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“What about the photographs of you and different women?”
“They were photo ops.”
“They were photo ops for whose benefit?”
“Most times for the lady.”
“So, all that dishing about you being a womanizer is bogus.”
Leaning on his elbow, Griffin cradled his chin in his hand. “If I’d slept with as many women as the tabloids claim I have I doubt whether I’d be able to stand up.”
Belinda turned her head to conceal her smile. “Real or imaginary, you’re going to have to clean up your image now that you’re a father.”
Now that you’re a father.
Belinda’s words were branded into Griffin’s consciousness as he got up to take the rest of the dishes off the table. He, who hadn’t wanted to marry and become a father because he didn’t want his children to go through what he’d experienced with his warring parents, now at thirty-seven, found himself playing daddy to his adolescent nieces.
When Jonathan Connolly had called to tell him that he had received the documents legalizing the girls’ adoption, Griffin felt his heart stop before it started up again. He’d feared his life would change so dramatically, that he would have to hire a nanny to take care of his nieces and that he wouldn’t be able to recognize who he was or what he’d become until he remembered Belinda telling him she would have the girls live with her, and if he chose he could have them on weekends.
Belinda’s suggestion had come as a shock to him. He’d thought of her as the consummate career woman. She taught high school history, spent her winter vacations in the Caribbean or Florida and traveled abroad during the summer months.
He had vacillated between indifference and newfound respect for Belinda when she’d decided to renovate her house to address the needs and interests of the two children she’d thought of as her own within days of them losing their parents.
Belinda Eaton had sacrificed her day-to-day existence for “her children” while he hadn’t given up anything. When he’d come to her house the night before he said he’d come to see his children. They weren’t only his children or Belinda’s children. Sabrina and Layla Rice were now legally the children of both Belinda Eaton and Griffin Rice.
“I’ll try, Belinda.”
She gave him a level look. “Don’t try, Griffin. Just do it.”
He nodded in a gesture of acquiescence. “I’m going to change my clothes. I want to get to the school early enough so I don’t have to wait to be seen.”
Belinda turned back to finish cleaning up the kitchen. She didn’t have to be at the high school until eleven, which left her time to dust and vacuum. As the only person living in the house her house was always spotless. But she knew that was going to change because Donna hadn’t taught her daughters to pick up after themselves.
As a stay-at-home mother and housewife Donna didn’t mind picking up after her husband and children. Roberta Eaton had picked up after her four children, and Donna continued the practice. However, that would end with Belinda. As a certifiable neat-freak, the girls would either conform to her standards or they would forfeit their privileges.
She’d loaded the dishwasher and had begun sweeping the kitchen when Sabrina and Layla walked in with backpacks slung over their shoulders. Both had combed and neatly braided their hair into single plaits. The fuzzy hair around their hairline was evidence that it was time for their roots to be touched up.
“Before you ask, Aunt Lindy, we brushed our teeth,” Sabrina announced with a teasing smile.
Resting her hands on her denim-covered hips, Belinda looked at her from under lowered lids. “I wasn’t going to ask, Miss Prissy.”
“Who’s prissy?” asked a deep voice. Griffin stood at the entrance to the kitchen dressed in a lightweight navy blue suit, stark white shirt, striped silk tie and black leather slip-ons.
Belinda couldn’t contain the soft gasp escaping her parted lips as she stared at Griffin like a star-struck teen seeing her idol in person for the first time. Now she knew why women came on to Griffin Rice. He radiated masculinity like radioactive particles transmitting deadly rays. Her knees buckled slightly as she held on to the broom handle to keep her balance.
A nervous smile trembled over her lips. “Your daughter.”
Smiling, Griffin strolled into the kitchen. “Which one?”
“Sabrina,” Belinda and Layla said in unison, before touching fists.
Looping his arm around Sabrina’s neck, Griffin lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “Are you being prissy, Miss Rice?”
Tilting her chin, she smiled up at her uncle. “I don’t even know what prissy means.”
He ran a finger down the length of her short nose. “Look it up in the dictionary.”
Sabrina snapped her fingers. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
“That’s because you’re smart.”
