Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series)

  Taming McGruff

  By

  Laurie LeClair

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2013 by Laurie LeClair

  All rights reserved. This work is not transferable. Any reproduction of this work is prohibited without the permission of the author due to the infringement on the copyright. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the creation of the author or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or people, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Dedication

  To the family I was born into (and to those born since), to my wonderful husband, to the family I married into, and to the family of friends I have gathered over the years. Thank you for always loving and supporting me.

  As always, to my husband, Jim. You are my heart.

  Chapter 1

  The bell over the salon door tinkled, breaking the silence. Someone in Priscilla King’s peripheral vision entered.

  “Hey, you forget something, Rico?” she asked, walking to the front of King’s Department Store beauty salon. Shuffling through the file folder she carried, full of glossy pictures and detailed printouts for the upcoming remodel, her heart tugged. She longed to make her own unique stamp on the store. She realized even though she helped manage the salon now, this remodel wouldn’t be hers; it was a continuation of the recent Charmings theme in the store and wedding boutique.

  If only she could find something she could soar at, prove she was worthy to work there. But, more importantly, she dreamed of proving she was worthy of the iconic King name her late stepfather had bestowed on her and her older sister when he adopted them years ago.

  Shaking her head, Priscilla shut the file and glanced up. A tall, dark-haired, broad shouldered man stood beside the reception counter. Intensity rolled off him. His gaze penetrated. Sexy. She sucked in a sharp breath. Her steps faltered. “You’re not Rico.”

  “Good deduction,” he drawled.

  That voice, deep and low, shot a bolt of heat straight to her center. “We’re closed.” She drew within three feet of him. Up close, he was even more daunting. Strong solid features, lips that barely smiled, and eyes the color of smoke, she noted. A shiver sliced through her at the hot, bold interest lying there.

  “I’m here for a meeting.” Still he refused to break eye contact.

  Priscilla broke the unnerving stare, glancing at the rest of him. Expensive navy blue business suit, crisp white shirt, silk baby blue tie, top of the line shoes… She grinned. “Well, I don’t think you’re here to apply for the hairdresser position, or the nail tech, are you?”

  Ah, the corner of his lip did move, slightly. He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’d get the job?”

  She giggled, trying to imagine this super masculine man fluffing someone’s hair.

  He drew in a swift breath.

  “I doubt it.” Inside, her middle tumbled at his reaction to her.

  Reaching out, he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. Warmth trailed a blaze where he touched her flesh. The gentle gesture betrayed the man’s gruff demeanor. “Smudge.”

  “Thanks,” she said softly.

  “I’m here to see Charlotte King,” he said in a brisk, no-nonsense manner, pulling away. Clearly, he’d put up a wall, a very high one at that.

  “Charlie?” What would he want to meet with her stepsister for? At nine o’clock and on a Friday night?

  “If you can just point me in the right direction, I’ll be on my way.”

  “I can do better than that. I’ll escort you there myself.”

  “No need,” he said curtly.

  Something made her tease him. “No problem. I’m going that way myself. Unless, of course, you’re afraid of me. I don’t bite.” She shrugged. “Much. But I did skip dinner, so you never know.”

  His brows drew together in a frown, obviously trying to gauge her.

  Prissy grabbed for her pink tote bag, stuffed the file inside, and then snatched up the keys she’d left on the desk. Leading him to the door, she said, “Come on, I promise I’ll behave.”

  He seemed to relax a little, following her.

  She reached around him and shut off the lights. Her arm brushed against his. Tingles raced along her nerve endings. His warm breath feathered across her cheek. “You call that behaving?”

  His scent filled her senses: fresh, clean, and all male. “Wow,” she murmured, unable to meet his stare. “Me? You are lethal.” She didn’t censor her words, a serious issue that brought trouble on occasion.

  He chuckled. It came out raw and ragged. “I’ve never been called that before.”

  Darting out of the door and causing the bell to ring again, she waited for him to exit. “Always a first time for everything, right?” She swallowed hard, locked the door, and then dropped the keys in her tote bag. Was she flirting? Was he? “Follow me.”

  “Gladly,” he murmured.

  She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to stay upright on her new over-the-knee, high heel black suede boots as she guided him across the marble floor in the nearly empty store. His big commanding presence at her side made it difficult for her to focus on anything but him.

  “Yo,” Bruno, the night guard, called out, rushing past nearly twenty feet away.

  “Go. I got this. Trouble?” Priscilla asked.

  “Somebody forgot to lock up somewhere. Usual Friday night,” he said. “Thanks for showing him upstairs. I owe you, baby girl.”

  “Baby girl?” the man at her side inquired.

  Warmth crawled up her neck. She shrugged. Bruno had adopted the nickname her stepfather had given her years ago. It made her feel cared for and a part of a family.

  At the executive elevator now, she went to the panel. She shot him a look over her shoulder. “No peeking,” she teased, and then shielded the pad as she punched in the secret code. The doors opened. “Here you are. Your chariot awaits.”

