Page 22 of Grissom
As delicious as he smelled… (Alfalfa and cedar were her new favorite scents.)
As comforting as his broad, heavily muscled chest had felt beneath her cheek…
As much as she was attracted to Grissom McCoy, and she was. It was hard not to be. The man was kryptonite, but minus Superman’s magnetic personality. Okay, so he was rough around the edges and unpredictable, but she could see the man of steel beneath the insecurity, if that was where his reticence came from. She didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t be eager to share her children after everything they’d gone through, either.
My gosh, it’d only been weeks since that fiasco in Costa Rica. He and his boys had to have moved out of the place they’d lived in with his wife during that time. Tuesday certainly would have. And they were in counseling. Family counseling. That was a tremendous number of really big changes crammed into a very short amount of time. Of course Grissom was overly cautious. She would be, too. If she had children.
But Tuesday wasn’t even sure she and he had anything in common, other than their love for his boys. When he’d intermittently seemed to care and turn on what little charm he had, it’d felt like sunshine breaking through the frigid, starless Arctic night. But then, he’d turned to ice. What he’d just warmed became dark and empty again.
Tuesday Smart understood Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. She’d dealt with her share of it after her parents died, so much so she could be the PTSD poster girl. She’d had nightmares, depression, bulimia, you name it. At one time, she’d been suicidal. Her losses had been utterly devastating, and she’d been a kid. An orphan. A grieving, hurting child.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared her for the police coming to her door that night—her parents’ door—with the ungodly notification that they were dead. Freddie was the one who’d made sure she got the help she’d desperately needed. Not her minister. Not any neighbors nor a friend’s parents. Not even a semi-interested social worker had shown up after the shock of that double death and funeral. Only her dad’s business associate, some guy she’d barely remembered meeting, and he’d come all the way from New York City, just for her. The rest was history.
Freddie had never been her lover, and that was what and who was missing in Tuesday’s life. Her soul mate. The man who’d always put her first. Who’d treasure her. Not the random guy with lies in his eyes and greed behind all the right words. Those were male versions of Pam, opportunistic users. The only treasure they wanted was the estate Freddie had left Tuesday.
Which made the world’s far-off reaches seem safer. At least, preferable. Predators there weren’t dressed in sheepskin. They came at you head-on, with obvious intent to kill. If they came at you at all. Truthfully, Tuesday had encountered more hate, deceit, and betrayal in America than she had from the wildanimals and various peoples of the world she’d photographed. Greed was the real killer, and that sin was alive and well in the States.
Was Grissom the man of her dreams? Not likely. Was she attracted to him? Simple answer, yes. Complicated, thoughtful answer? Probably not. The spark between them was nothing more than her biological clock ticking down. Reminding her that her time was running out. That she’d better jump at the first man who came along if she wanted any kind of a family. Not happening. She deserved to be treasured like Shane treasured Everlee, and like Heston treasured London. That was her impossible dream, to have what they had. She could wait.
Sure, Grissom was handsome, in a brooding, unpredictably distant way. She’d always been attracted to tall, dark, and handsome, and Grissom had that in spades. His dark brown hair was straight, not wavy. Short on the sides, but long enough on top that fingers of it occasionally flopped into his eyes. His hazel eyes turned dark as quickly as his mood swings. He was thick through his chest, neck, shoulders, and arms. Slender at his waist and hips. Must work out a lot, maybe every day, as solidly as he was built. Did he have a workout gym at home? That made sense. She couldn’t see him dropping his boys off with a babysitter.
Tuesday’s fingers curled into fists thinking about his wife. And therein lay the problem. Tuesday refused to fall for a man because she loved his kids. She wanted to love the man of her dreams for who he was, and she wanted him to love her the same way. Not because his children needed a mother. Not because he wanted her money. Just because he couldn’t live without her.
“You going to eat that?”
She blinked, not sure what Grissom was asking, until he aimed his fork at her untouched blueberry pancake. “Yes, I am,” she declared, as if her mind hadn’t wandered a thousand milesaway. To prove it, she cut a small portion of the pancake with the side of her fork, lifted the syrupy triangle to her mouth. and opened wide. “Yum,” she mumbled with her mouth full.
