Authors: Christie Ridgway
Beach House No. 9 (30 page)
God, the woman just slayed him. His mouth twitched with a smile. “You are.”
“Well, then.” She took a quick step. “I have clothes in my car—”
“You don’t need clothes,” he said brusquely.
Her downy brows came together. “What?”
“Just a minute, just a minute,” he muttered, then stalked down the hall, stalked back.
“Griffin?”
“I’m a writer, okay? Give me a second to find the words.”
Instead of being patient as he thought she should, she brushed past him and turned into the master bedroom. There she rummaged through his drawers, filching a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. She went behind another closed bathroom door to put them on.
He found himself rapping on that door too. How long did it take to get dressed? “Hurry up.”
Her expression was a little forlorn when she finally emerged. “I lost my new toothbrush.”
“I’ll buy you another one.”
“I don’t mind about the earrings. They were designed for a five-year-old.”
“Hey, it’s the thought that counts,” he said, nearly annoyed.
She swallowed, and the new expression overtaking her face was one he couldn’t read. “I never want to see that snow globe again.”
He frowned at her. “That kind of hurts my feelings.”
“Are we back to that?” Now, for the first time since they’d washed up on the beach, she sounded weary. “I thought you were sure you didn’t have any.”
He hesitated one more moment, and then he saw a shiver work its way up her spine. “You’re still cold.” Jane should never be cold again.
He reached out, intent on sweeping her to his chest. The maddening librarian stepped back, forcing him to beg for her patience. Which she seemed to like. “Please, Jane. Please give me a moment of your time.”
She allowed herself to be towed to the living room, where he wrapped her in a blanket and placed her on the couch. He sat on the coffee table opposite her, staring into her lovely face.
A tense silence developed as he tried to figure out what to tell her.
“I’ve already showed you the inside of my heart, Griffin,” she said in a tight voice. “Can’t you leave me alone now?”
“You don’t understand,” he answered. “I’m trying to see myself in your eyes. I keep thinking they’re like mirrors.”
She cocked her head, cautious. “What is it you think you should see?”
Griffin took a breath.
A life unexamined is not worth living.
“That final explosion in the Humvee…the one that took Jackal’s leg—it splintered me into pieces. One part objective reporter, one part combatant affected—no, injured—by war, one part human being grieving for friends lost and wounded. I’ve been avoiding putting those three back together.”
“You don’t say.”
“Smart-ass.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Separated like that, it seemed I could keep myself from feeling—” Breaking off, he forced himself to breathe.
“But you
are
feeling. You’re hurting. That’s why you’re—”
“Throwing plates, fists and fits.” He looked away, looked back. She deserved the truth. “I’m having flashbacks. More all the time.”
“Oh, Griffin.” Sitting straighter, she leaned toward him. “How frightening.”
His mouth was dry. “I’m a mess.” He’d been trying to deny it for so long. Refusing to acknowledge what everyone had been telling him.
“You can get help.”
“Rex thinks the book will go a long way toward that,” he said, then hesitated. “I’m not going to Gage. I’m done with war.”
God, what a relief it was to say those words.
Jane’s expression was once more inscrutable. “But not done with the memoir?” she asked. “You’re actually going to finish it?”
Here was the critical moment, one that felt more live-or-die than any he’d faced in Afghanistan. He took another deep breath. “If I can get some assistance.”
In an abrupt move, she sat back. “Maybe Frank can find you someone.”
His gaze caught hers. “I’ve already found someone.”
“Griffin…”
“Look, your reputation doesn’t need me. It doesn’t need this job. You’re incredible at what you do—you’re good with the words, you’re good with people. You’ve already made my memoir so much better.”
Her face flushed. “Thank you.”
“But this isn’t about the book. I need you, Jane.” He was certain of this.
Find a woman you can value and love every day.
“You’re the glue. In your eyes I see me, whole and well. Loved…and loving.”
She made to rise off the couch.
He grabbed her knees, holding her down. “I love you, Jane Pearson. I can’t run from my memories any longer, and I don’t want to distance myself from this either. I am desperately in love with you.”
She turned her face away from his. “You’re riding the adrenaline rush from the fall. Don’t say something you’ll regret later.”
Griffin hadn’t come this far to fail. “Let me be the one who never lets go of you, sweetheart.” He caressed her bare legs in soft persuasion. “I know I’m not completely healthy, but I promise—”
“It’s not that.” She whipped her head toward his, and he could see the tears standing in her eyes. “It’s… You’ve been all over the world. Been in perilous places, taken risks that stop my breath. In comparison to all that, will what we might have…will
I
be enough?”
“Sweetheart…”
“You said my world, this world, is colorless, remember?”
It almost made him laugh. “Honey-pie, when I’m with you, I think of a thousand colors. Your beautiful silvery eyes, your lemon-yellow swimsuit, your pink sunburn, your pumpkin shoes. You’re…you’re my rainbow.” His darling, serious, wonderful, brave, spirited, beautiful, talented Jane. So, so lovable.
He would make it his worthy purpose to assure her of that every day.
But she didn’t yet appear entirely convinced, damn it.
“Jane, sweetheart, remember…” His heart felt unmoored in his chest, bumping throat, ribs, belly. Oh, God, he thought, he had to get this right.
He reached for her hands, held tight. “Remember when I told you that during each moment in war, you hold the certain knowledge that what you’re doing might be the very last thing you ever do?”
She nodded, and her mouth was trembling.
He pulled her forward, into his arms. His lips found the smooth skin of her cheek. “Jane. Oh, Jane.”
Holding her away again, he hoped that there really was magic in Beach House No. 9, because he wasn’t too proud to accept enchanted spells and secret love potions if it meant he could convince her. If it meant he could keep her forever. “I want my very last thing to be you.”
There was a taut moment of stunned silence. Then she launched herself into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh, God. I love you, I love you too.”
Their kiss was tender and deep, carnal and exuberant. Needing breath, he finally lifted his head. “Jane—”
“Griffin—” she said at the same time.
They smiled at each other. Her eyes sparkled. “We’ve still got the name thing down, chili-dog. But this time…you first.”
He grinned, and then when he opened his mouth to speak, he found himself reaching for a real future, he found himself believing in it for the first time since he’d left Afghanistan, and he finally felt one hundred percent alive, ready to leap for that silver horizon ahead that was waiting for him in Jane’s eyes. “Marry me. Please, honey-pie, marry me.”
And then he knew there was indeed magic at Beach House No. 9, because his beloved took her own leap, trusting that he would always be there to catch her, to be the one who never let go. Without another hesitation, she said, “Yes.”
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460303368
BEACH HOUSE NO. 9
Copyright © 2013 by Christie Ridgway
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now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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