the smile - though to him it looked more smarmy than seductive. His precise haircut, tailored clothes and overshouldered physique screamed a guy who'd spent too many years as the pip-squeak in prep school and now sweated too many mornings with his Bowflex machine in a mirrored home gym to make up for it.
"Jane," Ian replied, his gaze running from her mouth to her bare toes, then back to her mouth. Leaning forward, he went for a kiss, but because Griffin didn't release his clasp, Jane couldn't meet him halfway. The guy ended up sort of smooching the air.
It wouldn't be polite to snicker.
But maybe he made some kind of sound, because the other man glanced at Griffin's hands on Jane's smooth skin, then at Griffin himself. "I don't think we've met," he said.
Jane's posture was stiff, her voice only more so. "Ian Stone, this is Griffin Lowell. Griffin, Ian."
Their right hands met in the required shake, but he kept his left on the librarian. Tension was humming through her, so he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Are you ready to go?" He pretended to smile at Ian. "We were just on our way out."
"Oh, but Jane and I haven't been able to catch up yet," he protested. "And we were so very...close for those happy productive years." His gaze transferred back to her, and he made another almost-rude inspection. "But now you look different. I've never seen your hair appear so...unruly."
Wearing a small frown, she raised a self-conscious hand to it. "I'm living by the ocean," she said, touching the soft waves.
Griffin loved her hair. It was natural-looking, the half-tousled strands reflecting every color of sand from wet to dry. Here and there glinted highlights the sun of his cove had coaxed out.
"You don't like it at the beach. You're afraid of the ocean."
"I'm afraid to swim in the ocean."
It was Griffin's turn to frown. He couldn't imagine the governess being afraid of anything. But it was true he hadn't seen her set a toe in the water.
Now Ian's eyes flicked upward once again, taking Griffin's measure. "I didn't know you were seeing someone."
"He's a client," she said, her voice clipped.
"A client!" Ian's brows rose.
Jane's tone was icy. "Yes, I managed to find another one. So I'm pretty busy these days." And then her voice turned scary-sweet. "How's your latest book coming?"
Ian Stone ignored the question to address Griffin. "She's a treasure, Janie is. But slippery. We worked so well together, then one day...poof!"
Griffin wished he and his gut had hustled her out of the party sooner. The undercurrents between his librarian and this other man were murky, and he didn't want the dirt getting anywhere near her or her pretty shoes. Janie, the man had called her. We were so very...close for those happy productive years. Christ, she'd been more than the author's muse.
Much more.
"And here I didn't think you'd miss me at all," Jane said, the edge in her voice sharp. She tilted her head to look beyond Ian. "You were so busy with... I don't think I ever learned your name."
She was addressing a woman that Griffin now realized was standing slightly behind the bestselling author. The man brought her forward with a small flourish, as if presenting a prize. "Deandra."
Apparently Deandra didn't require a last name, or it had slipped Ian Stone's mind. The lady was red-haired, brown-eyed and so thin you could slip her between a door and its jamb, then wiggle her like a credit card to jimmy the lock. Griffin reached out to acknowledge the introduction, and it was like shaking hands with a skeleton.
She might be perfectly nice, but Griffin didn't care to find out either way because Jane's body was finely trembling again. Her skin was cool, too cool under his palm, and he wished they were back at Crescent Cove.
Tee-Wee White couldn't hurt her there, Griffin realized now. Because Jane was romantically wounded already, injured by none other than this arrogant, irritating "literary superstar." Damn! While he'd been smugly congratulating himself on saving her by commanding her to come to this party, he'd managed instead to bring her face-to-face with the man who'd apparently broken her heart.
Jane was going to kill him.
The tense silence that followed seemed to reinforce the idea. But someone had to end the standoff, and so he broke the quiet by announcing they were leaving. Jane didn't protest, but clutched his forearm as they made the short walk to their hotel situated across the