He was dimly aware of Private settling on the deck beside him with a thump and a canine sigh.
"I was about to confess I'm a dog," he said, reaching out to stroke the Lab's fur, "but that would be an insult to you, my friend."
He'd been hard on Jane. Used her as a way to empty himself. It made him no better, he thought, than that asshole, The Author Ian Stone. But she hadn't complained, had she? Everything we did - I loved it.
Because she thought she was in love with him. Jane hadn't said the words out loud. She'd stopped herself, and yet the truth of it was written all over her face for anyone who knew her as well as he did.
Her "I love you" had hovered between them in the sex-scented air. It had horrified him then and made him sick to recall now. His intention had never been to engage her heart - he didn't deserve it, and he was sure she wasn't thrilled about it either - but those big silver eyes of hers couldn't lie.
Yeah, she was in love with him, and that's what he really didn't want to talk about.
Just thinking about it made him restless. He sat up. "I'm going," he told the dog. "If Stone's not taking no for an answer, then I can provide Jane some backup. I'll be happy to see him on his way."
Griffin considered putting on nicer clothes. The Asshole Author Ian Stone had looked as if he was ready for a photo shoot. But then Griffin shrugged. His ragged jeans and soft shirt printed with pineapples and naked wahines might have seen better days, but, hell, so had he. It took a moment to slip into his second-best flip-flops and then he was ambling down the sand toward the restaurant.
"She'll be grateful," Griffin said aloud, addressing a seagull picking at a mound of drying kelp. "It'll be my small attempt at paying her back." For the way she made him laugh, for that annoyed little squint of her eyes when he was teasing her, for those ridiculously frilly shoes and fascinatingly plump mouth.
For the great sex.
Yeah, he owed her a lot for that.
It was conch-shell time at Captain Crow's. From his Party Central days, he recognized most of those crowded on the beach saluting the martini flag. As they all climbed back up the steps to their tables and drinks, he joined them, and was immediately tugged into a free chair.
A beer was shoved in his hand. A girl in a bikini plopped onto his lap and slid an arm around his neck.
A month ago, life wouldn't have been any better than this, but now he could only think of Jane. He slid out from under the pretty girl and surveyed the deck for his pretty girl. Yeah, she wasn't really his, of course, but she certainly didn't belong to The Smug Author Ian Stone.
That's exactly how he looked too, gazing on Jane as if he knew all her buttons and exactly how to push them. Griffin would bet a billion bucks that the other man didn't know how Jane took her coffee - one dollop of half-and-half and a stingy sprinkle of real sugar - how she liked her pencils - sharpened to the point of battle-readiness - how sweet she looked in the morning wearing only the perfume of lovemaking and a pillow crease.
He stalked to their corner table. Without looking at the other man, he addressed Jane. "Hey, I've been waiting for you back at No. 9."
Her expression was cool. "I thought you'd be busy packing."
"And we're busy having a private conversation," The Annoying Asshole Author Ian Stone put in.
Griffin showed him his teeth. He didn't believe either of them would call it a smile. "Let me make it a much shorter conversation. She said no. Goodbye."
"I want to work with her again," the other man started. "It's a good offer."
"And I'm considering it," Jane put in.
Griffin stared at her. "Are you kidding me? This guy's a smarmy hack who treated you like crap when he had you."
"That's number one New York Times bestselling hack to you," Stone said in his snobby voice.
"This isn't about what you write, okay? This is about Jane." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Is this because your father gave him some sort of endorsement?"
She waved that away with a sour look on her face.
Griffin's stomach was sour. Sour with the idea of Jane working with this man.