Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 12

Griff released Susan’s hand. His suit jacket hung open; his hands were hooked on his hips and one leg thrown forward. “Are you going to tell me how the hell long that circus has been going on?” he demanded furiously.

“Griff. I…” If her pulse weren’t beating so fast in her throat, she could probably think. Anger radiated from him, and yes, her man had an occasional burst of temper… She had just never expected it to be directed toward her. “If you’re talking about the house…” she started uncertainly, now recalling the sight that would have greeted him on his journey to Tiger’s room. “It would normally have been cleaned up by the time you got home. You’re early, Griff, for heaven’s sake. I just got home myself.”

He knew that. And for two seconds, Griff debated between shaking her and putting her to bed. He didn’t give a hoot in hell about the chaos in the house. It was the exhausted circles under her eyes that tugged at his heart. He had suddenly deduced that she’d applied fresh makeup to cover them before he came home every night during these past weeks. Preoccupied with labor negotiations, he’d never dreamed he was coming home to smiles that had been freshly manufactured for his benefit. Now he saw her without the lipstick smile, without the smoothing over of circles and fatigue lines. And the sight of Susan, exhausted and anxious, cut him to the quick. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

“Griff…”

“It’s a damn good thing I am early for once,” he snapped. He loved her, now more than ever, but it was for her own good. “We’re going to get a few things straight here, and very quickly, Susan.”

He stalked out of the room before she could say anything further. She heard him barking for Tiger, then striding down the hall and taking the stairs like a general. Not a general. A Viking, because Griff was not quite as civilized as a military man with a machine gun in his hand in the middle of a war.

Tiger shot out of his bedroom, casting a startled glance in her direction before vaulting down the stairs two at a time. She heard “Barbara!” and a moment later “Tom!” Then there were doors closing, silence and more doors slamming. She stood in the doorway to their bedroom, her arms clasped under her chest, her mind not really at all sure what was going on…and not absolutely sure she wanted to know.

By the time Griff stalked up the stairs again, there was total silence below. His shoulders filled the space in the hall as he strode toward her, his brown eyes still like kindling on fire. His voice rivaled thunder. “They’re gone,” he spat out. “Tom will take charge for at least two hours. He’s leading the parade to McDonald’s-the one next to the video-game arcade. Which is neither here nor there. You and I are going to talk. Right now.”

“I-”

“And first, you are going to sit down and relax, Susan. Dammit,” he added distractedly. “How the hell long has this-sit down. We’re going to cover the subject of kids once and for all.”

He stopped raging the instant he realized how white her face was. He took his temper for granted, having grown up in a family of volatile personalities; with four children and two adults, shouting had been the only way to get heard. Only…Susan heard in whispers-he’d forgotten that. And she was standing in front of him like a fragile nymph with huge eyes, sick with anxiety. “Susie…”

She took a breath, her first since he’d reappeared. “Griff, we all need time. It’s not an easy transition for the children, and I’ve only been trying-”

“I know exactly what you’ve been trying to do,” he fired back. He’d handle his brood. He loved them, but if they didn’t know a nugget of gold when they saw one, they had a swift lesson coming. Only a fool could fail to see how precious Susan was. Well, he might raise monsters, but he had no intention of raising fools. But his concern wasn’t just for the kids. He couldn’t bear to see Susan, a full rose in the sun, shrinking back to the tightly closed bud she had been when he’d first met her. Hiding her feelings, keeping them walled up tight…

Confused and upset, Susan stood perfectly still as Griff took a step toward her. He blamed her for being unable to control the children; she knew that. And she was guilty; there was nothing to say. Except, Griff, would you please stop looking like a volcano about to erupt? I can handle ninety-seven loads of wash a week, but I can’t handle your anger.

Yet…for a furious man, his fingers, when they undid the first button of her blouse, were exquisitely gentle. “You’re going to put on a robe. And get your feet up.” The dictatorial growl was again contradicted by his gentle fingers on the second button. And the third.

Griff pulled her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt. She stared up at him bewildered as he untangled the gold chain at her neck, letting the delicate necklace fall into the hollow between her breasts before slipping the blouse from her shoulders. He had very dark eyes, her Griff, radiating a thousand vibrant emotions. Anger was not the only one, suddenly.