Belinda propped the broom against the back of a chair. “Come give me a kiss before you leave.”
She hugged and kissed Sabrina, then Layla. “Remember we have hair appointments this afternoon.”
“Yes!” they said in unison.
Griffin shook his head. He didn’t know what it was about women getting their hair and nails done that elicited so much excitement. He got his hair cut every two weeks, but he didn’t feel any different after he left the hair salon than when he entered.
“Girls, please wait outside for me. I’ll be right out after I talk to your aunt.”
Belinda didn’t, couldn’t move as Griffin approached her. The sensual scent of his aftershave washed over her, and she was lost, lost in a spell of the sexy man who made her feel things she didn’t want to feel and made her want him even when she’d openly confessed that she hadn’t found him appealing.
She’d lied.
She’d lied to Griffin.
And she’d lied to herself.
“What do you want, Griffin?” Her query had come out in a breathless whisper, as if she were winded from running.
He took another step, bringing them only inches apart. “I just wanted to say goodbye and hope you have a wonderful day.”
She blinked. “You didn’t have to send the girls out to tell me that.”
“But I couldn’t do this in front of them,” he said cryptically.
“Do what?”
“Do this.” Griffin’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his body at the same time his mouth covered hers.
Belinda didn’t have time to respond to the feel of his masculine mouth on hers as she attempted to push him away. Then the kiss changed as his lips became persuasive, coaxing and gentle. Her arms moved up of their own volition and curled around his neck, and she found herself matching him kiss for kiss. Then it ended as quickly as it had begun.
Reaching up, Griffin eased her arms from around his neck, his gaze narrowing when he stared at her swollen mouth. Passion had darkened her eyes until no light could penetrate them. Belinda had called Sabrina prissy, when it was she who was prissy. And underneath her prissy schoolteacher exterior was a very passionate woman, and he wondered if her boyfriend knew what he had.
“Thank you for the kiss. You’ve just made my day.” Turning on his heels, he walked across the kitchen, a grin spreading across his face.
“I didn’t kiss you, Griffin,” Belinda threw at his broad back. “Remember, you kissed me.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around. “But you kissed me back.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you did. And I liked it, Miss Eaton.”
Belinda wanted to tell Griffin that she liked him kissing her. But how was she going to admit that to him when supposedly he didn’t appeal to her? The truth was she did like him—a little too much despite her protests.
“Have a good day, Griffin,” she said instead.
“Trust me, I will,” he called out.
Looking around for something she could throw at his arrogant head, Belinda realized she’d been had. Griffin hadn’t kissed her because he wanted to but because he wanted to prove a point—that she was no more immune to him than the other women who chased him.
Well, he was about to get the shock of his life. She’d go along with his little game of playing house until she either tired or lost interest. And in every game there were winners and losers and Belinda Eaton didn’t plan to lose.
* * *
Belinda stabbed absentmindedly at the salad with a plastic fork as she concentrated on the article in the latest issue of Vanity Fair. She glanced up when she felt the press of a body next to hers.
“What’s up, Miss Ritchie?” she asked.
“That’s what I should be asking you, Miss Eaton,” said Valerie Ritchie as she slid into the chair beside Belinda. “You didn’t come in yesterday, and when I saw a sub cover your classes this morning I was going to call you later on tonight.”
Closing the magazine, Belinda smiled at the woman whom she’d met in graduate school. Valerie was one of only a few teachers she befriended at one of Philadelphia’s most challenging inner-city high schools. Much of the faculty, including the administration, remained at the school only because they were unable to find a similar position in a better neighborhood. But she and Valerie stayed because of the students.
“The guardianship for my sister’s children was finalized yesterday,” she said softly.
“That was fast.”
“The lawyer and judge are members of the same country club.”
Valerie shook her head. “Why is it always not what you know, but who you know?”
“That’s the way of the world.”
Belinda stared at Valerie, a world history and economics teacher. Recently divorced, Valerie had rebuffed the advances of every male teacher who’d asked her out, claiming she wanted to wait a year before jumping back into the dating game. The petite, curvy natural beauty had caught the attention of the grandson of a prominent black Philadelphia politician who pursued her until she married him, much to the consternation of his family, his father in particular. Tired of the interference from her in-laws, Valerie filed for divorce and netted a sizeable settlement for her emotional pain and anguish.
