Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series) Page 11

  Griff moaned. He tugged the silk down. It slid along her body and pooled at her hips. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Beautiful,” he murmured. He cupped her left breast in his palm and lowered his mouth. When he licked the hard nub, she jerked in response. He showered her with kisses and suckled on her.

  ***

  She grasped his head close. “Griff,” she choked out as another bolt of electricity shot from where his mouth settled to the ache growing in intensity between her legs.

  He continued his sweet torture, giving both of her breasts attention. His big hands caressed her, sliding from her waist to her back, and then her bottom, now to her legs. He worked his thumbs over her inner thighs, growing closer to where she pulsated. The slightly roughened skin on the pads of his thumbs only stirred swirls of desire low and deep in her middle.

  Anticipation gathered as he drew near. Impatient, she pulled at the nightie, skimming it up her body and over her head. “In the way,” she murmured, tossing it to the bed. “Kiss me,” she half asked, half commanded.

  “My pleasure.”

  His low, deep voice strummed through her. In the middle of his kiss, she inched her hips closer to him still and gasped as his hot, hard, long flesh throbbed against her. “Griff! Why does it feel good and hurt at the same time?”

  “It’s supposed to. Agony and ecstasy,” he said, now drawing his thumb closer to her. He brushed it over her.

  Priscilla’s body jerked. She moaned.

  “Again?”

  “Yes,” she barely answered. “More.”

  He did, with a light touch. Griffin groaned. “Sweet Jesus, you’re so wet.”

  His passion fueled hers. His hands touched, caressed, and slid over her.

  “Look at me,” he said softly.

  Opening her eyes, she stared into his desire-filled gray eyes. His thumb stroked her, dipped inside and returned to tease her. Her pants filled the air. His gaze mesmerized hers as his hands worked magic. Desire swirled, building, then eased, and then built again. He’d had her aching, the pain and pleasure growing inside. “Griffin?”

  “Almost there,” he promised.

  Just as he said the words, she felt it—the sweet, agonizing explosion. She moaned, loud and long. Heat and white light collided and rained down in and through and all around her.

  If he hadn’t been holding her, she’d surely have fallen.

  She couldn’t have known how long he held her or when she sagged against him, but all she knew was his arms sheltered her, allowing her to fly and float, and then return to Earth again.

  With her head resting on his good shoulder, Priscilla became aware again. His thick hardness still jumped against her, thumping and bringing her desire back to life. She kissed him, trailing her lips over his flesh, up his neck, along his jaw and finally to his waiting lips. “Show me. How do I give to you?”

  He groaned against her lips, the vibration making her insides tumble all over again. Gently, he shifted her off him and to her back. He followed, covering her. He paused. “It might hurt, for a little while.”

  Her heart turned over; he was still trying to protect her. “It hurts now. It hurts to want you and not know what it feels like to have you inside me.”

  His moan echoed through her. Nudging her legs wider, he guided himself into her. He eased in. The fullness of him shocked her, but she tugged at his waist, drawing him in even when it stung. She sucked in a sharp breath and held it, squeezing her eyes shut. He stilled, raining kisses over her face.

  The pain eased. “It’s all right now,” she whispered.

  He throbbed inside her, fueling the licks of desire reaching out inside her again. They spread when he moved his hips. He coaxed her to join him, teaching her how to move with him in a slow, sensual dance. Their hot breaths mingled as their bodies clung together. His strokes—long, slow, and deep now— caused heat to gather, the flames spreading the fire to encompass her.

  “Griff,” she moaned out his name as another wave approached.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he said. “Fly with me.”

  Priscilla put her legs around him and hugged him close as he sped up. She clung to him, rising higher and higher. Then just as he arched his back and groaned deeply, she burst into white, hot flames, flying high. He joined her.

  She had no idea how much time passed, but she was in his arms again, Griff tucking her close to his side. “Damn, Pixie,” he murmured with a smile in his voice. “I never knew what it was like to fly that high.”

  Priscilla smiled, a secret thrill rushing through her. “I like give and take,” she said, recalling his explanation for making love to or with someone.

  She dozed off to the sound of his soft chuckle rumbling beneath her ear. If she had known how delicious this felt, she’d have agreed to marry him much sooner.

  Chapter 15

  Priscilla padded barefoot into his kitchen, hitching up the shoulder of his white shirt she wore. It came down almost to her knees. His scent, still embedded in the fabric, teased her senses. Another low ache hummed through her depleted body.

  Griff strolled in behind her, clad only in his jeans. She looked away, because all she wanted to do was touch him, all over, again.

  “I’m starving. I was so nervous all day I couldn’t eat,” she said, yanking open the refrigerator door. Only a few things were there. “Do you cook?”

  “The basics. You?”

  “Nothing. I can barely boil water.”

  “Quite a pair,” he murmured, shaking his head. He nodded to the contents. “There’s bread and cheese. Grilled cheese?”

  “Sounds good to me.” She handed him the items.

  “Butter’s on the door.”

