkle in his eyes. She was still smiling as she began to study the document again. This time, the feel of his presence wasn't distracting. It was nice to have company, even if he was a potential murderer who would be leaving town shortly. After all, it wasn't as if she had to date him. She'd managed to resist kissing him, right? Appreciating his presence was perfectly safe, and even Eppie wouldn't be able to object.

  So, she breathed him in, and carefully, slowly and with decreasing trepidation, she allowed his presence to wrap around her as they sat side by side, each in their own work, sharing space, sharing air, and sharing the moment.

  "Talk, girl! Talk!"

  Clare grinned as she walked into her office Monday morning and found Astrid and Emma waiting for her. Astrid's thick hair was accented with delicate pieces of pink lace woven into a few of the strands, and Emma was wearing a tight, black long-sleeved shirt that revealed just how much weight she'd lost since she'd been back in town.

  A cup of Ophelia's finest was already on Clare's desk, waiting for her as steam spiraled out of the lid. "Aren't you supposed to be at work today, Emma?"

  Emma was at Astrid's work table with a paint brush, and the sun was streaming in the windows, making all the half-finished projects glitter. "I took the morning off. Astrid needed some artwork for a custom project." She pointed the brush at Clare. "What's going on, girlfriend?"

  "Did you sleep with Griffin yet?" Astrid was at her computer, no doubt downloading another dozen lucrative orders. "Because he's hot."

  "No, I did not sleep with him." But she'd certainly dreamed about it. All. Night. Long.

  Trying not to think about the sensual images still dancing around in her head, Clare set her computer on her desk, noticing, for the first time, the contrast between her office and Astrid's. Astrid's walls were covered with cheerful paintings, bright curtains and assorted scarves and silk hanging from lights and dangling from the ceiling.

  Clare had three bookshelves crammed with law books. Two locked filing cabinets. One sickly looking ivy dangling from the top of one of the bookshelves. The office felt so empty and stark, compared to the living intensity of her kitchen last night. It had been so amazing with the cupcakes, the laughter, the coziness of her beloved kitchen, and, of course, Griffin. Her office was devoid of life. Why hadn't she ever noticed that? Or bothered to decorate it the way she'd done with her kitchen? And why was she noticing it now?

  But she knew why. It was because of Griffin's comment about her day job. About how it was wrong for her. It couldn't be wrong. She couldn't afford for it to be wrong for her. He didn't know what he was talking about. "Griffin's just a boarder. Not a potential date."

  But even as she spoke, she felt the lie. The connection between them was so intense and so powerful that it was undeniable. She and Griffin had worked last night until almost two in the morning. She usually hated working late at night, with the silence of the house pressing down on her, as it always did when Katie was asleep or out. But last night, it hadn't felt lonely, and she hadn't minded working, even when they'd been sitting in silence, each immersed in their own work.

  And when she'd taken breaks to decorate the cupcakes, Griffin had chatted lightly with her. Nothing intense. Just company. And it had been nice. Really, really nice. Having him in her kitchen had been like lighting a fire in the hearth and letting the heat and warmth of the flames penetrate the darkest corners of the room.

  "There's nothing 'just' about Griffin Friesé," Astrid said. "Take advantage. He's exactly the man to get you out of your dry spell."

  Clare opened her computer and saw a pink frosting thumb-print on it. She smiled, remembering how Griffin had filched some frosting right before helping her pack up her computer. She touched the dried icing that had permanently preserved Griffin's fingerprint. "It's not like that
with him. He's just renting a room. He's—"

  "Not like that?" Astrid snorted. "I was there in the store, Clare. I saw the way you guys looked at each other. I felt the way you two looked at each other. Things were so intense between you that Eppie actually came by here this morning to ask me point blank if you were already having sex."

  Clare gaped at her friend. "Are you serious?" The thought of Eppie's interference made her stomach clench. Even though she and Griffin had never even kissed, the current between them was intense and amazing, and she didn't want it tainted by Eppie's judgment or disdain.

