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“I’d prefer tips on what to do with him.” Darcy cracked her cookie in half and pulled out the paper fortune. She scanned it quickly and began to laugh. “Get promises in writing. How apropos. What does yours say?”
“You will get a lucky break,” Griffin responded. “I’d say I already have. What if I look for a new building for you? Would that make dating me easier to bear?”
Darcy reached for her tea and took a long swallow. “I wonder if that’s one of the promises I should get in writing.”
“Probably not. After all, I just offered to look, not to provide a new location.”
“True.” Darcy watched a sly smile play across his lips and wished he would kiss her again. She knew if she were to return to his lap, he would, but she remained seated in her chair.
“You’re used to getting your own way,” she cautioned, “and people have noted that I tend to be a bit stubborn.”
“Clever observation, but like every couple, we each have flaws.” Griffin stood and began clearing the table. “Let’s put the leftovers in the frig, and then I’ll help you with the dishes.”
A man who did dishes. Darcy shook her head in amazement. “No way. You brought dinner, so I’ll handle the clean up.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“I’m not sure what I want,” Darcy confessed truthfully.
“Then it’s definitely time for me to go.” He brushed her cheek with a quick kiss and headed toward the door.
“Wait a minute.” Darcy left her chair, but lingered beside the table. “Now I feel as though I’ve said the wrong thing.”
Griffin took a step toward her. “When you compliment the passion in my music, I can forgive you almost anything.”
“You can forgive me? Is there no end to your arrogance?”
Griffin crossed the distance between them and looped his arms around her waist. “Probably not,” he confessed with a deep chuckle. “Just kiss me good-night, and I’ll leave you to the dishes.”
It was impossible to argue with a man who acknowledged his faults, and Darcy reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him. She was soon lost in his embrace and, once again, he was the one to end the dozen kisses that had followed the first. She couldn’t think clearly with him so near, only long for more, but she refused to beg.
Griffin waited for her dazed gaze to clear and then stepped back. “I can see what you’re thinking, but I doubt I’d fit in your bed.”
“Your imagination has to be better than that.” Darcy struggled to stifle a yawn and failed. “I’m sorry. We had a really busy day.”
Griffin caressed her cheek tenderly. “Why don’t you come home with me? Then you’d be there tomorrow morning.”
Darcy shook her head. “It’s too soon.”
“Can’t be soon enough for me,” Griffin whispered against her kiss-swollen lips.
The man always smelled good and tasted better. She slid her arms around his waist and held on as his kisses melted away all thought of resistance. She was dizzy with desire when, with a gentle hug, he briefly lifted her off her feet, while he scarcely seemed affected by her affection.
“Come to my house at eight o’clock, and I’ll make breakfast for us. We can eat out on the terrace and pretend we’re in Italy.”
Darcy tried to breathe deeply enough to form a coherent reply. “Fine, but the view of the Pacific will be enough for me.”
He squeezed her hands and this time made it through the door before he looked back. “Don’t stay up too late.” He winked and was gone.
Darcy slumped back down in her chair. Griffin turned her insides to jelly, but her head was still telling her to slow down. She knew it was wise to make romantic decisions with her heart and business decisions with her head, but he mixed her up so completely she couldn’t separate her emotions from her anxious thoughts.
“It’s the damn brown eyes,” she finally swore, and it took her a long while to gather the strength to do their few dishes.
Darcy awoke a dozen times during the night. In an attempt to soothe her jangled nerves, she got up and made herself another cup of tea. But when she crawled back into bed and fell asleep, she was awake again within the hour.
It was all Griffin’s fault. What he offered was adventure of the most intoxicating sort, but as she lay in her rumpled bed, she longed for a steady soul mate rather than a famed pianist who would surely use her up and spit her out before she’d learned the names of his favorite composers.
By the time her alarm went off at seven, she was relieved to get up. She made her bed, showered and washed her hair, then searched her closet for something Griffin hadn’t already seen. At last she found a pale green velour sweater and matching jeans she’d worn last spring and forgotten.