  The simple domestic activities heightened her awareness of him. His fingers brushed hers as she handed him the ingredients. His hot stare shafted through her. And, when she followed his directions where to find plates, she bumped into him. Reaching out, he steadied her, but not before she put her palms on his bare flesh. His swift intake of breath matched hers.

  She never knew the effect she could have on someone or they could have on her. “Griff,” she whispered.

  “Do you know how damn sexy you look in my shirt?”

  “Do you realize how damn sexy you are without one on?”

  “I want you.” His voice, low and deep, drummed an invisible chord in her middle. “Again.”

  Standing on tip-toe, she placed a soft, gentle kiss on his lips, lingering there. “What’s stopping you?”

  He groaned. “Pixie.” His hands came around her waist, lifting her. Priscilla grabbed onto his shoulders. “Wrap your legs around me.”

  Without hesitation, she did. “I like when you tell me that.”

  Griff held her with little effort, and then carried her backwards until he put her down on the counter, still connected. “There’s something else you should know.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, watching the hypnotic way his lips moved.

  “There are different kinds of lovemaking. Slow and long—”

  “Like we just did.” She swallowed. “Or what? Fast?”

  “And hard. Both have their purpose.”

  “Show me the difference,” she said, already covering his mouth with hers.

  ***

  A loud, sharp meow rent the air. It brought Griff back to the moment. His legs were weak, but he still held her close to him.

  “I like them both,” she said in a low voice that tickled his senses.

  He groaned, but set her back on the counter. He adjusted his jeans and, with infinite care, buttoned up the shirt she wore—his shirt—more than half-way to stop him from wanting more. Tiny thrills still danced in his veins. Stop him from wanting her? That could never happen.

  The meow came again, louder. “Tabby,” she said, slowly pulling away.

  Helping her down, he caught her when she wobbled. He tugged her to him, and then dropped a swift kiss on her lips. “It seems you’re not the only one who’s starving.”


  She giggled. “I do seem to have a rather large appetite.”

  “Pixie,” he warned, but the low hum in his middle strummed. He already couldn’t get enough of her. What would it be like when their time together came to an end?

  ***

  The next afternoon, Griff halted the Vette in front of Charlie’s house. He watched Priscilla gather her pink tote. “It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, at the most.”

  “You’re dedicated to King’s. My family will definitely understand. It’s so sweet they want to celebrate our wedding, though, with this impromptu reception, isn’t it? Even after we sprang it on them.”

  “I’m surprised no one objected.” His concerns had disappeared when Charlie had come to him and gave him her blessing just moments before the ceremony.

  “Now you’re family. Part of my family.” Priscilla smiled, leaned over and kissed him quickly. She made to leave, but he stopped her.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. He tugged her close, and then kissed her, a long, slow, deep kiss that made him think twice about leaving her.

  When he finally pulled back, her desire-glazed green eyes stirred another blaze of heat through him. But, he looked closer, witnessing something else, something more breathtaking. Love.

  He was still shaking when he watched her make it to the door, turn and wave. Dolly let her in, hugging her and waving at him, too. Only when the door closed behind them did Griff check the side mirror and pull out onto the road.

  Family. Love. Those two words hadn’t been in his vocabulary for a very long time, if ever. When he interviewed for the job, Charlie had said she thought he needed a family. How ironic that it turned out to be the King family welcoming him with open arms. Priscilla had opened her heart to him, too.

  When Charlie had said her father’s dream was to give his children and his employees a home, a place to belong, a family to belong to, it had tugged at him. It echoed in his mind.

  Something hard and cold dropped in his gut. And the King family wouldn’t be his for long, not after what he was about to do. The chain reaction would reverberate. Priscilla, his pixie, would ultimately suffer at his hands. Now, his middle clenched and his heart ached.

  ***

  Griff stopped by the store, checking on each department. There were a few fires to put out, but nothing serious. It was Saturday and he was surprised to see that many shoppers for a non-holiday, sunny weekend day. After the recent bad weather, most people would take advantage of the rare opportunity to be outdoors. The beauty bar had been a hit and now, walking by the glass doors, he saw the many ladies being helped. The ad for more stylists would run in tomorrow’s paper.

  His tour, brief and effective, provided two things. One, he’d made his presence known to the employees; he wasn’t above coming in on his day off. And two, more importantly, he hadn’t lied to Priscilla about going to King’s.

  The fewer lies he told her the better.

  ***

  Griffin cut the engine a few blocks away. He pulled out his cell phone and found the number he added there from Priscilla’s phone. He punched the button. It rang twice.

  “Hello.” Her voice seemed slurred.

  “Agnes King,” he said, highly aware of the granite-like stone sitting in his chest.

  “Who is this? How did you get my number?”

  “We spoke a few nights ago. You want something from me.”

  She gasped. “Mr. James.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “My butler is here.”

  “Get rid of him.” He clicked the phone off.

  With trepidation, Griffin exited the car, locked it, and then hiked the two blocks to her home. The pristine streets and sidewalks, perfectly groomed lawns, and large mansion-like houses brought back memories of the prominent neighborhood he’d grown up in. Buying and living in his childhood home hadn’t brought the relief he sought. It wasn’t the building he’d missed. It was his father.