  He grunted and waited for her to precede him inside.

  “Are you always this grumpy?” she asked, pushing the button for the fifth floor.

  “Grumpy?”

  Uh oh, she’d offended him. “Yeah, shut down, buttoned up, scowl between your brows—you know, grumpy.” She couldn’t help herself. At least this kept her from admiring his powerful body just inches away. She had to distract herself somehow.

  “You mistake being serious for a bad mood.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, held her arms, and then shivered. “Brrrr! Did I mention cold, too?”

  He moved swiftly, pinning her against the elevator wall. His hands landed on the wall inches from her body, enveloping her in his essence. Yet he didn’t touch her anywhere.

  Instinctively, she shoved at his chest. She met solid, unyielding muscle. Heat burned her palms. Her heart thumped.

  “And did I tell you, whatever your name is, with your short, tousled strawberry blonde hair, those incredible cat-green eyes that dance with mischief, and that smoking body of yours that you remind me of a very hot, very sexy fairy?”

  The breath sailed out of her. Gazing up into his smoky gray eyes, she gulped hard; there sat desire, intense and raw. It shook her to her core.

  Priscilla King, in her few short months of independence from her controlling mother, had never faced this before, never witnessed a man’s passion for her.

  He eased away from her when the door dinged open. “After you,” he said, gazing at her long and hard.

  She exited, still shaken by his intensity and, more so, by her response.

  He r
eached around her to open one of the glass doors to the executive offices. His other hand landed on the small of her back, guiding her forward.

  Heat seared her where he touched. She gasped.

  Now standing in the empty reception area, she faced him. “Who are you?”

  “Who are you?” he countered.

  “Why won’t you tell me?” She refused to reveal her family name; most people judged her unfavorably once they discovered who her mother was and tarnished her with the same calculating, cut-throat reputation.

  “You first. Or should I just call you fairy, or pixie?”

  “Funny,” she said, not meaning it. Pointing down the hall, she said, “Charlie’s office. Just keep going. It’s the last one, corner office.”

  He bowed slightly. “Thank you.”

  She watched him walk away, irritated at him. Why did he make her feel this way, hot and prickly all over? She did the only thing she could at the moment. Prissy put her hands on her hips and stuck out her tongue at his retreating back.

  Swiftly, he turned, catching her. He chuckled. “You planning on using that?”

  “Drat!” she cursed.

  “Pixie,” he said with a smile in his voice.

  Something low and deep tugged in her middle. Who was he and why did she melt into a puddle when he looked at her?

  ***

  Griffin James strolled down the hallway, feeling the burn of her stare on his back and the imprint of her palms on his chest where she’d touched him in the elevator. Branded. Outwardly, he grinned at catching her sticking her tongue out at him. Inwardly, he wondered why that little pixie had gotten to him.

  A buzz hummed through his body. No woman had ever had that effect on him. Ever.

  From the moment she walked toward him in the salon, his attraction for her kicked him in the gut. She barely came up to his chin. The pink knit dress she wore fit her petite body like a glove, emphasizing her curves in all the right places. He recalled the feel of her soft porcelain skin when he brushed the smudge from her cheek. Her perfume, a subtle blend of floral and citrus, tickled his senses. He moaned now.

  And the way she’d gotten under his skin, calling him grumpy and cold, stunned him. He didn’t allow anyone to breach the protective barrier he surrounded himself with, his line of defense.

  “Focus,” he reminded himself under his breath. “You have a job to do.”

  His momentary lapse of his mission concerned him. Distractions were costly. He couldn’t afford to lose. Not when he was so close. He waited nearly all his life for this. Griff wouldn’t cave now, wouldn’t stop until he got what he dreamed of all the long, lonely nights growing up in foster care.

  Revenge.

  Destroy King’s Department Store. Destroy Mrs. Agnes King, widow of the late Charles King. Just as she destroyed his father years ago.

  Quiet greeted him as he stepped into the subdued waiting area at the end of the hallway. He glimpsed the open door to the inner office. A lone, dark-haired woman at a desk drew his attention, the phone receiver tucked between her chin and shoulder.

  “I promise,” she said. “This will all be over soon.” She listened, and then said, “Can you believe it, Alex? I never imagined this.”

  Something in Griff tugged at the smile that crossed her face. He must have made a noise or given himself away somehow; she jerked her head up and noticed him. She waved him in.

  “Gotta go, my love. My appointment is here. Be home soon.” Hanging up, she shook her head. “Sorry. My husband is getting overprotective, I’m afraid.” She stood up and came around the desk. In stocking feet, she padded to him. “Charlotte King Royale. Please, call me Charlie.”

  He shook her offered hand. “Griffin James. Griff will do.”

  “Thank you for coming in at the last minute.” She directed him to one of the chairs across from the big oak desk as she took her seat again.