“I don’t envy you, Belinda.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s very noble of you to want to raise your sister’s kids, especially when you have to do it alone.”
A math teacher walked into the lounge and sat down on a worn leather love seat in a corner far enough away so they wouldn’t be overheard. Belinda had made it a practice to keep her private and professional lives separate.
“I’m not going to raise them by myself.”
Valerie gave Belinda a narrow stare. “Have you been holding out on me?”
“What are you going on about, Valerie?”
“Are you and Raymond getting married?”
Belinda shook her head. She and Dr. Raymond Miller had what she referred to as an I-95 relationship when he accepted a position as head of cardiology at an Orlando, Florida, geriatric facility. They alternated visiting each other—she visited during school recesses and Raymond whenever he could manage to take a break from the hospital.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We’re just friends, Valerie.”
“Do you think you’ll ever stop being friends and become lovers?”
“I doubt it.”
Valerie’s clear brown eyes set in a flawless olive-brown face narrowed. “Are you in love with someone else?”
Belinda shook her head again. “No. Griffin and I share custody of our nieces.”
“Griffin Rice,” Valerie repeated loud enough for those in the room to turn and look in their direction.
Belinda angled her head closer to Valerie’s. She’d just finished telling her about the arrangement she’d established with her brother-in-law when the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Papers, magazines and the remnants of lunch were put away as teachers left the lounge for their classrooms.
Chapter 4
“How is she getting along, Dad?” Griffin asked his father when he joined him at the picture window in the living room of the spacious apartment in Spring Garden, a neighborhood that had been completely transformed by gentrification. The nighttime view from the high-rise was spectacular.
He knew exactly what he’d look like in twenty years. An inch shy of the six-foot mark, sixty-two-year-old Lucas Rice claimed a ramrod-straight back, slender physique and a full head of shimmering silver hair. Balanced features, a cleft chin and a sensual smile drew women of all ages to him like sunflowers facing the sun. His looks and charisma posed a problem for his wives because women loved Lucas, and he in turn loved them back.
Nevertheless, Grant’s death had humbled Lucas, making him aware of his own mortality. In his shared grief with Gloria and his surviving son, he’d confessed his many transgressions. It hadn’t made it any easier for Griffin to hear about the number of women his father had slept with while still married to his mother, but he realized how much strength it took for Lucas to confess.
The confession signaled a turning point for everyone—especially Gloria. Surprisingly, she forgave her ex-husband, saying they’d married much too young and for the wrong reason. They’d met in college where Gloria was a library science major and Lucas was pre-med. Gloria discovered halfway through her sophomore year that she was pregnant. And instead of going to medical school, Lucas married his pregnant girlfriend and switched his major to pharmacology. Most of their marital strife was the result of Lucas not fulfilling his dream of becoming a doctor.
Lucas stole a glance at his son’s profile. “She’s pretty good during the day, but I found that she’s a wreck at night.”
Shifting slightly, Griffin turned to give Lucas an incredible stare. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been checking up on her since we...we lost Grant. We talk every day, and several nights each week we have dinner—either here, at my place, or at a restaurant. I always call her to say good-night, but that’s when I lose it, son.”
A slight frown furrowed Griffin’s smooth forehead. “Why, Dad?”
Lucas closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily. “The sound of her crying rips my heart out. I know she used to cry whenever we had an argument, but this time it’s different.”
“She’s still grieving. We’re all still grieving.”
“Not like your mother, Griffin. That’s why I suggested taking the cruise. I know I can’t go back forty years and right all the wrongs, but I promised myself that I would spend what’s left of my life making your mother happy.”
“Do you love her, Dad?”
A sad smile crinkled the skin around Lucas’s eyes. “I’ve always loved her and I will always love her.”
“What about your other women?”
“There are no other women, and there hasn’t been one in a long time.”
Griffin chose his words carefully. “Is it because you’re trying to insinuate yourself back into my mother’s life?”