  "Dead serious." Astrid twirled her dangling earrings, making the turquoise stones flash in the sunlight. "Honestly, it sort of freaked me out to have to discuss sex with Eppie, but she was surprisingly knowledgeable about it. I'm thinking that girl gets out more than we know. We think she and Judith go to bingo on Friday nights, but I'm starting to wonder."

  Clare grimaced, her heart sinking at the idea that the town had been dissecting her relationship with Griffin. What they had was private, something special, not something to be flaunted and evaluated by people who didn't understand what it was: just a basic, human connection, not some rampant sex-fling. "Does everyone else think we're sleeping together?"

  Astrid shrugged. "Who cares? It's not their life."

  "I don't want them to think—"

  "Clare." Astrid leaned forward, her tousled hair dangling precariously close to her cup of coffee. "You're the one who has to live your life. Eppie doesn't lie in your bed at night all alone. Eppie doesn't watch late night movies and have to wonder if any man will ever touch her body again. Eppie doesn't see a thirty-three-year-old face in the mirror and see the hardness that has formed in an attempt to go it alone."

  Clare's throat thickened at the comments that were far too accurate. "I'm fine by myself."

  Astrid's face softened. "I know you're fine, but we all deserve to be a lot more than fine."

  She lifted her chin. "And sleeping with Griffin would change that?"

  "It would shock a little life into you," Astrid said. "And that's what you need. He might not be the right guy. I'm not arguing that. But if you can just let yourself go and feel a little bit of life in your heart, it'll do you a world of good." She pulled open a drawer and tossed something at Clare. "Here. I bought these at the store. I told Norm they were for me because I've decided to become a prostitute, so your reputation is intact for the moment."

  Clare caught the box and nearly dropped it when she saw what it was. "Condoms?"

  "Have sex, Clare," Astrid said, her face completely serious. "Just try it."

  "No," Emma interrupted, finally jumping into the conversation. "Don't you dare sleep with him."

  Clare tossed the condoms onto her desk, her heart thumping. Condoms. Seriously? "I'm not going to—"

  "Why shouldn't she?" Astrid asked Emma. "You want her to die a shriveled old lady who has forgotten how to be a woman? Just because she's a mom doesn't mean she's not a passionate, sensual being with needs."

  Clare thought about how Griffin had made her body come alive simply by the way he'd looked at her. She hadn't felt that kind of energy rippling through her in ages.

  Astrid's words made her realize that her friend was right in some ways. She hadn't felt like a woman in so long. She hadn't even thought about it. But it had felt so amazing last night in the kitchen with Griffin. He hadn't even kissed her, and it had still been the most intense sexual moment of her life. With the box of condoms on her desk and memories of last night with Griffin in her mind, it was a little difficult not to think about making love with him. What if she did have sex with him? What if she tossed aside all the rules and restrictions in her life and let herself go for a night, or two, or for however long he was in town?

  "Clare." Emma laid her paintbrush carefully on a white cloth and turned her chair toward Clare. Her friend's face was intense, worried. "You're this amazingly tough single mom, but we all know that your heart is just a giant mushball."

  Clare fiddled with the coffee as her throat clogged up. "I'm fine."

  "I know you are," Emma said. "But you're not hard-wired to sleep with a man and not have it matter, and not have it affect you. You're too soft. We all know that. Griffin's going to leave, and you deserve more than to let your world be upended just for a week of nookie."

  Deflation settled down on Clare, and she flicked the condom box, inching it away from her. "I know, but—"

  "Don't do it." Emma shook her head. "You'll get crushed, and you can't afford that." She smiled softly. "Trust me, it can derail you in a way you can't afford."

  Clare saw the pain Emma had been trying so hard to set aside. "You'll be okay again, Emma."

  "Yes, you will, sweetie." Astrid put her arm around Emma's shoulders and squeezed. "You, on the other hand, aren't allowed to sleep with anyone yet, Emma. I'll use my pitchfork on any man who tries to get into your pants, I promise."

  Emma laughed. "Well, thank God for that at least. I was afraid I was next on your list to get laid."

  "You need to be celibate for at least fifteen years to get on my 'You Need Sex' list."

  "I thought you were exaggerating yesterday." Emma looked at Clare curiously as she leaned her blond head against Astrid's dark one. "Has it really been fifteen years? You weren't with anyone while I was living in New York?"

