Forever an Eaton. Rochelle Alers

of thick dark hair that she’d styled in a ponytail. The soft glow from the recessed lighting in the room flattered her flawless sable face. A light dusting of makeup accentuated her exotic slanted eyes, high cheekbones, short nose and generously curved lips.

      A hint of a smile lifted the corners of his lips as he stared boldly at the fullness of her breasts under a burnt-orange cashmere pullover, which she’d paired with black wool slacks and suede slip-ons. He’d always found her alluring, but Belinda gave off a vibe that made her seem snobbish and aloof. She’d been that way at nineteen, and now at thirty-two she was even more standoffish. Her request to speak to him was somewhat shocking yet a pleasant surprise.

      “Where would you like to talk?”

      “Outside.”

      The response came across as a direct order and Griffin curbed the urge to salute her. He pressed a kiss to Gloria Rice’s forehead. “I’ll be right back, mother.” Grabbing Belinda’s arm, he steered her toward the rear of the house.

      “The front porch,” Belinda ordered again. The back porch was too close to the kitchen and she didn’t want anyone to overhear what she had to say to him.

      Reversing course, Griffin led her through the dining and living rooms and out to the front porch of the modest Dutch Colonial–style house. He held the front door open, waiting for Belinda to precede him, then stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind them.

      Leaning against a thick column on the porch, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks and crossed his feet at the ankles. The seconds ticked off as Belinda sat on a cushioned love seat. Twin porch lanterns flanking the door provided enough light for him to make out her features. Griffin glanced away to look at the large autumnal wreath hanging on the door.

      “What do you want to talk about?”

      Belinda sat up, her spine ramrod straight. “What the hell do you think you’re doing buying the girls a PlayStation when I told you that I planned to give it to them for Christmas?”

      Nothing moved on Griffin, not even his eyes as he glared at the woman who was godmother and aunt to his nieces. “You told me nothing of the sort.”

      “When I spoke to Donna and asked what the girls wanted for their birthday she told me to give them gift cards for their favorite stores and to save the electronics for Christmas. I also remember her saying that she was going to tell you the same thing.” She’d given her nieces gift cards to several popular clothing stores.

      “Your sister didn’t say anything to me, so take it up with her.”

      “No, Griffin, I’m taking it up with you. Every year you do this. We talk beforehand about what we’re going to give the twins for Christmas and their birthdays, and invariably you do the complete opposite.” She stood up and closed the distance between them. “This is the last time I’m going to let you play Big Willie to my nieces.”

      “Your nieces, Lindy?” he said mockingly. “How did you come to that conclusion when they’re my brother and your sister’s daughters?” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to come back at him. “Unlike you, I don’t have the time or the inclination to hang out in the mall. Layla and Sabrina said they wanted an Xbox, Wii or PlayStation, and I gave them the PlayStation.”

      Belinda closed her eyes rather than stare at Griffin Rice’s gorgeous face. As an attorney for some of sports’ biggest superstars, Griffin had become a celebrity in his own right. Paparazzi snapped pictures of him with his famous clients, glamorous models, beautiful actresses and recording stars. His masculine features, cleft chin and exquisitely tailored wardrobe afforded him a spot on the cover of GQ. He not only looked good, but he smelled delicious. His cologne was the perfect complement to his natural scent.

      “Next time speak to me before you decide to give them what they want.”

      “Are you asking or telling me, Belinda?”

      Her chest rose and fell, bringing his gaze to linger on her breasts. “I’m asking you, Griffin,” she said in a softer tone.

      Straightening, Griffin stared down at his sister-in-law, wondering if she was aware of how sexy she was. If he’d had a teacher who looked like Belinda Eaton he would’ve failed, just to have to repeat her class.

      He dipped his head and brushed a kiss over her ear. “I’ll think about it.” Turning on his heels, Griffin went back into the house, leaving Belinda staring at his back as he walked away.

      Her fingers curled into fists. She’d called him out for nothing. He had no intention of checking with her. It was as if they were warring parents competing to see who could win over their children with bigger and more expensive gifts.

      She folded her arms under her breasts and shook her head. There was no doubt Griffin would continue to undermine her when it came to their nieces, but there was one thing she admired about the man: since he wasn’t a father himself, he’d spared some woman a lifetime of grief.

      Belinda waited on the porch a few minutes longer until the dropping temperature forced her indoors. Affecting a bright smile, she walked into the dining room in time to sing happy birthday before Sabrina and Layla blew out the candles and cut their cake.

      Chapter 1

      The soft-spoken attorney shook hands with Belinda Eaton and then repeated the gesture with Griffin Rice. “Congratulations, Mom, Dad. If you need a duplicate copy of the guardianship agreement I recommend you call this office rather than go to the Bureau of Records. I’ve heard that they always have a two-to-three-month backlog.”

      Belinda still could not believe she was to share parenting of her twin nieces with her sister’s brother-in-law. Less than a year after she became an aunt, her sister had asked Belinda to raise her daughters if anything should happen to her and her husband. At that time she’d wondered, why would a happily married, twenty-two-year-old woman with two beautiful children think about dying? Apparently, her older sister, Donna, was more prophetic than she knew. Just weeks after the twins’ twelfth birthday, their mother and father had been killed instantly when a drunk driver lost control of his pickup, crossed the median and collided head-on with their smaller sedan.

      Belinda forced a smile. The meeting with the attorney and signing the documents that made her legal guardian of her twelve-year-old nieces had reopened a wound that was just beginning to heal. Her sister and brother-in-law had died days after Thanksgiving and it’d taken four months for their will to be probated.

      “Thank you for everything, Mr. Connelly.”

      Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, Jonathan Connelly stared at the young schoolteacher whose life was about to dramatically change. Her nieces were moving from the two-bedroom condo where they were temporarily living with their maternal grandparents into her modest house in a Philadelphia suburb. Although the children had been well cared for by their grandparents, Jonathan, the executor of her sister and brother-in-law’s estate, felt that the emotional and social interests of the twin girls would be best served living with their aunt.

      His shimmering green eyes lingered briefly on her rich nut-brown attractive face with its high cheekbones, slanting dark brown eyes and hair she wore in a flattering curly style. With her wool gabardine suit with a peplum jacket, pumps and the pearl studs that matched the single strand gracing her slender neck, Belinda appeared more like a young executive than a high school history teacher.

      “If you need legal advice on anything, please don’t hesitate to call me,” Jonathan said, smiling.

      A slight frown began to creep across Griffin Rice’s good looks. “I believe I can help her with any legal problem,” he said curtly. Griffin intended to make sure that he was available for Belinda if she needed legal counsel.

      He had spent the better part of an hour watching Jonathan Connelly subtly flirt with his sister-in-law. He and Belinda shared guardianship of their nieces, but he’d be damned if he’d allow the smooth-talking, toothpaste-ad-smiling, little-too-slick-for-Griffin’s-taste attorney