Defy the World Tomatoes (14 page)

He’d sounded so blissfully relieved when they’d spoken last night, but now he wore an expression of such fierce determination that Darcy quickly handed the customer the cardboard box filled with cacti and left the counter. Fearing Griffin’s reviews must have been horrid, she rushed to meet him.

Griffin took her elbows. “I can see you’re busy, but can you spare a minute?”

Jeremy Linden stood within easy reach, and Darcy grabbed his sleeve. “Jeremy, you’ve been here a million times. Will you please show people there’s a price sticker on everything? If there are any questions, call on George or one of the kids. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

The captain’s eyes widened momentarily, but then he shrugged. “Sure, I can handle it. Take your time.”

Griffin dropped an arm around Darcy’s shoulders and steered her out the gate and down Embarcadero toward the beach. He stopped at the sea wall, sat and pulled her between his outstretched legs. He glanced away for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“I lied to you,” he began. “If you want to walk away from me now without even knowing what it was about, I’ll understand.”

The man had a marvelously expressive face, but she’d never seen him this serious when he wasn’t angry with her, which was deeply alarming. “If you’ve been married four or five times rather than only once, I don’t want to know.”

Griffin raised his right hand. “Once, I swear.”

That was a relief, if a small one, but there was no mistaking his sincerity. “Why don’t you just tell me what it was first, and then I’ll decide.”

“Fair enough.” Frowning slightly, he set his gaze just above her right shoulder. “A couple of years ago, I played a concert in Zurich. The next morning, I was approached by an agent from Interpol, who explained they were after a particularly elusive arms dealer named Lyman Vaughn.

“He’s apparently a bloodthirsty sort who would as soon rob and butcher a client as supply arms to him. He’s enormously wealthy and attracts beautiful women by the dozen, but soon tires of them. One of his former lovers told Interpol that Lyman had a greater passion for music than sex, and she mentioned me as his favorite artist.

“Because he moves among the super-rich, Interpol hasn’t been able to get an agent near him, but they believed our paths might cross. Should that occur, they hoped I would assist them.”

Darcy had initially steeled herself for his outrage over a poor review. She was totally unprepared to think of him as a secret agent. “Did they expect you to off the guy when you met him?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

The first hint of a smile snaked across Griffin’s lips. “Piano wire has been used to strangle a man, but that would be rather obvious, don’t you think?”

Darcy was too scared to appreciate his humor. “Is that a yes or a no?”

Griffin shook his head emphatically. “It’s a no. As you’ve observed, I have an excellent memory of everything I hear. Ninety-five percent of cocktail reception chatter is just that, but there’s always a chance that I’ll overhear something useful to Interpol in the remaining five percent.”

Darcy was completely confused. “Where was the lie?”

“You have superb intuition, my love. One of my computers is linked to Interpol. I’m not a full-fledged spook, by any means, but my computer set-up isn’t as innocuous as I led you to believe.”

Darcy focused briefly on a sailboat gliding across the bay. Like so many things, sailing required hard work, but from afar, it appeared effortless and serene. She wished just once her life would take on a similar sense of calm.

She was too shaken by the nature of Griffin’s confession to know what to do, but she slid her hand up his shoulder and took comfort from his warmth. “All right, I’m still listening. What prompted you to tell me about Interpol?”

“I’m getting to that.” Griffin pulled her closer still and took a deep breath. “My Interpol contact always appears as my limo driver. They have my concert schedule and, should they wish to speak to me directly, he just appears at the airport.

“He met me last Wednesday, and this morning, his limo was at the curb when I left my hotel, but my contact had been shot in the head.”

“My God!” Darcy sagged against his thigh, and he caught her waist to steady her.

“That’s what I said. The Seattle police assumed it was a botched robbery attempt, and I didn’t tell them anything different.”

“But won’t they discover that the dead man was with Interpol?”

“He wouldn’t have been carrying a badge, but I’ll alert Interpol as soon as I get home. They’ll send someone to claim the body.”

“You came straight here?” Darcy had wanted him to be pleasantly surprised by how beautifully the landscaping was going, but now such a concern seemed utterly ridiculous.

