find Jane was seated beside him. He jumped, dropping the tool. When he reached for it, so did she, and their fingers tangled.
Their gazes met.
He'd been avoiding that, looking at Jane. The only thing worse would be -
"We should talk about it," she said.
- would be talking about it! His fingers convulsed on hers. "Why? I get it. Your defenses were down because you'd been drinking. My libido was up because I'm a guy."
Her fingers jerked away from his to clutch the hem of yet another of her maddening, floaty skirts. Gauzy and delicate, they made his palms itch to rip, to reveal, to ride between her slender thighs. "I don't know what you mean by me drinking."
He rolled his eyes. "Last night you tasted like tequila and lime, honey-pie." Feeling sorry for the birthday girl, he hadn't rubbed it in.
She swallowed. "I turned another year older. So..."
"You don't have to explain." What the hell was the point of discussing it? It would only serve to bring it all up in his mind. He'd been in a hell of a temper himself, on edge from his meeting with Brian, from the memories that were intruding more and more often.
Bright red. Cherry-red. The red of new blood.
It wasn't supposed to be this way! He was cold inside, desensitized, but nobody would leave him alone. All this talk, talk, talk kept rattling him.
Jane's mouth primmed.
That mouth.
He wrapped his fingers around the hammer and turned back to the task at hand. Nail pierced wood, and he sank it deep, as deep as he wanted to put all the thoughts that kept hammering at him day after day. The war. Erica. Bright red, cherry-red, the red of new blood, Brian.
"Griffin..."
And Jane. Who could have foreseen the fire under that governess guise? And why the hell did he want to touch it so very much? Gage was the real risk taker in the family. But Jane made Griffin want to put his hand in the flame and hold it there.
The burn would make him feel so damn alive.
But he didn't want to feel at all!
"Look," she was saying in her librarian voice. It was hushed but impossible to ignore. "I know that I... Uh, that I..."
"Came like a rocket at the flick of my finger?" He could feel her blush, even with his back turned. "Don't be ashamed, honey-pie. I suppose some men would find it gratifying."
She made a strangled sound. "Do you have to be so...so crude?"
Yes. Because it would be effective in pushing her away, and he needed to do that, he'd decided. Jane was so much sweet damn trouble under her frothy skirts and prim blouses. While he admittedly ached to get into her body, she'd use it as an excuse to get into his head. And though the explosive chemistry between them could knock her straight out of her crazy, girlie shoes, and while he was more grateful than he could say to know that he had a working cock again, he'd learned some lessons through war.
He'd never been armed during his embed year, but weapons had surrounded him all the same. One slow afternoon the soldiers had convinced him he needed to know how to handle every weapon at the outpost. He'd actually touched them many times already - moving a grenade someone inadvertently had left on his pillow or handing a platoon member his M4. But that day he'd learned to load and shoot and had been fascinated by the power in his hands. Maybe it was a man thing, a testosterone-driven interest in a tool, a gadget, but whatever the seductive lure, touching them like that had set his heart hammering. That's when he'd thought better of what he was doing. That's when he'd set down the rifle he was holding and backed slowly away, aware that keeping it too close would change him as a man.
Jane was like that. With her in his hands, he'd be changed...he could see her cracking him open like a nut, and he couldn't risk any of what was in there leaking out.
"I should have known you wouldn't engage in a civilized conversation," she muttered now. "Not even about this."
"You want a conversation?" He swiveled on the step and pinned her with his gaze. She'd been standing out in the sun long enough for the tip of her nose to turn pink. He curled his fingers into a fist so he wouldn't touch her there. Or anywhere. "Jane, here's the bottom line.