His pupils turned big and black. Suddenly, eating one of Aunt Jemima’s finest turned into an exquisitely carnal act. Grissom made it worse when he reached across the table and, with the pad of his thumb, caught the drop of syrup on her chin. Tuesday closed her eyes, savoring the sweet sensation. It was a small thing, but no man had ever touched her like that before.
She’d been too broken to care about boys after her parents’ deaths. Still numb with grief when she became a wife, then too soon, a widow. On the heels of those nightmares came being one of the FBI’s ten most wanted criminals, and since then, it’d been easier to go along with Robert’s travel plans. That, she knew. Air travel, international and domestic, how to handle an assortment of weapons. She had a concealed carry permit, and had faced off with a few predators in her time. But what she knew about intimacy between a man and a woman would fit in a thimble and still have room left over.
Her head was spinning at the mere thought of intimacy with Grissom. Thank goodness Tanner and Luke were too busy eating to notice how hard she was breathing or that the fork in her hand was shaking. One touch. That’s all it took and her good intentions to keep this man at arm’s length evaporated. Where had her bravado gone?
Chapter Twelve
‘She’s just like me,’Grissom thought as he’d captured that single drop of syrup and popped his thumb in his mouth.She’s afraid to fall in love. She’s been hurt too many times to trust her instincts. Her gut.
Tuesday’s eyes tracked the movement. She was as turned on by that presumptuous touch as he was. Her nostrils flared when he’d put his thumb in his mouth and sucked the syrup from it. Her eyes were suddenly bright crystal emeralds as he let the maple sweetness roll over his tongue. They weren’t just green, but had deepened into spectacularly dark emerald jewels, glimmering with a fire that came from somewhere deep inside. When her chest heaved, Grissom’s gaze fell to the fluttering pulse in the hollow between her collarbones. She felt it too, the hum of sexual tension between them. He’d bet money she’d taste sweeter than any syrup.
Such a simple thing, touch. He’d never known the tenderness of it, only the absence of it in his life. His boys always gave it to him unconditionally, without reserve or judgment. But Pam’s constant complaining about his lack of finesse during lovemaking drove his mother’s point home. Through birth, he’d been cursed to repeat his mistakes. Through marriage, he’d been damned.
But how to make Tuesday want to stay? That was worth considering. He refused to use his boys as lures. Not like he needed one. If anything, they were already snagged and looked happy as clams, snuggled beside her with her arms around them. What male, no matter how old, wouldn’t be happy? If anything, he was the outsider, sitting opposite the contented threesome,watching his sons soak up the light that radiated from Tuesday. Was it wrong for a father to be jealous of his children?
“So what’d ya think, Daddy?” Luke chirped. “Can she?”
Grissom blinked to get his wandering brain back on track. He’d been caught daydreaming about the lovely woman his sons were already enamored with, and he’d missed the conversation at the table. “Uh, what?”
Tanner giggled. “Stop looking at Miss Tuesday like that, Dad. I said I wanna show her my combat jet picture collection. Can she come home with us? Please?”
Grissom’s internal self-defense mechanisms kicked in. He barely reined in the panic that sharing his sons induced when an instant “No!” burst out of his mouth. Allowing anyone inside his new house—into his sons’ one safe place—risked everything. Their peace of mind. The daily routines he’d established to help them recover from their trauma. Tanner and Luke were all Grissom lived for, and they needed to feel completely secure before he allowed anyone—
“It’s okay. Another time maybe,” Tuesday said quietly.
Grissom saw it then. She thought she was the problem. She was only pulling away because—he was pushing her away. The ‘No’ came easier this time. “No, Tuesday. I mean, yes. Please come home with us. I think you’ll be impressed with what Tanner’s done. It’s the best collection of F-16 fighter jet art I’ve ever seen.” Because it was the only art collection compiled by a six-year-old Grissom had ever seen.
Her lips pursed into a small O, as if she couldn’t decide. Grissom didn’t blame her. He was having a hard time keeping up with his panicky-self as well. A woman had to be nuts to want to be anywhere near a nutcase like him. But there she was, considering doing just that.
“Okay, but I can’t stay long,” she replied, her voice soft and hesitant. “I still have… things to do today.”
