Though the other man was more talk than action, meaning Jane could have handled him herself, Griffin had still gone territorial. Seeing the jerk move in on her, he'd thought, Damn it, I'm tasting her first! and then he'd been doing that. Tasting her.
What had come across his tongue had been berries, rum, surprise and...heat. Shit. All that heat.
And didn't he know that the last thing he needed to add to the mess of his inner life was high temperatures. Or a woman.
Galvanized to get her out of his world - for good this time - he stomped toward her, taking control of his dog and the situation. "I suppose you want to hear me say I'm sorry."
She ignored him to peer around his shoulder. "I thought your name rang a bell when we introduced ourselves yesterday morning, Mr. Monroe. It came to me later. You are the Rex Monroe, yes? The famous reporter?"
Without looking, Griffin could feel the cantankerous antique behind him preening. "Well, young lady, I don't know about famous..."
Griffin rolled his eyes. "Don't get him started."
"It's an honor to meet you, sir," Jane continued, still ignoring Griffin. "I devoured a compendium of 1940s war journalism about ten years ago. I enjoyed your pieces so much."
"Why, you must have been just a baby," Monroe said, sounding pleased.
Jane smiled. "I was a bookworm from birth."
"You bug the hell out of me, anyway," Griffin muttered.
She'd never smiled at him like that. She'd worn a clearly fake one upon their introduction two days before. Last night, after he'd wrenched his mouth from hers, he'd shoved her off and spun away - not knowing if he'd left her spitting fire or beaming with pleasure.
Yeah, he'd pushed her away. And yeah, he supposed she hadn't been too pleased with either that or the way he'd taken it upon himself to lock their lips first. Hers had been as soft as they looked, pillowy like he'd imagined, and they'd opened on the smallest of gasps when he swiped across the seam with his impatient tongue.
Once inside, he'd stroked deep for her flavor, not acting with his usual finesse. He'd just claimed every centimeter of that wet heat as lust had shuddered across his skin in waves. What had he been thinking? She was a pest.
She was governess Jane, the librarian look-alike.
Certainly she was here to slap him.
Resigned to it, he turned his face to the side and tapped his cheek with the hand not gripping Private. "Go ahead. Hit me."
She took a step back, blinking. "What are you talking about? I don't want to hit you."
"You should seize the opportunity," Old Man Monroe advised.
"Can it, you decrepit coot," Griffin called over his shoulder.
Jane blinked again. "Don't you know who you're talking to? This man won major awards for his war reporting. A Pulitzer. He's one of the best of the best."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Greatest generation and all that. It doesn't change the fact that he's been a pain in my ass since I was seven years old."
"A mutual sentiment," his neighbor put in.
"Surely it's time for your daily dose of The Golden Girls," Griffin said, turning his head to glare at the grizzled grouch. "Or maybe you need a nap, old man?"
"If I take one, then that's my prerogative. I'm retired from deadlines, unlike yourself. Don't be lazy."
"Lazy?" His temper yanked its chain like a mad dog glimpsing the mailman. "I spent a year without running water or electricity. A year with flies and firefights and my own filth. A bullet went through my helmet when I was lying on my bunk, and it was hooked on a nail fourteen inches from my own damn skull."
"So sit your keister down and write about it."
"I did, though I suppose you're too senile to read the words. I gave the magazine that sponsored the embed assignment an article every month."
"But now you have the time, the space and the security to analyze the events. Put them in context. Describe how they've changed you. Sex and booze aren't going to take the experiences out of your head, boy."
Boy? Most days Griffin felt a thousand years old. And not that he'd confess to Monroe or anyone else, but booze had fallen off his "Might Work" list. As for sex...that drive had been neutralized after what had happened to Erica. Even before then, when they were bunking with the platoon, there'd been too little alone time and too