Beach House No. 9. Christie Ridgway

Stone was handsome in a spoiled, well-tended sort of way. By contrast, Griffin looked as if he’d buzzed his hair himself and he’d nicked his chin while shaving—a couple of days before, if she was any judge of stubble. But his was a wholly masculine face, all the edges hard and those incredible turquoise eyes sharp. Her breath quickened, even though she tried pretending she was all cool control. There was no denying that something about the man had found a previously hidden chink in her, an opening that allowed his male energy to worm its way under her armor, heating her up, loosening her muscles, almost…preparing her.

      The thought made her blush, and his gaze narrowed, skewering her now. She wiggled on her stool. “Um…hey.”

      He nodded absently at Skye, then returned his ominous gaze to Jane. “I’ve been looking for you.”

      “Oh?” Her belly fluttered, and she barely registered the finger wave Skye sent her before leaving. From the hard expression on Griffin’s face, Jane didn’t expect he’d sought her out to deliver good news. What would she do once he declined her services for good? Word would surely get back that yet another author found her unsatisfactory. She sighed, bowing to the inevitable. “What is it?”

      He opened his mouth, and then his gaze shifted over her shoulder. The incredible eyes flared for a moment, narrowed again. “Shit.”

      She glanced around. In the distance a woman was trudging through the sand, a baby balanced on one hip. Three other kids trailed behind her, but she didn’t look the least bit matronly, with her long legs bared by a white cotton skirt and a scarlet tank top clinging to her curves. Expensive sunglasses covered her eyes, and her dark hair was glossy and cut in a trendy fashion that had delicate pieces curving around her cheeks and jaw.

      Jane turned back to Griffin and could swear he’d gone pale. “Old flame?”

      “More like the devil,” he muttered, then cursed again. “You’ve got to do something for me, Jane.”

      She didn’t think this was going to be about his memoir. “Like what?”

      He hunkered down, so that he was semishielded by her body. “Hide me.”

      Wasn’t hiding what she’d been after herself?

      “I don’t think that’s going to work,” she said after a moment, her attention still on the beach. Was it bad of her to take pleasure in noting that the dark-haired beauty had homed in on the man half concealed behind her? She was waving her arm, her focus clearly settled on his face. Two of the little kids were jumping up and down as well, pointing and waving.

      “The children seem to know you. Who are they?”

      “The devil’s minions.” As they continued waving, he rose to his full height on a loud sigh. “There’s only one thing for it, then.”

      “What’s that?”

      Griffin clamped his hand around Jane’s upper arm and pulled her from her stool. “Come on.” With an arm slung across her shoulders, he urged her toward the steps leading to the sand. “This way, honey-pie.”

      She struggled to keep up with his brisk stride. “Tell me what’s going on, chili-dog.”

      He shot her a look, then shrugged. “Our little endearments will do the job just fine, I guess.”

      “What job is that?” Jane asked warily.

      “A minor bit of role-play. You can manage that for the next few minutes or so, can’t you?”

      She thought of protesting. This definitely wasn’t about his memoir. She considered turning back toward the bar and cutting her losses right there and then, given the bad luck that had been dogging her lately. But another few minutes…the optimist inside her wondered what might happen during that time. If she went along with whatever he was planning, perhaps he’d be convinced that she was a handy person to have around, and they could salvage their working relationship. That’s what she needed more than anything.

      “I guess,” she said.

      “Great. Consider yourself hired.” He hitched her closer to his side. His body was hard and warm and solid enough to prop up her weight if she was the kind of woman inclined to lean on a man. She wasn’t. She didn’t trust them for that.

      He cupped her upper arm, his palm sliding up and down in a caress she could feel through the sleeve of her cotton shirt. It made her flesh prickle, and she shivered.

      Griffin’s feet halted, stopping their forward movement. Jane glanced up. He was staring at her, an odd expression on his face. His caressing hand moved over her again, and she couldn’t stop a second shiver.

      “Jesus, Jane,” he murmured, stroking her once more. “Jesus.”

      Her mouth was dry. “Jesus, Jane—what?”

      He shook his head as if he was shaking off an uncomfortable thought. His fingers slid away. “Don’t look so serious,” he told her, his voice gruff.

      She frowned at him. “How should I look, then?”

      With a careless hand, he chucked her under the chin. The strange moment had clearly passed. “Try smiling, honey-pie. For this to succeed, you have to look and sound the part.”

      “The part of what?” she asked, suspicious.

      Griffin grinned down at her. His blue gaze seemed almost tender, and she felt his testosterone twisting toward her like smoke, seeking that crack in her protective shell. His hand found hers. “The part, sweet Jane, of my lover.”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      THEY DIDN’T GET to introductions right away. The moment she and Griffin appeared on the beach in front of the lovely brunette, the woman launched herself into his arms, causing him to let go of Jane. “You don’t know what I’ve been through!” the beauty said.

      One of her young entourage was a girl who looked as if she’d just crossed into her teens. “I’m going to die of boredom here,” the teen said. “I can smell the lack of cell phone coverage.” She blinked lashes of beyond-natural length and thickness. “I’m probably going to get pregnant just for something to do.”

      Though Jane was somewhat alarmed when the teen turned to peruse the beach as if seeking out potential baby daddies, no one else commented on her offhand remark. Perhaps no one else had heard it. Griffin and the woman were already walking down the beach in the direction of his cottage, she hanging on to his arm while still carrying the little guy, who looked to be nine or ten months old. One of the baby’s sandals slipped off his foot, and Jane swooped it up as she drifted behind them.

      “Let’s go,” the teenager said to the remaining two. They were boys—five and six? Seven and eight?—and were poking at a clump of stinky kelp with a stick.

      At the girl’s prompting, the smaller of the two ran ahead, brandishing the piece of wood, while the other threw sand at his back, yelling, “Your face looks like monkey poo!”

      At that, the teenager tossed a glance at Jane. “My life,” she said in a theatrical tone.

      “It seems adding an infant of your own to it would only complicate matters,” Jane pointed out. “Cute baby bump to monkey poo? A blip in time.”

      Her extravagant eye-roll made Jane grin. It reminded her of—

      Griffin. Good God, was the brunette his ex? This tribe his children?

      “I’m Jane,” she said to the girl.

      The teen slid her a sidelong look. “Of course you are.”

      Griffin’s exact words! “What’s your name?”

      “Rebecca.” She flung an arm in the direction of her presumed siblings. Four inches of braided string and rubber bracelets circled her wrist. “Those are my brothers, Duncan, Oliver and Russ.”

      Before Jane could pry more out of her,