Beach House No 9 - By Christie Ridgway Page 0,106

and gazed at Griffin. He was lying on his stomach, and his face was turned toward hers. He didn't look little-boy in his sleep. The stubble of his dark beard was too harsh for that. But he appeared rested, and she thought it good that his TV-all-night habit had been broken since she'd started sleeping in the room.

One midnight she'd awoken to find him absent from the bed. Her bare feet hadn't made a sound on the floor, but he wouldn't have heard her, anyway. When she'd found him lying on the recliner in the living room, he'd been clad only in boxers and had had an iPod lying on his bare belly, its buds tucked into his ears. He must have felt her gaze, because he'd opened his eyes.

There'd been weariness in them and a bleakness that she couldn't address with words. So she'd thrown off the T-shirt of his that she'd been wearing, shifted the iPod to the arm of the chair and crawled into his lap. She'd figured he was listening to music that was hard rock or heavy metal and her touch was the antithesis to that. Every kiss gentle, every movement languid, the rhythm when she took him inside her mouth had been slow and measured. All meant to conquer the beast that wouldn't let him sleep.

He'd never left her in the middle of the night since.

Jane was no idiot. She knew that there was danger in their compatibility and propinquity, though he continued to tease her and get annoyed with her and sometimes became mad enough to stomp out of the office. But underlying it all, she thought they had an understanding of each other that she'd never expected to find with a man. She told herself that she was lucky. With a set end point to the relationship, that understanding could never be ruined.

When she left Beach House No. 9, she would leave the laughing, the arguing, the sex, behind. But she could retain it, she hoped, like a little snow globe in her mind. A tableau that she could shake up and revisit: the sand, the cottage, a palm tree and two little figures that were she and Griffin, forever caught in a together moment.

"Jane," Griffin murmured now, his eyes still closed. "Did you know that I can feel your mind at work from here? It's irritating."

His growl chased away the little melancholy that was edging into her thoughts. "Some of us can rub two brain cells together before sixteen ounces of coffee."

"Then if you're so all-powerful, why don't you get up and make that coffee, or, better yet - " he suddenly reached out and grabbed her " - let's find some other kind of cells to rub together."

Squealing, she pretended to fight him off, turning her mouth away from his with a breathless complaint about his morning beard.

He gave an evil laugh. "All the better to make you burn, honey-pie."

"Chili-dog - "

A banging on the front door had them halting midtussle. When the sound came again, Griffin groaned. "I'd know that rat-tat-a-tat-tat anywhere. It's the minions."

The way he said "the minions" in his gloomiest voice made her giggle. "The Cheeto minions?"

"Definitely the Cheeto minions." He was already rolling from the bed, one hand reaching for a pair of shorts he'd left on the floor.

She watched him head for the door, shirtless, and the play of muscles in his back made her sigh. "Griffin..."

He glanced over his shoulder, then his feet stopped moving and his gaze softened. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

More memories for her snow globe. "You," she said. Since it was just for a little while more, she could say it aloud.

"Then let me get those damn kids out of No. 9."

When he didn't return right away, though, she got curious. Pulling on her bathing suit and a beach cover-up, she headed in the direction of the kitchen, from which came the smell of coffee and the sound of male voices. Inside she found Tess's husband at the table with Griffin, who sent her an apologetic look. "David and the boys came over to borrow some milk and..."

And it looked as if the two men were having a serious talk. She could see Duncan and Oliver on the deck outside, still dressed in their pj's and tossing the plastic jug of milk back and forth. "Why don't I see that the beverage gets safely next door," she said. "I'll take the boys with me."

On her way past him, Griffin

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