Lucas shook his head. “Don’t worry, son. I won’t hurt her.”
“I’m not worried, Dad. You will be sorry if you hurt her again.”
Lucas met Griffin’s withering gaze, knowing he wasn’t issuing an idle threat. He hadn’t stayed to see Griffin grow to adulthood, but he was proud of how he’d turned out nevertheless. He was proud of both of his sons, and had never hesitated to give Gloria all the credit for their successes.
“Glo has been hurt enough. I’d rather walk away than cause her more pain.”
Griffin smiled. It’d been a long time since he’d heard his father shorten his mother’s name. Reaching into the pocket of his slacks, he took out a small envelope, slipping it into Lucas’s shirt pocket. “There’s enough on that gift card to buy something nice in Florence or Rome for your cabin mate.”
Lucas took the envelope, staring numbly at the value of the gift card. It was half of what he’d paid for two first-class tickets for the month-long European cruise. “I can’t take this, Griffin.”
“You can and you will, otherwise I’ll give it to Mom, and you know she’ll buy gifts for everyone but herself.”
A smile flashed across the older man’s face. “You’re right about that. I want to bring something back for the twins. Do you have an idea of what they’d like?”
Griffin pondered his father’s question for several minutes. “I believe Layla would love a Venetian Carnevale mask, the kind revelers wear. Sabrina likes fashion, so anything from Rome or Paris will make her very happy.”
“What about Belinda?”
“What about her, Dad?”
“What do you think she’d like?”
Lucas mentioning Belinda’s name quickened Griffin’s pulse, as images of the kiss they’d shared came back with the force and fury of rushing rapids. He’d kissed her to see if she was actually a prude even after she’d disclosed that she was seeing someone. He hadn’t believed her. He’d discovered there was indeed fire under her staid exterior. The revelation had not only shocked him, but also made him jealous of the man who was on the receiving end of Belinda Eaton’s passion.
“Perfume.” He’d said the first thing that came to mind because he loved the way she smelled.
“What fragrance does she wear?”
“I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?” asked Gloria Rice as she walked into the living room carrying a tray with dessert plates of tiny butter cookies and petits fours.
Griffin walked over and took the tray from his mother. She looked better than she had in months, and he attributed that to the anticipation of going away for a month with the man who’d been and apparently still was the only one she’d ever loved.
In preparation for her trip, she’d had her hair cut into a close-cropped natural that showed off her delicate features and flawless chestnut-brown skin. Her dark almond-shaped eyes made her look as if she were perpetually smiling.
When she’d been informed of her son and daughter-in-law’s death Gloria had stopped eating. It was only after Griffin threatened to have her force-fed that she had begun eating again, and then only small portions but enough to keep up her strength.
Now that Lucas had come back into her life, she’d managed to regain some of the weight she’d lost. When he’d asked his mother whether she was sleeping with her ex-husband, Gloria had come out with an unequivocal “no.” She claimed all Lucas was good for was companionship.
“Do you know what perfume Belinda wears?”
“Yes. It’s Dior’s J’adore. Why do you want to know?”
“Dad’s putting together a list of souvenirs he wants to bring back.”
“I’m done with my list.” She smiled at Lucas. “Please bring in the coffee. It should be finished brewing.”
Reaching for Gloria’s hand, Griffin seated her on her favorite chair. He sat on the matching ottoman, cradling her feet in his lap. “If you come back from Europe carrying my little sister or brother,” he teased quietly, “I’m going to give Dad a serious beat down.”
Throwing back her head, Gloria laughed until tears rolled down her face. “You don’t have worry about beating up your father because it’s not going to happen.” Gloria sobered. “Speaking of children, Griffin.”
“What about them, Mom?”
“I know you’ve adopted Grant’s children, but do you see yourself having children of your own?”
There came a long silence as he pondered her question. “If I were to be completely honest I’d say I don’t know. Playing daddy is still too new for me to make a decision. But I must admit I’m enjoying what little I’ve experienced.”
“How are you getting along with Belinda?”
