Page 43 of No Going Back
“No.” Griffin’s voice carried a hint of regret. “Never been married.” He focused on where he touched her, eyes following the path of his fingers across her skin. “Never even got close.”
She struggled not to find the same focus he did, but allowing herself to think about Griffin touching her was a slippery slope. One that had so far landed her half naked and completely satisfied. “Really?”
Griffin’s blue eyes lifted to hers. “Is that surprising?”
“I mean,” she fished around for an eloquent response that wouldn’t show too much of what was bouncing around her brain, but couldn’t come up with anything, “yeah. It is.”
Griffin’s gaze stayed on hers. “Why?”
“I just would have thought it would’ve happened.” His touch slid lower, following the deep V cut of her T-shirt in a dangerously distracting way that sent her brain on autopilot. “You are exactly what most women are looking for.”
“And what are most women looking for?” Griffin’s fingers skimmed along the swell of her breast where it pushed up from the lace attempting to contain it.
“Someone kind and funny and hard-working.” She rattled off three of the major points, managing to leave off the final one that focused on Griffin’s less important attributes. Having a nice body was great and all, but nothing lasted forever, and a person’s physical shape didn’t actually say a whole lot about them outside of how easily they could reach things on a high shelf.
“So that’s what you think of me?” He teased along her flesh with a whisper-light touch. “That I’m nice?”
“You are nice.” She managed to inhale as Griffin’s finger worked dangerously close to her nipple. “You hired that company to come help me clean up The Baking Rack when I broke the pipe.”
“That wasn’t me being nice, Di.” His hand spread across her body, each point of contact driving her a little more toward the brink. “That was me trying to preserve my own sanity.”
“It was still nice.” She closed her eyes as his palm curved against her, the heat of his skin soaking through her shirt and bra. “And you helped me get Snickerdoodle out of my house.”
“He was on my head. My options were limited.” Griffin’s thumb rubbed across her nipple, pinching at it through the layers between them. “I know you want to think I am, but I’m not a nice man, Di.”
It made her a little sad that he didn’t see it. Made her wonder if maybe his story was a lot like hers.
“Well I think you’re a nice man.” She tilted her head back, lifting her chin as she looked him in the eye. “And I’m allowed to think whatever I want.”
She understood what happened when other people shaped how you saw yourself. How it affected you. How difficult it was to get past all their noise.
Griffin’s eyes moved over her face. “I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”
She wasn’t backing down. Wasn’t giving in to Griffin’s demons any more than she would give in to her own. “That’s my problem then, isn’t it?”
Griffin’s hand stilled before slowly sliding up to curve around her face. “You’re something special, Di. I hope you know that.”
She almost brushed the compliment off. Almost pushed it aside like she had so many others, choosing to keep the lies she carried instead. The lies had been there so long they were comfortable. They were known.
But they were heavy as hell and she was tired of carrying them.
So she smiled, letting his words sink deep enough that someday she might hear them first. “Thank you.”
SIXTEEN
GRIFFIN
DIANNA WASN’T COMPLETELY wrong when she said he didn’t know her. If he had to list her favorite food or where she was born he would fail miserably. But deep down he knew who she was. It was easy to see and impossible to forget.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like she knew him in the same way. Somehow she’d decided he was nice. Kind.
He wanted to argue with her. Fight until she understood the truth. Spare her having to make that discovery on her own. But it was getting harder and harder to do the things he knew he should. Especially when those things would push Dianna away.
“Why is your shirt so dirty?” Dianna’s fingers traced along a smudge of grease smeared across his chest.
“I helped Troy work on some engines at the ranch.” His eyes drifted to the hand he had on her face. His nails were rough and permanently tinted from spending years in oil and grime. They definitely weren’t the kind of hands Dianna deserved to be touched with, but he couldn’t make himself pull away.
“I’m a little dirty too.” She glanced down at the T-shirt and shorts she wore. “I was out working in the yard when Cooper pulled in.”