“Griff…”

“You’re going to get some rest. You’re exhausted. I’ll go down to the kitchen and make us some sandwiches, and then we’re going to talk, Susan.”

He glared at her, as if waiting for opposition. She wasn’t about to argue with his master plan; she was just rather startled by it. The last she knew, Griff was furious; now he was talking sandwiches. And then he wasn’t…talking. It took several seconds for him to locate the button of her skirt. Most of her skirts buttoned on the side; this one buttoned in back. He pushed her head to his chest as he unfastened the garment. The blue wool skirt slid soundlessly to the floor and lay there in a rumpled heap. It cost an arm and a leg to have the cleaners press wool skirts; Griff didn’t seem to care. Not about the proper care of wool skirts, not about children, not about the debris downstairs, not about anger.

She was still trying to grapple with his change of mood when his hands hesitated, resting on her hips over her cream-colored slip. Those hands suddenly turned caressing, slowly moving up to her ribs and over her lace-trimmed bra to the hollow of her throat. As his thumbs teased her chin up, his movements were all slow motion.

Looking at him, she felt a shiver creep along her skin, raising her sensitivity to his touch. Damn, she felt vulnerable. He was still fully dressed in a suit, her massive Norwegian man with his dark, searing eyes.

It had been a very long time since they’d made love. She didn’t know why the thought struck her, when it was so obvious that neither of them was in the mood. Griff was furious, and she was miserable…and other emotions seemed to have come from absolutely nowhere. He peeled off his suit jacket, his eyes never leaving hers. He tossed it on a chair; his shirt followed, then his belt. The pile of clothes on the floor kept growing.

And the silence in the room continued to drum in her ears, a silence that hadn’t been part of the house since the kids had come to live with them. Dusk was settling like a velvet stillness from the west windows; night was coming, that feeling of night enfolding her as he reached for her.

She felt swallowed up, so fast. His big, cool hands enveloped her, and the first kiss on her mouth arched her neck back. So hungry, all warm and hungry… Her hands reached up around his neck, instinctively soothing, her touch tentative and careful; she wasn’t absolutely sure where Griff was coming from. Every inch of her skin knew the desire to be held, to be wanted as only Griff had ever wanted her; her mind refused to go quite that fast. A half hour before there had been hamsters and a terrible headache and all that noise and the look on Griff’s face when he had confronted her with it all…

“Let it go,” he whispered. “Let it be, Susan.”

He made it sound so easy. He made it seem so easy. His knuckle grazed the swell of her breasts as his fingers released the front hook of her bra. Her breasts were free, aching for the touch of his cupped hands. Her soft flesh was oversensitive, made painfully tender by the sweet, fierce messages Griff kneaded into it.

He lifted her up and settled her on the bed, folding the spread impatiently out of the way. Then he knelt, peeling off the silk half-slip, peeling off the sheer hose, peeling off the small wisp of silk panties. He looked at her, savoring the golden sheen of flesh with a possessiveness that sent a blind rush of lush sensations through Susan’s bloodstream.

She would have reached for him then, all willing, but he barely gave her the chance. With a low, guttural groan, he stretched out over her, raising her arms above her head like a pirate pinning down his captive. He loosened his hold then, but not before she’d enjoyed the sensation of hand to hand, breast to breast, thigh to thigh. That closeness had been a message: they were one person, not two. Griff knew her well; he would know all of her, claim all of her. There would be no holding back.

His lips crushed her and then began to travel. The rough-smooth sensations of his soft mouth and bristly cheek sent a thousand erotic calls echoing through Susan’s head. Griff was making a valiant effort at patience. He was in no mood for slow, sweet lovemaking. His mood was a fierce, urgent desire to consume. His lips swept over her flesh, from her hard-tipped nipples to the tiny curve of her stomach to the softness of her thigh; the tempo of his breathing increased, and hunger vibrated through him like a shudder.