“Yes. Someone obviously wanted my contact dead. You can connect the dots as easily as I can.”

Darcy sure could, and she swallowed hard. “Whoever wanted him dead knows he was your link to Interpol.”

Griffin nodded. “Right, which means I’m of no further use to them. Now you need to get back to work.” He eased her away and stood. “I realize I’ve probably prompted more questions than answers, but it’s all I know for now.”

He took her hand and walked her back to the nursery, but Darcy was shaking so hard she could scarcely walk in a straight line. “Wait a minute, perhaps this has nothing to do with Interpol. Couldn’t someone have shot a chauffeur, planned to take his place and kidnap you?”

“It’s a distinct possibility. Just who do you think that kidnapper might be?”

Only one name came to Darcy’s mind
—
Lyman Vaughn. She hadn’t taken off the necklace he’d given her, and she touched the golden note for luck. She’d known Griffin was trouble, but she’d never dreamed just how terrifying that trouble could be.

Chapter Eight

Darcy forced herself to walk back into the nursery, but the last hour of business passed in a frantic blur. George locked the gate on his way out, and she stayed while Mary Beth ran the total for the day, but then she hurried home to shower. She doused herself in pumpkin pie spice, yanked on her new Levi’s skirt and, hoping to elevate her mood, pulled on a yellow sweater.

Her hands trembled on the wheel as she drove up to Griffin’s, but she made it safely. When he failed to answer the bell, she could have used the key he’d given her, but she quickly discarded the idea now that he was home. Certain he would be out in his Zen garden anyway, she raced around the side of the house and across the terrace.

The sun had already set, but Griffin was still seated on the bench, silhouetted against the sky’s fading rosy glow. Darcy paused to catch her breath and approached him at a sedate walk rather than a desperate sprint. She sat beside him and reached for his hand.

“I’m scared to death,” she confided in a breathless rush.

His voice was soft. “Then why are you here?”

She had an instant reply. “I thought you might need some backup.”

The absurdity of that notion made Griffin laugh for the first time that day. “Thank you for the thought. The yard looks even better than your sketches, but you must have worked nonstop.”

“Not quite, and we still need to build the arbor, plant the wisteria and suspend the fish. None of that seems important now, though.”

“Oh yes, it does,” Griffin argued. “I don’t intend to look over my shoulder everywhere I go, nor will I turn my home into a fortress. Finish the landscaping, but take your time.”

Darcy hadn’t been sure what he would want to do, but she was grateful for the distraction. “Fine. The wood will be delivered in the morning, and the carpenter is scheduled for the afternoon. I plan to sink the posts in cement, but my crew can handle that chore.”

Griffin nodded thoughtfully, then drew her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “I told you the truth about Interpol for a reason, Darcy.”

His touch again created a magical thrill that sizzled up her arm and twisted down her spine. She shivered with a chill unrelated to the coolness of the evening and struggled to find a lucid response. Tomorrow they would have known each other for two weeks. It was a mere blink of an eye, and yet for her, the time before they’d met had already begun to fade into insignificance.

“Did you really expect me to cut and run?” she asked.

“I’d hoped not, but it might be wise. Because of the concert tour, my life is heavily insured, but it doesn’t follow that I’m not eager to continue living it.

“There’s the outside chance that some crazy fool was trying to car-jack the limo, and that my contact’s death had nothing whatsoever to do with me. I choose to think otherwise, however, and if I’m in danger, then anyone who spends time with me is as well.”

Darcy didn’t even want to go there. “You must have contacted Interpol. What did they say?”

“They’re a coolly efficient bunch and merely advised me to remain calm. They’ll investigate the Seattle shooting and replace my contact. The guy was rather abrasive, but I never expected to find him murdered.”

“That must have been horrible.”

Griffin reached over to pull her across his lap. “I’d rather talk about something else, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t want to talk at all,” Darcy exclaimed.

“Better still,” Griffin murmured as he dipped his head to kiss her.

He tasted of peppermint. His hand rested lightly on her knee, and he had such handsome hands that she wished men still wore fancy lace cuffs. There was something so very sexy about the delicacy of lace against a strong, masculine wrist. Yet she scarcely needed such tantalizing thoughts when she was in Griffin’s arms.

