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Griffin took her hand until they stepped out onto the circular drive. “I hope you’re not ashamed of me.”
His amused grin convinced her that was scarcely a concern. “No, I’m not ashamed of you, nor of anything we’ve done, but let’s keep it private. Now what about placing the fountain in the center of the circular drive? You won’t hear the sound of the water as clearly, but visually it’ll be more interesting than flat against the house.”
Griffin’s gaze never left her face. “Sounds fine. When can you start?”
“First you’ll need to select a design that will complement your home rather than detract from it. May I assume you’d consider a bust of Beethoven too obvious?”
“You may, but I rather like fat dolphins with water spewing from their mouths.”
“They’re popular, but I’ll research the possibilities to give you a choice, but something classical rather than wildly modern would be appropriate. Once you’ve selected the elements, I’ll hire contractors to handle the plumbing, cement and tile work.”
“Great. Now since you don’t appear eager to visit the property I described, when you wrap up here this afternoon, let’s go on up the coast to the Monarch Inn for dinner. We might even spend the night there, if you like.”
Darcy rested her hands on her hips. She still felt flushed all over and would have much rather been taking a long nap on his bed than beginning yet another argument. “This is Monday. I can’t go tearing around the countryside as though I were on vacation.”
“Why not? You have to eat and sleep somewhere.”
“That may be true, but I can’t spend every night partying with you.”
Griffin leaned down to brush her cheek with a teasing kiss. “Sure sounds like fun, though, doesn’t it?”
“You’re incorrigible, but I didn’t say I wasn’t tempted. Could we postpone the visit to the inn until Saturday night?”
Griffin glanced off toward the mountains. “I’ll be in Chicago for the weekend. I’m leaving Thursday morning. But isn’t the weekend your busiest time at Defy the World Tomatoes?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“But you’ll try to work me into your busy schedule?”
She straightened. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? Tell me, when was the last time you loved a man enough to let him into your heart as well as your bed?”
Her first impulse was to slap him so hard the imprint of her palm would grace his cheek for a week. Refusing to resort to violence, she knotted her fists at her sides. “Damn it, Griffin, we’ve both got responsibilities, but I’m doing a whole lot more than merely accommodating you in my spare time.”
Griffin straightened to his full height. “Accommodate me? Is that how you’d describe it?”
Now he was as angry as she was, and that hadn’t been her intention at all. “No, it was simply a poor choice of words.”
His expression didn’t soften. “I explained why my marriage failed, but you’ve told me next to nothing about your relationships. I was hoping that if we got away from Monarch Bay you might open up, but if I’m wasting my time here, I’d appreciate your letting me know it now.”
Darcy glanced at her watch. It hadn’t been twenty minutes since he’d laid her on the counter like some delicious dessert and dived right in. The heat of the memory made her squirm, and she could hardly stand still.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, Griffin, but I don’t like being pushed.”
“Maybe it’s what you need.”
“What I need is to get back to work, but because you’re so damn anxious to learn my secrets, I’ll tell you one. I’ve never had a damn bit of luck with brown-eyed men. Lord knows there are plenty of them, but they have a nasty habit of just passing me right on by.”
“I’d say we’ve broken that jinx,” Griffin mused softly, “and if that’s all you’ve got to confess, I’ll consider myself lucky.”
She opened her mouth and then shut it quickly. She would be damned if she would confess to falling in love with him when they were surely one of the most mismatched couples of all time. “I really should go check on the arbor.”
She took a step toward the path leading to the rear of the house, but couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling she was making a terrible mistake. She paused in mid-stride and turned to face him. “All right, let’s go to the inn tonight. I can’t promise to make any tantalizing confessions, but I’ve heard the food is excellent.”
“It is,” Griffin assured her, and he went inside to work on his compositions while she planted the wisteria vine she hoped would be a lingering reminder of their time together.
The Monarch Inn had been built during the 1920s in the ornate mission revival style to cater to tourists’ fascination with California’s colorful history. The dining room was softly lit by wrought-iron chandeliers and decorated with paintings of California’s spectacular landscapes in heavy gold frames. Mariachis provided lively music on the weekends, but that night, a lone guitarist seated in a dimly lit corner strummed ballads as a romantic undercurrent to the guests’ hushed conversations.