She slid her hand down over his hip, then let it turn inward, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. Both of her hands moved to his head when he loomed over her; her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him down, so that a kiss blended exquisitely with his silken smooth thrust into her body. Her spine arched for him, legs twisting. She knew the rhythm, the fierce, primal rhythm… The climb started from her womanly core, a fever as heated as his, a desperate need that tumbled not only her defensive walls but the whole world. Just Griff. There was only Griff in that place…

Yet from somewhere other emotions intruded, desperately unwanted. Tension from the real world, fear, anxieties not resolved… The feelings surfaced, not as conscious thought but as a faltering in intensity, a slip in rhythm for Susan, something she couldn’t help… But she could pretend for Griff’s sake. It didn’t matter. Griff did; loving him was what counted, and when she felt his body grow taut in a last effort to control his pleasure for her, she urged him on, whispering, her body arching into his, her hands ceaselessly encouraging him.

When his body exploded in release, she felt a special joy that came from the heart rather than from the sensual pleasures of the body. She stroked him, curling up next to him, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow, loving the sheen of moisture on his body and the sheer exhilaration of the feel of him next to her.

It was several minutes before he shifted, before he slid down next to her and turned. His lips touched her forehead; his hand cradled her head as he lifted her face to his. “It was good for you?” he whispered.

“Very good,” she whispered back, meaning it. It had been good-if not in quite the way he meant.

He sighed, his eyes very dark over her, very grave and almost menacing. Still, a faint, seemingly amused smile touched his lips. “I had no idea exactly how much we needed to get straight in this relationship,” he scolded, his voice still husky and low. “Don’t do that to me again, Susan. Ever.”

“Do?” She was bewildered.

“Fib.” He shook his head, scoldingly, his displeasure reinforced by the delicate nip he took at a spot directly between her neck and shoulder. “I was faster than a speeding bullet. I’m not denying that. As you are on occasion. Maybe I was just in a hell-bent hurry to break down your defenses before we even tried to talk, because I could see you repairing old walls, love. Anyway, the reason doesn’t matter. But you fake nothing with me, Susan, you understand?”

The kiss that landed on her mouth was rough and sweet and very, very clear. “We take care of each other,” he murmured. “Don’t ever, ever think again that I’m not willing to take care of you.”

His hands slipped down with caresses, all silk, tantalizing and gently alluring. Giving her back the mood she’d thought was lost, driving away her fear that the children would come back too soon, disallowing this time, all conscious and unconscious hesitation. His lips followed his hands, and he was so intent on ingraining a particular lesson of love that he didn’t let her go until she had shuddered violently in her own ecstatic release, once, twice, three times.

Susan went through the evening in an oddly sleepy, desultory haze. At some point, she remembered munching on a sandwich while she let Tiger slaughter her in a game of checkers, and at another point she remembered curling up next to Griff on the living room couch as all five of them watched a half-hour sitcom that was perfectly dreadful…but they all laughed. Only later did it occur to her that she and Griff hadn’t had the talk Griff had insisted they have when he came home like a storming Viking.

That occurred to her about the same time that she wandered in the kitchen to find the dishes done. Moments later, she walked upstairs to find that the kids’ bedrooms had been miraculously tidied up. Good fairies? No, obviously more potent forces were at work. There were fresh towels in the bathroom.

She was too tired by then to think it out. Tucked in next to Griff with the comforter pulled up to their chins, she felt her eyes drooping with fatigue. It was Griff who had used a very silent, very heavy hand with the kids behind the scenes; she knew that.

She couldn’t help feeling that Griff must be disappointed in the way she was handling his children. One tongue lashing from him and his brood jumped, but she just wasn’t built that way.

A nameless fear was beginning to haunt her nights-that in other ways she wasn’t built as Griff must have thought initially. They’d had to snatch those moments of lovemaking; was that how it was to be? Granted, this was a period of transition, and yes, she loved the children. She also valued privacy. She needed it and had needed it all her life. She needed privacy with Griff as well. Their own relationship was still new…too new, she thought fleetingly. Loving him, she was afraid to admit that he just might be disappointed in his choice of a wife. She had not been blessed with either self-sufficiency or confidence. And she wanted-needed-more of Griff than a quick, stolen moment now and then.

When Susan woke up, the place next to her in the bed was empty, and she had a strange, queasy feeling in her stomach. Those sandwiches for dinner had obviously not agreed with her, she thought wryly, and dragged herself sleepily out of bed. The clock showed six o’clock, but Griff was already up and out. She knew that, because today was Friday, and with any luck the labor negotiations at the plant would end today.

