“It’s a perfect date three,” Nash said, using that smooth, confident, trust-me-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about tone that either got him death glares or 100 percent trust; it never landed anywhere in between. “Plus, she’s already been to your place. Did you show her your Lego room?”
“I didn’t give her a tour. We were busy.” It had pretty much gone hallway to bed.
Pretty much?
Fine. It had gone hallway to bed. He’d been too focused—bordering on obsessed in the non-stalker way—with Kinsey and the way she reacted to his touch and how he could get her to make that sexy moan again to even think of going anywhere else. Hell, it had taken all of his brainpower not to just sink down on the hard floor of the front hall and fuck her against the marble.
“Think with the big head, Griff,” Dixon said, the look on his face showing he knew exactly where his cousin’s thoughts had gone. “If you’re gonna win her, you gotta think with the big head.”
For once, Nash didn’t have anything to say, which was weird enough that Griff took a closer look at his cousin, who was holding his phone under the table and grinning at it like a fool.
“What are you doing?” Griff said, already knowing in his gut whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.
Nash looked up, his eyes blank for half a second before he pulled it together. “Texting Kinsey about your dinner date tomorrow.”
Yeah right. The asshole was definitely up to something.
“I can talk to her,” Griff said, ready to fight off whatever shit show was about to go down.
“How do you grunt over text?” Dixon asked, chuckling at his own joke.
He flashed back to the parking garage and everything he’d said to Kinsey in that moment when he’d forgotten the rest of the world even existed outside of the two of them. That wasn’t just out of character for him to talk that much. It was out of any possible consideration. He wasn’t that guy, the kind in touch with his emotions who shared his thoughts—even the dirty ones. But with her? It had just happened. He couldn’t stop himself. He just talked.
His gaze dropped back to the report on the table in front of him, but he didn’t see it. He was seeing her. “I can talk to Kinsey.”
For a second, neither Nash nor Dixon said anything. Then Nash let out a low whistle.
“Well, shit,” Dixon said. “You really are fucked.”
Not that Griff would admit it out loud, but his cousin had never been more right about anything in his life.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kinsey
Kinsey was still blissed out on cheese-and-onion enchiladas with table-side guac—a blessing upon whoever mixed cheese, onion, corn tortillas, and salsa verde for the first time—as she and Morgan walked from Pablo’s to their building. Gone was the tension that had tightened her shoulders to the point of a throbbing pain that had started when Gavin called her into his office and announced without explanation that she’d be working with him on the secret new product Archambeau was developing. It sounded like the opportunity of a lifetime and felt like a trap after the in-your-face threats the day before. The man needed to decide a tactic because she had shit to do, and unwinding his no-doubt ulterior motives was taking up brain space that could be used for better things.
Like the way it had felt to wake up that morning with Griff’s sheets tucked in tight around her, as if he’d made sure she was snuggled in before he’d gotten in the shower.
Okay, fine, she should have been—and was—working out the possibilities of the new product, but she was also unraveling what Gavin was up to, because he sure hadn’t given her this spot out of the goodness of his nonexistent heart.
By the time she walked out of the lab at the end of the day, her shoulders were up by her earlobes and her upper back was in one long, never-ending clench. Morgan had taken one look at her and ordered a pitcher of margaritas. Then, instead of interrogating Kinsey about her night with Griff, she’d cracked jokes about the awfulness of dating in Harbor City and why her one true love was her Kokuyo Jibun Techo Lite Diary in pink, which she’d bought in bulk just in case they ever stopped making them. That, of course, got them on a long-winded discussion of planner stickers, the best gel pens, and the best organizational system for it all.
Their arm-in-arm giggly walk home two hours later was the end result of that delicious mix of tequila, orange liqueur, and lime juice with the perfect amount of salt on the rim served with the best enchiladas to be had in Harbor City while diving deep into their planner nerddom.
“You know,” Kinsey said as they turned onto their block. “You’re pretty damn awesome.”
“Right back at you, babe,” Morgan said as they took a left onto Fourteenth Avenue. “But don’t think that just because I took pity on you after you obviously had a shit day at work—which we do not talk about because you work for the competition, blah, blah, blah”—she rolled her eyes while swerving around a slow-walking tourist like only a Harbor City native could—“doesn’t mean that now we are not going to discuss you and my big brother.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Kinsey said before thanking Oswald the doorman when he swung open the large glass doors to the building for them.
She made it two steps inside the lobby before she spotted Griff at the penthouse elevator and her feet decided to stop working.
Morgan shot her a questioning look. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she managed to get out as she forced her right foot in front of her left as her heart hammered against her ribs.
That’s when Morgan looked over and spotted her brother and a knowing grin broke out on her face. “I can’t wait until we’re officially sisters.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” she said, even as her brain started rolling through the possibilities. “It’s just for the bet. I’m concentrating on work. He’s your brother.”
Morgan chuckled and linked her arm through Kinsey’s and tugged her toward the elevator. “Whatever you say, sis.”
Griff still had his back to them, his broad shoulders pulling his suit jacket taut across his shoulders and his dark wavy hair brushing the top of his collar. The memory of feeling his soft hair combined with the hard bristles of his beard against her thighs as he ate her out last night sent a tidal wave of hot desire through her. She pressed her fingers to her suddenly warm cheeks and tried to remember all the reasons why she shouldn’t be reacting like this to Griff Beckett and coming up with only white noise.
The elevator door opened and he walked inside, not seeing her until he turned around. His eyes widened with shock before he reached out and blocked the doors from closing with one large hand, the move tugging his shirt cuff back and revealing the tattoos on his arms. Her heart quickened. There was just something about all the different layers to Griff Beckett that made her want to peel them all back so she could work out the answer to who he really was. The science nerd? The guy who obviously loved his sister and cousins? The tatted-up boxer? The Neanderthal who grunted more than he talked? The hottest man she’d ever fucked in her life who made her come harder than she ever had, alone or with a partner? There were so many possibilities that figuring out the answer could take a lifetime.