  From the photos of her in the newspapers these last few months, he never imagined she’d seem so vulnerable in person. By all accounts, she looked thin and tired. Why did that thought nudge at his conscience? She beamed, though. Was that because of her husband?

  “The reason I asked you to change your interview from Monday to tonight is I received news from the doctor late this afternoon that…well, it makes finding a permanent replacement to take over the running of King’s all the more urgent.”

  He frowned. What could have changed? “Good news?”

  Her smile widened. “I’m going to have twins.”

  Griff let that surprise sink in. It threw him off for half a second. “That does speed things up.”

  “I wanted to give you a chance before I made my final decision this weekend.”

  His gut tightened. “I was under the impression you would need several interviews from the remaining candidates. You have someone in mind already?”

  A stab of guilt chased across her features. Picking up the paper in front of her, she said, “Griff.” She tried out his name. “Your resume is impeccable. Military service. Four years. You don’t go into detail here.” She glanced up then. “Thank you for your service.”

  Unable to speak, he nodded. How could she know serving his country meant a great deal to him? If it were up to him, he’d still be there, shoulder to shoulder with the men in his unit. But fate had intervened. He played the cards he’d been dealt in life.

  “So,” she returned to reading the document, “you worked your way up from the mail room to the boardroom in just a few short years at your first store, you bought it, and then later sold it for a mighty sum, I may add, if my memory serves me. You went on to head three more major retail giants to astronomical sales. You’ve just left the last one to come to Dallas and, I’m assuming, looking to get back into the retail business. Everything checks out, even your references. Oh, I might add, my husband did say he’s worked with you before and has nothing but praise for you.”

  “Alexander Royale.” From Royale Enterprises. He wondered at the irony of unknowingly working in the past with the man who married into the King family, the family that haunted Griff for ages. “He’s good at building upscale shopping malls on time and under budget without cutting corners.”

  At the mention of her husband, her smile lit up her face again. Ah, so it wasn’t a marriage of convenience as first reported in the press. She was definitely in love with her spouse. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

  Somehow, even though her words were kind, he sensed an underlying resistance. “Tell me what the problem is? You’ve just met me and you say Alex is pleased with my work, so I can only deduce it’s the resume or, as you hinted at, you’ve already chosen your replacement.” He found himself holding his breath. This was his dream, to infiltrate King’s, play on its weakness, and then ruin it all.

  Her sigh echoed in the quiet room. Placing the resume on the desk and clasping her hands together, she said, “Frankly, you’re too good. You’re overqualified for the position.”

  “That concerns you? As opposed to being under-qualified?”

  “Ah, under-qualified would either turn to overwhelmed or rise to the occasion. And eager to learn, from my past experiences with people. But overqualified may overlook the smaller market vision, step on our loyal employees’ ideas and input, and rush the changes before this store can find its niche again and grow. Too much, too soon.”

  “On top of being a know-it-all,” he said what she seemed too polite to say.

  “There is that.” Her voice held a grin.

  “It’s a fine balancing act.” He didn’t expect to admire her sound business opinions. But he did.

  “So you understand?”

  “Or select the right person to do the right job.” He leaned back. “Charlie, your store has languished for years. I believe there was reluctance to move forward—”

  “That’s putting it nicely,” she inserted with a groan.

  “Your stepmother, yes?” He even hated to bring up the woman at all, never mind name her. “You’ve done a ni
ce job in the last six months. The store has flourished under your guidance. But you have a long way to go to make it stable. You still own it, don’t you?” He knew she did now, but he’d heard she planned to turn it over to the employees.

  She got up and came around the desk. Angling the other chair toward him, she slipped into it. Charlie tucked her legs underneath her, tugging down the hem of her skirt over her knees. He shifted to face her. Unsure of what her next unexpected move would entail, he steeled himself.

  “Yes.” She brushed her hand over her middle. “The employees are adamant a King remain as the owner. And I find that since I’ve been confined to bed rest for several weeks recently that I imagine keeping it to pass down to my children. They should know their grandfather, his love for this place, the values he taught, know all the people who loved him…” She trailed off, blinking back the gathering moisture in her eyes.

  Why did it choke him up when she discussed her children and what she longed to leave them? “The King legacy?”

  “No, the dream that their grandfather, Charles King, gave his children and his employees. A home. A place to belong. A family to belong to.”

  Something stirred in him at her reverence for her late father. But more so when she spoke of belonging and family. Longing whispered over his heart. He brushed it away. Quiet settled between them.

  “Are you a workaholic?” Her personal question took him by surprise.

  “I focus on the job at hand until it gets done. So, yes, I am.”

  “Do you have a life outside of work? Parents? Siblings? A significant other?” She held up her hands. “It’s not part of the interview and however you answer, it won’t be used for or against you. I’m curious.”

  “No one.” His automatic response didn’t seem to faze her.

  “Are you free tomorrow afternoon, Griff?”

  He frowned. Why would she care or want to know? “Yes.” Even if he’d had plans, he’d change them.