talented—she'd find her calling. She impatiently wondered when, but she didn't need someone like Grif pointing out her deficiencies. "Why do you have to write another album? I assume you have enough money to live on an island, drinking from coconuts, for the rest of your life."
"I can't just quit. People count on me. I employ people, and if I don't produce they're out of a job and paycheck."
"You can't be responsible for the world."
"I'm not responsible for the world. I'm just responsible for my corner of it. I'm responsible for my manager, who spends a fortune each month to ensure that his special needs daughter has every tool available to learn and grow. I'm responsible for the musicians who play with me, who work hard to scrape together a living for families while still being true to their calling. I'm responsible to every person who writes me, to thank me for helping them get through a difficult time in their lives with my music. This is beyond me, Nicole."
She gaped at him, shocked at the passion in his voice. In his eyes there was a maturity she'd never seen, and his words weighed heavily with sincerity.
When had she ever felt that sort of passion or drive? Never. Part of her felt bad for all the weight on his shoulders; part of her envied him. "Okay, I understand that you need help to revive your creative juices, but I don't understand why you have to live with me."
"Accessibility."
She didn't think she wanted to be that accessible to him.
"And I need to be away from questions and prying eyes. I need privacy to regain balance. I'm tired, Nic." Grif lifted the hat and ran a hand over his hair. "I need a quiet place away from all the noise my life generates. I need to remember why I loved music in the first place."
His frustration was written all over his face. He looked so lost, her heart broke for him. But how was she going to help him find the path back to his calling when she couldn't do that for herself? She'd been trying to find her own way—unsuccessfully—for so long.
Only he watched her with complete faith and trust that was both humbling and seductive. She liked the idea of being needed, especially by Griffin Chase.
It was a big responsibility. He wanted to live with her. She looked at how he'd filled out and grown up and knew having him crash at her apartment would be an experiment in masochism.
That was never happening.
Except she couldn't turn him away. It didn't matter that he'd been a jerk over the past few years. At one time she'd loved him more than anyone, and she couldn't turn her back on that.
She exhaled. "Okay, I'll help you."
He looked as shocked as she felt.
She cleared her throat. "So let's just get this straight. I help you rediscover your love for music—"
"And find inspiration for a title song for my album," he added.
"Okay." Piece of cake, right? "And then you'll go away again."
"Yes."
She didn't like that he agreed so quickly. It was inevitable, but he didn't have to sound so eager about it. "I have to check with my roommate, but it should be okay for you to crash on our couch for a few days. Come over tomorrow. But it's only temporary, and if Susan objects you're gone."
"You're an angel, Nic." He stepped forward and lowered his head to hers.
His mouth was on hers.
Grif was kissing her.
Her eyes wide open, she stared at him as his lips brushed gently over hers. Then she realized he watched her too, and she closed her eyes really quickly.
Which made the kiss worse, because it made her feel every slow, coaxing nibble.
It was delicious. It was everything a kiss should have been—warm, a little lip, a little tongue. Moist. Making her want more.
It freaked her out. She'd never felt anything like it, and she'd never expected to from Grif. He wasn't touching her and she could feel it all through her body.
When he finally ended the kiss, she wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or sad. Heart pounding, she tried to get herself under control. She bit her lip, trying to get rid of the imprint he'd left. She wanted to set her boundaries and tell him it wouldn't happen again, but she couldn't bring herself to say it.
Puzzled but not wanting to ponder it, she asked, "What was that?"
"We had to seal the deal," he said.
"A handshake is