Page 89 of Lessons in Heartbreak

He smelled incredible like this, with no barrier between me and his flawless body. I reached the skin over his heart and kissed him there,a light brush of my tongue against his skin, and his hands tightened, one sliding up to anchor at the base of my neck, where he exerted just enough pressure that I looked up.

“You trying to start something again, baby?” he murmured, a feral glint to his eye that lit a spark deep in the pit of my belly. Heat coiled through my veins at the way he looked at me—because there was a heady sort of power in this interaction.

“N-no,” I lied, but my hands traced over his stomach, and I thought about how it would be if I were anchoring them there, if I were on top of him, writhing in his lap like he’d said he wanted. Using that as my balance while he wrenched his hips up underneath me.

Griffin registered the change in my expression, his gaze heating as he stared at my mouth.

“Shit,” he breathed, his hands pushing around my hips, filling his palms with my backside, and the impatient flex of his fingers had me pinching my eyes shut against the relentless wall of heat. This couldn’t possibly be normal, right? How did people function in normal society—working and sleeping and eating and doing yard work and ... doing taxes or whatever—when they could be doing this all the time? “Not yet,” he said. “Workout first. You need to do more strength training, okay? It’s good for you.”

“So is sex.”

At the pleading tone in my voice, he let out a pained laugh. “God, you’re gonna be the end of me, aren’t you?” He leaned down and kissed me with a low groan, and I rolled up to the balls of my feet to push closer while his tongue brushed lazily over mine.

“Is that a yes?” I asked against his mouth.

He hummed, cradling my face while he deepened the kiss. “Will it make you feel better, baby? If it made you smile, I’m pretty sure I’d do any fucking thing you asked.”

This was so much bigger than anything we’d done, and yet I couldn’t find a single shred of reservation. My lifelong role of the responsible girl was nothing but a wispy, insubstantial thing in the back of my mind.

Just as I began to nod, a pointed clearing of the throat came from the doorway. My eyes slammed shut.

“I really, really don’t want to intrude,” Marcus said.

I deflated into Griffin’s chest, and he growled low in his throat. “What is it?”

“You, uh, got some visitors.”

Griffin’s head snapped up. “You didn’t invite more people here, did you?”

Marcus held his hands up. “Trust me, if I was inviting people, it would not be two little kids who look like your brother.” He tilted his head. “Or look like you, I guess.”

“What?” Griffin yelled. He snatched a shirt from the weight bench and tugged it over his head, and I followed both of them back down the hallway, almost running into Griffin’s back when he came to a dead halt in the kitchen.

“What are you two doing here?” he said incredulously.

“Uncle Griffin!”

I’d hardly peeked around him when two tall, gangly kids with the exact coloring of their dad and uncle threw themselves at Griffin.

He gathered them up in a tight hug. “Holy shit, how did you get here, and how the fuck did you know where this house was?”

The boy—he couldn’t have been older than thirteen—hitched a thumb at his younger sister when Griffin released them. “You said you were at your agent’s house outside of Fort Collins. She searched the sale records on the county website once she had his name.”

My eyebrows popped up as the girl grinned devilishly. She had the exact same smile as Griffin and Barrett, and deep dimples on either side of her mouth.

“Maggie,” Griffin said in a low warning tone. “How did you get plane tickets? Because I know your dad didn’t agree to this.”

She blinked innocently. “Those consent forms for an unaccompanied minor are incredibly easy to forge. Honestly, it’s like they’re not even trying.”

Griffin swiped a hand over his mouth and stared at his niece and nephew. Marcus and I traded a quick, panicked look.

“He’s gonna kill me for this,” Griffin said. “Does he know where you are, Bryce?”

The boy shrugged. “I left a note in the kitchen. He’ll figure it out when he gets home from work.”

Griffin tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, muttering things under his breath that none of us could understand. It was probably best for the kids that they couldn’t.

Maggie glanced at me, tilting her head. “Who are you?”

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