  "Fifteen years isn't so long. It's not like you forget how to do it—"

  "That's almost half your life!" Astrid said.

  "Fifteen years is a long time," Emma said thoughtfully. "It's too long."

  "See?" Astrid exclaimed. "Even Emma agrees."

  "I agree that Clare needs to have sex," Emma said. "But I'm not sure Griffin is the right choice. I mean, he's incredibly compelling. He could suck the willpower right out of a woman with one kiss, I would imagine."

  "I can't imagine any man better equipped to bring Clare's sex life into the present," Astrid said, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "He's so hot, but he's also so obviously wrong for her that she won't fall for him. She's way too smart."

  Emma grimaced. "But he's so compelling. Jake was like that and I had no chance against him, even though I knew he was wrong for me."

  "You were twenty-three," Astrid said. "How would you have known? But Clare's in a totally different situation. She can trust herself."

  "That's true." Emma chewed her lower lip. "Clare's way more stable than I ever was. If anyone could sleep with Griffin and not fall for him, it would be Clare—"

  "Oh, for heaven's sake." Clare gave her friends an exasperated look, the conversation bringing her back to reality, to the truth that she absolutely couldn't invest herself in him. "I'm not sleeping with him. He's a murderer, remember?" And he was leaving. Emma was so right, there was no way for Clare to have sex with Griffin and not let it touch her heart. She simply wasn't wired that way.

  Astrid and Emma simply looked at her. The faces of the two people she trusted most in the entire world. People who loved her. Clearly both thinking that she needed to get laid if she had any chance at a decent life. "At least put the condoms in your purse," Astrid said. "Just in case."

  "She has a point," Emma said, clearly resigning herself to the power of Clare's libido. "I mean, he is living at your house. A late night food fight with chocolate frosting could get a little out of control. Take the condoms, but remember that he's going to leave you."

  "I know he's going to leave. I would never fall for him." Clare looked at the blue box sitting on her desk.

  "Then you should do it," Emma said. "Otherwise, you're going to be too vulnerable to the wrong guy."

  "Agreed. Have sex, and then tell us all about it," Astrid said.

  "No, I—" Clare's computer beeped and she glanced over at the screen. At the top was an email from Griffin. The subject was blank, and there was a one line note. A good night. Thanks.

  A good night.

  A good night.

  She looked at the email, and then she looked at the bo
x of condoms sitting so innocently on her desk.

  She wasn't going to sleep with him.

  Really. She wasn't.

  She wasn't that kind of girl.

  But what if...

  "Oh, fine." She picked up the box and shoved it into her purse.

  And when her friends started applauding, she couldn't quite keep the smile off her face.

  Chapter 9

  At exactly six o'clock the next evening, Griffin drove up to his daughter's new home. He parked in front of it, a strange sensation unsettling him as he studied the house. Brooke was right there. Behind those walls. Yards away from him. He was going to see her for the first time in a year. Finally.

  Yes.

  Griffin shoved his hand through his hair and fiddled with the collar of his dress shirt as he peered at the house. It was smaller than Griffin had expected. Plainer. Not nearly as warm and inviting as Clare's red, rambling farm house, or as luxurious as the home he'd once provided for his family.

  It was a simple gray house of a modest size. Black shutters. A small yard. A swing set sat beside a side deck that was furnished with a picnic table with a bright red umbrella. The lawn was mowed, the grass lush and verdant. Flower pots flanked the front door. A white cat was snoozing underneath a bush, the tip of its tail flicking periodically. It was domestic, more so than he would have imagined Hillary living in. But he noticed that the paint on the clapboard was pristine, the yard neat, a picture-perfect existence that Hillary craved, just like she'd forced him to live with for so long. At the thought of his ex-wife and the life he used to live, tension rippled through Griffin and he flexed his fingers, trying to loosen his muscles.

  He draped his arms on his steering wheel restlessly, forcing himself to pause and take stock of his competition. It was nothing more than a small, ordinary home, one that was the exact opposite of Clare's house with its well-worn look. He liked Clare's better.