“Ass.” She snickered. “Okay, if you don’t like it, I’ll watch whatever asinine, testosterone TV show you deem worthy of viewing.AndI’ll order food instead of cooking.”
“Deal.” Griffin smiled, and arching an eyebrow, asked, “How do you feel aboutThe Walking Dead?”
She groaned.
Shit.
10
“Fuck that. Deandies?” Griffin demanded, glaring at the rolling credits in disbelief. “What the hell?”
Hayden snickered.
He jerked his scowl from the television to the woman sitting beside him. “That’s bullshit. After all that, they couldn’t find a way to save him? And death bygoddamnhell hounds?”
She stretched, her white tank top lifting and granting him a glance of caramel skin. Still, even that delicious strip wasn’t enough to distract him.
“Careful. One might think you actually became—gasp—invested in the show. That you enjoyed it, of all things.” She widened her eyes, all over-the-top innocence.
Okay, so it’d been good. Better than good. Amazing. They’d started watching in the middle of season three where Sam Winchester was searching for a way to save his brother, Dean, from going to hell. A fate Dean had bartered in exchange for Sam’s life. And after raising his hopes that the brothers would succeed, Dean died of mauling by fucking hell hounds. He was actually…hurt. So he’d wanted them to make it and have a happy ending. It was Hayden’s fault for turning him on to the show in the first place.
Eyes narrowed, he lunged at her, and she shrieked, as he pinned her to the couch. Cuffing her wrists to the couch arm with one hand, he poised the other above her bared belly. “What happens?” When she just offered him a smug grin instead of a reply, he dug his fingers into her skin, tickling her. Her laughter and screams reverberated in the room, and stirred a carefree joy inside him he hadn’t experienced in…a long damn time. “What happens, Hayden?” he repeated, dropping his voice to a menacing growl.
“I’m not telling—” Another shriek erupted from her as she wiggled and twisted, attempting to escape him. “Griff, damn it,” she gasped, laughing hysterically.
Another “Griff.” That made two. Pleasure and triumph escalated in his chest, spreading out like a warm beacon. Last night, when he’d been filling her ass with his cock, she’d called him by his shortened name for the first time since their reunion. She probably didn’t even remember the slip. His dick started to harden as he recalled the passion and lust that had suffused her face while he’d fucked her ass. She was one of those rare women who enjoyed the act. How would she react if he confessed he hadn’t shared that intimacy with any of the women he’d been with? No one but her. Considering what she’d shared with him earlier, she would probably ice him out.
The thought of loving someone to the point of, of such desolation and pain again scares the hell out of me. I can’t give that to anyone again, knowing at any time they could walk away…
Her pain had sliced him open. Especially since he’d been the cause of it. She didn’t trust him. Didn’t entrust anything but her pleasure to him, like last night. And what could he say to ease it? Convince her he would never hurt her again? Never leave her? Both would be lies. Because the reasons he’d left five years ago still remained. There wasn’t a life here in Texas for him. And even if by some miracle she opened herself to him again, here was where she’d built her life out of the wreckage he’d left behind. All they had was now.
Forcing the pain down until later when he was alone, he renewed his torture of the gorgeous, wounded, but strong woman beneath him. “Give up the info, woman, or else—”
His cell phone vibrated against the coffee table. Taylor Swift’sShake it Offpealed, and he released Hayden and grabbed the phone before it could stop ringing. A certain little girl had programmed that specific ring tone into his cell, and though he grimaced at the looks he received every time it blasted, he couldn’t contain his grin. Like now.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted Sarah, warmth and love for her flowing through him. She’d called him every day since he’d been gone, and he missed the hell out of her. He tried not to consider the fear scrounging in his heart that something would happen while he wasn’t there. Closing his eyes, he forced the thought out of his head, afraid the intuitive girl would catch any sadness in his voice.
Striding from the room toward Hayden’s bedroom, he listened to Sarah chatter away about her day, which consisted of treatments and rest but also movies on DVDs, books and video games. Her new obsession was Minecraft, and he laughed as she described the world she was building. By the time they said good-bye ten minutes later, he smiled, but worry edged the joy. Worry for her health, for Jessie and Mary Ann. With Griffin in Texas, Jessie had to man the company on his own, spending more time at work when he should be with his little girl. This devil’s bargain with Joshua affected more than just him. Stole from more than just him.
Sighing, he scrubbed a palm over his face, his beard bristling against his skin. Shit. Only one more week, and then he could return home. Slipping the cell in his pocket, he exited the bedroom and padded back to the living room. Late afternoon rays beamed into the room, highlighting the empty couch cushions. He frowned, scanning the area. Movement from the direction of the kitchen snagged his attention, and he pivoted.
Hayden bent over the dishwasher unloading the dishes that he’d cleaned earlier after breakfast. His frown deepened. Her naturally graceful and sensual movements were rigid, jerky. Nothing of the laughing and relaxed woman he’d left on the couch remained.
“Hayden.”
She didn’t turn around, but continued stacking dishes in the cabinets. “Finished with your call?” The question was innocuous, but the stilted, unemotional tone had him stiffening in alarm.
“Yes.” He rounded the bar separating the rooms and grasped her upper arms, halting her before she could bend down for another plate or cup. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t meet his eyes, instead stared at some point over his shoulder. “Nothing. I—” Her lips snapped shut, and she squeezed her eyes shut, a spasm of pain flickering across her face. Panic punched him in the chest.
“Baby, what is it?”
With a sound somewhere between a growl and a sob, she wrenched free of his hold. “Stop. Don’t.” She turned her head to the side, her thick curtain of curls shielding her face from him. “Who was she?”
The whisper, so low and soft, almost escaped him. Almost. Like a movie reel, he rewound the last ten minutes and hit play, seeing what had occurred through her eyes. Damn. He curled his fingers into a fist, his short nails biting into his palm. To her, it would appear as if another woman had called him. And he’d left the room to speak with her, as if she were important, as if she mattered. Which, of course, she did. Just not as Hayden had assumed.
“Hayden, it’s not like that.” Fuck. He almost cringed. Wasn’t that what every busted man used as an excuse when busted? And from her harsh crack of laughter, she’d obviously thought the same thing.
