Five years had brought some changes. At twenty-five, Griffin had been leaner, with the hard, beautiful body of a man who spent time in a gym to let off steam. But at thirty, his wide shoulders that blocked out her view of the room behind him, rock solid chest and thick arms put her in the mind of someone who spent less time on a treadmill and more on the sites of his construction company. Those were sweat-and-back-breaking-labor muscles.
But some things had remained the same. The impossibly blue eyes that were all the more brilliant because of his sun-kissed skin and bright hair. The wide, almost-too-full-for-a-man mouth that saved his face, with its chiseled, elegant planes and lines, from verging into pretty boy territory. He still resembled an angel about five minutes after it’d fallen: beautiful and fresh from sinning.
No, she took that back. Now he was more like the huge, powerful, golden mythological creature he’d been named after. A gryphon. Half lion, half eagle. Fierce. Dominant. Stunning in its beauty and just as terrifying.
“Hayden,” he murmured, breaking the quiet that had grown deafening with each passing second.
Just that. Not “It’s been a long time.” Not “How the hell are you?” Or even a “What the fuck are you doing here?” Just her name. She smothered a hard crack of laughter. What had she expected, really? Him to fall out of his chair, delirious with joy to see her? He’d exorcised her out of his life like she hadn’t existed. That spoke volumes.
Inhaling a deep breath, she dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “It’s good to see you.”
He arched a dark brown eyebrow. “Is that right?”
The lie had pretty much scalded her tongue, and from the faint, wry twist of his lips, he’d guessed as much. “I figured it was the polite thing to say.”
“Polite.” He picked up the brown beer bottle on the bar in front of him, and tipped it to his lips, his hooded gaze remaining fixed on her. “I’d say we’re far past manners.”
With another sip from his bottle, he slowly scanned her from the top of her by now Fight the Power, afro-thick curls over her white T-shirt and skinny jeans, and down to her stylish wedges that added three inches to her five foot four frame. She fought not to flinch under the slow, thorough perusal that knew every inch of what existed underneath the clothes. And when his scrutiny settled back on her face, she forced herself to meet his hooded stare.
Nothing. No curiosity. No anger. No…heat. Whatever thoughts or feelings at seeing her broiled in his head, they were his own. The Scattered, Smothered, Diced and Peppered whore running a healthy business in the bathroom would’ve probably received more of a warm welcome.
Damn, it shouldn’t sting that her appearance after a five year absence didn’t even register on his reaction radar.Shedidn’t warrant a reaction.
“I couldn’t agree more.” She pasted a smile on her mouth that probably resembled Mike Tyson’s right before he went for Evander Holyfield’s ear. “Your father sent me to find you.”
Now that got a reaction. If possible his features hardened further, the chiseled lines appearing to be carved from unforgiving rock. His eyes chilled, the blue freezing to ice chips. A fine tension invaded his body, and as he set his beer on the bar top, the movement was controlled, deliberate. Predatory.
Suddenly, she was very thankful they were in a bar full of people.
“Care to explain that?” he asked. No, the flinty note in his voice demanded.
The pain sucker punched her, catching her right in the chest before she could defend herself. The memory of the last time he’d said those exact words crashed into her, flinging her to the night he’d fucked her then left. She inhaled, breathing past the shards of pain slicing deep. He doesn’t have the power to hurt you anymore. You don’t love him.
“Just what I said. Your father sent me here to find you. I work for him,” she said, her voice only slightly husky with the effort of keeping her “Go to hell” scream inside her.
“You work for Joshua,” he repeated, anger flickering in his gaze though his voice maintained the bland steadiness she envied. Of course he probably saw her being associated with his father as a bigfuck you. Like her decisions about her life revolved around him. “Color me surprised. What do you do for my father?”
“I’m his personal assistant.” And a damn good one. Joshua Sutherland wasn’t known for sentiment, so he hadn’t awarded the job to his former housekeeper’s daughter out of the kindness of his heart. She’d busted her ass to rise to the position. Working for one of the most successful and wealthiest business men in Texas—a man who was also running for governor—was only the first step in her 10-year career plan.
“Hmm.” He propped an elbow on the bar and picking up the bottle again, dangled the neck between his fingers. “You’re not his usual type. Or has Joshua given up on the thin, blonde, just old enough to buy alcohol, and with an IQ smaller than their bra size type in the last few years?” He didn’t wait for her response, but continued in that same mocking drawl. “I hope so, because, frankly, you’re an improvement. Oh, but wait… He fucked the others. Are you fucking Joshua, Hayden?”
The verbal slap stole the breath from her lungs on an agonized gasp. She shot to her feet, almost pitching forward with the sharp momentum. Fuck him.Fuck. Him.
She’d taken two steps past him before his hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. No! The objection shrieked in her head as his skin seemed to brand hers, dragging memories kicking and screaming from the vault of her mind.
Memories of his fingers cuffing her wrists, holding her arms above her head as he pounded inside her with a fierce wildness that marked her pussy and her soul. Of one hand tangled in her hair, holding her steady, while the other fisted his cock, feeding it to her slowly. Of his fingertips pressed into her thighs, spreading her wide for his greedy mouth.
“Let me go,” she snarled, jerking at his grasp. “You don’t get to judge me. And you damn sure don’t get to touch me.”
“Sit down,” he snapped, his grip unrelenting. When she didn’t obey him, his eyes narrowed, and she detested the arrow of lust that pierced her sex. Detested him for making her feel it, remember it. “Sit. Down. Hayden.”
Every cell in her body longed to tell him to eff off, but she had a job to do. The sooner she accomplished her task, the sooner she could get the hell away from him for at least another five years.
Sliding back onto the stool, she directed a pointed stare down at his long, hard fingers still manacling her wrist. Several moments passed before he slowly released her. With Herculean effort, she refrained from rubbing the skin that tingled and burned from his touch.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” The harsh planes of his face didn’t soften with the apology. “Why are you working for Joshua?”
She didn’t owe him an explanation; she didn’t owe him shit. Not that she worked for his father as some sort of “Fuck you” to Griffin. That would mean she cared. That he influenced her decisions. And the moment five years ago when her love hadn’t affected his, he’d lost that same privilege.