She ran her fingers through his wind-ruffled hair. Shiny and black, it was as fine as silk and yet grew in a thick thatch. She’d never enjoyed merely touching a man as she did Griffin, and she drank in his deep kisses with a thirsty abandon. When he ran his fingertips up her inner thigh, she envied the piano on which he usually lavished his attentions.

“You smell absolutely delicious,” he offered in an appreciative sigh. “If you’ll only name your perfume, I’ll buy it by the gallon so you’ll never run out.”

His lips tickled her throat, and she arched into him. “I told you, it’s my own concoction.” He would surely recognize the scent at Thanksgiving, but until then…

He kissed her with increasing passion, and she wound her arms around his neck to hold him tight. He was rubbing her now, tracing gentle circles over her bikini panties. It felt so good, and she tried not to squirm. Perhaps the thrill of his touch was no more than a trick of chemistry, but when combined with his own artistry, it felt indescribably good.

“You have the most extraordinary hands,” she moaned against his mouth.

“Is that all?”

In Darcy’s view, he also had an insatiable need for praise, but damn it all, he deserved every word of it. His fingertips brushed bare skin now, and she was sorry she’d even bothered to wear panties when they were only in his way. He touched her with such an easy grace, now delving deep to smooth his path with her own inviting wetness.

He stroked her toward bliss, creating a shimmering surge that coiled through her, winding tighter and tighter around his fingers until he deepened his kiss to send her crashing over the edge in tumultuous waves. The blinding ecstasy seared her heart and left her lying limp across his lap, perfectly sated and wonderfully relaxed.

Griffin waited a minute, then stood with her still cradled in his arms. He walked back into the house and upstairs to his bed where he laid her down gently, and slowly removed her sweater, then her skirt, her lime green bra, and last, the matching panties.

“Do you wear such exotic lingerie beneath your overalls?” he asked.

Darcy propped her head on her hand and smiled. “Always.”

“You’re deliberately trying to drive me crazy, aren’t you?”

“Crazy, no. Mad with desire, most certainly,” she revealed in a husky whisper.

Griffin quickly discarded his sweatshirt and Levi’s. He stretched out beside her and drew her into his arms. “Now it’s my turn,” he said.

Darcy rose to push him back into the pillows. “I’d say it’s mine, but as always, we can argue about it later.”

“Later’s good,” Griffin agreed, and he sucked in his breath as she sent a trail of teasing kisses down his chest to his navel. She circled the tender dip with her tongue to make him laugh, then moved lower to straddle his leg.

She needed both hands to grasp his erection and she sucked the velvet-smooth tip into her mouth. He grabbed her hair in such a hasty clutch, she paused to look up at him. “Should I stop?” she asked sweetly.

“Lord, no,” he moaned.

Darcy licked him this time, swirling her tongue around the sensitive ridge of his cock. She felt him shudder and moved lower to lick his balls and, with an exquisite delicacy, drew first one and then the other into her mouth. She knew just where the slight pressure of her fingertips behind them would intensify his pleasure and used it as she again drew his cock into her mouth.

He was too big for her to take deeply, but she knew how to use her hands to stimulate the whole length of his shaft until with a strangled gasp he shoved her aside. Then, with a swift lunge, he thrust into her. He fought for control, but he was too close to the edge to last more than a few hip-jolting strokes before he exploded in a fiery release.

Consumed by pleasure as intense as he’d given her, he collapsed across her. Deeply gratified to have pleased him so, Darcy welcomed the warmth of his weight. She wore a blissful smile when he rose to withdraw, but he was incensed and began to swear.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go bareback,” he claimed abruptly, and he shoved off the bed and strode into the bathroom.

Startled by the harshness of his tone, Darcy sat up. For a brief instant, she considered walking out on him, but when she heard the shower running, she chose to follow him instead. The glass-enclosed shower stall was large enough to hold half a dozen people and was already fogged by steam. She swung the door open and stepped in behind him.

“I’m on the Pill, and I’m positive a man who must be in peak physical shape to earn a living must also guard his health. So no one’s been hurt here.” She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he shied away.