Yawning, she snatched up bra and pants and slip. By the time she’d showered and put on underclothes, it was twenty minutes later, and she rapped on the three children’s doors to waken them. Why was her stomach playing leapfrog? Ignore it, she advised herself. Pulling on a yellow crocheted dress, she ran a brush through her hair, applied a minimum of makeup and gave up her bathroom to the morning lineup. Not that there weren’t other bathrooms, but even Barbara now demanded that she be allowed to feed the fish.

Downstairs, Susan switched on the kitchen light and began to do the dozen assorted chores it took to start the day. Pack the lunches; prepare some breakfast; take something out of the freezer for dinner; remind Tiger where he left his book bag; throw in a load of laundry… Every precious second of that morning hour counted and, of course, this morning a few were lost. The downhill slide started when she poured herself a quick cup of coffee, tried to take a sip, and felt her nostrils flare at the revolting smell.

She set the cup down. Waffles for Tiger; Tom liked two eggs sunny-side up; Barbara would have to be coaxed into eating one slice of toast-she was afraid of losing her sylphlike figure; nutrition was “stupid.” While she cracked the eggs, Tiger’s head suddenly showed around the door, his hair slicked down with water, his face most definitely grave this morning.

“Susan,” he said seriously, “I think we’re going to have to have a cat.”

“We are, are we? Honey, I think I saw your gym sneakers under the couch. Your book bag’s behind your coat.”

“We need one,” Tiger continued. “We’ve always needed a cat. Our whole lives, this family has never had a cat.”

“You’re tired of the hamsters already?”

Tiger shook his head, perching directly next to her on the counter so that she had to reach around him. “The hamsters are neat, especially the babies. But they really smell. Cats don’t smell.”

Susan’s stomach did not want to be reminded of the hamsters’ odor. She poured batter into the waffle iron, fielded Tom’s kiss on the cheek and responded to his affectionate “Morning, Mom-Two” while handing him his plate of eggs. Then she headed toward the refrigerator to make a cheese sandwich for Barbara’s lunch. A cheese sandwich was calorically acceptable to Barbara; nutrition was still “stupid.” The girl had fallen asleep last night with Thirty Ways to Develop Your Bust clutched in her hand; apparently, eating balanced meals wasn’t one of the thirty ways.

Barbara came into the kitchen yawning. The uniform it took her nearly an hour to get into consisted of jeans and a clinging sweater-mohair this morning. Her hair was brushed back simply. Her eyelashes looked suspiciously dark and velvety, but that was one of the few battles Susan had subtly won about a week before. The tiniest touch of Vaseline accomplished the same thing as mascara, and Griff didn’t threaten to disown her because of Vaseline. Barbara, on a rare day, could see reason.

“Morning, Susan.”

“Morning, honey.” She served Barbara’s toast and Tiger’s waffles, along with three large glasses of milk-Tiger’s was chocolate-then rapidly took away Tom’s empty plate and opened a fresh package of cheese for Barbara’s sandwich, keeping one eye on the sink to be sure Barbara didn’t try to pour her milk down the drain.

Smoked cheddar. She’d always loved it. Yet when she opened the package, Susan stepped back, feeling waves of nausea engulf her. She took a deep breath, and then a second. “Barbara,” she asked idly, “do you think you could make your own sandwich while I throw in a wash?”

All three kids suddenly looked at her. Barbara got up from the table, rubbing her hands together to brush off the last of the toast crumbs. “Sure. We wouldn’t want to overtax you, Susan. I got the drift last night.” Her look was bitter and her tone sarcastic.

Susan swallowed. “If your father said something to you,” she started quietly.

Barbara laughed.

“Shove it,” Tom suggested to his sister.

Barbara clammed up, and began to slap cheese slices between pieces of bread, not looking at Susan.

“Honey, I only asked you to help with the sandwiches because-”

“Like, it’s perfectly all right. I got the message,” Barbara snapped.

Tom pushed back his chair, glaring at his sister in disgust. Tiger looked from brother to sister, wide-eyed. “Susan,” he said finally, “did you forget we were talking about getting a cat?”