  Now, more than ever, his vow drummed in his heart. He’d enact his revenge and be through with it. He had no idea what would be left standing after it was all said and done.

  A door slammed in the distance. He watched as a car backed out of a driveway up ahead. He slowed near a tree as the vehicle went by. The butler, he assumed, and then continued his walk to the King residence.

  She opened the door before he even had a chance to ring the bell. Fluffing her blonde updo, Mrs. King smiled tightly at him. “What a pleasure.”

  Staring into the cold, dark eyes of the woman who’d assassinated his father’s reputation, Griff shoved the hollow feeling aside. “I can’t say the same.” He told the truth.

  Her hand fluttered in mid-air, and then she dropped it to her side. “Come in, please.”

  Griffin crossed the enemy’s threshold, drawn out of a mixture of duty and curiosity to the world he’d been barred from so long ago. Faux gold trim and marble floors echoed wealth from days gone by and little else.

  “We’ll talk in the parlor,” she said, leading the way. Her long, black satin dressing gown swept the floor. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked, heading toward the row of bottles on a nearby table.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “More’s the pity,” she murmured, pouring herself one. “Please sit.” She waved a hand to the sofa.

  He took the chair, forcing her to perch on the old- fashioned settee.

  “So you’ve come to your senses,” she began. “I’m delighted we can do business. You have kept me waiting though.” She tsked. “Not very nice of you.”

  “I’m not a nice person.”

  That made her rear back. “The least you can do is be civil,” she scolded.

  “I’m not civil, either.” Not when it comes to you.

  She made a noise in the back of her throat. “Very well, then. Have you done as I’ve asked?”

  “No.” He took great delight in her stunned expression.

  Mrs. King took a large sip of the amber-colored liquor. “And why not, may I ask?”

  Should he toy with her some more? “I have my own plan.”

  A tremor shot through her hand. She lowered her glass quickly, clasping it in both her hands to apparently keep it steady. Her neutral features hid what her eyes revealed. Fear.

  He leaned back, crossing his right ankle over his left knee.

  She swallowed. “And what kind of plan is it? It must include me or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re at the center of it.”

  “Really?” She blinked several times. “How so? I no longer own King’s…” She trailed off, avoiding his gaze.

  That had made his work more difficult. All these years, Griffin focused on taking her down by destroying King’s Department Store. He altered course when she sold it unexpectedly. He’d gain access, still ruin it and painstakingly bit by bit, attach her name to the demise. She’d never be welcomed in the high society she clung to ever again.

  However, once he met the King daughters, witnessed their devotion and passion to honoring their late father, Charles King, Griff’s intentions flew out the window. Mrs. King’s slow, brutal fall would only bring shame and disgrace on the King name and especially the daughters who’d done nothing wrong other than to have her for a stepmother and mother. The sins of the mother…

  They deserved better.

  He could give that to them. But at a very steep price.

  “Must you make me wait any longer?”

  “I will make King’s more successful than you ever could.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she sputtered. “I refuse any part of it.”

  “Refuse?”

  “Yes, absolutely. This was not part of our plan.”

  “Your plan,” he corrected. “I never agreed.”

  She paled. Her mouth opened and closed. “How dare you lead me on, Mr. James. How dare you come into my home and disrespect me.”

  Griffin held her furious stare. He felt nothing. That frightened him. Who would he be
without all that pent-up fury toward her he’d carried for all these years? He pressed onward with his mission. He’d get it back and gain the satisfaction of her fall from grace. “Your home? Isn’t it the King home?” he drawled. Her eye twitched. “Isn’t it the family home?”

  Sticking her chin out, she snapped, “Of course.”

  “Your daughters’ home, also?”

  She fidgeted with her hair again.

  “I would say that’s a yes.” He knew somewhere there was a will that said exactly that and a great deal more. Years ago, on the instructions of Charles King, his father had drawn up the document. Bruno had validated the existence of it, although he’d never physically seen it. Now, Griffin just had to find it. In the meantime, he’d ensure his own success by doing the one thing that no one, especially Agnes King, could deny. He’d married her daughter, gaining access to the family in a way he never imagined. As Priscilla’s husband, he’d force Mrs. King to comply with the terms of the bogus will she’d waved in everyone’s faces all these years.

  “I think we’re done.”

  “Not quite, Mrs. King. Or would you prefer I call you Mother now that Priscilla and I are married?”

  “What?!” She shot to her feet, dropping her glass. The liquid spilled on the expensive Oriental rug.

  Griffin smiled all the way to the door.

  Chapter 16

  Priscilla knew the moment Griffin arrived; she felt his forceful presence. Turning, she met his stare across the room. “Excuse me, Mrs. Royale,” she said to Alex’s grandmother.

  “Of course, dear.”

  He stood in the doorway, half in and half out of the festivities, keeping himself apart. Something deep inside her tugged. Going to him now, she smiled, stood on tip toes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I missed you,” she said, meaning it.

  His warm, strong arms held her close. He buried his face in her neck, sighing. “Me, too, Pixie.” His raw, gruff voice made her wonder if he’d run into something difficult at King’s.