He had his hands braced against the wall, and the water cascaded over his broad shoulders and sluiced down his back in a swift stream. “This time, maybe, but I won’t let it happen again.”

Darcy scooped the soap out of the soap dish and began to wash herself. The soap had a tangy citrus scent she recognized from his skin. “People are supposed to lose control during sex,” she chided. “That’s the whole point of it.”

Griffin shot her a murderous glance over his shoulder. “I’m not a control freak. That’s not what this is about.”

His shampoo was on a convenient ledge, and Darcy helped herself to a dollop and massaged it into her scalp. “No, of course, not. You’re angry about something else entirely, but I’ve no clue what it is. Unless, of course, you don’t enjoy fellatio, or perhaps the way I perform it. That’s easily solved. I won’t do it again.”

This time he turned all the way around and, even with his hair plastered to his forehead, his deep scowl should have terrified her; but she hadn’t followed him into the shower to be meekly frightened away. She swiped a soapy hand across his hairy chest and grabbed hold.

“My God, Griffin, after the day you’ve had, how can not using a condom be all that big a deal?”

He continued to stare at her, his expression clouded with disbelief. “Aren’t you angry with me?”

Darcy moved in close. “Had I wanted to stop you, you’d still be screaming. Do I even appear annoyed, let alone angry? I won’t get pregnant. You won’t catch anything from me, and I sincerely doubt that I’ll catch anything from you. No crime has been committed here.”

Griffin caught her wrists in a soapy vice. “You know damn little about me. I could have slept with each of the women attending last night’s reception.”

“If you did, it’s obvious by your present reaction that you used condoms.”

His voice deepened with menace. “It wouldn’t bother you if I slept around?”

“Of course it would bother me. But you insisted you were no slut, and I believe you.”

“Why? You know how convincingly I lie.”

Yes he did, Darcy thought, but it had been about something he’d undoubtedly been forbidden to reveal. “Don’t think I’m not keeping score. I’ll let you know when you reach your limit.”

Griffin took her warning for the joke it was and turned to shove her under the running water. He laughed as she sputtered and squirmed, then reached around her to shut off the shower.

“You’re so cool, I’ll bet you’ve had sex in showers dozens of times,” he observed.

Darcy slipped her hands around his waist. “I’ve done it, but never with you, and that’s all that matters. Turn the water back on.”

Griffin tilted his head slightly. “Didn’t I just tell you I wasn’t going to get carried away ever again?”

“Yes, and I believe you too, but let’s face it, tonight the damage
—
and there’s none I can see
—
has already been done.”

“You’re wrong, but that’s definitely something I want to argue about later.” He turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature to again bathe them in steamy perfection. They were all slippery, and it added enormously to the fun, but he kept his wits about him to again please her rather than himself alone.

Hours later, Griffin awoke in his own bed in a befuddled daze, but he recognized Darcy, wrapped in a black towel, her hair in savage spikes. She was seated in the doorway of the bathroom reading the Seattle concert review. The necklace he’d given her sparkled in the light and reinforced his conviction that it had been meant for her. He sat up and leaned forward.

“I swear, that is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Darcy looked around, apparently expecting to find something she’d missed. Perplexed not to discover anything new, she sent him a questioning glance.

“I’m talking about you, love. With your hair sticking out like a hedgehog’s, you resemble some punk kid. But that you’d try to read the review without disturbing me, and wrapped in a towel, no less, is damn sexy.”

“Maybe I’m reading the comics,” Darcy responded coyly.

“No way, but the guy went overboard. The flattering comparison to the soaring melody of Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’ makes it sound as though I paid him.”

Darcy sang the words of the familiar hymn, “‘Joyful, joyful, we adore thee, God of glory, God of love’. Is that the tune?”

“That’s it, and you have a lovely voice, by the way.”

Darcy had re-read the review to be certain her own hopes were not magnifying the reviewer’s praise. They weren’t. It was as effusive as Griffin claimed.

“I’ve only heard you play once, but I’ll never forget it. I didn’t realize you had the same effect on everyone.”

Griffin’s grin grew rakish. “Let’s hope, but haven’t you listened to the CD you bought?”