“We’re doing okay. It’s obvious she’s going to be the stricter parent, while I’ll probably let the girls do whatever they want—except when it comes to boys. If it were up to me they wouldn’t have a boyfriend until they graduate from high school.”
Gloria shook her head. “That’s unrealistic. Your father was my first boyfriend and you see how that ended. My granddaughters should have boys as friends so they learn to differentiate between the good guys and the ones who only want to sleep with them.” She paused, seemingly deep in thought. “I believe if I’d had a daughter, Lucas wouldn’t have been such a philanderer.”
Griffin wanted to tell Gloria that she was wrong. Lucas would’ve cheated on her if they’d had a dozen daughters. Unfortunately, it’d taken a catastrophic incident to bring Lucas Rice to the realization that he’d misused and mistreated the best woman he’d ever had and would ever hope to have. Perhaps, he mused, it wasn’t too late for his parents to start over.
* * *
Layla and Sabrina were waiting on the front porch for Griffin when he maneuvered his SUV into the driveway and parked behind their aunt’s Volvo. They were bundled in down-filled jackets, bracing against the rapid twenty-point decline in the temperature. The past week the weather had challenged the late-March season, and won.
He smiled as he got out of his car. Maybe it was the profusion of hair flowing down and around their shoulders that made them appear older, as if they’d become young adults virtually overnight.
He wasn’t disappointed when they raced off the porch to launch themselves at him. The spontaneity reminded Griffin they were still young, and as they’d done when they were children, they wanted him to catch them in midair.
“Whoa!” he cried out when he collapsed to the floor of the porch under their weight.
The front door opened and he looked up to find Belinda smiling down at him as Sabrina and Layla held him down while pinning him with what they thought were wrestling holds. Lamps flanking the door flattered her slender body in a pair of fitted jeans she’d paired with a chunky pullover. She’d also changed her hairstyle. Instead of the usual curly look it was smooth, the feathered ends curving under her chin and down around the nape of her neck.
“Do you give up?” Layla shouted, tightening her headlock.
“Yes!”
“Count him out, Aunt Lindy!” Sabrina said excitedly.
Playing along with her nieces, Belinda went to her knees and slapped the porch close to Griffin’s head. “One, two, three. You’re out!” The girls released Griffin, falling back and gasping in surprise when he reached for their aunt, pinning her under his body.
Burying his face against the column of her scented neck, he pressed his mouth to the silken flesh. “Come with us this weekend,” he whispered near her ear.
Belinda swallowed a moan. There was no way she could ignore the hard body molded to hers, the solid pressure of bulging muscle between Griffin’s thighs. She closed her eyes when a gush of moisture bathed the area between her legs.
“I... I can’t.” She could hardly get the words out.
“If you give her a headlock she’ll give up, Uncle Griff,” Layla suggested.
Griffin eased his arm under Belinda’s neck. “Give up, baby,” he crooned for her ears only. “Are you coming with us?” he asked loud enough for his nieces to overhear his entreaty.
“No-o-o-o!”
Sabrina went to her knees. “Please, Aunt Lindy. Please come with us. Uncle Griff said we were going to have a movie night.”
“Pul-eeese,” Layla moaned melodramatically.
Belinda closed her eyes. Oh no! a silent voice shouted when Griffin ground his groin against hers. She couldn’t believe what he was doing to her—in front of their nieces no less. If she didn’t stop him, then she was going to embarrass herself. Her long-celibate body indicated that she was on the brink of climaxing.
“Okay. I’ll go.”
“Pinky swear?” Griffin asked, grinning triumphantly.
She nodded. “Yes. Pinky swear.”
Layla and Sabrina exchanged high fives as they turned to go back into the house to retrieve their overnight bags. They’d spent most of the afternoon exchanging text messages with their uncle to enlist his help in getting their aunt to join them for the weekend after she revealed she hadn’t planned to do anything but read and watch DVDs.
As soon as the door banged behind them, Belinda said between clenched teeth, “Get the hell off me!”
Griffin eased up, but not enough for Belinda to escape. He didn’t want to stand up until his erection went down. He hadn’t expected his body to betray him, nor had he expected Belinda’s response.